Wanted By The Marshal (American Armor Book 1)

by Ryshia Kennie

  The pen snapped, and a drop of red ink hit one hand and landed on the edge of her freshly pressed T-shirt. The red stain looked like blood. And it was a reminder that blood was life and the ability to take life was power.

  She’d planned to go back to Denver. There they could set up house together—rest, have a stay-cation before they hit the road again. That had been her plan all along. Once they’d finished with the latest victim, they’d retire for a while. Whether it was a month or two, or even a year, she didn’t know. But the plan had been solid, she’d already made steps in that direction. That had all been before Eric had fallen into the hands of the law.

  Anger raced through her. For now, all that was ruined. They’d left the victim restrained and cruised the city, dragging out the moment when they could enjoy their captive. It’s what they always did—the best was saved for last: rape and murder. It was like holding off opening a Christmas present. At least that’s how she’s explained it to Eric when she’d first begun the ritual. This time, she’d agreed to grab them something to eat and dropped Eric off. She knew that he’d wait for her. For he never raped unless she was there to watch. But the bitch had somehow escaped either in the time they’d cruised around together anticipating the final moments with her or while she’d been getting takeout and Eric had gone to the nearest convenience store for the cigarettes he refused to give up. He’d been back first and had obviously missed signs that the law’s trap lay in wait. She’d been just behind him, far enough back to get away. Now, all that was left was revenge.

  Kiera Connell had stolen the only person who mattered. And the phone calls had done nothing to release the anger. None of them, not even the rage and threat spewed on the last call. Kiera had ruined everything. Kiera needed to die, long and slow and painfully.

  In the meantime, patience was all that was left.

  But nothing came easy, nothing ever had. Even Eric had taken years to find. First there’d been enduring a marriage to someone who had put food on the table and grief in their bed. Years of abuse had ended in a brutal, messy way. A hammer in mid rant had ended it all. The burial spot would never be found. Gone and run off was as good an excuse as any when people asked, but few did. Now that was all in the past. The new life, the new name—all of it was the start of a life that had once been only a dream.

  There’d been lonely years in between but it was then that the skills of the craft were honed. First on transients found along secondary highways, at least in the days before Eric.

  Eric.

  They’d had years of bliss. But, now it was over, he was gone and only anger was left.

  Eric.

  He’d been a teenage runaway, eager to learn—to be molded into the man he had become. Despite her rough marriage, she hadn’t been that old herself. She’d been twenty-eight to his sixteen when she’d found him. He’d already spent a few years on the street. It was perfect. She was old enough to know more than he but young enough to understand him. And for years their sadistic crime spree had flown under the radar. But, as their crimes became more ambitious and the missing women began to add up, their actions gained notoriety. For the last year, people had lived in fear of them. It had been a wonderful time, a glorious time. The highs they’d felt during those exhilarating months as they’d crisscrossed the country were now only memories. The highs needed to come back but alone it was impossible. There was only one thing to do. While it wouldn’t fix everything, it would give some satisfaction.

  Justice.

  To get justice, the last victim, the traitor, needed to die.

  The authorities thought they could protect their star witness. They thought she was safe with Eric behind bars. They believed that Eric had run a one-man show.

  What a laugh.

  He didn’t have it in him to have enjoyed and killed as many women as they had. On his own he was messy and far from able to plan and maneuver into the future. Alone, he would have been caught a long time ago.

  The window of the van that had been home for the last three weeks needed to be washed. The van replaced the vehicle before, and the one before that. The vehicles had been temporary homes stolen from neglected and troubled places where the odds of their loss being reported was minimal to none. It was chilly. Was Eric cold? It was hard to stop worrying about someone who had been your responsibility for so many years. It was impossible to stop thinking of him now for he’d been everything, son—partner in crime.

  This must finish on their terms, for Eric. Justice for Eric. It was the one thing that needed to be done. It was the only thing that would make everything right. The kill that was the most important and the one that would be the last. And whether it was or not, the excitement at the thought was like no other.

  Chapter Ten

  Early the next day, Travis knew one fact—sleep was pointless. As much as he needed sleep, as much as he had promised Kiera that he’d get some, he’d only managed a few hours. He wouldn’t have gotten even that much if, for the last half day, James hadn’t been tied up with another case. But James would be in his office now and while he could call, in a situation like this he always found face-to-face to be better. Fifteen minutes later he found himself again in James’s office.

  “Grab a coffee and have a seat,” James said. “I can only imagine that you’ve had some long nights.”

  “That goes without saying,” he said. He poured a cup of coffee out of the carafe that was always at the ready in James’s office. He put the carafe down and pulled out a chair that sat at an angle from James’s desk. He was anxious to see what, if anything, was new. He hoped that there was a lead on the anonymous phone calls.

  “Exactly as you thought, Travis. Serene confirmed that they’re using prepaid phones. There’s no way of tracking who made the calls,” James said. “What we do know is that whoever made them did it from a variety of locations within the city. They were all made from the edges of downtown.”

