Lethal in Love

by Michelle Somers

  ‘Madden?’

  ‘Oh, go on, Jayda. Why not call him Daddy?’

  Jayda held her breath and counted to ten. This is your game, not his. Stay detached. Stay on track. Don’t let him draw you in.

  ‘Madden died in prison. There’s no way you could have been responsible for that, and neither was I.’

  ‘You underestimate me, Jayda. But, that’s always been your problem. You fail to believe anyone could be as clever as you. Guess I proved you wrong.’

  ‘I know you left the key behind the photo so I’d be close to the prison when you revealed my past. I know you wanted me to rush over there, wanted me to get that close to the answers I needed before you took away my only chance of gaining them.’ She didn’t wait for his nod. She already knew she was right. ‘What I find difficult to believe is that you could have a man killed when he’s behind bars.’

  ‘Oh, Jayda. Money buys a multitude of other men’s sins. There are any number of individuals out there who would be thrilled to kill you. For the right price, of course. That, however, is a pleasure I’ve been saving for myself.’

  ‘So, you paid someone to smuggle a mop into Madden’s cell, then they used it as a hanging point and made his death look like a suicide. Why? What harm could he do you from behind bars?’

  His hands fisted, white knuckled and shaking in his lap. It was the first chink she’d witnessed in his veneer.

  ‘What would you know about harm? A Portuguese man-of-war’s tentacles can reach for miles beyond its body. It has means.’

  ‘By means I guess you’re talking about your mother.’

  ‘I don’t believe we were talking anything but metaphors. Your dear daddy is dead because you wouldn’t leave well-enough alone.’

  ‘He’s no more my father than he was yours!’ The words shot out before she could drag them back. Her body shook and she almost lost herself in those cold, dark eyes. A momentary flicker crossed his expression, then vanished, replaced with an air of careless nonchalance.

  ‘You are the talented detective, aren’t you? When that fiery hair of yours doesn’t get in the way. I see the plan—draw me out, make me brag, uncover all my dirty secrets so you can use them to lock me away once you’ve been rescued.’

  He stood and the room crowded inwards.

  ‘That’s how this would work in your perfect world. What you have yet to realise is you’re in my world now. There’ll be no rescue. You’re alive at my whim. Your very existence is something I could end at a moment’s notice.’

  He turned the knife slowly in his hands and she dragged her mind back from how that blade would feel at her neck.

  His lips stretched tightly across his over-white teeth, leering, predatory. Then he sauntered slowly towards her.

  61

  Juz approached the way a hunter would stalk live prey caught in a death trap.

  With every step, the precious seconds she needed to cut through the rope slipped away. She wrenched at her hands and the pole shuddered. She heaved again. This time a nail flew out and skidded across the concrete floor.

  He stepped over it and stopped, barely half a metre before her.

  She was so close. Another strand of the rope snapped and she felt a loosening at her wrists. Her heart thudded. The metal blade glinted in his hands, but she refused to remove her eyes from his face.

  ‘It hurts, doesn’t it? To realise someone you loved didn’t love you back. That they were only using you to play out some sick, demented plan.’

  Pure evil slid across his lips and she wanted to kick him. Wanted to slap the filthy smirk from his face and put a bullet straight through his skull.

  In seconds that could be her last, she swore she’d die fighting and tried again.

  ‘I get it. You’re looking for love. Well, you’d already found it. You’ve always been like a brother to me. I loved you.’

  Masking her disgust at the lie that was their relationship wasn’t easy. She doubted the residual bitterness on her tongue would ever fade.

  His gaze narrowed. ‘Yes, loved, past tense. Nothing lasts forever, Jayda. Every fire burns itself out with time. I prefer to be the master of my own destiny.’

  ‘By killing everyone who loves you before their love has a chance to die?’

  ‘Simple, but effective.’ The blade turned in his palm. ‘Detective school taught you well.’

