Hunting Justice (Fractured Minds Series Book 3)

by Kate Allenton

I scrunched my nose. “Nope, I have white and wheat.”

  “Wheat, please,” she answered.

  “After you eat, try to get some rest.”

  After feeding Trinity, and getting a bite to eat myself, I sat for hours in the hallway listening to Trinity cry and texting Sloan. I was beyond exhausted, beyond trying to make sense out of it all. I double checked the locks, covered Grant’s sleeping body on the couch with a blanket and peeked in on Trinity. When Sloan messaged that we’d need to go give statements bright and early, I called it a night and climbed into bed.

  Sleep evaded me. It was as if I knew this wasn’t over. My gaze landed on the syringe filled with the calming drug on my dresser. I knew that the minute I closed my eyes and reached to connect to that invisible line that now tethered me to blood’s owner, that I’d find out one way or another whose blood I’d absorbed.

  The victim’s or the killer’s.

  Chapter 7

  I closed my eyes and inhaled a deep breath, connecting to the stranger’s blood in my system. The invaders always stood out like a thorny black cactus. Foreign and deadly. Prickly against my skin.

  If it was the killer’s blood I’d absorbed, he would be tied to me until one of us was dead.

  It was a total invasion of privacy that I could connect. With just a bit of determination, I could spy on anyone at anytime. Connecting on a whim and watching the scene as if I’d clicked the remote to turn on a TV. Something the military hadn’t thought of when giving me the drug. Or maybe they had.

  Victim or killer. My handlers didn’t care as long as I produced results. They weren’t the ones in my head having to witness these deaths.

  By the first breath, I was psyching myself up to watch the unthinkable.

  By the second, I was already getting visions, similar to a TV that was having a hard time tuning in.

  By the third, every dark dirty little detail was in focus.

  “Let the games begin,” I whispered, clutching the sheets beside me as I dialed into the anger stirring in my gut.

  He stared at her from across the room. He’d planned to bring her here. There was a calmness about him. No sexual haze came from the killer. He just stared at her as she walked around the room.

  She picked up the rope on the bed and gave him a saucy grin.

  “Kinky.” Her voice was deeper than I’d imagined, sultry and seductive.

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t say a word as he crossed the room and turned her in his arms. He kissed the nape of her neck from behind as his hands roamed up her dress.

  “Why are you here?” His voice was a whisper.

  “Visiting a friend,” she answered, tilting her head to give him better access.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered as he slid his hand into her dress and fondled her breast.

  She moaned seconds before his hand disappeared and a rope slid around her neck. He held her, not tight enough to kill her but enough to clear the sexual haze. Her eyes shot open, and her heartbeat quickened.

  “I’m not into all that,” she said with firm resolution.

  “I didn’t ask if you were.” He tightened his hold, making her reach for the rope to keep it from digging into her skin.

  “Let me go, please.” Panic laced her voice as she tugged, trying to breathe.

  He’d stilled for a minute as if debating to let her leave when she slammed her heel onto his foot and head-butted him. The move caught him off guard. The impact hard against his nose. His hold loosened as blood squirted on her back and arm. He caught her before she could get away.

  He clenched his fist and hit her hard on the side of the head, and she dropped to the floor. He tied the rope around her neck again, and she staggered to her feet, dazed. He tightened his hold and moved to the bed. He flipped her beneath him on the mattress, using his weight to hold her down while his hands squeezed her throat, until breath left her lungs and she stopped struggling.

  He held her firmly.

  It was only then that I felt his emotion. It wasn’t rage; it wasn’t anger. It was…joy.

  My labored breathing slowed. I’d expected him to feel a million emotions, even a thrill from the fight, but he was cool and reserved.

  He climbed off of her, wiping the blood and sweat from his nose and brow. He took a picture of her body with his phone.

  She was a tiny thing that he easily hefted over his head to stuff her on the cramped shelf.

  Before even cleaning up, he moved to the desk and opened his laptop.

  The black screen revved to color. He typed in his password, bringing up the home screen. About twenty files were named on his desktop aside from the normal computer programs. Each file had a person’s name as the label. He opened a new file, labeling it with Georgina’s name, and uploaded the picture.

  “One down, one to go.” It was only then that I felt his satisfaction, his carnal bliss. His desire to do it again. His desire to find the next person on his list.

  My eyes flew open, and I stared at the ceiling, unable to move. I’d never experienced a killer like him, detached and impersonal with an unquenchable thirst.

  I grabbed my phone and called Sloan. No answer.

  I gave the clock a quick glance. It was already eight a.m. So I slid out of bed and hurried to get ready for the day. I stepped out of the room and entered the living room. The TV was on, but the volume low. Sam waved from behind his computer. The bags beneath his eyes indicated he hadn’t slept much.

  Grant was drinking coffee. He rolled his shoulders to get the stiffness out.

  “I’m guessing it was the victim’s blood since you aren’t threatening to kick our asses?” he asked, knowing good and well that I’d tuned in.

  “Coffee first, answers after I reach Sloan,” I said, heading to the kitchen.

  “Uh…that might be hard to do,” Sam called out from the living room.

  I peered around the corner. “Why is that?”

