A KILLER’S OBSESSION
“He’s back.”
Jax reached out to grasp his shoulder. “We can’t jump to conclusions, Ash.”
Ash understood his brother’s warning. There was nothing more dangerous for an investigator than leaping to a conclusion, then becoming blind to other possibilities.
But he was no longer a detective, and his gut instinct was screaming that this was the work of the killer who’d destroyed the lives of so many. Including his own.
“There’s more.” Feldman cleared his throat, lowering the pad. “She’s had plastic surgery.”
“Not that unusual,” Jax said, echoing Ash’s own thoughts. “Lots of women, and men for that matter, think they need some nip and tuck.”
Feldman grimaced. “This nip and tuck was for a particular purpose.”
A chill crawled over Ash’s skin. Not the frigid air of the morgue, but something else. Perhaps a premonition. “What purpose?” he forced himself to ask.
“If I had to make a guess, I would say it was to make Angel Conway look like Remi Walsh . . .”
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THE INTENDED VICTIM
ALEXANDRA IVY
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
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Table of Contents
A KILLER’S OBSESSION
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 by Debbie Raleigh
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: 978-1-4201-4383-6
ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4384-3 (eBook)
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Prologue
The sun was still struggling to crest the horizon when Angel Conway entered the small park next to Lake Michigan. Shivering, she hunched herself deeper in her heavy coat. Shit. Was there anywhere in the world colder than Chicago in the winter? She doubted even the North Pole felt as frigid. Especially this morning, with the wind whipping the icy droplets from the nearby lake. They stung her face like tiny darts.
Unfortunately, she had no choice but to drag herself out of her bed at such a god-awful hour to brave the cold. It was the same reason she snuck out every Friday morning.
When she came to Chicago, she’d intended to have a clean start. No drugs. No men. Nothing that would screw up her one opportunity to climb out of the sewer she’d made of her life. But after the operation, she’d been given painkillers, and the hunger had been stroked back to life. Within three weeks of her arrival in the city, she was back to the same old habits.
Stomping her feet in an attempt to keep blood flowing to her toes, she scanned the shadowed lot. Where was her john? Usually she was the one running late. She did it deliberately to avoid being turned into a human Popsicle. She wanted to arrive at the park, climb into the man’s expensive Jag, do her business, and get her pills. No fuss, no muss.
And no frostbite.
“Come on, come on,” she muttered, rubbing her hands together.
Maybe she should bail. She could sneak out this weekend and find a street dealer. Of course, what little money she had . . .
Her thoughts were shattered by the sharp snap of a branch. She frowned, glancing over her shoulder at the trees directly behind her. She’d chosen this spot because it offered her an open view of the lot, but at the same time gave her cover in case a cop decided to drive through the park. Now she felt a weird sense of dread crawl over her skin.
She was from the country. She knew the difference between a critter scrambling through the underbrush and a human footstep.
There was someone moving in the darkness. The only question was whether it was an early morning jogger. Or a pervert who was spying on her.
She never considered there might have been a third possibility.
Not until she felt the cold blade press against her throat . . .
Chapter One
With a grimace, he dropped into his seat behind the cluttered desk. A sigh escaped his lips. It was only noon, but he was grateful he was done teaching his classes for the day.
The students weren’t the only ones looking forward to the end of the semester, he wryly acknowledged. Early December in the Midwest meant short, brutally cold days. A bunch of twentysomethings trapped inside for weeks at a time was never a good thing. His classroom was choking with their pent-up energy.
But it was Friday. And Monday the students started finals. Which meant that in less than seven days, he could look forward to a month of peace and quiet.
Pretending he didn’t notice the tiny ache in the center of his heart at the thought of spending the holidays alone in his small house, Ash opened his laptop. He needed to get through his email before he could call it a day.
He’d barely fired up the computer when the door to his office was shoved open. He glanced up with a forbidding glare. His students were told on the first day of class that they could come to him during his posted office hours. He’d discovered his first year of teaching that they would follow him into the toilet with questions if he didn’t set firm guidelines.
His annoyance, however, swiftly changed to surprise at the sight of the man dressed in a worn blue suit who stepped through the opening.
Detective Jackson “Jax” Marcel.
At a glance, it was easy to tell the two were brothers. They both had light brown hair that curled around the edges. Ash’s was allowed to grow longer now that he was no longer on the police force, and had fewer strands of gray. And they both had blue eyes. Ash’s were several shades darker, and framed by long, black lashes that had been the bane of his childhood. And they were both tall and slender, with muscles that came from long morning jogs instead of time in the gym.
Ash rose to his feet, his brows arching in surprise. It wasn’t uncommon for his family to visit. The university was only a couple of hours from Chicago. But they never just appeared in his office without calling.
“Jax.”
Jax stretched his lips into a smile, but it was clearly an effort. “Hey, bro.”
Ash studied his companion. Jax was the oldest of the four Marcel brothers, but they had all been born within a six-year span, so they were all close in age. That was perhaps why they’d always been so tight. You messed with one Marcel, you messed with them all.
“What are you doing here?” Ash demanded.
“I need to talk to you.”
“You couldn’t call?”
Jax grimaced. “I preferred to do it face-to-face.”
Fear curled through the pit of Ash’s stomach. Something had happened. Something bad. He leaned forward, laying his palms flat on the desk.
“Mom? Dad?”
Jax gave a sharp shake of his head. “The family is fine.”
“Then what’s going on?”
“Sit down.”
Ash clenched his teeth. His brother’s attempt to delay the bad news was twisting his nerves into a painful knot. “Shit. Just tell me.”