  She wrenched at her hands, wincing as the rope chafed against raw skin. He stepped closer and his minty breath fanned her cheek. Her bravado dwindled. Her throat clogged and her vision blurred.

  I don’t want to die.

  Juz shook his head. ‘Always the fighter, always refusing to admit defeat. Take this case. If I hadn’t fed you information every step of the way, you’d still be poring over old files with that patsy partner of yours, wondering why you just didn’t get it.’

  His hand inched towards her waist. She flinched. He lifted the hem of her t-shirt and the knife’s blade flashed.

  ‘If there’s one thing that good-for-nothing prick in prison taught me, it was that pain is relative. You think that what you’re feeling right now is pain, but it’s nothing compared to what it could be.’

  Fire slashed across her stomach. Her body jerked and she watched the slow bead of blood cut across her skin. Tears welled against her lids and she blinked them back. ‘You bastard!’

  ‘How right you are. You are too though, in case you forgot.’

  He let go of her top and the slow seep of red stained the grimy, already blood-smattered white. He slipped a cloth handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped the blade.

  ‘A mere scratch. I don’t mean to kill you for a while yet. We have so much to talk about and I’ve waited too long for this moment to have it end so soon.’

  She tugged and felt the resistance on the ropes. Then it eased. As the final thread snapped, her right fist shot out in an upper cut straight to Juz’s throat. His eyeballs bugged from their sockets as cartilage crushed beneath her knuckles. With a wild gurgle, he fell to his knees, a mobile skidding out from his pocket as he hit the floor.

  Ignoring the burn from her wound, she grabbed the knife and cut the binds at her ankles. The phone was cracked, but it still had power and signal. His fingers wrapped around it and she stomped on his knuckles, cringing at the sound of splintering glass that followed. He gave it up with a wild howl and she slipped it into her pocket, although the phone was near useless now, as indicated by the blank, cracked screen.

  She kicked his stomach. Hard. ‘That’s for Bec, you bastard!’ She sniffed, dragging the back of her hand across her eyes and nose, and kicked again. ‘And that’s for Tumbles and Eric and all those women.’

  He writhed on the floor. She knew he was in pain, knew his windpipe was damaged, possibly snapped, and that in time the area would swell, restricting speech, restricting breathing.

  She paced. Temptation dangled like a ripe, juicy carrot. If she left him, he’d be dead within a few hours. Possibly fewer if his trachea was snapped. He’d killed so many, did such evil really deserve to live?

  The pacing gave her no peace, and in truth, she hadn’t expected it to. Much as she believed he deserved to die, it wasn’t her decision to make. She’d taken an oath when she’d taken on her badge, and that oath bound her as tightly as the ropes had only minutes before.

  She didn’t care that Juz was suffering, but she did have to get help. Difficult to know what to do with no cuffs. The broken rope wasn’t sufficient to restrain him, and much as she was tempted to leave him to his fate, she couldn’t risk a sudden recovery or escape. She needed to tie him up and go for backup, all before he fell unconscious and died.

  Every class she’d ever taken on CPR leapt to the forefront of her mind. She hoped to hell it wouldn’t come to that. The irony of breathing life into the monster who’d sucked the life out of so many didn’t escape her.

  As he lay gasping on the floor, she patted him down for her gun or other weapons and came up empty. Biting her lip, she br
aced herself against the pain at her stomach and looked around. She could rip the sheets into strips.

  She backed towards the closest shroud of white. One eye on Juz, she hacked at the cloth with the knife. His gasps quietened, the guttural breathing slowing almost as if he were slipping toward unconsciousness.

  The cutting was slow and every jerk of her arm pulled at her stomach. She lifted her tee and inspected the wound. It had dried at the edges, and blood seeped rather than dripped from the cut. Most of all, it still hurt like hell.

  She let go of her top and tugged the last strip of cloth free. She turned.

  Shit!

  The floor was empty.

  She tightened her grip on the knife and scanned the area.

