Tourist traffic in Orlando is half the problem. People aren’t paying attention, or worse, singing damn songs about their final destinations. So even with the sirens and lights going, it took a minor miracle for me to finally get off on Highway 192. I know I should’ve called for backup as well, but Evans was off the reservation and didn’t have a warrant for the new address. If this got ugly, I didn’t want to be responsible for the loss of more police lives.
Ten more minutes went by and I was pulling into the subdivision of the address. The rent-a-cop at the gate actually had the nerve to stop me. “Excuse me, sir,” he started.
“Listen here, jackass,” I growled. I had my FBI ID out and he saw the gun attached under my jacket. “Open that damn gate now or I will shoot it open.”
He did as I asked and I tore off into the neighborhood, coming to a stop at 1221 Lakeshore Drive. There was another Charger out front. I quickly unstrapped my seatbelt and brought my gun to the ready position. Slowly I walked to the front door. A hurried test of the handle told me it was unlocked. I quickly swung the door open and took two steps inside.
The walls of the typical stucco Florida home were riddled with bullet holes. Before I could even process the scene visually, two more gunshots came from the back. I raced outside, shooting the glass sliding door open. A man dressed in black was hopping over the fence, leaving the agent down.
It wasn’t Evans. It was Agent O’Dell.
I dropped to a knee beside her. She was bleeding out. “Evans…” she choked. “Gave me the tip—supposed to meet me here.”
“Save your breath, O’Dell,” I whispered. “You need to save your strength.” My God, her husband, kids! A pit was forming in my stomach.
She shook her head no. “I know enough,” she coughed up some blood, “to know when something’s fatal.”
“Don’t say shit like that to me!” I ripped off my jacket and pressed it against her wounds. As I was doing that, I tried to call 911. Even before the last button was pushed, it was too late. O’Dell was dead.
No. Not again. Rage washed over me and I took off in the direction of the man who did this. I jumped over the fence—only to find the gunman lying there with a broken leg. The neighbors had dug a ditch to install a pool and he landed awkwardly on the uneven terrain. There was nowhere for him to go.
I ripped off his mask and saw it was some random lowlife. “Who are you?” I roared.
“Piss off,” he said through gritted teeth.
I wasn’t in the mood. The handle of my pistol bounced off his skull. “Last chance, asshole. Who are you?”
“He said you wouldn’t be like this.” The gunman was more amused than anything. “When he paid me to kill any and all FBI that came to the house, he said you were weak.”
Dollface thought I was weak, huh? It was about time people saw how far I’d go for the woman I loved and the bureau I served.
His broken leg stuck out like a sore thumb. “I’ve played by the rules most of my career. Today, the rulebook can go to hell.” I cocked my gun, giving a clear message what would happen next. “You’re working for the man who killed too many people close to me! I want answers!” I reached over, smacking the side of his face with the barrel of the pistol. “I think some hot lead will make you talk,” I said coldly.
This man showed no regard for his own body. The assassin was laughing at me. “You think you’re in control? He’s played you this entire time. It’s just a pity I won’t be able to see the look on your face.”
His hand moved quick, grabbing his own gun off the ground. At first I thought he was going to try to shoot me, but he shot himself. Blood spattered against me, putting me in a state of shocked silence. I tried to back away a bit, but my legs were wobbly.
Eventually I found my strength and called the local police and EMTs. While I waited for them, I saw a piece of paper on the ground, just under the body of the unnamed perp. I reached down and moved him, freeing the paper. The words on the page brought me out of my stupor and the fires of rage took me over. My hands were shaking, I was so pissed off.
She’s sweating at the shop—love, Agent Evans
This entire time, the last place anyone would think to look. The killer had been working with the FBI from the start. I had no will to wait for anyone to show up. This had just become very personal. I walked out, back toward the road and got into my car. I sped as fast as I could back to Mona’s apartment.
The door was wide open and Mona’s coffee cup was shattered in the entryway, lying in a pool of cold coffee. My heart sank as I pictured her in his hands, struggling to get away from the bastard.
“Damnit,” I cried out, punching the wall. “Damn you, Evans.”
There was nothing left for me to do. I was covered in blood and my phone was blowing up. Defeated, I went back to the Charger and I didn’t stop until I got back to my apartment fifteen minutes later. I wasn’t answering anyone’s calls—not the police, FBI, or even my boss. No, the only person I wanted to talk to was Evans.
