Deadly Obsession

by April Hunt

  Knox hated that his friend was right.

  He removed his gun from its holster, and Cade did the same before radioing to the officers in the rear.

  “On three,” Cade announced. He counted down, nodding at Knox to kick in the front door.

  The heavy wood caved on impact, smacking against the wall behind.

  They breached the residence in one fluid motion, immediately falling back on their Ranger training as they cleared the first few rooms. Officer James and her partner could be heard doing the same to the back end before they all met in the center hall.

  “Clear the entire residence first, then go back and assess,” Cade ordered.

  James nodded, and they immediately split again, she and her partner heading toward the basement while Cade and Knox took the stairs to the second level. With every room that came up empty, Knox’s agitation grew.

  James’s voice crackled on the radio. “Basement. Now.”

  Knox stopped breathing as he and Cade raced down the two flights. He reached the sublevel first, and what he saw ignited a curse reel that would’ve had his mother smacking the back of his head.

  Though the room was mostly unfurnished, a small corner cot and desk stood out, as did the three powered-up laptops. The murmur of noises echoed off the walls, and it took him a minute to realize the sounds came from the speakers…and from the images playing out on the computer screens.

  He didn’t need to step closer to recognize him and Zoey, naked in her bed, their bodies entwined. Their love-making…their first…played on a repetitive loop.

  “There’s a ton of videos like this.” James gestured to a large stack of CDs. “And judging by the titles, all of Zoey.”

  “Fucking hell.” Cade looked ill as he shot a quick look to Knox. “You were right.”

  “It’s fucking worse than a bunch of damn videos!” James’s partner shouted down the stairs. “Get your asses up here!”

  Knox wasn’t sure how much worse it could get, but he was clued in the second he glimpsed the album on the floor.

  On one side, there was a glossy image of a starry-eyed Zoey, head tossed back in laugher.

  On the other, was an image collection from the Cupid Killer’s last victim.

  Ginny Monroe.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Nine

  Red and blue lights bounced off plain-clothed and uniformed police as they navigated the crime scene. Some ran interference with gathering news crews, while others walked door to door in an attempt to reassure curious residents.

  Cade directed them all, growling orders to anyone stupid enough to sit around doing nothing. He’d long since divided his DCPD crew into teams, one inspecting the rest of Samuel’s house, and the other sent to the hospital in the hopes that the sick fuck showed up to work.

  Knox stood by the back of the ops van and fought not to raise his voice. “You’ve got to give me something to work with, Grace. I know you’re trying, but—”

  “I know. I know.” His cousin thunked her head against the back of the truck in a repetitive beat. “We’re missing something. I’m missing something.”

  “Grace…”

  “Yes!” Grace jumped into the back of the van and hovered over Liam’s shoulder. “Bring up Samuel’s personal timeline again.”

  Liam clicked a few keys, and Phillip Samuel’s background popped onto the laptop.

  Grace ran her finger over the info, eyes scanning. “Normal childhood. Normal childhood. College grad. Medical school. Yadda, yadda, yadda.”

  Liam scoffed, “I’m bored even listening to it. None of this screams I’m-a-freakin’-serial-killer-who-likes-to-etch-hearts-into-the-chests-of-my-victims.”

  “And nothing will. If a girl thinks the guy who’s asking her out for coffee is acting like a deranged killer, she’s not about to say yes. They hide it. Hell, a lot of time, serial killers have full-blown families who know nothing about their twisted little hobby.”

  Liam shuddered. “Stuff of fucking nightmares.”

  “Bring up Zoey’s timeline. There…” Grace smacked her finger into the screen, bouncing the image. “What the hell just happened?”

  “Touch-screen. Hands off the merch. Literally.”

  Grace pointed to Zoey’s surgery last year and glanced to Knox. “There’s your hot point.”

  “When Samuel performed her surgery.”

  “With his degree of obsession, it’s quite possible that he’s harbored feelings even before that. Hell, maybe even when his father took care of her. But performing that surgery ignited something in him that once let out, he wasn’t about to pack up and put away.”

