She looked up and smiled her relief, and satisfaction surged through him. Recognition blipped in her eyes and that’s when he struck.
Two minutes later, the Judge stared down at the woman who now lay at his feet. Her wide eyes blinked nonstop. The hysteria had finally shuddered to a halt.
“Now, I’m going to remove the gag. You scream and I’ll slit your throat. Understand?”
A hesitant nod. Slight hope lit her eyes. He chuckled silently to himself. Ah well, he could let her hope for a brief moment. It would make watching the hope fade all the more titillating.
He pulled the gag off. “Now, do not say my name, do you understand? You don’t deserve to be allowed to say my name. Are we clear?”
“Yes. W-w-why are you doing this? I have grandchildren who need me. Please don’t hurt me.” More tears. The Judge ignored them. He knew she couldn’t help it.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
“No,” she sobbed, “please don’t kill me. Please!”
“Shut up and don’t say that again.”
More sniffling. Then she caught her breath. “O-okay.”
Good. She was showing him respect. He relaxed a bit. “Let me just tell you that this trial is now in session.”
Confusion waded through the fear. He watched it play out on her face. “Trial? What do you mean?”
“You disrespected me,” he hissed. “Tapping your foot, sighing impatiently, do you remember?”
The light went on. “You . . . you mean when you were arguing about—”
“Yes.”
“That’s what this is about? Because I was having a really awful day and I disrespected you?” Anger made it to the surface. Disbelief coated her face.
“Yes.” Good, she admitted it. “The jury finds you guilty.”
“Jury?”
“Yes. Me.”
“You’re crazy,” she finally whispered, understanding now that there was nothing she could do to get through to him. He already had her death planned. Desperation and despair flooded into her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She began to weep. “I’m so sorry. I . . . I should have been more patient, I shouldn’t have—”
“Good, that’s good. Repentance is good.” He cocked the gun. “Any last words?”
“Stop, oh please, stop.”
He placed a foot against her hip and rolled her over so she lay facedown, settled the gun against the back of her head, and pulled the trigger. She jerked, then was still.
“At least I’m merciful. You were granted your right to a speedy trial . . . and to be humanely executed. You were.” Briefly he wondered what his father would think of him. Would he be proud? Happy that his son finally learned to stand up for himself?
Or would he find fault like he always had? Laugh and mock him and make him feel small and unworthy?
It didn’t matter, he decided. His father didn’t matter.
Only this mattered.
Then he pulled out the new knife he’d purchased just this morning and cut off the first three toes of her right foot.
Twenty minutes later he dropped the miniature gavel on the ground and laughed. She’d be doing no more toe tapping.
Calm filled him. He’d completed his mission. One. Two. Three.
Now for the next three.
By nine o’clock that night, Kit and Noah were both wired and starving. After what amounted to a pretty fruitless search for their elusive killer, she’d been on edge and cranky. But a pair of sweats, an oversized sweatshirt, and fuzzy socks were a good start to putting her world back on its axis.
And Noah was here. That helped too.
For some reason, she’d asked him to come over to her house, and for some reason, he’d accepted. The pizza had arrived five minutes ago.
“One thing I’ll miss when I move into my new house. Homemade Mama Linelli’s Pizza.”
“New house? When are you moving?”
“As soon as I find the time to find one and buy it.”
He laughed.
Kit placed a slice of pizza on her plate and watched him do the same.
She waited.
He looked at her. “What are you waiting for?”
Kit shrugged. “I figured you’d want to say the blessing.”
A strange light entered his eyes and he reached out to take her hand in his. “I would love to.”
He said a short prayer of thanks for the food and added a request for wisdom and safety in solving the case they were working on.
When he looked up and met her eyes, she shivered at the soft look there.
Then he broke contact and asked, “How’d you get into this job anyway?” Noah picked up a slice of the pizza and guided it to his mouth.
Kit watched his teeth sink into the gooey mess and felt her heart stutter a beat. She closed her eyes briefly and told herself they were partners. Love and partners were not a good combination.
Why? The little voice inside her whispered. Why would it be so bad? At least he would understand the job. Unlike the last guy you picked.
She shut off the little voice and concentrated on Noah’s question. Did she want to explore the past that closely with this man she was trying not to drool over? She hedged. “I found something I was good at.”
“And how did you find out you were good at it? Why become a cop in the first place?”
Kit let out a small sigh and set aside her soda. She picked up a napkin and cleaned her fingers of the grease. He kept his gaze on her, waiting patiently for her answer.
“When I was eleven years old, I was taken hostage by a friend’s father.”
Noah jerked and the slice of pizza that was headed toward his mouth again bumped his chin, then hit the plate. He ignored it. “What?”
“I was visiting a friend after school. Her mother had picked us up, taken us for ice cream, and then we went back to her house, where I was going to spend the night.”
She stole a glance at him. He was totally absorbed in her words. “Anyway, her parents had been separated for a while, and her dad chose that night to come home and demand a reconciliation with his wife.”
