by Leslie Wolfe
Taker of Lives
A Novel
Leslie Wolfe
Contents
Acknowledgment
Nightmare
Day Off
Suicide
The Parents
Privileged Territory
The Boyfriend
Approvals
Me: Watching
Date and Time
Assumptions and Scenarios
Nickname
Me: Waiting
Santiago
Press Release
Another Life
Arguments
Dark Web
Me: Enraged
Moonlighting
Hair
Clause
Stakeout
Countdown
Me: Working
Initial Profile
The Date
Live Streaming
Two-Time Loser
Fame
Hell Hath No Fury
Lies and Truth
Me: Unsatisfied
A Promise
The Profile
Tactical Plans
The Agent
Me: Planning
Dinner Plans
Scenarios
A Favor
Time Gap
Haley
Baiting the Trap
Marla’s Song
Waiting Game
Live
Findings
Adam
Again
Me: Enjoying
The Name
The Senator
Seizure
Tactical
Exposed
Me: Amazing
Dinner and A Movie
Thank You!
Connect with Me!
Preview: Las Vegas Girl
Elevator Ride
Preview: Dawn Girl
About the Author
Books by Leslie Wolfe
Acknowledgment
The warmest thank you for my legal oracle and friend, Mark Freyberg of New York City. He has the talent to educate, formulate strategies and alternatives, and offer solutions to the most convoluted legal questions a crime novelist can come up with. I can’t think of a smarter or more sophisticated lawyer, whether civil or criminal, business or real estate. Some say he’s the best in New York; I believe he’s the best, period.
Nightmare
She woke with a start, her heart instantly racing when the raw memory of strange, gloved hands on her body invaded her consciousness. She could still feel the cold latex on her skin, touching her, stripping her naked, manipulating her limbs, sending shivers of fear and aversion through her veins. She remembered feeling paralyzed, wanting to scream but staring powerlessly at the face of a monster hiding behind a mask, laughing in quiet, raspy gurgles that only she could hear, glaring at her with merciless, hateful eyes.
She rubbed her forehead with frozen, trembling fingers and forced herself to breathe, gasping in deep, long breaths of air to wash away the memory of the troublesome nightmare. Must’ve been a nightmare… she was in her own bed, wearing her favorite silk jammies, and she could hear her mother’s rushed footfalls as she was getting ready for work. Nothing was out of place.
Just a night terror, that’s all it was. The worst she could remember, a vivid one she won’t be forgetting any time soon, still, just a nightmare. Her eyes fell on Pat’s photo, framed on her night table, and she focused on his loving smile for a moment, imagining his strong arms wrapped around her body, making her feel safe again.
Better.
She stood, feeling a little weak at the knees, but pushed herself to walk out of the bedroom, heading toward the kitchen. Her throat was parched dry, as if she hadn’t had a drink of water in ages. She filled a glass at the sink and gulped it down avidly, then breathed again.
“Good morning, sweetie,” her mother greeted her, then grazed her cheek with a warm hand. “Feeling better?”
She frowned, a bit confused. What was her mother talking about?
Her mother stopped her morning get-ready rush and gave her a head-to-toe scrutiny, then a tiny smile stretched her lips.
“You were a little dizzy last night, and your blood pressure was lower than what I like to see.”
“Ah,” she reacted, still frowning, realizing she didn’t remember much of the night before.
“Christina, we discussed this,” her mother said in her clinical voice, the tone she reserved for her most disobedient patients. “You don’t eat much, these photo shoots are a resource drain, so you have to pace yourself. You’ll burn out. Vogue won’t go bankrupt if you take a day off every once in a while.”
It was the eternal conflict between the two of them. Her mother meant well but failed to realize a model’s career span only lasted a few short years, and she couldn’t afford to waste a single day. She was twenty-four years old, already on her way to becoming old news. Soon, the agencies would start sending her templated emails, saying stuff like, “After careful consideration, yadda, yadda, we have decided to proceed with a different candidate who suits our needs better at this time.” Free translation? “You’re too old for this game, sorry. We’ve got someone younger; find something else to do with yourself.”
But that day hadn’t arrived yet; she was still one of the most sought-after models in the industry, and her photo shoots took her around the globe, adorning her in designer clothing that she got to keep after showing on coveted catwalks under the incessant flicker of thousands of flashlights. Dizzy or not, she had a schedule, and she intended to keep it. Her pickup limo was due at nine, and she wasn’t going to be ready in time.
She toughed it out and pushed her mother’s concerns aside with a beaming smile and a hand gesture.
“I’ll be fine, Mom, don’t worry. I’ll even do some blood tests if you’d like, but not today. Any coffee left for me?”
Her mother gestured toward the Keurig machine. “Got you some vanilla pods, the ones you like.”
“Hazelnut too?”
“Hazelnut too, sweetie,” she smiled, then placed a smooch on her cheek and rushed out of the house, jingling the car keys in her hand. “Have a safe flight! And get some rest.”
