“Why? Is there something I should know?” I asked after telling him my side of the story.
King set down the knife and sighed. “We’re looking for him too, you know?”
I told him everything I knew. How Boyd seemed to have been hiding in plain sight, the dog that nearly bit off my fingers, and the mysterious window shatter. It was all in the report, but what wasn’t was how I still didn’t know if Walker was behind the broken window or not. Walker said he was innocent and I wanted to believe his story. His concealed weapon that he kept secret until the worst possible moment made me skeptical of everything he said.
“What are you doing with a guy like Walker, anyway?” King was back to chopping vegetables for the salad. “He sounds like trouble.” I couldn’t disagree with that.
Carol shuffled her way past the kitchen on her way to the bathroom. “Who’s trouble?”
Alex swept his gaze to his mother. “No one, Mom.” King’s focus was back on me. “Listen, going after a guy like Boyd is dangerous enough. When you add Walker’s inexperience, you never know what might happen.”
He didn’t have to tell me. I sighed before saying, “He wants to invest in the blog and podcast.”
The thin line of Alex’s lips lightened as he kept his mouth shut.
“He wants to blow us up,” I continued, hoping he’d say something. He just kept chopping vegetables. “I’m not sold. Erin, on the other hand, is ready to dive right in. But there are too many red flags. I don’t know his motivation or intention. He is obsessed with cold cases.”
That finally got King’s attention. “Cold cases? Walk away, Sam. Walk away. Let the police do their job, and you’ll get Real Crime News where you want it in your own time. But walk away.”
I appreciated King’s concern, but I could sense there was more to his story than what he was telling me. After asking, King mentioned how he stopped in Boyd’s old place of employment. “And?”
King pushed his wine glass to the side and palmed the countertop. He held my eyes inside of his for a moment before saying, “The owner said Boyd showed his face just last week, ranting about making sure the cops paid for what they did to him.”
I thought about the note King received and wondered if it was Boyd who had given it to him.
“Alex, honey, who are you talking about?”
King was still looking me in the eye when he said, “No one, Mom.”
“Did I hear you say Orville Boyd’s name?” Carol shuffled her way into the kitchen. “Well, did you or didn’t you?”
King’s eyes were reluctant to leave mine but, once they did, I felt my lungs expand. “Yes, Mom. You heard correct.”
“And you failed to mention this to me because…?”
“It’s just work, Mom.”
“Like hell it is. I’m the perfect target.”
It was impossible not to look at Carol and know she was right.
“Ah, Avery is here,” Carol said at the sound of the doorbell, seeming to forget what they were discussing.
“I’ll get it,” King said, hustling to the door.
I was anxious to speak with Avery myself but I wasn’t prepared to face what came next. As soon as King opened the door, everything inside of me went still and my eyes locked with hers.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Shadow Stalker moved through the gloom of the night like a coyote on the prowl. Without drawing attention to himself, he stopped near a tree, bracing himself when tipping his head back and looking toward the sky.
The sky was without the soft glow of the moon and a sea of stars flickered in its place. It was exactly the way he liked it. Dark, mysterious, calm—an unassuming abyss with incredible powers. But what he appreciated most about a moonless night was that it provided the cover he needed to stalk his next victim.
Calmly inhaling, he studied his surroundings while feeling the coarse bark from the tree scrape against the tips of his fingers. Tonight was one of the darkest he’d seen in a while but that didn’t keep people from moving about the neighborhood. It was mostly adults at this late hour—the small children tucked safely inside their beds, reading their bedtime stories—fearing people like him would later appear in their nightmares.
Two houses up and on the opposite side of the street, a front porch light flicked on.
The Shadow Stalker turned his head slowly and watched as a middle-aged woman stepped out, collected her mail from the box, and slipped back inside her house without ever realizing she was being watched.
“And that is what makes my job so easy,” he whispered to himself as he grinned.
In the night, he was free. No one knew who he was, what he was up to, or what his plans were. Not even the great Inspector King could have anticipated what he’d planned to do tonight. That brought him great delight.
He turned his attention back to the house across the street and thought about how sweet old Peggy Hill didn’t quite get King’s attention like he had hoped. Not to worry, the Shadow Stalker had a plan—reeling the inspector in closer until they were standing side-by-side.
But he couldn’t move too fast. It had to be a natural evolution. Perhaps even spell it out for him. There was a riddle behind each of his clues, but the Shadow Stalker didn’t want to make it too obvious for Inspector King, either. He liked playing games, but he liked winning even more. And, so far, he was winning.
“One to zero, against the great detective.” He smirked.
A car turned onto the street. The Shadow Stalker leaned into the tree, pressing his weight against the trunk until he became one with the bark. The car passed without slowing and as soon as it was gone, the Shadow Stalker opened his wallet to double check the address he’d written on the back of a punch card.
“A perfect match,” he said, confirming he was looking at his next target’s house.
Tucking the card behind the same worn twenty-dollar bill as was before, he continued to wait. The minutes passed, but time wasn’t any concern to him. He had the entire night ahead of him. He’d been waiting his whole life for this moment and wasn’t in a rush to finish.
