She couldn’t order another drink…not yet. That would look odd, and the last thing she wanted was to look like an anomaly. She needed to seem like any other eager young woman hoping to make a connection but not quite sure how to go about the process. That was the killer’s preferred target.
This was her second bar tonight and her eleventh this week. She’d started her search earlier than usual, hoping to hit at least five before she called it quits for the night. A week of trolling bars and drinking virgin screwdrivers was about as boring as it sounded. She had turned down nice young men hoping for a connection and not-so-nice young men looking for a hookup and had consumed so much orange juice she had amusedly wondered if her blood might actually have a tinge of orange. Not a bad thing to have if you’re from Tennessee. Jules wasn’t. Her home base was in Flagstaff, Arizona, and as much as she longed to go back there, she couldn’t. Not until the job was finished.
Patrick Lyle Meeks had cut a deadly swath throughout the Southeast and apparently didn’t intend to quit anytime soon. Jules was going to do her best to make him change his mind. Meeks’s preferred victims were young blond women who were either alone, or he’d been able to cull them away from the crowd.
Meeks wasn’t shy about leaving his DNA. The authorities had identified him after his second kill. An arrest for assault years ago—resulting only in probation and community service—had given them the results quickly. His identity wasn’t the problem—finding him had been much harder.
The FBI believed Meeks had left his DNA through carelessness. Jules disagreed. Meeks had money, enough so that he was able to have multiple identities and vehicles, along with several hideouts. He was from New Jersey and for some reason had decided to make a name for himself by heading south and killing whoever caught his fancy. Though his bank accounts were frozen, Jules believed he had planned this carefully and had hidden funds. And it was her opinion that the low-life bastard was thoroughly enjoying himself.
Photographs of him had been splashed all over the news. You couldn’t turn on the television or read an online news service without seeing his face. Meeks likely loved the publicity, the notoriety. He was an egomaniac who got off on killing women and then flaunting that he wasn’t getting caught. Having his photo everywhere was icing on the cake.
Jules knew this type of killer all too well.
She took another sip of her drink and barely held back a grimace. Even though the ice had melted, weakening the taste of the alcohol, it was still awful. Waving down a server, she asked for another one, making sure this time that the woman understood she wanted orange juice only.
Admittedly, the reason for the screwdrivers seemed lame, as the FBI had pointed out, but in her estimation, it was worth pursuing. Four of the five women Meeks had killed had consumed screwdrivers the night they were targeted. The fact that he had killed them with screwdrivers couldn’t be a coincidence.
Zeke Sheridan, the FBI agent in charge of the investigation, thought she was on a wild-goose chase that could get her killed. They had sparred verbally over the phone and once in person. Each time, Sheridan had dismissed her screwdriver theory as conjecture and warned her repeatedly to stay out of the case. And just like all the other times, Jules had no intention of following his advice.
No, this wasn’t her job. No one was paying her to hunt down a killer. She did this for herself. And yes, she easily acknowledged that she could be killed, but she could not stop herself from going after the fiend. He was so arrogant, so damn sure he wouldn’t be caught. She would show him he was wrong.
Her eyes roamed the room, searching. The bar was getting almost too crowded, and Jules wondered if staying here any longer made sense. She was likely just one in a hundred young women. There was no proof that Meeks was still in Memphis. The last woman he’d abducted and killed was found four days ago. He could have gone on to greener, less risky pastures. Jules didn’t think so. He had an established pattern, and she didn’t think he’d break it. Meeks usually killed twice before he moved on to a new city. Two murders in Little Rock and two in Atlanta. As far as anyone knew, he had killed only one woman in Memphis. He had one more to go before he was finished here.
“Here you go, hon.”
Smiling her thanks to the server who delivered her fresh drink, Jules took a sip of her faux cocktail, and that’s when she spotted him. He was looking right at her, and when they made eye contact, he smiled.
He had altered his appearance. A wider nose, fuller lips, and round, dark-rimmed glasses. His hair was lighter than in his photos, and he was sporting a gold hoop in his right earlobe. He looked different, but not so much that she didn’t recognize him.
Now to get him to take the bait.
She lifted her drink in an awkward kind of toast, gave him a soft, shy smile, and took a sip. That was all it took.
In seconds, he was standing at her table. A quiver of apprehension shivered up her spine. She was a foot away from a cold-blooded, sadistic serial killer. It wasn’t the first time she’d been in the presence of true evil. And just like those other times, nausea rose up and tried to strangle her. Fight-or-flight instinct told her to get the hell out of here before it was too late. Jules stiffened her spine, the fear and revulsion shoved into the corner where they belonged. She knew how to handle monsters.
“Mind if I sit down?”
She offered him another shy smile and a quick nod. “Sure.”
Meeks sat down and immediately held out his hand. “I’m Charlie.”
She shook his hand, not surprised by the strength of his grasp. It took some muscle to skewer someone with a screwdriver.
“Hi, Charlie. Nice to meet you. I’m Sandy.”
“You’re drinking a screwdriver, right?”
“Yes.” She giggled nervously. “I figure with all the vitamin C, it’s got to be good for me.”
