Kevin had followed Demore all the way to the campus of the Southwest Florida Institute of Technology. He knew the campus well, having completed the first two years toward a degree in computer science and technology. He had dropped out when he decided he knew more about computers than any of his less-enlightened instructors.
Although the architects had designed the parking lot with bright, modern light emitting diode-style streetlights, Kevin managed to find a spot under the shadow of a well-developed Red Crape Myrtle. The tree shielded his rental car from some of the direct rays of the adjacent streetlight, giving him a reasonable degree of cover from direct observation. He was confident that the window tint of the car, combined with the darkness produced by the Myrtle, would make him invisible to the outside.
Kevin had followed the big blond prick when Demore pulled off the freeway, and watched as the semi almost took him out at the bottom of the ramp. It would have been a spectacular crash. Without a doubt, Demore had used up a lifetime’s worth of good luck with that narrow escape. Still, Demore’s premature death would have robbed Kevin of the pleasure of killing the prick himself. He hated Demore more than he could remember ever hating anyone. Killing him personally would be a source of pure joy.
Kevin started his car as Demore pulled out of his parking stall. He waited a few moments before following. Although Kevin lost direct sight of the FHP Charger in the maze of Ft. Myers’ local streets, the GPS unit kept him on track all the way to Demore’s house. He liked the feeling the chase gave him. Like stalking prey.
Twenty minutes later, Kevin pulled up to a small, cracker-style house. From its appearance, he figured the wood-framed building had to be close to a hundred years old. Not that it looked bad. Even in the dark, Kevin could tell that someone had lovingly restored the home’s exterior. Regardless, the old, very dry, wood frame would burn fast. Kevin sat in the dark, waiting for the opportune moment, the voice feeding him instructions.
“Attach the device to the propane tank at the back of the house,” the voice growled. Kevin had never seen the house before, but the voice told him exactly where everything was.
The way the voice guided him always amazed Kevin. The voice, actually all of the voices, informed him, even encouraged him. The voices were his friends. His guiding spirits. The voices, collectively, had assured him that Kat Connors would appreciate what he was going to do tonight, and that she would reward him in a special way. Kevin could only imagine what that might be.
***
The small, window air conditioner in the living room strained to keep up with the outside heat and humidity. In spite of the heat, Jim didn’t bother to change. He plopped himself down into an old, overstuffed chair. Even with his utility belt still on, the chair was comfortable.
The worn upholstery actually added to the feel that it somehow had always belonged exactly where it was. Linda had derisively called it “cracker chic.”
Jim’s highway patrol salary did not leave him with much once he paid all the bills, and, unfortunately, by the time Linda had started making serious money modeling, their relationship had already become strained. As a cop, he would never be rich, but at least he had the opportunity to be somewhat comfortable. Of course, the way his luck went with women lately, he might just end up comfortably alone.
Thick silence descended on the house. Lonely silence. Graveyard silence. He even missed the noise of Linda’s yapping little dog. He had christened him “rat mutt.” Linda hated that name. The dog was a mixture of rat terrier and poodle, but he half-believed that “rat mutt” had somehow caught a little ferret DNA. A royal pain in the rear, he would yap at any new or strange noise he heard. Yet, he always seemed happy to see Jim. How had a beautiful woman like Linda ended up with such an ugly little dog?
Well, tonight nobody was around to bother him, or keep him company, for that matter. He was not on call, and maybe he would be able to get a good night’s sleep. Maybe even a full eight hours. No Linda. No yappy, little rat mutt. No reason to stay up late trying to figure out a case that still had too many pieces missing. Ten o’clock news, then pull the plug.
He retrieved the remote from the holder that hung off one arm of the chair and pushed the power button. Cable news popped onto the screen. Of course, Jefferson Briggs was the top story, again. The ticker moving across the bottom of the television screen said that the investigation into Jefferson Briggs’s death had stalled. That’s a load of crap. I’m just getting started.
He had made some progress, albeit slow as molasses. Major Kant, his troop commander, had told him this morning that the upper echelon had turned up the heat on the Brigg’s investigation. Her bosses were arguing for a more senior investigator to take the lead. If he didn’t come up with something solid soon, he might end up second chair. Or, worse, pulled and assigned something less demanding. No way in hell.
Jim absentmindedly rubbed the scar on his right knee through his trousers. He had survived both Iraq and Afghanistan. He had struggled to recover from the wounds that brought him back to the states. He was thankful for his recovery, even if it would never be one hundred percent. He had been in the hospital with guys that paid a far higher price than he did.
His total military service obligation had ended the same month he completed the physical requalification for the return to FHP duty. Although Jim loved the Corps, even the reserves, he decided not to reenlist. He knew it was time to move on. He was now doing exactly what he wanted to do. He was not about to let anything take that away.
He tried to listen to the talking head on the television, but he could not keep his eyes open any longer. He let himself drift away to that sweet place between awake and asleep. In the back of his mind, he knew he should go to bed, but he ignored the little nag that lived in his subconscious.