Suddenly, the woman appeared in the window.
A flutter of excitement rolled up his spine.
Standing still, he watched as she floated between front rooms, finishing her hair, applying the last touches of makeup. She was incredibly beautiful. Young and vibrant. He wanted to touch her flat belly and firm breasts, get lost between her thick thighs.
Soon, he would, because the world was his oyster.
Without her uniform, she looked like a new woman. As the Shadow Stalker stared with wide eyes—fantasizing about what he wanted to do to her—he couldn’t help but think how tonight would put the inspector’s skills to the test.
The woman stopped in front of the mirror one last time, fluffed her hair and took her purse into her hand. She was nothing like his last victim but would most definitely mean something to Alex King. And that was the point the Shadow Stalker was trying to make. Because this wasn’t about her. It was about him. It was about bringing the two of them together for a long overdue reunion.
The lights in the house went off and the front porch light turned on.
A second later, the woman stepped out and locked the house behind her. Trotting up the block, she moved with purpose. The Shadow Stalker paused for a moment before following. Staying hidden in the shadows, he kept his head down but his nose up.
“You smell that, Momma, it smells like flowers at a funeral,” he joked as a warmth bloomed across his chest.
Zeroing in on his target, he felt his pupils dilate when seduced with the thought of killing her.
The woman turned up the next block and headed for the bright floodlights in the park.
“Yes. That’s it.” His words passed over his lips in tiny raspy breaths. “That is where we will meet.”
He’d played this exact scene over inside his mind so many times before, he could recite it perfectly. The way it had to happen. The marks on her body he needed
to leave behind. Where the attack needed to take place and exactly where the body needed to be left.
The clues.
The riddle.
Every detail planned accordingly in order to paint the familiar picture.
Calculation was key to delivering the perfect message to the inspector. It had to be presented in perfect fashion.
Skirting the chain link fence, he watched as the woman quickened her steps once inside the boundaries of the park. The last of the night’s games of kickball and softball were winding down and the Shadow Stalker could hear the teams planning which bar to continue the party at as they congregated and moved in swarms toward the parking lot.
Then, as if a miracle occurred, the lights turned off at the exact time the woman neared the ravine of overgrown bushes and tall trees. He watched her stop and swivel her head on her shoulders, looking for light with her phone in hand.
Even from a distance, he could see the fear flashing over her vibrant eyes. In her brief moment of distraction, the Shadow Stalker saw his opportunity and went for it.
Without bringing attention to himself, he swiftly flanked his target from the side and swallowed her up into his arms. It happened so fast, she didn’t know what hit her. Muffling her cries with his gloved hand, they disappeared into the grassy ravine without ever being seen.
“You should know better than to walk through the park alone at night,” he whispered into her ear as she fought to free herself from his anaconda strength grip. “Didn’t Inspector King tell you that it was dangerous?”
The Shadow Stalker laughed his way further into the bushes. Heading toward the black hole where no light reached, the young woman kicked her legs through the air as if swimming to her death.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jamaal Martin was running down the court looking over his shoulder when he suddenly saw the basketball heading straight toward his face. At the last second before impact, he put his hands up in the air to catch the ball but the timing was off and it slipped through his fingers. It bounced off the court and into the darkness.
“That’s the last pass you’ll be getting from me, butter fingers,” Jamaal’s friend Paul said.
“It’s impossible to see,” Jamaal argued.
The floodlights in the park had been out for nearly an hour but the boys kept playing ball, using the streetlights as their guide. Basketball was their life. Rain, snow, or shine, they played—even on a night as dark as tonight, the game went on.
“You hear that, boys?” Paul strode down the court, talking his head off like always. “Jamaal is having trouble seeing in the dark.”
Mason Bell and the other boys laughed—too afraid to admit they were having trouble seeing as well.
“Here’s an idea,” Paul said. “Why not have Jamaal join you two and I’ll destroy each and every one of you all by my lonesome self?”
Jamaal stood with his hand planted into his hips, rolling his eyes at Paul. The other boys were too afraid to speak out, but Jamaal knew they, too, wanted to call it quits.
“No takers?” Paul looked to each of them.
“I’ll play,” someone said from the shadows.
Paul’s head lifted as he turned to see who had accepted his challenge. Squinting his eyes, he watched a dark silhouette step up to the court. “Who said that?”
The stranger showed his face, tossing their ball back to Paul. “I did.”
Paul caught the ball which was passed with incredible strength. He looked the man up and down, assessing his worth. Though a teenager, Paul stood taller than most men twice his age—including the big muscled stranger who looked more like a linebacker than a basketball player.
“You want to play me?” Paul laughed. “Sorry, but I don’t want to humiliate you.”
The boys kept their chuckles to a minimum, smart enough to know when to keep their smart remarks to themselves. But this was their court, their turf, and Paul proved day after day that he was the best who played on it. If they were in the park, they had rights to the game first, and anyone who challenged them faced an uphill battle. They were the best at what they did and they were arrogant because of it.
