Cocky Savior: A Hero Club Novel

by Jane Blythe

  “Fine,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Do you have a ride home or should I call you a cab?” He might not be into the date or feel bad for his bluntness, but he wouldn’t leave a woman alone without a safe way home.

  “I’ll call a cab myself.” She glared at him, and it was clear she was frustrated that things hadn't worked out the way she’d wanted.

  “Okay, I’ll text your brother to let him know we went our separate ways at the restaurant.”

  Leaving Patricia at the table, he paid the bill and texted his driver to say he was ready to be picked up. His car was rounding the corner by the time he stepped out into the chilly night, and as he slid into the back seat, he realized something. If this date had shown him anything, it was that his interest in women in general had waned, but his interest in one particular woman had grown.

  Florence intrigued him in a way that no other woman did. The desire to strip her bare—metaphorically—and learn every single one of her secrets was all he could think about. It was like she had cast a spell over him, possessed him, and now he was powerless to resist.

  Now he had to decide.

  Let her walk away or fight for her.

  Put like that, it was a simple choice.

  Pulling his phone from his pocket, he called Florence.

  “Eli,” she groaned when she answered. “How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not going on a date with you?”

  Despite the rejection, he was grinning because she’d obviously saved his number in her contacts if she’d known it was him. “I went out on a date tonight,” he announced.

  The pause was long enough that he had to check that the call was still connected.

  “Okay. Why are you telling me that?”

  “Because on the date I realized something.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  “That the only woman I want to go on a date with is you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you intrigue me, you’ve piqued my interest. There’s something you should know, Florence.”

  “What?”

  “Once I set my mind to something I get it. And right now, my mind is set on you, so you can consider yourself the focus of my wooing.”

  “Wooing?” She chuckled. “What are you? A ninety-year-old man?”

  “My dad always used to say that to my mom.” He smiled at the memory. “He’d always say just because we’re married doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be wooed.”

  “Used to?”

  “They both passed away in the last eighteen months.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Look, Eli, it’s not that I'm not flattered that you seem to be interested in me, I just don’t get why. I mean, we met last night, you saved my life, and that’s it. Why are you going to all this trouble?”

  The fact that she seemed genuinely perplexed about why he would be interested in her gave him his first clue to her reluctance to go on a date with him. His confident, beautiful, smart cop was insecure inside. “Because you seem like a complex woman, one who I want to get to know better. We’re attracted to each other, maybe it doesn’t go any further than that, but maybe it does. Maybe attraction and interest could grow into something else, something more.”

  “So, you aren’t just trying to get me into bed?”

  “Oh, I want you so much that I'm hard just thinking about it, but no, I don’t just want to get you into bed. I want more. I want to get to know you. Life is about taking chances, risks, and I get that something is making you scared to do that. I can't help you with that because I don’t know what it is you're scared of. But I'm not going anywhere, so get used to that idea. And flowers. Get used to flowers because you’ll be getting more tomorrow. Sweet dreams, Florence, I know what I’ll be dreaming of tonight. You, beneath me, screaming my name as you come.”

  FEBRUARY 11TH

  4:43 A.M.

  She’d seen him.

  He wasn't sure what to make of that.

  His whole life he had been invisible, the middle child, the kid in school who wasn't exceptional, but who wasn't disruptive so the teachers never noticed him, the adult whose job had him blending into the background, there, but not really there.

  After a lifetime of never being noticed, he wasn't sure what to make of this development.

  Last night, he had been shocked to drive up to the dumpster where he intended to leave his next body only to see a woman walking out of that very alley.

  And not just any woman.

  Detective Florence Harris.

  He knew who the woman was. It had been eighteen months since he had taken his first life, and he’d thought it would be prudent to take notes on the investigation, make sure he knew who was hunting him, and what they were doing to try to find him. He had no intention of getting caught and going to prison, so if he wanted to remain a free man, he had to make sure that he was smart. Every decision he made, every move he made, he had to think it through, make sure he mitigated as many of the dangers as he could.

  There was no doubt in his mind that Florence was there for one reason and one reason only. She was trying to get ahead of him, predict where he was going to be, and when he was going to be there.

  She’d done it too.

  Somehow, she had actually managed to guess where he would dump the next body, it was just too big a coincidence to believe anything else.

  How had she figured it out?

  No one saw him.

  No one knew him.

  No one cared about him or what he was doing.

  Until now.

  Florence had seen him. Florence had figured out enough about him to know where he was going to be. Florence certainly cared about him and what he was doing, and had no doubt vowed to put a stop to him.

  His problem was, what was he going to do about this new development?

  It wasn't like he could allow the detective to get too close, by now, she had to know that he was the one who had nearly run her down with his car because he’d moved on to the next dumpsite and left the body there. She knew that she was right, that he’d been dumping the bodies in the shape of an eye, so she would undoubtedly make sure that all dumpsters in the pattern were watched, hoping that he would walk into a trap.