  Sam pointed to the TV. “Looks like they took him in for questioning yesterday in Georgina’s death.”

  I hurried back into the living room, just in time to catch a news reporter videoing the police escorting Sloan into the police station. The caption read “A killer Among Us.”

  Chapter 8

  I hurried down the hall and tossed open Trinity’s door. She wasn’t asleep or even in the room. The bed was made, and a note lay on the pillow.

  My fingers trembled as I unfolded it.

  Had to get my and my mother’s stuff from the Moonlight Motel before they toss our things in the trash. Check out is today at noon. Thanks for letting me crash.

  “Oh, no, no, no.” I stormed out into the living room. I needed to get to Trinity before she bolted for good. She and I needed to go get Sloan out of jail. “She’s gone.”

  I grabbed my keys and hurried for the door.

  “You don’t have a license,” Grant called out, making me pause.

  “Freakin, fracking, frucking, I’m going to kill my husband.”

  Grant was a stick in the mud. I used to find that quality endearing when he married my sister. Today, not so much.

  “I’ll drive,” Sam said, flying out of his chair. “Besides, I can update you on what I found.”

  I tossed Sam my car keys and headed for the door. Climbing into the passenger seat, I popped open the glove compartment and checked my gun for bullets.

  “Wait, is this going to be dangerous? I thought we were just going to get Trinity.”

  “This is just in case I run into trouble. You aren’t even getting out of the car,” I said, shutting the glove compartment with the gun inside. “Less questions, more driving.”

  “Where to?” he asked as he pulled out of the driveway.

  “Moonlight Motel,” I answered.

  “Why in the heck is she staying in that flea-infested rat trap?”

  I shrugged. There was a lot I didn’t know about Trinity or her mother. A lot I was going to have to figure out so I could disconnect from this killer.


  “What did you find out?”

  “Your husband fell off the grid five years ago in Vegas.”

  “No surprise there,” I said as my brows dipped. “He probably lost his shirt to a loan shark.”

  “I found the uncle, though. He’s still a lawyer in Vegas and handles divorces and prenups. I reached out to him, and I’m waiting to hear back.”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” I said, patting his arm as we headed onto the highway toward the other side of town. The bad side where drugs ran rampant and hookers stood on street corners looking for their next marks.

  The Moonlight was on the main drag of hotel row. It was a dingy place, just like several of the others. Rundown, crumbling brick, and air conditioners hanging out of the windows. The vacancy sign was lit and flashing as if a ballast was about to blow. The bulbs in the letter C in the word had blown out.

  “How do you know which one she’s in?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t,” I answered.

  There were several rooms with the curtains opened. I could walk past each and hope to spot Trinity inside one. “You keep an eye on the rooms and tell me if you spot her. I’m going to go talk to management.”

  I slipped out of the car and headed for the Office. Black lettering was peeling off the dirty glass door. I pulled it open and stepped into the dinky, dingy lobby. Shadows of a TV danced off of the walls in a room behind the counter. A small bell sat on the counter. There was one empty display rack sitting next to the bell. There was no telling the last time it actually held brochures. The room smelled like a college dorm room. The second-hand marijuana smoke was enough to get me high.

  I tapped the dented bell that rested on the counter. Rings left from sweaty water glasses dotted the surface. Within seconds a man walked out, his gaze assessing as it landed on my boobs. “Fifty for the night or ten by the hour.”

  Sweet, he thought I was a hooker. “I was hoping you could tell me which room one of your guests is staying in.”

  He lifted his gaze to my eyes. His greasy comb-over did little to hide his bald head. He smiled, showing me a glimpse of crooked teeth. “It’s against the law for me to give out guest information.”

  I gave a slow nod. “How about a little tit for tat?”

  He grinned. “What did you have in mind?”

  “A swap of information. I have some that might keep you out of jail, and you have some that will help me and my friend reunite.”

  “You a cop?” he asked, standing a little straighter as if that would hide the stink coming from the other room.

  “No, I need the room number of a mother and daughter that were staying here. Georgina and Trinity.”

  He licked his bottom lip. “What did they do?”

  “Just tell me the room number, and I promise to make it worth your while.”

  He glanced out the window to the second-story balcony. “Room 203. Now what are you going to do for me?”

  I grinned and tapped the counter. “You might want to flush your drugs. The cops will be coming soon.”

  “What?” He gave me a questioning look. “Why?”

  “Investigating a homicide. So, do yourself a favor and air this place out.”

  I turned on my heels and headed out to the parking lot. I was going to need another shower before I even went to the police station. I gave Sam a thumbs-up as I climbed the stairs to Trinity’s hotel room. I peeked in through the window to find Trinity sitting on the floor clutching a leather jacket in her arms. A suitcase lay half packed on the bed.

  I knocked on the window, and she glanced up, wiping the tears from her face.

  Turning the knob, I stepped inside. “You should have woken me. One of us would have driven you here.”

  “I didn’t get much sleep. I wanted to come back here. I was hoping to find her passed out drunk in the bed and this was all a bad dream.”

  Nagging guilt lay buried in my chest, having witnessed the last moments, not being able to stop the murderer before he’d vanished. “The cops will be here soon to search for clues about her killer.”