The stranger dropped his duffel to the ground and stepped onto the court, challenging Paul. “Let’s see what you got.”
“It’s two on two, old man,” Paul said, holding the ball under one arm. “Take a seat on the bleachers and maybe you’ll earn your turn after I clean up what I started with these other fools.”
“Forget it. I’m outta here,” Jamaal said, turning to Mason.
“Yeah, me too,” Mason said.
Paul looked to his friends, already walking away from the court. “Fine, old man. One on one. You and me. But as soon as I beat you, I’m gone.” He tossed the ball into the stranger’s chest—who caught it with a thud—and the stranger immediately took off, sprinting toward the hoop.
Jamaal heard a swish and the stranger made sure Paul knew that he was first to score.
“Dumbass,” Jamaal said, getting Mason to laugh.
Heading home, Jamaal talked about getting something to eat when a whimpering from the bushes near the ravine caught his attention.
Jamaal turned to look at Mason. “Did you hear that?”
Mason had heard it, too, but didn’t want to admit it sounded human. “Probably just a coyote or somethin’.”
Then they heard it again and Jamaal’s heart raced faster.
Toggling the flashlight app on his cell phone, Jamaal shined the light into the tall grass. It was difficult to see, but then he spotted something that looked like the bottom of the shoe. Moving beneath the thick canopy of trees, he pushed his way deeper into the bush.
“Holy shit,” he yelled back to Mason. “It’s a body.”
Mason turned and looked behind him. They were alone. “Are they alive?”
Jamaal took another step closer, thinking it wasn’t a he but a she. “She looks dead.”
Mason shook his head and trudged through the tall grass. Peering over Jamaal’s left shoulder, he asked, “What should we do?”
Jamaal’s palms were sweating as he stared wide-eyed and scared at the bloody woman he wasn’t sure was alive or dead.
Mason nudged Jamaal’s shoulder. “We have to call 911.”
“No way, man.” Jamaal flipped around and grabbed Mason by the shirt. “This is the time we run.”
Mason slapped Jamaal’s hand away and growled. “Fucking call 911. She’s going to die if we don’t help.”
“She’s already dead. Look at her.” Jamaal pointed to the woman.
Mason swiped Jamaal’s phone out of his hand, turned, and made the call. Then Jamaal kneeled closer to see if the woman was still breathing when suddenly the woman’s eyes opened.
“Help me,” she said. “Please. I’m a cop.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
“That was delicious,” Angelina said as she dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “You don’t know how good it feels to be surrounded by people I consider family.”
She had joined us for dinner, not Avery. And I knew she wasn’t referring to me when talking about her family. We’d only met this morning, and though I was certain we both knew much more about each other than we were willing to admit, I couldn’t believe this was how it appeared I’d end my night.
“You’ll always have a place at the table,” Carol said with bright eyes.
Angelina kept stealing glances at King and completely avoided my gaze from across the table. I got the sense that she didn’t have anyone else now that her mother was gone, but that didn’t give her the right to try to take what was mine.
While I could only think about Avery and where she might be, no one mentioned her, seeming to have forgotten her with Angelina’s arrival. My concerns for her were growing and I kept glancing at the time, wondering when King would start to worry himself.
“Thank you,” Angelina said, making sure King looked her in the eye.
Perhaps King was too wrapped up in consoling Angelina
’s wounded heart that he didn’t remember who he’d invited to dinner in the first place. Either way, I couldn’t sit on it any longer.
“Sorry to interrupt, Alex, but shouldn’t we check on Avery?”
“Oh, she’s fine.” Carol pushed her plate forward and turned her friendly gaze to me. Beneath the table, she gently patted me on the knee as if reminding me to stay in my place.
“This meal was fantastic, Alex,” Angelina said, inching her arm closer to his.
I sipped my lemon water, wishing the night to be over, when Angelina once again took King down memory lane.
“This reminds me a little of the summer we got engaged,” she said without any regard to his current relationship status.
I might as well not have been at the table as Angelina kept reliving their past. It was hard to listen to. My imagination was starting to fool me into thinking I was witnessing the rebirth of their relationship.
King was sitting next to her and they looked great as a couple. Her banter was playful and he laughed at just the right moments. It was clear they were an easy fit—but was she better than me? Doubtful.
I fought to find an excuse to leave, but didn’t want to be that woman who created drama out of nothing. Tonight would pass as any other and tomorrow would be a new sunrise. I remained quietly at the table until the conversation moved into Angelina talking about having to sell her mother’s house.
“The house is filled with too many memories, I’m not sure I’ll be able to pack them up myself.” Angelina bowed her head and everyone cast their eyes to the table. The room went quiet as I listened to the refrigerator hum in the kitchen, waiting for someone to say something. When no one did, Angelina continued, “And, of course, I’ll have to start thinking about planning Mom’s funeral, too.”
I felt bad for her, I did. But her approach to drum up sympathy was just odd. Angelina dabbed at the corners of her eyes. There were tears pooling but she held it together considering the lump I imagined closing her throat.
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