Heart of a Killer

by Yolanda Wallace

  “When are you going back?” Hekla asked.

  “Actually, I’m flying home tomorrow.”

  Hekla’s face fell. “Seriously? Do you plan on returning to Reykjavik someday soon?”

  “In a few months, yes.”

  Hekla’s dour expression brightened. “If you are here in April, we can attend the Deildabikar together.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s one of the most important football competitions in the country. KR usually does really well each year. If you would prefer to see one of the women’s teams play, we could do that instead.” Hekla paused to enjoy a laugh at her own expense. “I am being presumptuous. Do you even like football? And, more importantly, do you have a girlfriend?”

  Santana knew how to answer the first question, but she had no idea how to respond to the other. Delphine was single, but she wasn’t so sure she could say the same about herself. She and Brooklyn had been on a few dates and had slept together more than once, but was that enough to make them an item? They hadn’t agreed to be exclusive and they certainly hadn’t declared their undying love for each other. Yet Brooklyn was the only woman she desired at the moment and the only one she wanted to share things with. Each time she witnessed something memorable, she wished she could experience it with Brooklyn by her side. And even when she was supposed to be concentrating on Jusuf Mladić, her mind often wandered from the man in her sights to a woman who was two thousand miles away.

  When she responded to Hekla’s question, she decided to be true to her cover even though it felt like she wasn’t being true to herself.

  “Yes, I like football,” she said flirtatiously, “and, no, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Good. On both counts. I will be back in a moment with your breakfast.”

  Hekla headed to the kitchen, and Santana sipped her coffee as she stared out the window. She had been watching Mladić for five days and had a relatively good handle on his patterns.

  The lights went on in his bedroom every morning at six thirty, but he never made an appearance until at least ninety minutes after that.

  Most days, he would head to a local facility to play soccer against a series of handpicked opponents. He scored goal after goal past one hapless goalie after another while a coterie of hangers-on dotted the stands and his bodyguards ringed the field. Getting a shot off from ground level would leave her vulnerable to return fire, but the colorful banners and flags attached to the top of the stadium obstructed the view from above, removing a long-range shot from her list of options.

  The Blue Lagoon in Grindavik was one of Mladić’s favorite haunts, too. Located in a lava field twelve miles from Reykjavik, the man-made geothermal spa was one of the most visited attractions in Iceland. The warm waters, which averaged between ninety-nine and one hundred two degrees Fahrenheit, were rich in minerals such as sulfur and silica. Bathing in them was thought to be beneficial for people suffering from skin diseases such as psoriasis. Mladić, who sported patches of reddened, scaly skin on his back and arms, visited the Blue Lagoon every afternoon.

  Bathers were required to shower before entering the lagoon. The showers were communal but divided by gender. Unless she disguised herself as a man, Santana wouldn’t be able to take advantage of Mladić while he was in a vulnerable position. There were too many potential witnesses in the lagoon itself and the nearby geothermal power plant that supplied both the water and the heat used to warm it.

  The only other location Mladić had visited while she tailed him was to KR-völlur, the stadium where Knattspyrnufélag Reykjavíkur played its home games. The small venue held less than three thousand people. The roofed-in area where Mladić preferred to sit provided cover from the elements as well as protection from a potential long-range shooter.

  Santana preferred to carry out her kills from a distance so she could allow herself to remain somewhat detached, but the more time she spent observing her latest target, the more she realized she would have to perform this job up close. She needed to devise a more subtle approach. Something as equally effective as an armed assault but not nearly as dramatic.

  The day before, she had followed one of Mladić’s security guards to a local drug store. While she pretended to browse for sunscreen, the guard had conferred with the pharmacist, who grabbed several prescription drugs from the shelves behind him. Each medication seemed designed to cater to Mladić’s vanity rather than treat a serious malady. There were pills to prevent hair loss and creams to tighten skin, as well as the instantly recognizable blue diamond-shaped pills often used to deal with erectile dysfunction or simply to enhance a sexual experience. If she was able to replace one or all of the medications with a lethal counterpart, all she would have to do was bide her time and wait for the inevitable to happen.

  “Pancakes, fresh fruit, birch syrup, and a bowl of skyr.”

  The order was familiar, but the person delivering it to Santana’s table wasn’t. Santana was surprised to see Hekla’s mother had abandoned her post in the kitchen in order to try her hand at waitressing.

  “May I join you?” The question was moot because Hekla’s mother claimed the seat she had indicated before Santana could formulate a reply. “My name is Sigrun. You, I gather, are the woman my daughter has been raving about for the past few days. She tells me you are leaving tomorrow but plan to return soon. Is this true?”

  “Yes, I like it here. The people are nice, and the food is even better.”

  Sigrun rested her arms on the table and leaned forward. Her visit, though unexpected, didn’t exactly come as a surprise. Santana had shown Hekla just enough attention to keep her on the hook. Now Sigrun had taken it upon herself to see what her intentions were. She could imagine having a similar conversation with Brooklyn’s parents. Hopefully, she would be able to delay that tête-à-tête until she had something more substantial to offer Brooklyn than a few interesting dates and a series of well-rehearsed lies.