  What the hell was wrong with her? She wasn’t a damned recruit, knew better than to remove her eyes from a suspect, regardless of whether they’d seemed incapacitated on the floor or not. Did the man have superhuman strength? She’d seen a blow to the throat disable bigger adversaries for longer than Juz’s measly few minutes.

  Slowly she backed away, eyes darting side-to-side. At least she knew he didn’t have her gun. Not that he was likely to use it. Yet. His ego wouldn’t allow him to kill her until he’d finished with her.

  The thought gave her little comfort.

  I’m not ready to die! She was spiralling again. Stop!

  She had the knife and the upper hand. If she could keep him talking, keep him busy, he’d eventually collapse and this time she’d restrain him immediately. She wrapped the strips around her torso and tied them like a belt low on her hips.

  ‘Turn yourself in, Juz. That pain in your throat is your trachea. It’s either broken or fractured. You need to see a doctor before it swells and blocks your airway. If you do nothing, you’ll be dead within an hour.’

  A deep bark—laughter?—sounded from her right.

  Heart thumping against her ribcage, she veered left until she had the wall at her back and a large piece of cloth-covered equipment shielding her. The exit beckoned to her right, but she ignored its draw. Not while a killer was still walking, breathing and—by some stretch of the imagination—in her custody.

  ‘Perhaps you should worry more about your own mortality, Jayda.’

  Like a game of tug ’o war, she had to gain back control. At least when he talked, she knew where he was.

  ‘You were telling me about Madden.’

  ‘Yes. Let’s continue our dialogue while the little cogs in your brain work out what to do.’ She heard the hiss as he drew in a breath. ‘Want to know why he broke his own protocol and killed the lovely Juliana?’

  ‘She discovered who he was?’

  ‘And how might she have done that?’

  Her mind reeled with possibilities too horrible to contemplate. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘How disappointing.’ His laughter broke into a hacking cough. ‘The bitch received an anonymous tip-off that her adoring husband was cheating. Such a pity she picked the wrong time to investigate. Instead of finding Madden with my mother, she watched him strangle his forty-second victim. He had no choice but to follow her home and kill her before she could reveal his secret. And, of course, the police received an anonymous tip-off about the murder. The blood was still fresh on his hands when he passed his legacy to me and promised that one day, I too would become famous.’

  The pride in his voice shivered its way up her spine.

  ‘You were there?’ Suddenly, one more jigsaw piece clicked into place. ‘You cut my leg!’

  ‘I’d have finished the job if the bastard hadn’t stopped me. You always were his Achilles heel and my misfortune.’

  What could make a person so sick, so twisted?

  Impossible to wrap her head around it all. He must have been about ten at the time—a child—wielding so much destruction.

  Time to contemplate that later. She had to remain detached. Couldn’t allow him to drag her in to his madness.

  Keep him talking. ‘You mentioned his legacy.’

  ‘The canvas.’

  ‘A record of his killings.’ The thought dragged a shudder deep into her bones. ‘All those teardrops. Each one hand-painted to represent the victims.’

  ‘You’re not just a pretty face, after all. Did you like your sister’s? I thought it fitting that her favourite piece of art become a little part of mine.’

  Her heart twisted and she pushed back the pain.

  ‘The tears. What are they made from?’

  ‘Why, fingernails, of course.’

  His voice seemed closer and she edged away.

  ‘A masterpiece years in the making. You can thank Lydia for her part in its creation.’

  Every word out of his self-satisfied mouth made her sick.

  His laboured breathing filled the silences between his sentences. Eventually his throat would swell so that speech and breathing would become impossible. All she had to do was bide her time until then. Keep him talking, even if she didn’t like what he had to say. Even if she wanted to ram his tongue so far down his throat that he’d never utter another supercilious word again.

  ‘What about my mother?’

  ‘Surely you know of their love affair?’

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she skirted a row of steppers and hunched behind a leg extension machine, all the while ensuring she had the wall at her back.