“That’s my favorite drink, too. Can I buy you another one?”
She held up her thankfully full glass. “I’m good for right now.” Breaking eye contact, she gazed around and then returned her eyes to his. “Do you come here often?”
“No. My first time. You?”
“My first time, too. I was supposed to meet a friend, but she bailed at the last minute.” She shrugged. “I decided I didn’t want to stay in tonight, so I thought I’d give it a go.”
“I’m glad you did. Do you live in Memphis?”
“Yes. In Midtown. I work at the bank at Highland and Poplar Avenue.”
“Hey, that’s where I bank.”
Either he had an account under another name, or he was lying to make it seem as if they had something in common. Didn’t really matter, but it was interesting to see him work his sick game.
“It’s a small world.”
He grinned. “We’re practically best friends already.”
She giggled and took another small swallow of her drink. She didn’t want it to get so low that he would order another one. Asking for a virgin screwdriver might push him away.
The sound of the music increased as a DJ came onto the small stage above the dance floor.
“Would you like to dance?”
Since having his hands on her was something she didn’t want to contend with, she shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t really like to dance.”
“Me either, but it’s getting loud in here, and I’d really like to have a conversation with you without shouting. Would you want to go to a coffee shop or something?”
Biting her lip in indecision, she said, “Well…I—”
He held up his hands, all innocence. “I promise I’m a nice guy.”
“Okay. That sounds like fun.”
Acting the gentleman, which would impress any girl, Meeks stood and held out his hand to help her move around the table and step down. Still holding her hand, he led her through the crowd and out the door.
As no woman had survived to tell, it wasn’t clear what happened between the pickup and the abduction. Jules was about to find out.
On
ce outside, they stopped on the sidewalk. “There’s a place over on 4th Street that makes the best lattes in town. Sound good to you?”
“Sure. My car’s just around the corner. I can follow you.”
“No need. I’m parked right over there.” He pointed toward a darkened alleyway, where a few cars were parked. “We can ride over together, and I’ll bring you back.” She was sure his kind smile was meant to support his claim that he was a nice guy. “It’ll give us more time to talk.”
Getting into a car with a stranger was not a good idea for anyone. Getting into a car with a known serial killer was a very bad idea. Jules knew what she was doing. No one had trained harder, was better equipped, or more determined.
Her hand still in his, she let him lead her to a silver Mercedes SUV. They had speculated that Meeks had a garage filled with expensive cars. He was a multimillionaire, having inherited much of his wealth from his deceased parents and almost doubling it since. Now, for some reason, he preferred killing. There was all sorts of speculation about when and why he’d begun killing. All sorts of theories that something must have triggered his psycho tendencies. Jules didn’t care about his reasons. She just wanted to stop him.
He opened the passenger door for her, and the instant her foot touched the floorboard, a screwdriver was pressed to her throat. “Get in,” Meeks snarled.
She had assumed he would wait until he got her into the car before he pulled his weapon on her. Why hadn’t he? She could still scream and attract attention. Even though they were hidden in an alleyway, if she made a noise of distress, people would come running. Was this part of the thrill for him? Or had something spooked him?
“What are you doing?” The tremor in her voice had more to do with fury than fear.
The screwdriver dug deeper into her skin. “I said get in the car.”
Screaming was out. The last thing she wanted to do was get someone else hurt. She had her gun in her bra holster, but that would mean making a sudden movement, which might get her stabbed.
He was standing behind her, the screwdriver pressed on her carotid. One hard jab, and she could bleed out before help reached her. Since they were about the same height, she chose to shock him with a hard and startling head-butt to his nose. He let loose a pained grunt, and she felt the give of cartilage. She’d definitely cracked something.
The screwdriver clanked to the sidewalk—he’d dropped his weapon. Jules turned swiftly and swung her forearm against his head, slamming it into the back passenger window. She followed with a knee to the groin, but he recovered quickly, slugging the side of her head with his fist. She felt the impact through her whole body and fell backward, landing on the pavement.
Blood covering his face, Meeks jumped into the passenger side of his vehicle. She got to her feet in time to see him climb over the console to the driver’s side. She reached for the door handle, but it was too late. The vehicle started up, and he tore out of the parking lot.
Chapter Four
Jules ran to her vehicle, hitting the remote starter before she was halfway there. The instant she was inside, she shifted into drive and followed. No way was he getting away from her. No way in hell.
Swooping in and out of traffic, she rounded a curve. Meeks was five cars ahead of her. She could see the unique taillights of his SUV. He had opted to stay off the interstate, which made things a littler trickier for them both. He was a good driver and had no issues with speeding and changing lanes, but the heavy traffic wasn’t conducive for a quick getaway. Jules, on the other hand, was caught behind two cars whose drivers seemed determined to go the same speed and hold up both lanes.
Keeping her eyes on Meeks’s vehicle, she pressed the screen on her dashboard and brought up her most recent calls. While Zeke Sheridan might not be happy about her continued involvement in the case, he needed to know about this.
The instant Sheridan answered, Jules said, “I’m following Meeks.”
She had to give the FBI agent credit. Instead of asking how she’d found him or blasting her for her interference, he said, “Where are you?”