  “I appreciate your business,” Sigrun said, “but I would like to know what brings you into my café each day. Is it my daughter, the food, or the view across the street?”

  Santana carefully examined Sigrun’s face. Her stern countenance showed no traces of mirth so Santana chose not to toss out a flippant reply.

  “Everyone in this area knows who lives in our midst,” Sigrun said matter-of-factly. “We don’t like it, but we have come to terms with it. You are not the first person who has sat in that chair plotting something that is bound to get you or someone else hurt or killed.”

  Santana started to deny Sigrun’s characterization of her, but she could tell they were already past that point. “Who do you think I am?” she asked, trying to determine if Sigrun had evidence to back up her suspicions.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. All I care about is keeping my daughter safe.”

  The reply should have reassured her, but Santana couldn’t seem to find her footing as she fought to maintain her equilibrium on what was proving to be increasingly shaky ground. Once more, she thought of Brooklyn. She had inserted herself in Brooklyn’s life in an attempt to protect her from harm, but perhaps she might end up exposing her to it. If not now, then at some point in the future. Provided, of course, they were still together by then. She was living proof that no one was guaranteed tomorrow.

  “If I help you get close to Mladić or whatever name he has chosen to go by,” Sigrun said, “will you promise me you will do everything in your power to make sure my daughter is kept out of danger?”

  Santana wished someone would stand up for her the way Sigrun was standing up for Hekla. What she wouldn’t give for someone to love her that much. Her mother had once. When her life was her own again, perhaps she and her mother would be able to make up for all the years they had lost.

  As she pondered what Sigrun had said, she tried not to overreact. This could be the opening she had been looking for. On the other hand, it could be a trap. Sigrun might be offering to help her out of love for her daughter. If she was on M
ladić’s payroll, however, she could be setting her up to take a very hard fall. Sigrun’s concern for Hekla was clear, her intentions decidedly less so.

  “How do I know I can trust you?” Santana asked.

  “You don’t, but I can certainly say the same about you.” Sigrun extended a hand across the table. “Do we have a deal or not?”

  “Yes,” Santana said after a moment’s pause, “we have a deal.”

  “Good.” Sigrun placed her palms on the table and pushed herself to her feet. “Enjoy your breakfast. When you return to Reykjavik, we will have a great deal to talk about.”

  And Santana would have a great deal to think about. Beginning with finding a way to let Hekla down easy and ending with potentially doing the same to Brooklyn. Somewhere in between, she would have to find a way to defeat an army single-handed.

  Winslow had once told her that the first kill was always the hardest. He was wrong. For her, the hardest kill wouldn’t be the first but the last.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  I’m back. I missed you like crazy. Can’t wait to see you. Dinner tonight? I know a place that serves great ice cream.

  Brooklyn smiled as she read the message displayed on her phone. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so happy to receive a text. She wanted to be mad at Vilma for leaving her in the dark for over a week, but she couldn’t manage the feat. Vilma’s message was short but sweet. And oh-so-welcomed.

  It’s my turn to plan an outing for us, she texted back. Meet me at eight and I promise to make it worth your while.

  Intrigued, Vilma replied a few seconds later. Send me the address and I’ll see you there. Just don’t count on me giving you half of my dessert.

  Party pooper.

  Brooklyn texted her the address of the venue she had in mind, then tried not to count the minutes until they could begin their date. It couldn’t have been a little more than a week since they had seen each other because it seemed like a hell of a lot longer than that. She planned to spend a significant amount of time getting horizontal with Vilma before the night was over. Seeing her in a public setting without being able to touch her the way she craved was going to be torture. The most exquisite kind of torture, but torture nevertheless.

  The place she had chosen for their date was located in midtown Manhattan. When she arrived, Vilma was waiting for her out front. In her blazer, button-down shirt, and slim-fitting corduroy pants, she looked like she had stepped out of the pages of GQ.

  Brooklyn’s stomach turned a flip worthy of an Olympic gymnast when Vilma spotted her and smiled. The expression on Vilma’s face almost stopped her in her tracks. Vilma looked at her with such tenderness, such kindness, such…devotion that it made Brooklyn’s heart swell.

  I don’t give a shit about her backstory as long as I get to be part of her continuing narrative.

  “It’s good to see you,” she said after Vilma greeted her with a quick kiss and a lingering hug. “How was your trip?”

  “I can’t divulge any of the details because there’s a nondisclosure agreement in place.”

  Brooklyn wasn’t surprised. Business negotiations were kept secret for a reason: because far too many of them ended up falling apart rather than falling into place. She could understand Vilma’s reluctance to talk about something that might never come to pass.

  “But I don’t think I would be talking out of turn if I admitted I saw some things I liked and some I didn’t,” Vilma said.

  “Did the pros outweigh the cons?”

  “By a narrow margin, yes. I’ll reconvene with the company’s leaders in a few months to see if some of the wrinkles I noticed have been ironed out. If so, we’ll talk numbers. If not, I’ll walk away and wait for the next opportunity to come along. But enough about business.” She took Brooklyn’s hand and spun her in a slow circle. “Is it possible you became even more beautiful while I was away?”