“I will,” Christina replied to the empty house, suddenly as cold and quiet and scary as her nightmare had been.
Still shivering, she threw the coffee maker a regretful glance as soon as she realized it was a quarter to nine. Not nearly enough time to put on makeup and get dressed. She forced herself to move quickly, although it felt like she moved in slow motion, the air thick as if it were water, opposing too much resistance for her weakened body to overcome.
She entered the bathroom and turned on the vanity lights, then gave her face a critical overview. Dark circles under her eyes that would require concealer, a pallor that asked for more blush than usual and maybe a darker foundation tone. Hollow, haunted eyes that needed a touch of eyeshadow to bring their faded color forward.
She turned on the shower and began undoing her buttons, still examining her face, but her fingers hesitated; she looked in the mirror and her breath caught. Her pajama top was buttoned wrong, the lowest button fastened through the second lowest buttonhole. Trivial.
Then why did she feel her blood turn to ice when she looked at the uneven hems?
She felt a new wave of dizziness wash over her and took a step back. A strangled whimper came out of her mouth as faint memories invaded her mind.
Cold, latex-gloved hands touching her, stripping her naked, manipulating her body. A piercing, evil stare from behind a mask, and a raspy, terrifying laugh, a stranger’s snicker, yet eerily familiar. The sound of a camera shutter, over and over, in a familiar rhythm of rapid bursts. Her own skin, turning to goose bumps when those strange hands invaded her. The
same hands dressing her, putting on her pajama top, grazing against her breasts while doing the buttons.
She wrapped her arms around her body and took faltering steps back until she ran into the wall, her eyes riveted on the mirror, on the image of her unevenly done buttons.
“Oh, God, please…” she whimpered, as tears rolled down her pale cheeks. “Please don’t let it be true.”
The nightmare was real.
Day Off
Tess ran on the sand at a leisurely pace, enjoying the fresh morning air, the soft colors of the calm ocean, and the warm rays of the sun, all good distractions to keep her from thinking too much of the man running alongside her. She watched their feet hit the ground synchronously, sharing a rhythm, almost like sharing a heartbeat. Then she looked away, over the emerald waters, and let a smile flutter on her lips.
It felt good to share a life moment with someone. She hadn’t done that in a long time, and she didn’t know what that moment really meant if anything. Maybe just two cops exercising together, two colleagues, nothing more.
Of course, it was nothing more. She was an FBI agent, he was a homicide detective with the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office. On occasions, they worked cases together, when Palm Beach County had an investigation that required the support of the bureau.
She shot him a quick glance and frowned a little.
“Are you pacing yourself?”
He looked at her and grinned but didn’t say a word.
“What, you’re taking the fifth now?” she asked, sounding a bit out of breath.
His grin widened.
She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Okay… Change of topic. Why isn’t Michowsky sweating it with us?”
“He’s taking his kids fishing,” he replied. “We just closed a tough case. He needed a break.”
“And you?”
“Me? I’m fine, I guess, but a break never hurt anyone, so a long weekend plus two more days off sounds great.”
He stretched his pace for a few seconds, then turned around, landing in front of her and jogging backward, without skipping a beat.
“Any plans this weekend, Special Agent Winnett?”
She hesitated before replying. It didn’t take twelve years as a federal agent to know where the conversation was headed. Did she want to go out on a date with Detective Fradella? Maybe it wasn’t the smartest or most logical thing to do, but the thought of it made her smile.
She shot Fradella a quick, shielded glance. He was a perceptive cop, one curious enough to ask unusual questions and bold enough to formulate intriguing theories. Ambitious and eager to learn, he’d made himself available twenty-four hours a day during their most recent investigations, absorbing profiling techniques and methodologies insatiably, then applying them correctly when the first opportunity presented itself.
But he wasn’t running by her side that morning to learn behavioral analysis techniques. He was there as her friend, a friend who was willing to be whatever else she’d allow him to be. That morning it was different; it took willpower, but she decided to turn away from her past, forcing her mind to ignore the wound that would never heal completely, the distant, yet still raw, memory of that terrible night, twelve years ago.
Maybe it was time to move on, even if that meant taking small steps and allowing people a little closer. Maybe it was time to learn to live again; the past had held her captive long enough.
“Um, not sure yet,” she eventually replied, veering her eyes sideways. “Nothing popped up on my agenda, but it gets fairly busy on the weekends,” she added jokingly.
“Then I better hurry up and ask you to dinner tonight,” he said, smiling under a bit of an insecure frown. “And a movie?”
She laughed. “I’ll see what I can do. What did you have in mind?”
“Whatever you’re in a mood for,” he replied quickly, then turned around and resumed running alongside her.
“You didn’t really plan this, did you, Detective?” she asked, then clammed up, embarrassed, about to apologize. He didn’t deserve the third degree she was giving him.
“No,” he replied, raising his arms in the air. “Pure spontaneity, that’s me.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied, then continued to run in silence for a minute or so, her mind completely empty of all thoughts, enjoyably relaxed.