  “Except he did.” Roman, listening closely, leaned onto the bumper.

  Ryder and Tank stood next to him, carefully observing.

  “What do you mean?” Knox asked his brother.

  “The surgery may have been a rough one, but it got the job done. It was successful. She walked out of that hospital on her own two feet and didn’t go back.”

  Knox suddenly realized what Grace meant. “But she did go back. For follow-ups. For physicals. Typical open-heart patients return monthly until about six months post-op.”

  All eyes turned to him. Knox didn’t even bother getting defensive.

  “He’s right,” Grace agreed. “There’s about six months of regular visits and then bam—it’s once, or sometimes twice a year. When you overlay Samuel’s and Zoey’s timelines, matching up that one significant event…”

  “The Cupid Killer’s first victim coincides with Zoey’s last follow-up.”

  Roman cursed. “He missed her.”

  “He wanted to replace her,” Grace corrected Ro. “But it wasn’t right. And so he tried again, and again, until everything finally crashes around him. He hit his breaking point.”

  She regretfully slid her gaze Knox’s way.

  “With me.” Knox knew what she wasn’t saying. “He’d been keeping tabs on Zoey and when she and I…”

  “I’m sorry, Knox. But yeah. Your relationship with her triggered something in him. It threw him. It veered him off course and made him make up another one. And you can bet that he won’t be happy about it. A man like Samuel doesn’t like failure, and he’s going to be extremely territorial of what he perceives as his property.”

  Roman leaned against the van bumper. “Then why weren’t his victims…more messed up? I mean yeah, I get that he deviated some, but overall not much.”

  “Because as unstable as he is, that’s not him. It’s why he dresses their wounds. What we need to ask ourselves is where would a doctor care for his patients?”

  “The hospital,” Knox realized. “But someone would realize that a serial killer’s using the surgical suites as a torture ground.”

  “Unless they were using an abandoned hospital building.” Roman ripped the DC map off the wall of the van and smacked his hand on a familiar DC block. “The burned-out wing of Georgetown Med. I saw it when I bumped into Zoey downtown. The rest of the campus was swarming with people, but no one spared it a second glance. Hell, it had caution signs all over the place.”

  Knox’s body stiffened, ready for action. “Smart fucking bastard. Using a condemned building means no one would bother him, and he’d be close enough to access whatever supplies he needed from the main hospital.”

  Liam brought up comparison-image floor plans of the old hospital wing and what stood today. He pointed to the south end, lower level. “Here. It’s far enough from the main hospital that no one would stumble on him by accident, and has easy, out-of-the-way access from the rear loading dock. Perfect for a twisted psycho lair.”

  Knox tossed a look onto the street. “Cade? You hearing this?”

  “Already sending a team to the hospital to clear out the building next door, and I’m prepping SWAT to go in as backup,” Cade confirmed.

  “Backup?”

  Cade stared him dead in the eye. “Fuck yeah. I’m not putting Zoey’s life in anybody’s hands but the best.”

  Liam
smirked. “Just to make that clear, you mean us, right?”

  “Damn straight.”

  Knox nodded. “And you realize you lumped yourself in there with us.”

  Cade snorted. “Yep. We’ll start job offer negotiations once my sister’s safe and sound.”

  Knox slapped him on the shoulder. Getting Zoey back where she belonged was the only option, and his brothers and Cade were the only people he trusted to get it done too. He’d been kidding himself even contemplating that damn bodyguard job.

  DC was where he was meant to be. Steele Ops was where he was meant to work. And Zoey was the woman he was meant to love. Now that he finally realized it, he wasn’t about to let any of it go…especially Zoey.

  She made him better. She made him feel. She made him whole.

  Zoey forced her lungs’ cooperation through another breath, but with every inhalation, her quickly depleting energy sunk lower. In another few minutes, picking her head up would be next to impossible.

  Dr. Samuel emerged from the far door, his face a mask of barely withheld contempt, which Zoey suspected had something to do with the muffled shout that had followed him. He hadn’t yet fixed his mistake.