“Did he know you were there?”
“No. In fact, we were actually supposed to be at my house that night, but we ended up at Julia’s house instead.”
“Oh man. So when he came home . . .”
“He’d been drinking, wasn’t really in his right mind. Apparently he’d tried to call all day and Julia’s mom wouldn’t answer the phone. When he got there, Julia heard him come in the door and went running out to see him. In spite of all of his faults, she loved her dad.”
“Of course, every kid does.”
“Then the arguing started.” She drew in a deep breath. As always, the memory of that night was never too far from the surface. She could now remember it, talk about it with some detachment, yet every once in a while the emotions from it would blindside her.
“When they started yelling at each other, I hid out, scared, hoping they’d stop.”
“Did they?”
“No. I . . . I could hear Julia crying, so I crept to the edge of the hall just about the time her father pushed her aside and slammed her mother up against the wall.”
His warm hand covered hers. She shivered. Reliving it like this, not just thinking about it, but actually saying the words out loud . . .
“You don’t have to tell me the rest of it. I have a pretty good idea what happened.”
“No, it’s all right.” She curled her fingers around his and let herself enjoy the sensation, the feeling of safety he offered. How strange. She was the one who usually provided that to other people. To be on the receiving end felt . . . nice. “I darted back down the hall into the master bedroom and dialed 911.”
“So, the cops arrived?”
“Yeah. And after a series of events, her dad grabbed a shotgun from somewhere and blew a hole in the door.” She shook her head. “I’m still not sure where the gun came from. It seemed like it was just there all of a sudden.”
>
“Did he hit the cop?”
“No. Fortunately. But he wasn’t ready to surrender either.”
“How long?”
“Seven and a half hours.”
His fingers squeezed hers and she realized he still had his hand tucked around hers. “What an awful experience for a kid.”
“For anyone.”
“Yeah, but especially for a kid.”
It had been awful. She’d had horrible nightmares for several years after that. It wasn’t until she’d become a certified hostage negotiator that the dreams stopped.
Weird.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I remember listening to every word that negotiator said. Intently. I didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, didn’t hardly breathe. I think I tried to become invisible, because if he couldn’t see me, he couldn’t kill me, right?”
“Right.”
“I didn’t even go to the bathroom. I just wet my pants where I sat.” She gave a low chuckle. “That’s one thing I remember clearly. I hated that. Almost as much as I hated the helpless feeling of being out of control.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I went through several years of therapy and belonged to an amazing . . .” She paused and cocked her head. “Huh.”
“What?”
“I was going to say an amazing church. But I just remembered that church part.” Memories flooded her. “We had a great children’s minister. He and his wife practically adopted me after that. He was a trained counselor. Not the one I saw on a regular basis, but he helped . . . a lot.” She shifted, agitated. “I can’t believe I didn’t remember that until now. How weird.”
“Not so weird. You’ve already said you’re mad at God.”
“Yeah, I am. Sort of.”
“Anger is a powerful emotion. You’ve probably suppressed some good things about God in order to hold on to that anger. The question is, why are you so mad at him?”
She stiffened, then stood to gather the pizza leftovers. “Are you done?”
“I guess.” He tossed his napkin onto the box and leaned back. “So what kind of house do you want?”
Startled at the welcome subject change, she just looked at him. “What?”
“You said you needed to go house hunting. What are you looking for?”
She sat back down and let the box fall back onto the table. “If I close my eyes, I can see it so clear. It’s more like a farm. I want something with a little land. A couple of horses, a dog.” She laughed. “I want a dog. My dad was allergic to everything and animals were not welcome in our house when I was growing up.”
“What else?” His voice was soft and his eyes caressed her face.
A little self-conscious, she shifted. “I don’t know. I don’t have a particular color or shape for the house, just the idea of it. What it represents.”
“Do you want to get married?”
Kit sat up with a jerk. “What?”
He flushed as he realized how that question sounded. “No, I’m not asking if you’ll marry me, I’m just asking if you see that in your future.”
She studied him. “If I do, it’ll have to be to someone who understands my job. Not just the crazy hours, but the emotional toll it takes on me.” Kit shook her head. “I dated a guy a couple of years ago who couldn’t handle it. I can’t go through that again.”
“So you’d like to be married one day?”
“Yeah.” She looked him in the eye. “I would.”
His lips curved in a slow heart-stopping smile. “Good.”
Break-dancing butterflies cut loose in her belly and she swallowed at the crazy sensation. “So tell me about you, Noah. What was your childhood like?”
His eyes dropped to study the table. “It wasn’t a great one, to be honest. But I overcame it. I’ll tell you about it one day.”
“What’s wrong with right now?” She picked up the pizza box once again and placed her other hand on her hip. Why was he so reluctant to talk about his past, his family? She’d spilled her guts to this guy and he was like a clam. She didn’t like it.
Instead of answering her question, he raised a brow, stood, and reached out a hand to take the box from her. “Want me to get rid of that for you?”