  ‘It’d make a great story. Perhaps I’ll write it someday.’ He coughed. ‘Ironic to think that Madden changed sex to marry my mother, to make us his legitimate family. I already called him “Dad” and he said it was just a matter of paper before it became real. Then he fell in love with your whore of a mother and that paper burned along with any hopes I had for a normal life. Your family ruined everything for me. So I guess it’s only fair I return the favour.’

  Something clicked in her mind. ‘You reported my father to the OPI.’

  His voice radiated delight. ‘I wondered when you’d connect the dots.’

  ‘Is any of it true? The allegations? The infidelity?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘The affair took place years before we met.’

  ‘Yes, it did.’

  Her head whirled and the catch in her throat made it near impossible to speak. ‘You had this planned back then?’

  ‘I’ve been planning this forever. My life’s work. It wasn’t difficult to find a woman willing to be photographed with your father performing . . . questionable acts.’

  There was a crash to her right, and then a hand weight rolled between two steppers to stop at her feet. Her heart pounded in her ears.

  ‘I grew up knowing you had everything and I had nothing. Let’s just say I’ve enjoyed evening the score.’

  62

  She’s not here.

  Seth tugged at the paper mask that made it near impossible to breathe. Of course she isn’t. He scrubbed his gloved fingers through his hair and only just stopped from ramming his fist through the wall.

  It’d be too easy for Juz to take Jayda to his apartment. And nothing about the confounded man—or the case—had been easy so far. Why start now?

  Because the woman I love is in danger.

  It had taken him twenty-nine years to find happiness, the least the universe could do was line up and make this chaos go away.

  Again he wanted to hit something. Preferably the face of the bastard who’d captured her.

  The moment he’d seen the birth certificate he’d guessed the killer’s identity. The father’s Spanish descent, the name of the child, Justino. The coincidences were too great for it to go any other way.

  This was all his fault. Stupid pride had made him hesitate before going after Jayda. But it was that same stupid pride that wouldn’t allow him to quit now. He’d find her and love her and never let her go.

  But first, he had to find Juz.

  His gaze combed the living room and the forensics team scouring every inch of it. He gave a tight smile to Georgie and the other officer beside her as his fingers fl
exed at his side and he clenched them into fists. Damn but he itched to join in the search. But at the threat of being bodily removed from the scene, he maintained his distance.

  His gaze flitted every which way, willing his eyes to find something to lead them to Juz. In the meantime, what the hell was he supposed to do?

  He took to pacing the Turkish rug, his disposable shoe coverings swishing against the carpet fibres. He was walking in Jayda’s footsteps, the way he’d seen her pace on so many occasions. The action made him feel closer to her. Connected.

  As he turned, he telepathically willed her to be safe, anywhere else but with Juz. A hope he knew to be futile. Little doubt the bastard already had her. The first thing he’d noticed as he followed Chase into the apartment was Jayda’s purse and mobile left brazenly on the coffee table for them to find. The phone’s display showed a trail of his missed calls. It gave him little comfort to know she hadn’t been deliberately ignoring him.

  Worse still was the smear of blood on the carpet near the sideboard . . . Chances that it was Juz’s, not Jayda’s, were slim. And it’d be days before forensics could confirm either way.

  They didn’t have days. He doubted they had hours. To find Jayda alive, they had to find her now.

  For want of anything better to do, he moved into the hallway and towards the study.

  A techie sat at Juz’s desk. He looked like a kid just out of school, with black rimmed glasses and a ponytail of blonde hair trailing down his back. The boy—he couldn’t think of him as more than that—was analysing the laptop, scanning files that proved Seth’s innocence in relation to the article, and showed that Juz had also hacked into Jayda’s computer, as well as her bank account.

  The screen flickered. Seth froze in the doorway. A live video feed of his house’s front entrance appeared. Two girl guides stood on his doorstep with a box of what he presumed was their signature biscuits. With another click of the mouse they disappeared and the screen flipped to the hallway outside Jayda’s apartment.