  That meant both Zoey and the woman in the other room had time.

  Keeping an eye on a muttering Samuel, Zoey continued sawing away at her rope-bound hands. Centimeter by centimeter, the tie loosened, until with a final tug, her right arm came free.

  “Time for another round of meds,” Dr. Samuel announced.

  Zoey grabbed on to the railing and faked being tied. “Tell me why I should take anything from you.”

  He blinked, taken aback by her tone. “Because I would never do anything to harm you in any way, My Heart.”

  “Except mess with my meds. Kidnap me. Keep me tied like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

  He shook his head as he slowly approached. “I told you. This is for the best. As for the restraints, I can’t have you disappearing and getting into trouble.”

  Zoey’s eyes shot to the three filled syringes he carried on a small metal tray. “I’m not one of your victims that you can drug and toss away. You said I was different.”

  “You are, sweetheart. Two of these are to improve your cardiac function.”

  “And the third?” A lump knotted in Zoey’s throat.

  “To relax you. Your breathing’s become more labored. It’ll relax your chest muscles, make it easier to inhale deeply. I know this isn’t an ideal situation, but things will all work out in the end. I promise.”

  “What about for the woman in the room next door?”

  The eerie calm in his voice dissipated. “She will get what she deserves as well. But you’re not to worry yourself about her. Doctor’s order.”

  Zoey counted down as he approached. At three steps from the bed, she took as deep a breath as her lungs allowed, bunching her fingers into a tight fist. At one, she rolled.

  Using her free hand, she smashed his tray up into his face. Samuel doubled over, giving her a prime target in which to aim a kick. Her sneaker impacted his temple with a thud, and Samuel went down hard.

  Zoey attacked her bindings with blood-coated fingers. She lost her grip three times before she realized it wasn’t going to work. Behind her, Dr. Samuel groaned, straining to his knees.

  “Suck it up, Zoey.” She gritted her teeth, and tugged.

  A sharp stab of pain zipped up from her disjointed thumb and up her arm, but it worked. Her wrist came free, and a second later, she ripped the IV from her arm and sprinted for the back door.

  “Zoey! Stop!” Samuel shouted.

  Rusted with age and disuse, the door felt heavier than it looked. She yanked it open with a power-yell Cade would’ve been proud of, and quickly slipped through the crack. It slammed shut behind her, and she smacked the deadbolt into place, praying it would hold.

  Muffled screams stole her attention to the other side of the room.

  Although a gag hid half her face, Samuel’s mistake was impossible not to recognize. “Francine.”

  Knox’s ex screamed, her orders muffled and panicked, and spurring Zoey into action.

  “Let me find something to cut you loose.” She rifled through a dozen drawers and cabinets before her fingers bumped against a blunt-tipped file that looked about as threatening as a paperclip. “This is going to have to do.”

  She attacked Fran’s ties with a vengeance, sweat breaking out across her forehead by the time the other woman’s first hand broke free.

  Francine ripped away her gag. “I have never been so happy to see you in my fucking life. We need to get the hell out of here…although I don’t know where here is.”

  Zoey freed her other hand and moved to her legs. “I recognize the floor tiles. Sure spent enough time staring at them through the years. I think we’re in the old Georgetown cancer wing, which means that we have a long way before we run into someone.”

  “Then let’s get moving before that psycho gets back.” Barefoot and dirtied, and wearing a ripped version of her gala cocktail dress, Francine sprung from the bed.

  From the other room, Dr. Samuel bellowed, “Zoey! You don’t want to do this! You can’t leave!”

  Fran backed away from the door, her eyes widening. “I don’t know what the hell happened. He seemed normal when he asked me out. Charming even. And then we went back to his place and—holy crap. I almost let him get me naked!”

  “Probably good you didn’t…because he’s the killer you’ve been chomping at the bit to prosecute.”

  Francine’s face paled. “Are you shitting me?”

  “Wish I was.” Zoey shoved the file into her pants.

  Dr. Samuel pounded on the rusted door. “Please! You’re My Heart, Zoey! You’re my everything!”