  Within the city.

  “Someone could have Kiera’s ID in their hands. Her bag was never found,” Travis said. His gut screamed that these calls were connected but...

  “If we didn’t have the perpetrator behind bars, that would be a troubling fact,” James said. “Or, if I believed at all that there was a second perp still on the loose. I’ve looked at the evidence and I can’t go there, Trav.” He pushed away from the desk and leaned back in his chair. “Unfortunately, the wrong person picked up her ID and decided to play games with her rather than return it. And now they’ve made a sadistic game of it. A crime in itself but not the crime you think.”

  “I see where you’re coming from, but I think it’s more than that, James. I’ve got a bad feeling. And Kiera is still convinced that there’s more than one killer.”

  “Convince me,” James said as he locked his hands behind his head. “We have the killer behind bars and there’ve been no killings since he’s been incarcerated. Never mind the fact that the evidence indicated he was acting alone. But it’s becoming increasingly clear that these calls are not something we can discount. What the hell are they? What’s the connection? I’m just not getting this.”

  “I agree. They’re serious,” Travis said. “I’ve gone through the history over and over. After her discharge from the hospital she becomes the victim of telephone harassment. And that harassment has carried on for three nights, or to be exact, three pre-dawn calls, the second call always occurring at exactly the same time that the original 911 call came in. And then the last call is a threat on her life.” He smacked a hand on James’s desk. “Damn it. I don’t know what the connection is, if any. All of it is too coincidental. And none of it can be overlooked. A threat on her life. She needs more protection than we’re giving her.”

  “I agree.” James pushed his chair back from his desk, his hands interlocked behind his head.

  “Is it possible that there is something that we’re missing?”

  Ja
mes shook his head. “I don’t know, Travis. I know that using a prepaid phone was more than likely the work of someone who didn’t want to get caught. I agree with you there. It definitely involved planning. But planning for what?” He turned to the window as if the answer would lie there. “I can’t imagine there could be a connection. It seems like too much of a long shot. And a second serial killer—other than the witness claiming that she heard someone else—there’s no evidence at all to take us in that direction. A yearlong investigation turned up no evidence that there was anything more than the one man, Eric Solomon.”

  Travis stood up. He was frustrated at not having an answer, at not being able to solve this, to give it all a proper fix that would make Kiera perfectly safe. To do that, he needed answers. “I know two serial killers is a long shot. I agree with you there. But these calls, whoever and whatever they are, have to end.”

  “So, we’ve reached an agreement. The protection will be upped. Make the protection twenty-four-seven. From here on in, your team is on-site. We can’t take the risk. Until we’ve figured out what the hell is going on, we play it safe.”

  Five minutes later, Travis left James’s office. He was somewhat satisfied but still troubled. The evidence they had was heading in a direction that he didn’t like. It was the same direction, the same theory, that Kiera believed and which, until now, he’d discounted. That had all spun on its head. Now her claim of two killers seemed even less of an impossibility. And, while James had yet to agree to such a theory, they were much closer to all being on the same page. Much closer than they had been yesterday.

  He headed to the cafeteria where he grabbed a tray and a roast beef sandwich. Just before the till, he took an iced tea from the cooler, paid and found himself a seat in the far corner where he wouldn’t be disturbed. He unwrapped the sandwich and started to eat, but his mind was elsewhere. He was thinking of everything that had transpired and brought them to this point. It was time to get his crew on board. The other marshals needed to know that the parameters of the assignment had changed. With Kiera’s insistence that there was a second perpetrator and the reality of the phone calls, they had to tighten security. They’d thought the perpetrator was behind bars and that she was safe. If there was a second killer, she could be in danger. As a result, there would be no more being out of sight of the property for even a lunch break. He guessed they’d agree once they heard the circumstances, not that they had a choice.

  He opened the app that allowed him to see the view from the cameras on Kiera’s property. He panned the area at the front of the house. The grounds were quiet. He moved to the camera on the other side of her property and his finger froze before he could flip to another screen. For what he saw was the back of someone at the corner of her unit. There was no disputing that someone appeared to be casing her condo. It clearly wasn’t Devon. Whoever it was, they were considerably shorter than that and Devon would have no reason to wear a hoodie or skulk around the property in such a manner. This was a stranger—someone who shouldn’t be on the property, a trespasser. A moment later, the person was gone.

  He swore and dropped the remains of his sandwich into the wrapper.

  He was too far away. He punched Devon’s number and waited. One ring, two. His fingers drummed on the table. A young man looked over at him. He recognized him as a new hire that James had mentioned. He was of no relevance. He was still training, an agent who was working with Serene at the moment. He looked through him, even as the guy watched him. He looked away. He had no time to worry about other people’s curiosity. The phone continued to ring. Three rings and then four. Devon needed to get on this like yesterday except Devon wasn’t answering. He hadn’t ended the call before he was up and heading out the door.

  He burst outside and within seconds was in the parking lot.