With her good arm, she held it up out of reach. “I can take it out. It won’t fit in my little trash can. Now, prepare to tell me your life story.”
Surprise pierced her as neatly as the bullet that crashed through her kitchen window, cutting a path through the pizza box she still held above her head.
15
Noah slammed himself to the floor and hollered, “Kit, are you okay?” He’d seen her dive to the floor two seconds before he did.
“Fine,” she grunted.
He turned his head to see her army crawling toward the phone, wincing each time she put weight on her still sore arm. “I’ve got my cell phone, Kit. Stay still!”
“You call Dakota. I’ll call 911.” She had a landline on the kitchen counter. He stuck around long enough to see her grab the cord to pull it off the counter. It landed on the floor in front of her.
While she took care of calling the authorities, Noah stayed low and raced toward the back door that led to a screened-in porch. Briefly he paused at the window and scanned the area.
Nothing.
He snatched his cell phone out and punched in Dakota’s number. He wanted someone he trusted on his way over here.
Footsteps sounded behind him and he whirled. Kit crept toward him, gun held ready, face intense, anger visible.
Dakota came on the line.
“We’re at Kit’s house and need backup. Someone decided to take shots at us again.”
“What?” Dakota’s voice thundered through the phone. “Connor and I’ll be there as soon as we can. Do you have backup on the way?”
“Kit called it in. Should be here shortly. Be careful, I have a feeling our shooter is still out there.”
“Hunker down and stay out of bullet range.”
Kit reached for the doorknob. “I’m going after this guy.”
“Are you crazy?”
Through gritted teeth, she ground out, “No, mad.”
Panic hit him. He couldn’t let her go outside. “As soon as you set foot outside that door, he’s going to put a bullet in you.”
“Come on,” the Judge whispered to the cops inside. “Come on.”
He had the perfect view from the roof. Even in the darkness, the lighting from the street and Kit’s home provided enough of a visual that if Kit came out the front door, he’d have to squirm around a bit to get his sights on Detective Lambert, the one he wanted dead. But if Lambert came out of the back door from the porch, all he had to do was pull the trigger.
A plan a son could be proud of. How he wished he could have been proud of his father. The familiar sick rage built in him and he pushed it down. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. “Come on.”
The rifle still felt odd in his grip. Heavy, bulky. He was much more comfortable with the small Walther PPK/S. The one he’d used to kill Walter.
Still no movement from the house.
Why weren’t they racing out of the house to find the shooter? What kind of cops were they?
The Judge wasn’t concerned about someone seeing him. He had a great spot behind the chimney.
Then a car pulled into the subdivision and the Judge cursed. What were they doing home so soon? She’d said her parents would be out of town until tomorrow. He had to get down now before they came inside. Otherwise he’d be stuck up here until they left again.
As much as he wanted to stay and watch all the action, recording it in his mind for a story to tell his son, he definitely had to leave before the cops figured out where the bullets had come from.
He scrambled for the rope he’d pulled up after him. The climbing gear had come in handy. He smiled as he thought about it. It had been so easy. Just toss it up and over, the hook on the end of the rope had grabbed and held. And with the rifle strapped to his
back, like Spiderman, he’d scaled the building.
And waited.
Only now, sirens sounded in the distance. He’d shot through the window. And missed. He wanted to scream out his frustration. How had he missed again? He shook the rifle. Stupid, ancient weapon. He should have invested in a newer one. But he hadn’t wanted to spend the money. So he’d worked with the sight and got it lined up the way he wanted. Or so he thought.
And he’d shot and missed. Again.
And they called for backup instead of racing out the door. They were smarter than he gave them credit for. He’d thought if he kept his distance, he’d be able to take out the one he wanted without any trouble, but this was twice now that he’d missed.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Kit paused. Heard the sirens. “Help’s on the way.” She still itched to open the door and search the neighborhood until she found the creep who shot out her window.
But she could tell the thought of her sticking her head outside completely unnerved him.
Noah looked out the window one more time. “Good.”
“I wonder who he’s after,” she mused, grudgingly giving in to Noah’s rational argument that going out the door before backup arrived would be incredibly stupid.
He looked back at her, his brow lifted. “Um . . . us?”
She shot him an aggrieved look. “Funny. I mean, is he after both of us? Or just one of us?”
“He’s struck twice.”
“And we were together both times.”
“But the bullets came closer to you both times.”
“On purpose or because that’s just where they ended up after he pulled the trigger?” She pursed her lips. “And why is he shooting at us anyway? Who is it? Someone who doesn’t like us investigating this case?”
“A psycho who just got out of jail and is out to get the person who put him there?”
The back-and-forth dialogue helped her think.
He looked out the window. “Good questions. We’ll have to figure out the answers later. Our backup is here.”
“Once they decide the scene is secure, they’ll be all over the place.” She rubbed her head. “Great.” Another thought hit her. “Alena!”
“Who?”
A Killer Among Us Page 11