Perhaps realizing that he was doing more harm than good, Jax heaved a harsh sigh.
“It’s Remi Walsh.”
Ash froze. He hadn’t heard the name Remi in five years. Not since he’d packed his bags and walked away from Chicago and the woman who’d promised to be his wife.
“Remi.” His voice sounded oddly hollow. “Is she hurt?”
This time Jax didn’t torture him. He spoke without hesitation.
“Her body arrived in the morgue this morning.”
Morgue.
“No.” The word was wrenched from Ash’s lips as his knees buckled and he collapsed into his chair.
Jax stepped toward the desk, his expression one of pity. “I’m sorry, Ash.”
Ash shook his head. “This has to be a mistake,” he said, meaning every word.
It was a mistake. There was no way in hell that Remi could be dead.
“I wish it was a mistake, bro,” Jax said in sad tones. “But I saw her with my own eyes.”
Ash grimly refused to accept what his brother was telling him. He’d tumbled head over heels in love with Remi from the second she’d strolled into the police station to take her father for lunch. Ash had just made detective and Gage Walsh was his partner. Thankfully, that hadn’t stopped him from asking Remi out. She’d been hesitant at first, clearly unsure she wanted to date someone who worked so closely with her father. But from their first date, they’d both known the sensations that sizzled between them were something special.
That’s why he couldn’t accept that she was gone.
If something had happened to Remi, he would know. In his heart. In his very soul.
“How long has it been since you last spent time with her?” he challenged his brother.
Jax shrugged. “Five years ago.”
“Exactly. How could you possibly recognize her after so long?”
“Ash.” Jax shoved his fingers through his hair, his shoulders stooped. He looked like he was weary to the bone. “Denying the truth doesn’t change it.”
Anger blasted through Ash. He wanted to vault across the desk and slam his fist into his brother’s face for insisting on the lie. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d given Jax a black eye. Of course, his brother had pounded him back, chipping a tooth and covering him in bruises, but it’d been totally worth it.
Instead, he forced himself to leash his raw emotions.
“It’s official?” he demanded.
Jax gave a slow shake of his head. “Not yet. The medical examiner is overwhelmed, as usual. It will be hours before they can run fingerprints, even with me putting pressure on them.”
The anger remained, but it was suddenly threaded with hope. Nothing was official.
The words beat through him, echoing his heavy pulse.
At the same time, he continued to glare at his brother. “Why come here before you’re sure it’s Remi?”
Jax coughed, as if clearing his throat. “I wanted you to be prepared.”
Ash narrowed his gaze. The shock of Jax’s announcement had sent his brain reeling. Which was the only explanation for why he hadn’t noticed his brother’s hands clenching and unclenching. It wasn’t just sympathy that was causing his brother’s unease.
“No. There’s something you’re not telling me,” he said.
Jax glanced toward the window, then down at the scuff marks on his leather shoes. Was he playing for time? Or searching for the right words? “Let’s go for a drink,” he finally suggested.
“Dammit, Jax. This isn’t the time for games,” Ash snapped. “Just tell me.”
Jax’s lips twisted before he forced himself to speak the words he’d clearly hoped to avoid. “She was found with her throat slit.”
Ash surged to his feet, knocking over the chair. It smashed against the wooden floor with a loud bang, but Ash barely noticed.
“Was there a mark?” he rasped.
It’d been only a few weeks after he’d started dating Remi that Gage had put together the connection that a rash of dead women was the work of a serial killer. They’d tagged him the Chicago Butcher because it was suspected he used a butcher’s knife to slice the throats of his victims. Only the cops knew that there had been a hidden calling card left behind by the killer: a small crescent carved onto the women’s right breast. No one knew if it was supposed to be a “c” or a moon, or perhaps some unknown symbol. But it was always there.
“Yes.”
“Like the others?” he pressed.
Jax nodded. Ash reached into his poc
ket to pull out his keys. He’d gone from white-hot emotion erupting through him like lava to an ice-cold determination.
The Chicago Butcher had destroyed his life five years ago. If the bastard was back, Ash was going to track him and kill him. He didn’t care if he had a badge or not.
He tossed his keys to his brother. “Go to my house and pack a bag.”
Jax caught the keys, his brows tugging together. “Ash, there’s nothing you can do.”
“I have to see her,” Ash muttered, not adding his secondary reason for returning to Chicago. His brother was smart. He knew Ash would be hungry for revenge. “She was my fiancée.”
Jax grimaced. “It was all a long time ago.”
Ash snorted. It had been five years, not an eternity. And most of the time it felt like it had all happened yesterday. “We both know it doesn’t matter how long ago it was or you would never have come down here to tell me.”
The older man hunched his shoulders. “I didn’t want you to hear it on the news.”
Ash didn’t believe the excuse for a second. “Pack a bag,” he commanded, reaching down to right his chair. “I’ll be ready by the time you get back.”
“What about your classes?” Jax tried a last-ditch effort to keep Ash away from Chicago.
“Finals are next week.” Ash sat down and reached for the cell phone he’d left on his desk. He might be under thirty, but he held the old-fashioned belief that there was no need for phones in his classroom. Including his own. “I’ll call the dean and warn him there’s been a family emergency. If I’m not back by Monday, my teaching assistant can proctor the exams.”
“Ash—”
“I can go back with you or I’ll drive myself,” Ash interrupted.
“Hell, I don’t want you behind the wheel.” Jax pointed a finger toward Ash. “Don’t move until I get back.”
The Intended Victim Page 1