“He just turned onto Poplar Avenue. He’s about four cars ahead of me. Driving a silver Mercedes SUV.” She rattled off the license plate.
Before he could ask another question, Jules said urgently, “Listen, I think he’s getting on the interstate, headed toward the Hernando de Soto Bridge.”
“He’s going into Arkansas.”
“Yeah, looks like. I’ll stay with him.”
“What are you driving?”
“Dark blue Ford Mustang.”
“Okay. I’ll alert the highway patrol. Stay with him, but do not approach. Understand?”
She ended the call without making a promise she couldn’t keep. No way was this maniac getting away from her. She would do what she had to do.
Zooming down the interstate made it easier for her to keep up with him. She didn’t think he’d spotted her yet. She was hanging back several car lengths. The night was dark, with clouds covering the sliver of moon. With her dark car, she was just one of a dozen cars behind him.
He crossed the bridge, and still no patrol cars were in sight. Jules continued to stay several cars behind him. Ten miles into Arkansas, the silver SUV took an exit. Jules took the exit, along with another car. Would Meeks head back to Memphis, or did he have a place to hole up nearby in Arkansas?
The SUV turned onto a four-lane highway. Traffic was lighter now, and Jules stayed back even farther. They continued for several more miles, and Jules was starting to get more concerned. Was he driving aimlessly, or did he have a destination? When he finally turned into the parking lot of a small motel, she breathed her first easy breath.
She slowed her vehicle but didn’t pull into the parking lot. If he was turning around, she wanted to be ready. When he parked in a spot on one side of the building, Jules drove to the second entrance and parked on the other side. Hiding her vehicle between a large SUV and a cargo van gave her the cover she needed to slip out of her car undetected.
Hugging the brick wall, Jules inched her way toward the front of the motel. Would Meeks go to the lobby and check in, or did he already have a room here? She peered around the corner. The light inside his vehicle was on, and the look on his face would be comical if this weren’t so deadly serious. Dried blood covered half his face, his nose was swollen to twice its size, and she was happy to see that he had lost a front tooth, too. Obviously infuriated that his plans to kill tonight had been thwarted, he was shouting at the mirror on his sun visor as he tried to wipe the blood from his face.
Since he would spot her if she came around the front, Jules had no choice but to try to come at him from behind. That would mean going around the motel. She didn’t like the idea of letting him out of her sight, but she had no choice if she wanted to surprise him.
The need to do so vanished when she saw his eyes widen. She spared a glance around and saw that the sign next to the door where she stood had a glass-like appearance. He had seen her reflection.
The engine of his SUV started up again. Jules had a decision to make. If she went back to her car, she could lose him. As he began to back out of his parking space, she made the choice. Pulling her SIG Sauer from the bra holster beneath her arm, she headed straight for him.
Meeks was driving toward the exit. Adrenaline pumping, Jules ran full force toward the SUV. He was a killer and wouldn’t hesitate to run her over. She refused to let that stop her. The instant Meeks spotted her, he turned the steering wheel, stomped on the gas, and zoomed toward her.
Jules jerked to a halt. Holding her gun with both hands, she aimed at his head and fired. The windshield cracked, but the bullet didn’t penetrate. Bulletproof glass? The SUV didn’t slow. Jules kept firing. Half a second before he ran her down, she threw herself out of the way. The front fender caught her left hip, taking her off her feet. She landed, rolled over, and came up on one knee. He might have bulletproof glass, but no way did he have bulletproof tires. She fired, taking out t
he left front and rear tires. The SUV traveled a few more feet and then slammed into a light pole. Steam rose from the front end. Meeks would not be driving away in that vehicle.
Seconds later, sirens blaring, five police cars roared into the parking lot.
Breathless, Jules put her gun on the pavement several inches from her body and stayed on her knees. If the police saw her with a weapon, they’d have every right to assume she was a threat.
She didn’t mind waiting. Besides needing to catch her breath, the adrenaline rush was gone, making her aware of aches and pains throughout her body. None of that mattered, though, as extreme satisfaction flowed through her. She had done what she’d come here to do.
* * *
Fifteen minutes after he’d arrived on the scene, FBI agent Zeke Sheridan sauntered over. Jules was sitting on the curb, icing her hip and getting her scrapes treated by a paramedic.
His expression was solemn, but there was a twinkle in his light green gaze. “I thought I told you to stay out of it.”
“Following orders is not my strong point.” She glanced over at Meeks, who was lying on a gurney, handcuffed to the railing, and babbling about a crazy female stalker who had attacked him without provocation. “He going to be okay?”
“Healthy enough to stand trial for five murders.” He nodded toward the ice bag on her hip. “You hurt?”
“Just bruises and scrapes.” She gave a smile of thanks to the paramedic and stood. “So, are we okay?”
Sheridan held out his hand. “We’re good. We’ll be in touch.”
After shaking his hand, Jules headed slowly to her car. A hot bath and the carton of ice cream in her hotel mini fridge were calling her name.
She was almost to her car when Sheridan called out from behind her. “You ever think about working for us? We have some cool toys.”
MERCILESS Page 3