  He bit off an expletive as he ran for his SUV and his mind checked off all the possibilities. He punched Devon’s number again. Devon might have missed the call for a valid reason—a call to nature, who knew? Devon was his best hope to deal with the trespasser. But, as before, the phone rang unanswered before hitting voice mail.

  Another curse flew. Where the hell was he and why wasn’t he answering his phone? He’d have a word or two with him when this was over. His mind ran through the possibilities. He thought of calling Kiera, of warning her, and remembered her penchant for taking care of herself. She’d be more likely to want to face the trespasser with her gun. That could place her in worse danger than she might be in already. He had to get there before the unthinkable happened.

  He was behind the wheel and had the SUV in gear almost in one motion. He was off with a screech of tires, driving as fast as he dared. Too fast, and without the warning sirens of an emergency vehicle, he’d endanger more lives than he was trying to save. He wanted to gun the engine and instead he had to slow down as he spotted kids playing. They were dangerously close to the street. He was in a residential area, no place for speeding. He had one eye on the children as he watched the speedometer and kept moving. He’d considered calling the police but even a few minutes ago, they’d have gotten there no sooner than he would, and the last thing he wanted was the chaos of multiple responders. All that aside, he had to get there. And he had to get there soon.

  Kiera’s life was at stake.

  * * *

  KIERA FELT LIKE she was trapped in her condo and had been for days. Yet it had been only five days since she’d been discharged from the hospital and a week before that since this whole horrid ordeal began and her life turned upside down. Wednesday, middle of the week, a day she often found herself scheduled at work. Work—a lifetime ago.

  Since her discharge from the hospital, she hadn’t gone farther than her own front yard. She was almost a prisoner in the house she loved so much. Travis popping in from time to time had made the confinement tolerable, even pleasant up until yesterday. But today staying another minute inside her condo felt unbearable. Without Travis’s casual conversation, interspersed with shop talk she’d have been bored out of her mind. But having him there had livened up the day and made her feel less confined. Even his delving into more details of the horror that her life had become and the event that had changed her normal, even with that he’d kept her on edge in different ways, for she didn’t know how she felt about him. He both entertained and interested her. The spark of attraction, of course, had helped and the time had flown by. But all that had changed since he’d left. Devon remained outside and, while he was a nice man, he didn’t excite her the way Travis had. She guessed it worked both ways and maybe that’s why Devon kept to himself. He’d check in every few hours and then only for a minute or less. That wasn’t the same. She missed Travis.

  Travis.

  She couldn’t help thinking of him. He was like no man she’d met before. She wished she’d met him under different circumstances, that might have changed everything. Maybe they could date like normal human beings. But she was normal no longer. She was a victim of crime. She was a witness. She’d been in the company of an evil that she didn’t want to imagine, never mind think of. She wanted to forget that it had happened, but she couldn’t. For she’d never escaped, not really. The danger had followed her. She knew it. She sensed it.

  She shivered. Something felt different. She felt alone—vulnerable.

  Devon had left on an errand and to grab an early lunch. He’d popped his head in to tell her that and she’d invited him to share lunch with her. If nothing else, she could use the company. But he was adamant about not imposing on her in any way. At the time, she hadn’t disagreed even though she could have used the company.

  While she was not privy to his thoughts, it seemed he wanted to reassure her. And he had reminded her that he’d be only a phone call away. Except, he’d left his phone behind. It was all because she’d asked for a minute of his time before he left. It was then that he’d dropped his phone. She’d found it beside the garbage after his car had pulled a
way. She thought it might have slipped out of his pocket when he was moving one of the boxes of recyclables.

  Since then she’d heard it ring a few times but left it. Who was calling Devon and why was none of her business. She heard the phone ring again and turned away from it.

  She had to get out. She felt trapped, like the walls were closing in. She needed fresh air. Despite her earlier thoughts and unease, she’d never felt anything but safe in this neighborhood. She didn’t think any of that had changed. She hadn’t jogged in almost two weeks and she missed it. She wouldn’t venture farther than her block. She’d just do a repetitive circuit of the block until she ran off some steam. In her bedroom, she changed into a worn tank top and shorts.

  She guessed that Travis wouldn’t like this idea either. But there had been no physical danger since she’d returned home, and one thing she’d learned about him was that he could be overcautious. So, while she wouldn’t be talked out of this, she would follow the rules. With Devon gone, she’d let the FBI know what she was doing. She put in a call at the number at FBI headquarters that was for any updates or problems with surveillance. The woman she talked to was insistent that she not do this. Kiera didn’t give the argument much space. She wasn’t asking permission, only giving a courtesy notification. She hung up before the woman could present further argument. The phone rang immediately after and she ignored it. She wasn’t going to argue the point. The fresh air would help her feel better. Jogging was something she enjoyed and something that she hadn’t done since the attack. Getting back into familiar routines was critical to recovery. The therapist had told her so and she agreed. Routine would remind her that, despite what had happened, she wasn’t a victim and the incident shouldn’t define her.