by Erik Carter
As Nash stood with Taft outside the bathroom, he sensed a rush of excitement he hadn’t felt in three years, not since he was an FBI agent.
Sure, he’d had several adventures already during this assignment when he was still with Dale—chasing the killer through the Promenade and into the Fordyce bathhouse sprang to mind—but during everything with Dale, he had felt like a hanger-on, a third wheel. And, in a way, that had been his official capacity. Dale had brought him on as a consultant, after all, and had done his best to shield Nash from any sort of danger or scintillating intrigue.
But now, with Taft, Nash felt like he was truly on a mission. There was a goal, something good that needed to be done, some wrong that needed to be righted.
And there was the adrenaline thrill of danger thrown in as well.
Nash hadn’t felt this good in a long time.
The door opened, and out walked Sadler. He was wiping his hands together, drying the last bit of water off them. When he saw Taft and Nash staring at them, he stopped, gave them a funny look.
“We know what you’re doing, Sadler,” Taft said.
“What do you mean?”
“Protecting the serial killer. Clyde Bowen. Your friend.”
Sadler let out a little chuckle. “That’s a pretty bold accusation.”
“Oh yeah? And how about this one? That you and Bowen run some sort of sexual perversion operation in town, and now you’ve taken it up a notch or two. Started killing them off, planning on hiding behind your badge.”
Sadler’s mouth opened, confidence giving way to fear.
He looked down the hall. There was a boiler room to the side, door cracked open. He nodded toward it.
“I’ll hear you out, but if you’re gonna besmirch my name, let’s do this in private.”
He walked into the boiler room. Nash and Taft followed.
“All right, so just what makes you think—”
Taft swung the door shut. He aimed his Detective’s Special at Sadler.
Sadler looked at the gun.
“Jesus Christ! Are you nuts?? I’m a cop! I’m the detective in charge of this investigation!”
“And I’m the head of a covert operation. You heard Ventress—we answer to no one. I know you’re in on this, Sadler. So let’s make this easy on everyone. Get his gun, Harbick.”
Nash stepped over to Sadler and found his shoulder holster, took out his revolver.
Sadler was panicked now.
“How long has Clyde Bowen been chopping up girls?” Nash said.
“I don’t know. I … just don’t know. I swear, I had no clue he was gonna go that far.”
Nash looked him over. “And when Mira Lyndon went to the hospital alive, you knew that she was eventually going to identify Bowen. Then you went out looking for him. Trying to cover for him.”
“That’s right. Because eventually everything was going to come back to what we did to women. But I swear we never even talked about killing anyone! We just tied them up, choked them, that sort of shit.”
“At the cave,” Taft said.
“How the hell do you know about the cave??”
Taft took a step closer. “Shut up. Where is it?”
Sadler opened his mouth, looked away. For a moment he was quiet, eyes darting side to side, clearly thinking about his options. It didn't take long for him to realize that he had none.
He looked back to them.
“Out off Goat Rock Trail. Just before the bend, you head east off the trail until you hit another rock face. The cave’s opening is small. About eight feet across.”
“You’d better not be lying, Sadler.”
“I’m not. I swear.”
“Good. Thanks for your help.”
Taft slugged him, knocking him unconscious. He took Sadler’s handcuffs and secured him to the boiler.
Taft stood up.
“We gotta save Conley. Let’s go find that cave before Ventress and her team does.”
Chapter Fifty
“You must be out of your mind,” Dale said.
Mira shrugged.
“Yeah. Right. How silly of me,” he said.
“I need her name, Dale.”
He shook his head.
“No way.”
“She hurt you. You’re still hurt. No one hurts you. The name.”
Dale shook his head, jaw set, locking eyes with her.
“The name.”
He didn't respond.
“Give me the bitch’s name.”
Anger spiked inside Dale. “Don’t you call her that.”
“Oh, you do love her, don’t you? Still protecting her. You’re supposed to love me now. Don’t you get that? Tell me. Tell me you love me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t.”
Mira smiled. “I know how to make you love me.”
She swung her legs onto the mattress, straddling him. She unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, looking up at him and smiling.
Then she kissed his chest. Moved a bit lower and kissed some more.
Her lips traced farther and farther down, going toward his pants.
Chapter Fifty-One
Ventress had Greg Fulton cornered against the wall, and she couldn’t believe how such a large, powerful man could look so uncomfortable. He was acting tough, to be sure, but she could tell that he wanted to be anywhere but standing there with her.
“Are you freaking kidding me, Fulton? What the hell did you think you were doing letting Harbick go with Taft? Taft’s clearly biased to Conley’s side.”
“Listen, lady. I don’t take orders from you,” Fulton said, straightening his tie. “You’re not my boss, and—”
From her scant interactions with him in the board room during the pseudo-trial and this first one-on-one, Ventress could tell that Fulton was a prideful and insolent man. She wouldn’t suffer either of those qualities in the men around her.