“Hey, do you mind a work question?” he asked after a while.
“Shoot.”
“Why did you decline the invitation to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit?”
She looked at him for a moment. “That’s not a work question, that’s personal.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” he muttered, keeping his eyes trained forward, on the horizon line.
“No, I meant it’s a personal question, not a work question, but I’ll answer anyway.” She paused, not knowing how much she should share. “I didn’t feel ready, you know; and Quantico? Not for me.”
“Why?”
She slowed her run, coming to a stop, then turned and looked at the ocean that glimmered with a million sparkles in the morning sun. “Would you leave this?” she gestured toward the water.
“For Quantico? In a heartbeat,” he replied with a wide grin.
He wasn’t even panting after the three-mile run on the soft beach. She felt tired all of a sudden and sat on the sand, tilting her head backward to let the sun warm her face. It felt good, like expert fingers giving her a facial massage, while the wind played with her hair. If she let herself go, she could stay like that forever.
“I don’t know who you are, Detective Fradella,” she eventually replied, with a tinge of amusement in her voice, then her tone turned all serious. “I thought of Quantico many times, but it just doesn’t seem right.”
“That BAU guy said he’d help you adjust, right?”
She frowned for a moment, trying to remember. “You mean, Supervisory Special Agent Bill McKenzie?”
Fradella nodded.
“He’s the one who nominated me for the position, but it’s not an issue of adjusting. I’d be working cases, just like we do here, only chasing the worst possible offenders, closing the most brutal cases, and I’d be nationwide, not regional, like I am right now. That means travel, a lot of time spent away from home.”
“In that case, I don’t know who you are, Special Agent Winnett,” Fradella replied, his smile lingering. “I’ve never seen you shy away from a difficult case, not to mention you don’t strike me as particularly attached to your home.”
That was the problem with dating a colleague, a good investigator on top of it. She couldn’t lie or fudge things up, because he’d easily catch on to it and the questions would keep pouring on. He was right to keep asking, because she still hadn’t mentioned the main reason she’d turned down Bill’s offer, and his instinct was telling him there was more to the story. She took a moment to think about it, although it wasn’t the first time.
She didn’t feel that sure of herself, not yet, not enough for Quantico, for working on a team alongside the most brilliant investigators in the entire bureau. Whenever she thought her past had been forever locked away, her PTSD would resurface with an unexpected moment of hypervigilance, a snapped response or a startled reaction to the simple event of someone entering the room, reminding her she wasn’t ready yet. She couldn’t share that with Fradella, not now, not ever. Not without telling him what had happened to her twelve years ago, and that she could never do.
Instead, she decided to deflect. “You see me as a calloused wanderer, huh?”
He shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I believe you have an opportunity, and you’re letting it slip away. It won’t be there forever, Bill or no Bill.”
She let a few moments of silence pass by, enjoying the subdued whoosh of the ocean waves brushing against the shore.
“You like sushi?” she asked, not taking her eyes away from the ocean’s sparkling surface.
“I love sushi, and know a great place,” he replied enthusiastical
ly. “Is 6:00PM okay with you?”
She nodded. She had plenty of time, and nothing to do. Their run was over, and she didn’t expect Fradella to hang out by her side much longer. Maybe she could take her car to the car wash, or do some grocery shopping, maybe vacuum the living room? Nah… she’d be better off helping Cat at the bar. She almost burst out laughing when she quietly admitted to herself that outside of her job she didn’t have much of a life. Maybe she did belong in Quantico after all.
“Hey, have you climbed the Jupiter Inlet Lighthouse?” Fradella asked. “One hundred and five steps in creaking cast iron. We could grab a snack and go up there.” He searched her eyes. “If you’d like.”
She didn’t get a chance to reply. Fradella’s phone rang, and he groaned when he saw the caller’s name displayed on the screen. She stared at the ocean some more, ignoring Fradella’s phone conversation and taking in the beauty of the endless stretch of water.
“Raincheck?” Fradella asked, crouching next to her. “We’re being called in. It’s an apparent suicide, so it probably won’t take long.” He made a gesture with his phone. “I’m guessing we’re still good for dinner.”
“And Michowsky?”
“He’ll meet me at the scene. Doc Rizza’s inbound too.”
He extended his hand and she took it, letting him help her get up. She brushed off the sand from her capris then turned around, ready to leave.
“Car’s over there,” Fradella said, his frown still deep. “Come on, I’ll drop you off before heading to the scene.”
They walked quickly, but as they approached the car they slowed a little. She couldn’t say whose fault that was.
“So, it’s a suicide, huh?” she asked, unable to stop thinking how she would’ve loved to climb the 105 steps of the Jupiter Inlet Lighthouse.
“Yep,” he replied grimly.
“No need for a federal agent, I guess?”
His frown vanished. “Hey, there’s always a need for a federal agent. Us county cops, we might screw things up like we always do.”
“Yeah, right,” she laughed. “Wait until Michowsky sees me. He’ll be thrilled.” The sarcasm in her voice was unfiltered.