  “You’re my living nightmare,” Zoey muttered, and frantically scanned the room. A free-standing supply closet, cocked at an odd angle, blocked what she hoped was a second exit. “Help me move this thing.”

  Francine didn’t argue. They worked together, nudging the metal unit across the cement floor an inch at a time until they revealed the sagging archway behind.

  The second the gap became large enough to fit a person, Zoey barked, “Go. Go.”

  Francine squeezed through the one-foot space, and she followed.

  “Which way?” Francine asked.

  Zoey took a second to collect her bearings, and then grabbing the other woman’s hand, tugged her left down the empty corridor. “This one.”

  Her chest constricted with the physical effort it took to keep pace with Francine, but there was no way in hell she was about to give up.

  They no sooner made it to the far end than Dr. Samuel burst through the second door behind them. He stalked toward them at a slow trot. “Give me more time, My Heart. That’s all I ask. More time to prove that we’re meant to be!”

  “Through here! Go!” Zoey pushed Francine into a fire exit stairwell. “We need to get up to the first floor.”

  Francine stood on the first landing before Zoey even reached the third step. “What’s taking you so long? Hurry!”

  “I…can’t.” Zoey careened into the railing.

  Francine came back, concern shining in her eyes. “Did he already drug you? I’m pretty sure that’s what he planned to do to me.”

  Zoey wheezed. “H-he messed with my meds. My lungs…I can’t keep running. L-leave me. Get help.”

  Muttering under her breath, Francine slipped her shoulder beneath Zoey’s arm. “I’m too self-sacrificing for my own damn good. I may not like you much, but I can’t leave you to a psycho who’s been etching hearts into women’s chests.”

  Zoey half smiled. “That was…nice.”

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  Using both the railing and Fran’s support, Zoey climbed the flight of stairs one excruciating step at a time. Behind them, Samuel’s shouts echoed off the walls, getting closer.

  “Do not make me carry you,” Francine warned.

  As they reached the first-floor
landing, Samuel threw open the door below them, hot on their heels.

  “There.” Zoey gasped, pointing toward the old loading dock doors a good thirty yards away.

  Zoey’s feet, weighted like anchors, refused to lift higher than an inch. Francine panted, redoubling her efforts to propel them down the hall.

  Twenty-five yards to freedom.

  Twenty.

  At fifteen, strong hands ripped Zoey from Francine’s hold.

  “I told you once, and I’ll tell you again.” Dr. Samuel’s mouth scraped against her ear. “You. Are. My. Heart. You’re not going anywhere.”

  At this point, Zoey knew that was true.

  Colorful dots swam across her vision. Sounds muted. And all her focus was narrowed into one small, but very important act.

  Breathing.

  Chapter

  Thirty

  Parked on the utility road bisecting the old and new parts of the Georgetown medical campus, Hogan Wilcox manned Liam’s pride and joy, an infrared drone equipped with a magnifying camera and state-of-the-art listening capabilities. The tech-toy now hovered over Knox’s head, and the charred remains of the old cancer building, acting as their eyes and ears.

  Knox’s palms sweat as he sat hunched behind a forgotten dumpster outside the old dock. He’d been on countless high-stress missions, but none as important as this one.

  Roman crouched next to him, his hand dropping onto his shoulder. “We’re going to get her back safe.”

  Knox flexed his fist, his fingers cracking under the pressure. “I won’t accept anything else.” He took a slow breath before finally admitting, “You were right.”

  “I usually am. Which time are you talking about?”

  “I stayed away because it was the easier path. No bumps. No surprises. No having to look in anyone’s eyes and see their regret staring back at me.” He slid his gaze to his brother.

  “Easy way to live,” Roman mumbled.

  “Not fulfilling either. It also means I don’t get to see their joy staring back at me…or their love.”

  Of the four Steele brothers, Roman had always kept his emotions close to his chest…and inside his head. His run-in with the IED and everything following made it more so. But now something flashed in Roman’s eyes that Knox hadn’t seen in a long time.