***
Kevin left the security of the rental car and quietly opened the trunk. Inside was an IID, an improvised incendiary device. With his technical knowledge and help from the voice, it had been simple and quick to construct. Kevin found most of the information he needed right on the Internet.
He used a special laptop for such unique research projects that demanded absolute secrecy. How to clean up a crime scene. How to dispose of a body. How to blow up an enemy.
He had created a false electronic signature for the laptop that would be impossible for Homeland Security to trace. The stealth search engine program he wrote covered his tracks completely.
He had hacked his first mainframe computer when he was only twelve. It turned out to be a university computer. Searching poorly encrypted files, Kevin had found some professor’s personal stash of hardcore pornography. Nasty stuff. And the girls in the professor’s pictures were young. Some even younger than Kevin. He had looked at the pictures with wonder. His body’s reaction to what he saw had been a wonder too.
It had taken Kevin days to download the pictures using his old dial-up modem, but it had been worth it. It did not take too long for Kevin to accumulate a huge database of both technology files and dirty pictures. Really, really dirty pictures. He downloaded the files, put them on disks, and sold them to both his friends and to perverts lurking on some of the Internet porn forums.
It had been profitable for a while. He played this little game for a couple of years, until cops and activist groups such as Perverted Justice began trolling the forums, looking to find and arrest the purveyors of certain types of porn. A lot of guys got busted. He never did.
He closed the trunk, careful not to make a racket. He looked around, and, seeing no one else on the street, made his way toward Demore’s house via the darkest shadows he could find. It took thirty minutes of slow, careful movement for Kevin to get into position. Tonight he would take his skills to a new level.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The shrill screech of a smoke alarm shattered Jim’s sleep. His eyes popped open a second before the tank at the back of the house exploded. The force of the blast blew off the front door and picked up the overstuffed chair, with J
im in it, and propelled them both through the opening. The chair landed on its back in the front yard with Jim still attached, his hands instinctively gripping the thick material of the arms.
The chair skidded a few feet across the front lawn and stopped. Jim rolled backward out of the chair, found his footing, and dashed across the street away from the burning house. Turning around, he watched his home become an inferno.
Everything that he owned was in there. At least he had still been wearing his uniform when he plopped himself down. He had not even bothered to unbuckle his gun belt. He still had his service weapon, his wallet, and his cell phone. He dialed 911.
***
Kevin Williams did not believe what he had seen. The IID had gone off perfectly. The fire had quickly engulfed the tank. Even way down the block, Kevin heard the faint sound of the smoke alarm. Seconds later, he watched the night light up better than an Independence Day fireworks display. Independence Day for Kat.
Kevin knew that she would celebrate by granting him the special reward the voices had promised, but before he could really enjoy the moment, he saw a large, dark object follow the front door into the yard. In the light of the raging fire, a human form rolled backwards. The figure jumped up and ran across the street. In the bright flame of the burning house, Kevin identified the uniform. Somehow, Trooper Pain-in-the-Ass had made it out alive. Son-of-a-bitch. How the hell did the big, blond prick survive that blast?
Kevin sat in the dark rental car and contemplated the vagaries of fortune. Fortune for Demore, temporary misfortune for himself and Kat. He kept the rental car headlights turned off as he carefully turned the car around on the narrow street. He could hear the crackling and popping sounds of burning wood, but nothing from the voices, only his own thoughts banging around in his head. That could be good or that could be bad.
One ominous thought rose above the mental mayhem. He would need an alibi for tonight. He retrieved the disposable cell phone he had purchased for tonight’s mission. He thought about dialing Kat, but saving his own ass was more urgent. He dialed a special number that activated a remote server, sending a wakeup call to his home computer. A script ran, logging him on to his work computer from home, then deleted itself. Anyone who checked would see that he had spent the evening working at home.
Before returning the rental car, he would remove the transparent red tape from the car’s taillights that had changed their look and shape. He was sure there would be nothing that could tie him to the attempted murder of the State Trooper. Even having failed his mission, even without the voices, he felt invincible. It was time to visit the beach.
***
Jim’s ears rang like renegade church bells. He barely heard the car down the street. It was too far away for him to make out any details, other than it was a sedan turning around. The car drove away quickly. Jim made a mental note of the shape and style of the taillights.
Despite the ringing in his ears, he heard sirens blaring in the distance. Intense heat came from the fire, so hot that the material covering his chair suddenly burst into flames. Jim’s right knee ached badly. He sat with his back against a tree and watched his house burn.
Three fire trucks came screaming down the street. They pulled up and a dozen firefighters raced to deploy hoses and equipment. A fire captain approached him. The light from the fire reflected off the shiny metal of her captain’s bars.
“Anyone still inside?” she asked. Her face showed genuine concern.
“I live alone. No dogs, no cat, no fish, nobody inside.”
He continued to stare at the flames. Firefighters unrolled and connected more hoses. The fuel tank stood alone, not connected to any external line, allowing the fire fighters to made good progress once water began shooting from their hoses.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
The captain waved over a couple of paramedics who had just arrived.