  “She wasn’t killed here. They don’t even know who killed her,” Trinity said, pushing herself up from the floor. She continued packing.

  “They’re questioning Sloan,” I said, stepping farther into the room. I helped her gather the clothes lying around and folded them, putting them into the suitcase.

  “Sloan and your mom have history,” I said. “We need to go give our statements. We’re the only eyewitnesses who can describe what the killer looked like.”

  She silently packed and then hurried into the bathroom, walking out with a toiletry bag. She stuffed it into the suitcase.

  “Why are you helping me?” Trinity asked, breaking the silence.

  “It’s what I do,” I answered. “I lost my parents at a young age. I know what you’re going through.”

  Trinity zipped up the suitcase and dropped it to the floor. “How well do you know Sloan?”

  “Well enough,” I answered. “I helped him solve a murder.”

  “They fought, you know,” Trinity said, pulling the suitcase out of the door. With one glance back, she pulled the door closed.

  “I’m sure she put up a good fight,” I said.

  “Not my mom and the killer, but my mom and Sloan. They fought yesterday afternoon when she told him she wanted his DNA.”

  Her words made me trip on the stairs. “How do you know that? Were you there?”

  “She told me. We didn’t keep secrets,” Trinity said as we reached the car. “Do you still want to help me even though Sloan didn’t?”

  “One thing you’ll learn about me, Trinity, is that I don’t care what others do. I do what’s right for me, just like the killer I left in a coma a year ago. Helping you is what’s right for me.”

  “Wait, what man, what coma?” she asked as she climbed into the backseat.

  “It’s a long story,” I said, climbing into the passenger side.

  Sam glanced in the rearview mirror and blushed. It was cute. “Thanks for not making us chase you.”

  Sam started my car and pulled out of the motel just as a cop cars pulled in.

  “Where were you going to go?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  “First stop is the police department. We have to tell them what we know and turn over the blood evidence.”

  Sam turned his sharp gaze onto me and off the road for a split second. “You know whose blood landed on you?”

  I nodded. “It wasn’t Georgina’s.”

  His eyes widened. “That’s good, right? We can track this guy.”

  That was one way of looking at it. Yes, we could track the guy, but in order to get him out of my head, one of us had to die.

  Chapter 9

  Trinity and I walked into the police station while Sam waited in the car. It wasn’t that he had anything to hide being a hacker working with the FBI, but he’d almost broken out in hives when I asked if he wanted to come inside.

  Phones rang, doors buzzed, and people argued while waiting in the lobby. A woman in uniform sat behind a glass partition. Behind her, men and women were sitting at their desks either on phones, filling out paperwork, or talking to other visitors like me.

  The door opened behind us, and Noah walked in. He looked like every other time I’d seen him. Pressed suit and clean-shaven. Removing his sunglasses, he met my gaze and clasped his hands together. Waiting and watching.

  I headed straight for the counter with Trinity in tow. The deputy behind the counter gave me a once-over. Her gaze lingered on my face as if she were possibly remembering the last time I’d been in this building. I had a way of sticking in people’s minds. The comatose body I’d dragged in kind of left that impression.

  “We were witnesses to a crime, and we’re here to give our statements.”

  The woman raised a brow. “What crime would that be, ma’am?”

  “Georgina Morgan’s death.”

  “My m
other,” Trinity added.

  The woman licked her lips as if being able to taste if our claim was a lie. She held up a single finger. “Wait here while I get the detective working the case.”

  Trinity leaned in and whispered as the woman walked away. “What do I tell them if they ask how I got in the room?”

  “Tell the truth. You were looking for your mother, you thought she was passed out inside, and you wanted to check.” I patted her arm. “Everything will be fine.”

  And it would be for Trinity. There was no way she would get locked up for picking a lock, considering she was underage. Now, I, on the other hand, might be locked up, and this time sent somewhere other than Camp Cupcake.

  Noah appeared beside me and leaned on the counter.

  “She’s a minor, but we aren’t leaving here without her.”

  “Lucy…”

  I shook my head and picked up a pen from the desk. “We aren’t leaving here without her, right?”

  His eye twitched.

  “You leave her here, and I walk from the job.”

  “You don’t think you can be replaced?” he asked.

  “You want to have that conversation right now?” I asked, resting my fist on my hip. “We all have secrets, Noah. I’d hate for yours to become exposed.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Wouldn’t I?” I asked.

  A buzz sounded in the room. A door opened, and a detective held the door and ushered us through. He held up his hand to block Noah, and Noah countered with a flash of the badge as he followed us. “Miss,” he said to Trinity and held the door open. “You’ll be in here, and”—he looked at me—“and you’ll be in the room across the hall.”

  I met Trinity’s gaze; a knowing look passed between us.

  “Who’s in charge of this investigation?” I heard Noah ask as the interrogation room door closed behind me.

  I remembered the first time I’d been in this exact room. The hours of interrogations that followed when the detectives weren’t quick to believe that I’d been the one that left the man who kidnapped my sister on the floor in a coma. They’d thought I’d had help, even though I’d confessed.