  Brooklyn’s face warmed at the compliment, but she decided not to let Vilma off the hook quite that easily. “Well, it has been a while since we’ve seen—or heard—from each other.”

  Vilma looked like the proverbial kid who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “I deserve that.”

  “Is there a reason you didn’t call? Or return any of mine?”

  Vilma frowned, but she seemed more bemused than angry. “I could blame a host of factors and put most of the onus on the six-hour time difference, but the truth is I’m not used to checking in with someone. To having someone worry about me. It’s new. It’s different. It requires an adjustment on my part—and plenty of patience on yours.”

  Brooklyn was touched by Vilma’s unexpected confession. Vilma always seemed to be in complete control of herself and her surroundings. It came as a bit of a surprise to hear her admit to being just as flummoxed about what was going on between them as she was. “This is new for me, too.” She held out her hand. “But I’m willing to give it a try if you are.”

  Vilma laced their fingers together. “Does this mean you accept my apology?”

  Brooklyn squeezed Vilma’s hand. “Yes, but I might be making you one in a few hours. You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”

  Vilma took a hard look at the building’s signage. “The Great Escape? What have you gotten me into?”

  “I know you’re probably used to calling all the shots. Both in your professional life and your personal one. Tonight, I thought it would be fun to have you follow someone else’s lead for a change.”

  Brooklyn pulled the door open and ushered her inside. Ten oversized posters were displayed on the walls of the lobby. Each depicted a different scenario patrons could place themselves in and, hopefully, find their way out of before time expired.

  “Do you need some help choosing your adventure?” one of the employees asked. He was wearing khaki shorts and a matching camp shirt, making him look like the leader of a jungle safari. “My name’s Kevin, and I’m here to answer any questions you might have. The Haunted Room is one of our most popular escapes. It’s a bit advanced so I wouldn’t recommend it if this is your first time playing an escape game. If you’re a seasoned player, be aware that the Haunted Room requires a minimum of ten people and has a two-hour time limit so be sure to choose your partners wisely because you might be stuck with them for a while.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind for next time, thanks,” Brooklyn said. “Which ones are your two-player games?”

  “If you’re looking for a more intimate experience, these two are right up your alley. The maximum number of players is four, and the minimum is two.”

  “Perfect,” Brooklyn said.

  Vilma turned to her after they read the short descriptions printed on each poster. Lights Out challenged players to solve an art heist in a museum before a crowd arrived to witness the unveiling of a new painting. In Jail Break, players had to find a way to escape their cell before their jailers could thwart their plans. “Which would you rather do, catch a criminal or become one?”

  “In my opinion, the villain is usually more interesting than the hero.”

  “Jail Break it is then.”

  Kevin glanced at a display panel that contained a series of clocks, each one counting down the remaining time in a different game. “The room should be available in fifteen minutes at the most. I can take your payment whenever you’re ready.”

  Brooklyn followed him to a workstation on the other side of the lobby, where she paid for the adventure she and Vilma had chosen.

  “What’s the fastest time someone has posted in Jail Break?” Vilma asked while Brooklyn signed the receipt.

  “A couple completed the challenge in eighteen minutes,” Kevin said, “but the guy had played the game before and knew where to locate all the clues. He was trying to impress his date by showing her how smart he was. It worked until they ran into one of his exes in the lobby. She was playing another game the same night and spilled the beans.”

  “Do you have any tips for us before we start?” Brooklyn asked. �
�Besides remaining on the lookout for vindictive ex-girlfriends out to ruin our good time.”

  “No matter which game you choose, the object in each is the same. Players need to find clues or objects and use them to solve puzzles and progress to the next stage of the game. Each room has multiple stages that need to be completed in order to advance the plot. As I said before, some adventures can take up to two hours to complete. We have one that can be accomplished in as little as fifteen minutes. Remember to work as a team. Share the clues with each other and communicate often. If one of you struggles with a puzzle, switch off and let the other give it a try. Work quickly, but don’t rush. If you do, you might miss something important. And make sure to look everywhere. Every item in the room could potentially be a clue. If you need help, my fellow escapologists and I are available to help you. And last but not least, don’t forget to have fun. If you have to spend time locked in a room with someone, you might as well enjoy yourself in the process.”

  “Good advice,” Vilma said. She turned to Brooklyn after Kevin returned to his post at the register. “If you wanted to confine me in close quarters for an hour, you could have locked me in my bedroom. I have a pair of handcuffs you could borrow if you’d like to experiment with a different kind of adventure sometime.”

  “Yes, please.” Brooklyn felt her temperature spike a good twenty degrees, giving her a sneak preview of what menopause would be like. “But we need to find our way out of this one first.”

  * * *

  Santana knew it was just a game, a mindless amusement people paid good money to play, but she felt a definite sense of panic when Kevin showed her and Brooklyn to the room they had chosen and locked them inside. The room didn’t just look like a jail cell. It felt like one, too.

  “I’ve spent most of my adult life trying not to wind up in prison,” she said. “Why did I agree to spend time in one ‘for fun’?”

  “Because I batted my big brown eyes and did my best to appeal to your more sympathetic nature.”