I continued to beat myself up over the losses, even in the shower. I wanted to wash both the blood of O’Dell and the killer off of me. He was just a nameless pawn in all of this, someone Evans knew would be willing to make the sacrifice if needed. In fact, I figured that was his plan all along. That poor schmuck was never going to live through this, even if he succeeded in getting away.
Evans, just his name pissed me off. Just what the hell did Evans mean by ‘she’s sweating at the shop’? God, I hated word play. Mona… just when we affirmed our bond for each other. Why didn’t I have the stones to tell her that yes, I was hers as well? I couldn’t tell who I was more mad at—Evans for all he’d put me through, or myself. I brought another innocent woman into this and she’d become a target. I was a selfish dick. I was Special Agent Dick.
Come on, Leo, now isn’t the time for self-regret or loathing. I needed to put the facts together before something terrible happened to Mona. I read his words over and over again, hoping something would come to me. Sweating at the shop, hang on—could he mean a sweatshop? Tracing the line of reasoning, of course, he’d want to stay under the radar and what better place than an old factory—a sweatshop.
I grabbed my tablet off my side table and entered a search for abandoned factories. It didn’t even take me long to see it. God, we were all so stupid to have missed this piece of the puzzle. North of Orlando, in the city of Sanford, was a public record of a building no longer in use. The name of the former business?
China White Custom Dolls.
Chapter Twenty-Six
He smiled to himself as he carried Mona’s limp body into the room.
“You’re back!” The almost childlike glee was trying sometimes. “Mona is just in time for tea!”
The perfect little china dolls were sitting around the table with tea and cookies at their place settings. “I hadn’t really planned on serving refreshments.”
“Silly, of course there are refreshments when one has guests,” his mirror image said with an exasperated shake of his head. “Let me set a place for dear Mona.”
He sighed and sat the limp woman obediently at the indicated place, actually enjoying the thought of her waking up surrounded by the wonderful collection of dolls. “She won’t have a lot of control of her limbs at first so she might get startled and fall out of the chair.”
“Oh, dear, I wouldn’t want her to hit her eyes,” came the fretful reply.
“I’m sure her eyes will remain intact for your purposes,” he said as he looked thoughtfully at his watch. He hoped Leo arrived in time for the fun. If he survived the little surprise that had been set up for his benefit that is, although he was certain the other agent would indeed survive and follow the clues that had been led directly to their door.
Ideally he would be able to overpower the other man and secure him to watch Mona’s punishment and then see her be preserved for eternity in a china doll. It was delicious to think of Leo watching the life drain from his little slut’s eye
s, helpless to do anything about it. Then of course he would put Leo out of his misery.
He smiled then decisively snapped his fingers to get the other’s attention. “Listen, I’m going to wait outside for Agent Jackson. You can play in here but do not touch her eyes. Remember the rules, punishment first then you get your treasure.”
A petulant pout met his words. “I know the rules.”
“I know you do, I was just making sure. Have your tea party; I’m going to leave this gun here for you just in case,” he said as he laid it on the table next to the place set for him.
The gun was eyed dubiously. “I don’t like guns.”
“I don’t care if you like them. If you need to, you will use it.” He had to be satisfied with the short nod he got in response before heading out the door. He was looking forward to taking down Agent Leo Jackson for a multitude of reasons. The man was closer to solving the puzzle than anyone had ever been but also with Leo out of the way, Evans was easily the next choice for Special Agent in Charge.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Excerpt from Under his Hands by Mona Hyatt:
She wondered if she’d ever feel safe again. He was gone and she was alone… alone and scared of what the future would bring without him at her side.
I woke, my mind hazy, licking my lips to dispel the dryness and becoming more and more aware of the sensation flowing throughout my limbs like pins and needles. My arms felt weak as I reached up to brush the hair out of my face and slowly opened my eyes.
I was surrounded by china dolls of varying sizes; the one right next to me was staring straight at me. A shudder ran through me; something was really weird about the rheumy gray eyes staring so emptily into my own. They were floating in some strange fluid and they looked… I stiffened in horror as I realized what I was seeing.
They were real… real human eyes stuck into a china doll! I gasped when I looked around the table to see four more pairs of gray eyes of varying shades looking at me. My breath began to come in short little pants as I fought the urge to panic.
I was trapped in a room with dolls looking me with human eyeballs; thankfully the sixth doll possessed the normal shiny plastic eyes that belonged in a doll, but surrounded by the rest of the dolls it seemed just as creepy.
“I’m so glad you were able to join us for tea, Mona,” a soft male voice spoke from my left.