“Yeah, I guess so. At least I feel okay. Except, of course, for my damn house burning down.”
Jim continued to sit as he watched the firefighters knock down the flames. Three Highway Patrol cars raced up the street, full lights and sirens going, followed by two sheriff’s department vehicles and one unmarked car.
A half-dozen cops rushed toward where he sat. Major Kant, his troop commander, arrived first. The other officers clustered around the tree, watching the firefighters finish off the flames. The paramedics examining Jim stood and pronounced that he looked okay, but that they would still like to transport him, if only to be on the safe side. Major Kant squatted down next to him.
“You alright?” she asked.
“Son-of-a-bitch blew up my house.” Jim said in a surprisingly dry voice.
“Could have been an accident. Maybe a gas line leaking?”
He shook his head. “Just had it serviced. The whole heating system. It’s cheaper now then waiting until winter.”
The fire captain returned holding a blackened and misshaped metal tube.
“Found this next to the tank. This wasn’t an accident. Someone tried to kill your trooper.”
“What kind of crazy son-of-a-bitch would want to blow up a Highway Patrol trooper?”
“I don’t know, Major,” Jim said. “Someone who doesn’t like something I’m investigating?”
Jim pushed himself up and got to his feet. His right knee burned like someone had stuck a fork in it and pronounced it “done.”
“I don’t have a damn clue, ma’am,” Jim continued as the paramedics gathered up their equipment. “But, I’ll tell you this much, some son-of-a-bitch owes me a house.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Kat sat at her desk surfing news websites. The story of the explosion at Trooper Demore’s home had made the regional headlines, but she had already known that Demore had survived the night. The call from Kevin Williams had been a surprise.
“It’s Kevin,” he whispered.
“Kevin? Kevin who.”
“Kevin Williams.”
He said it like she should have known who he was.
“You know. From the store. In Ft. Myers. You bought the candles.”
Frustration edged his voice.
“I tried to help you. It didn’t work,” he said. “The prick didn’t die.”
“How did you get my number?” she asked. “And who didn’t die?”
“THEY gave it to me.” The frustration in his voice became a whine. “The cop from the Highway Patrol. He didn’t die. I blew up his house, but he got out alive. Shit, it was perfect. I don’t know what happened.”
Kat said nothing for a moment. She could hear Kevin breathing.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“At my job. I’m alone. For the moment. What do I do? The voices aren’t telling me anything.”
Voices? Kat thought back to her first encounter with Kevin. The shadows. Kevin had helping spirits. Apparently they were attached to him, somehow sharing his body, and they had bowed to her. Interesting. Although she hadn’t known what Kevin Williams was up to, she realized that her magick had not succeeded. But, she also understood that acquiring and exercising supernatural power took practice and time.
“Don’t worry,” she told him. “I’ll take care of the cop.”
Kat heard the clunk of the lab door lock, disconnected the call, and closed the browser window. There were things that needed to be done.
***
Robert entered the lab and saw Kat sitting at her workstation.
“You’re early, Kat. Are you feeling better?”
Kat spun around in her lab chair. Robert had a look of genuine concern on his face.
“Hopefully just a twenty-four-hour bug,” she replied. “How do you feel? You really put it away the other night. I didn’t think I was going to be able to get you home.”
He remembered taking Kat to the restaurant, but the rest of the evening was a blur. All he knew for sure was that he had woken up at home alone. Dumbass.
“I don’t usually drink like that,” he told
her.
“I hope not. We have a lot of work to do here. Do you remember our agreement?”
Kat stood and moved close to Robert. He struggled to remember what they had talked about. A lot of technical stuff, he knew that. Some theoretical stuff, too. Not exactly what I’d had in mind.
Robert did remember being impressed with Kat’s knowledge of the biological and chemical processes necessary for human cloning. She had surprised him with a comprehensive grasp of recent research in Somatic Cell Nuclear Transfer, the laboratory technique for creating a clonal embryo. She also offered suggestions for building on the best genetic research available. Robert knew PhDs who did not have her grasp of genetics and bioengineering. Uncanny. Not at all what Robert had expected. In addition to being amazingly smart, Kat could also drink. Robert had wanted to get her drunk in hopes of reducing any inhibitions. Instead, she drank him under the table. Admit it. She kicked your ass, Robert. You woke up alone, which probably meant you went to bed alone.
“As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t remember much after dessert.” Robert said.
Kat smiled. She reached across and held his hand.
“You said we could be partners,” she said.
Kat lifted his hand and placed it solidly on her left breast, near her heart.
“Remember?”
Robert felt her warmth. Instant arousal. Kat’s lips were full and reddish-pink. Robert looked into her eyes. Dark pupils beckoned. Her eyes captured his. Swirling, kaleidoscopic pools that drew him in. Somewhere deep inside Robert’s subconscious, an alarm blared. Warning given, warning ignored.
Robert could not look away from Kat’s eyes. For the moment, it seemed that she owned him.
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