  He wasn't that stupid, but it did present so many problems.

  Should he come up with a whole new plan for disposing of the bodies? If he did, would Florence Harris be able to figure that out as well? Should he get rid of the detective so she couldn’t come after him? Would that change anything? He knew that she had a partner, Detective Jake Zeus, and the whole department was no doubt up to date on his case. He was a serial killer with fifteen bodies under his belt, and eighteen months of avoiding detection after all.

  Going after the detectives on the case was probably not a good idea. It was possibly a shortcut to a prison cell, and yet here he was, standing outside the apartment building where Florence Harris lived.

  The building was nothing fancy and didn't appear to have great security, he probably could get inside if he wanted to, and he did want to.

  Badly.

  He wanted to wrap his hands around the woman’s throat and force her to tell him how she had seen him. He wanted to know how she had figured him out. She had done the impossible, and it was driving him crazy.

  All his life he’d wanted to be noticed. As the middle of three boys he hadn't been intelligent like his older brother whose IQ had been off the charts, nor had he been sporty like his youngest brother who had gone to college on a football scholarship. He wasn't particularly good looking, nor was he noticeably ugly. He was just boring, average, invisible.

  He’d longed to be noticed.

  To be special.

  To have someone, even just one person, pay attention to him, help him find out what he was good at, what made him unique, and then help him excel at that.

  But that had never happened.

  Parents and teachers had all ove
rlooked him.

  Girls at school had barely thrown an iota of attention his way, he’d been turned down more times than he could count. Usually, the only time he garnered a little attention was when a girl wanted to make another boy jealous, and what better way to do that than with the kid no one noticed.

  That problem had plagued him through college and into adulthood, and he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been with a woman.

  That was all going to change though.

  He was going to teach the women of this city that he wouldn’t be overlooked any longer. They would learn. One at a time they would learn. If he had to kill every single woman in New York City he would do just that.

  No one could say he was invisible now.

  The entire city was terrified of him.

  To know that his actions had an impact on strangers was a heady rush. He wondered if women had changed their routines to try to protect themselves from him. Did they try to make sure they didn't walk to their cars or the subway on their own? Did they make sure to look behind them if they were walking the streets to see if anyone was watching them? Did they make sure they put the chains on their doors at night to stop him from getting in?

  None of those things would stop him.

  If they looked at him they wouldn’t see him, and if he set his mind on getting his hands on a woman, then he got his hands on them.

  Nothing stopped him when he wanted something.

  Because he was like the invisible man, the women he set his sights on didn't even know he was there until it was too late for them to do anything about it. He didn't need to use subterfuge to get to them, he just walked straight up to their doors, and because no one thought the invisible man was a threat, they threw it open. Before they could stop him, he had them restrained and gagged.

  Always gagged.

  He wasn't there to listen to them talk, he was there for them to listen to him talk. For once, he had a captive audience, someone who was going to sit there and listen without interrupting, he wasn't going to waste that opportunity by listening to them whine, and cry, and plead for their lives.

  Not once in his life had anyone ever shown him mercy so he saw absolutely no reason why he should show them mercy. Once he’d unloaded a lifetime of anger and frustration, purging himself as it were, there was nothing to do but strangle them. It was nice to be the center of someone else’s world, even if it was for a short time. There was no way he wasn't taking advantage of that by taking control of their lives and ending them when and how he chose.

  He liked the undivided attention, he liked knowing that for those forty-eight hours, he was no longer invisible. It was like being God.

  It was something he wasn't about to give up anytime soon.

  Which meant he was going to have to keep a close eye on Detective Florence Harris. She was an enigma of sorts, she had somehow managed to figure him out, and yet he didn't know enough about her to figure out what his next move should be.

  That was about to change.

  He looked up at the windows he knew belonged to the detective’s apartment, wondering what she was doing in there. He knew from his initial assessment on the cops working his case that she was single, no family that he could find anywhere in the city, she didn't do much other than work, the gym, and the occasional outing with some friends to a bar or restaurant for a meal.

  Movement caught his attention, and a moment later Florence’s face appeared in the window as she pushed the curtains aside. She had her phone to her ear and seemed to be talking away, no idea that he was out there watching her. He didn't feel the need to move, to hide or run away, he was invisible, even if she looked right at him she would only see through him, never knowing he had even been there, right outside her apartment. If he’d wanted, he could have gone in there and killed her, and there would have been nothing she could have done to stop him.

  In this game of cat and mouse, the detective might think that she was the cat and he was the mouse, but she was wrong. She was the cat, but he was the lion. Bigger, stronger, fiercer, hunting her in silence, she wouldn’t even know that he was there until he pounced.

  * * * * *

  6:12 A.M.