“Don’t call me ‘lady.’ Until this all gets sorted out, you bet I’m your boss, your mother, and your goddamn Messiah all rolled into one. Where the hell did Taft go when…”
She faded off.
She saw Taft and Nash at the other end of the hotel, in the lobby.
Heading for the front doors.
“Shit! Where are my guys?”
She frantically scanned the area around her for her tactical team. They were nowhere in sight.
She looked back to the hotel’s entrance.
Taft and Nash pushed through the doors, took a left, and disappeared.
“Shit!”
She looked at Fulton. Turned away. Took a step to the side. Scanned the hotel for her team again. And then stepped back to Fulton, looked up at him.
“We’ll have to do this just the two of us.”
Fulton raised a hand, shook his head, started to reply in the negative. “I’m not here to—”
“Let’s go,” Ventress said and grabbed the sleeve of his expensive suit jacket. “You’re coming with me. How do you like that for an order?”
She dashed toward the doors, tugging him along with her.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Mira finished what she’d been doing, and she wiped her lips.
Keeping her feet on either side of his legs, she stood up on the mattress. She giggled as she wobbled on the springs, and when she’d regained her balance, she shimmied out of her panties, which she then tossed onto the cave floor.
She squatted back down and grabbed him hard.
Dale grunted.
“Well, you sure seem like a consenting adult to me,” she said with a smile.
Dale craned his neck backwards and glanced at his shackled hands. “The chains might say otherwise.”
She scooted forward a couple inches on the mattress, still holding him, then moved her hips back down.
And they were together again.
Her eyes closed, and she shuddered. She lay down on his chest, began violently thrusting, moaning while she did.
And as this happene
d, with her face right below Dale’s on his chest, he saw the same effect he’d seen the first time they’d had sex.
Allie’s face in place of hers.
Maybe the stress had gotten to Dale. Or maybe he was just losing his damn mind.
Because now he realized that those images of Allie weren’t just small figments of his imagination, fragments of memories.
No, he was actually hallucinating.
But, hell, in this situation, he’d let it happen. It would be a way out of another round of sex with a serial killer.
He let Allie in…
And it seemed so real. He remembered things he’d forgotten. The feel of that long, auburn hair draping down on his chest, swiping side to side, back and forth. The smiles and little noises that she made.
And other things that he hadn’t forgotten. Things he could never forget. The curves of her form when she was above, how his hands fit perfectly above her hips. And her hands, on his shoulders. Neck arched back. The little laugh before she felt the best.
It was real.
Or, it sure as hell felt real.
He was with Allie.
But then…
He wasn't.
Mira again.
Her hard thrusts, getting to her goal, the little noises of exertion and enjoyment. Banging him to make him love her.
When it was over, she stayed on his chest, panting.
“Oh, Dale. Oh, Dale…”
She remained like that for a few long moments. Then she looked up at him.
“Do you love me now?”
“No.”
“Are you going to give me Allie’s last name?”
“No.”
Mira stood up and stepped off the mattress.
She stood over him, looking down. Suddenly a smile of ecstasy came to her face. She began to twist while standing in place, like a slow, sensuous dance, hands exploring herself, going below.
And when she spoke next, she sang. Like a child. One child taunting another.
“I have you insiiiiiide me,” she sang, glancing down, her hands rubbing in circles over her stomach. She looked up and spoke in her normal tone. “You have to love me now. Know why? Timing. I’m as fertile as a tilled field.”
Dale scoffed. “Oh, yeah? Well, the joke’s on you, psycho. I had my boys snipped a long time ago.”
She looked at him for a moment. It was clear she couldn’t quite comprehend that she’d been bested that quickly. After all, she was used to having her schemes work out. Just look at all the women she’d chopped up…
“That’s okay,” she said finally. “You don’t have to tell me you love me. Not yet. You never told Allie, after all. You’ll love me soon enough. What you do have to tell me is her name.”
“Up yours.”
Mira huffed, the first sign of frustration from her. “I’ve tried pleading, I’ve tried being sexy, I’ve tried blackmail.”
She got on the mattress, straddled him.
“Don’t make me resort to pain. Don’t make me hurt you.” She looked at him for a moment, giving him a chance.
The sound of the word pain coming at him as a threat from a person who had recently killed four people—mutilating two of them—sent a cold wave of panic over Dale’s flesh.
But he didn’t let it show. He couldn't. He bit his tongue, kept it in.
“The name,” she said.
Dale said nothing back.
“What’s her name?”
She slapped him.
Burning, tight pain on his cheek.
Dale didn’t budge.
“The name!” she screeched so loud that it made his ears ring.
And for just a moment, right when those two words escaped her lips, she’d looked evil. Lips pulled back, wet with saliva. Eyebrows in a harsh V. Flushed skin.
He wouldn’t have thought that beautiful Mira Lyndon could look ugly. Repulsive. But for that brief moment, she’d been disgusting.
Like some sort of demon.
A monster.
She composed herself. Took a couple breaths. And watched Dale—waiting, giving him another chance.
When he did nothing, there was another slap. Harder. Strong enough to snap his head to the side.
“Her name!”
She swung again.
“The name!”
Another slap. And another. Swinging freely now. Both hands, whipping his face side to side. She slapped him over and over. His cheeks grew hot and numb with the pain.
Then she balled her hands and pounded him with her fists, hard, into the chest. Bringing them down like little hammers. Alternating left and right. Biting her lip with concentration and rage.
And when she saw that she was having no effect, she interlaced her fingers, forming a club that she brought down onto his chest, over and over.
Dale remembered how the “stranger” had done this in the Fordyce Bathhouse, after jumping out of the changing room—a pair of interlaced hands that had slugged Dale across the jaw.
He remained resolute, lips shut tight in a thin line.
The fist-club pounded his chest.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Then Mira stopped. And collapsed onto his chest again.
She panted, hands resting on his shoulders, staring at him darkly.
“Fine.”
She stood up, walked a few feet away.
“I hate this, Dale. I really do.”
She knelt down.
And picked up the knife.
Chapter Fifty-Three
There had been several times over the last few years that Nash regretted his excessive drinking. But he hadn’t regretted it anymore than he was at that moment.
Because right then he was so tired he felt like he might collapse.
He and Taft were drenched. And they were in the middle of the forest, hiking up a hill. All of this had left Nash in a state where his lungs burned, his legs felt like they weighed a hundred pounds apiece, and he had a sharp, painful stitch in his side. He’d fallen over in the mud twice, and he was having to push hard to keep up with Taft. This especially made Nash realize how bad his physique had gotten. Taft was no spring chicken. And he was far from the pinnacle of health.
Taft was in front of him on the trail, and this time it was his turn to fall. He slipped on the slimy surface of a rock poking through the mud and landed on his side in a shallow puddle.
Nash helped him up.
Taft stayed hunched over, hands on his knees.
“Are you sure this is the right trail?” Nash said.
Taft squinted in the rain, looked around, confused, still panting. “I don’t … There! Look! Goat Rock.”
Ahead of them was Goat Rock, its stone face gray and glossy in the rain.
“And there’s the bend in the trail,” Nash said. “Just past it.”
“Come on!” Taft said. “That’s where we get off the trail.”
They took off again, running up the muddy path toward the rock.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Dale stared as Mira approached with the shortened blade. He felt his heart go rapid-fire in his chest. She climbed back onto the mattress, straddling him again.
“Tell me you love me.”
There was a small smile on her face.
“No.”
The smile left. She bared her teeth and swung the knife down viciously. It plunged into Dale’s right thigh.
Dale screamed out in agony.
She brought the knife back to her chest. Blood dripped off the end.
“Tell me you love me.”
He didn't respond.
She brought the knife over her head.
“Okay! All right! I love you. I love you! I love you, I love you! Are you happy, you crazy bitch??”
“Not until I get her name. What’s Allie’s last name?”
“Not happening.”
Mira brought the knife down twice, into Dale’s thigh. He was shocked at the speed of it. Her hand had been a blur. Like the blur that had flashed into Ern
Plunkett’s side, snuffing out his life.
The pain shimmered out of his leg and into the rest of his body. He screamed out again, louder. His fingers quivered. There was sweat on his brow.
“The name!”
“Go to hell.”
She stabbed him twice more in the right thigh.
This stole Dale’s breath. He felt tingling on the sides of his face—cool, electric snapping near his temples.
“Her name!”
Another blast of pain. She’d stabbed him once more.
Dale’s breaths were short. His head felt wet. And airy. And cold.
His vision lightened. He looked at her. Mira. Her ugly beauty. Couldn’t look at her. Turned. Stared at the rock ceiling. The texture…
And then his mind gave him a respite.
It took him away for a moment.
Allie’s birthday. She didn’t have many friends, and neither did Dale. They had each other. So she’d laughed when she’d come home to the decorations.
“Please tell me that no one’s going to jump out from behind the couch.”
“Only the puppy I bought you.”
“You what? Dale, I’m allergic!”
He winked. “Kidding.”
“Don’t scare me like that.” She walked up to him, gave him a kiss, threw her arms around him, saw a surprise waiting on the counter.
“Awwwww. That is the ugliest, sweetest homemade cake I’ve ever seen.
A flash of pain.
“Her name! Her name! Her name!”
She stabbed him over and over, moving up from the right thigh…
…away from the thick muscle…
…and to his torso.
There was the CRUNCH of bone as the blade struck one of his ribs.
Dale’s eyes went wide, and he gasped.
Whiteness.
He was with Allie. She’d bought a new desk, the particle board type, a hundred pieces and confusing directions. He was putting it together. She was watching, laughing…
Kissing in her car. Like teenagers…
In his car now. Arancia. She was in the passenger seat. She put her hand on the shift knob, spread her fingers. He put his hand on top of hers, interlaced their fingers…
Mira stopped stabbing. She threw the bloody knife to the cave floor. It clattered. She lay on his chest, panting for a moment like she had after the sex they’d had minutes earlier.