  “Yeah, I'm leaving now, be there in twenty minutes or less,” Florence said into the phone.

  “It’ll probably take me closer to thirty to get there,” Jake told her.

  “Want me to do a walkthrough or wait till you get there?”

  “You can start if you want.”

  “Okay, see you soon.” She hung up her phone and stared out the window a moment longer. Ever since she’d been awakened by her ringing cell and had gotten up to answer it, standing to stare out the window while she listened to her boss inform her of the latest case she and Jake had been assigned, she’d felt eyes on her.

  Someone was watching her.

  While trying not to be too obvious about it, she’d scanned the streets, searching for the mystery watcher, but she hadn't been able to find them.

  They were there though.

  She’d bet her apartment on it.

  And she loved this apartment. It was nothing fancy, the area was the best she could afford on a cop’s salary—helped along by the fact that she taught self-defense classes whenever she could at her gym. It was a one-bedroom with a tiny kitchen with room for a six-seater table. The lounge area had space for her old but comfy three-seater couch and a TV she rarely watched, and her bookshelf and favorite armchair where she loved to snuggle and read when she had time. It wasn't a lot, but it was hers, and she loved her small home.

  Since she didn't have any more time to spend trying to find out where the person watching her was hiding, she let the curtains fall closed and turned to make her bed. She had splurged a little on her bedroom furniture, the sleigh bed and matching nightstands, dresser, and wardrobe were all in a beautiful maple, and she loved running her hand over the smooth, silky wood.

  Once the bed was made she opened her wardrobe, grabbed a pair of black jeans, some knee-high boots, a blue sweater, and her thick black coat. She made quick work of getting dressed, brushed her teeth, ran a brush through her long blonde hair and pulled it into a ponytail, and grabbed an apple to eat as she walked the block to the subway.

  Taking the stairs, she stepped out into the chilly winter morning a mere five minutes after ending the phone call to her partner, glad as she always was that she didn't have some long morning routine with makeup and hair products. She wanted to get to the crime scene as promptly as she could.

  Although they would continue to work the Dumpster Killer case—more diligently than ever after what had happened the other night—it didn't mean there wouldn’t be new cases coming in. She and Jake had been next in the rotation so they’d been the ones to be assigned to this case. From what her boss had told her it seemed like it would be fairly open and shut. It appeared to be a case of domestic violence, the victim was a woman in her mid-thirties, the husband had been in and out of prison, cops had been to their apartment several times, neighbors reported a loud argument right before shots rang out.

  Domestic violence cases always hit close to home for her.

  How many times had she watched her mother get beaten up by her newest boyfriend?

  More than she cared to admit.

  As she walked toward the subway, she became aware of someone following her.

  Immediately, thoughts of her messed up childhood fled her mind as she focused her energy on everything happening around her. The streets weren't busy, but there were people about, one set of footsteps in particular seemed to be following her.

  Noting the details, she determined that the footsteps belonged to a man, substantially larger than herself. He seemed to be trying to keep the distance between them the same, no doubt waiting until there was no one about before he made his move.

  Too bad for him she was going to make her move first.

  Florence turned the corner, the subway station was just up ahead, but instead of going for it, she du
cked into the doorway of the nearest building.

  Moments later, a man in a dark suit came around the corner.

  Pulling out her gun, she pointed it at his head. “Why are you following me?” she demanded.

  The man turned. “Are you going to be pointing a gun at me every time we talk?”

  “Eli,” she said, letting out a frustrated breath while at the same time a bunch of nervous butterflies took up residence in her stomach. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was going to offer you a ride to work.” His easy smile was in place, and his dark eyes were twinkling as though he found it amusing to have a gun pointed at him. “You going to put that thing away?”

  Holstering her gun, Florence resumed walking toward the subway. “How did you find out where I live?”

  “I may have called in a favor to get your address. Sorry.”

  “You don’t sound sorry.” She should be angry with him, that was a major invasion of her privacy, not to mention it was borderline stalkerish, and yet she felt a little excited. She’d learned as a child not to trust men, and that had carried into adulthood. As a teenager she’d gravitated to bad boys, but after having her heart broken a couple of times, she’d realized men were more trouble than they were worth.

  So why did the fact that Eli was pursuing her make her feel like a giddy schoolgirl?

  If there was one thing Florence Harris wasn't, it was a giddy schoolgirl.

  Until now, apparently.

  “I can do contrite if it’s going to convince you to go on a date with me,” he said, reaching out to take her hand, entwining their fingers.

  “I’m not sure I should be rewarding this kind of behavior.” The more he persisted in trying to convince her to date him, the more her resolve weakened. Eli was a playboy, used to having women throw themselves at him, she was a cop who couldn’t remember the last date she’d been on. They were about as mismatched a couple as they came. And she wasn't sure she was ready to break down the barriers she had erected around her heart.