I turned clumsily and looked into the face of Agent Evans, except it wasn’t… it was and it wasn’t… my mind was so fuzzy I couldn’t quite grasp what was wrong with his face. It was the same but not… it was… backwards. Twins? No, not just twins… mirror twins.
“Who are you?” I asked hoarsely.
“Deacon. You were rude to me on the computer, Mona,” he said petulantly. Then he smiled brightly. “I forgive you though. Of course you will be punished, for your rudeness and your fornication but first we can have tea and cookies. My girls are so happy you’ve come to join our family.”
“Join your family?” I echoed, horrified by that and exactly what his punishment might entail. I was gaining more control of my body as I sat there and looked around the room for Evans. “Speaking of family, where is your brother?”
He frowned. “Brother? I don’t have a brother.” The man looked confused by the question.
“Your twin…” I offered helpfully, disturbed by the level of outraged confusion in his eyes.
“It is only me, myself, and I!” he said firmly. “And of course our reflection. We always need him; he takes care of us.”
“Oh, all right,” I said as I wondered how this man could even function. He was a few time warps past bat-shit crazy and when my eyes fell on the pretty doll sitting on his desk with empty eye sockets I knew my ultimate fate if I didn’t get out of here. “You plan to punish me?” I asked conversationally as I made myself nibble one of the cookies on my plate.
He chortled as if I was being silly. “No, of course not. I’m not much of a disciplinarian. The reflection handles all our family discipline. Once it’s done I will free you from your sins and you will be safe with us forever.”
I closed my eyes so he couldn’t see how terrified I was as I suppressed a shudder. I couldn’t just let these nutburgers kill me. Think, Mona… think… I eyed my tepid tea then hurriedly drank it down.
“Could I have more tea, please?” I asked in the sweetest voice I could muster.
He brightened, clearly happy his little party was going so well. “Of course.”
As he got up to get my tea, I prepared to run and find some place to hide but as he moved away I spotted a gun lying next to his place at the table.
I watched as he puttered at the stove, rising to lean over and grab the gun. By the time he turned to face me with fresh tea in his hand I was back in my seat with his gun in my lap.
He walked back to the table with my tea, his smile fading as I lifted the gun to point it at the doll immediately to my right. “Step away from the table or little Lolita is going to get it.”
“That’s Mindy, please don’t hurt her,” he said as he watched anxiously.
I rose carefully from my seat, keeping the gun trained on Mindy. Was that the name of the poor woman whose eyes rested in the doll?
“He is going to be so angry,” Deacon told me. “I don’t think I can allow this…”
When he took a step toward me I squeezed the trigger, jumping at the loud repercussion and the doll’s head exploded.
“Mindy!” he cried. “You killed her!”
“No, you and Tweedle-Dee did that,” I told him matter-of-factly.
When he gave a scream of rage and ran at me, I began to shoot around the room as I backed away. I tried my best to aim for the center of his body. Bullets were flying out of the gun as I pumped the trigger as often as I could.
A mirror shattered, bringing another cry of despair as he flung himself on top of me. There was one final blast from the gun as I tried my best to protect myself.
His body jerked on top of me and he looked down at me as if I’d betrayed him. “I would have taken care of you,” he said before his eyes glazed over and his head fell to my shoulder. Disgusted, I pushed him away from me, toward the door leading out of this hellhole.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“At the end of the universe lies the beginning of vengeance.”—Khan, Star Trek
My Charger pulled into the parking lot of China White Custom Dolls. It’d only been about four hours since I’d left her apartment, but it felt like days. Before I left my apartment, I placed my FBI-issued pistol in the safe. On our way from D.C., Agent Perez had to check her personal handgun with airport security. It was a Desert Eagle 1911c. And it was currently strapped to my chest holster.
Perez and I started this nightmare together. We were going to end it together, too.
No one at the FBI knew I’d taken it. At the time, I kept it because I wanted something to remember her by. Today, it was going to be the weapon to bring divine judgement against Agent Mike Evans. The clip was fully loaded with hollow point shells. Evans would never see the sun rise above the Orlando skyline again.
I got out of the car. With Perez’s gun in my hand, I walked toward the factory. I kept low to the ground, just in case Evans was in a sniper position. He’d already proven that skill at the airport when I first got here. The closer I got to the factory, the faster I moved until I was out of danger. I found the steel doors that led into the interior. They were unlocked, inviting me to come inside.
With my gun held high, I pushed the door open with my off hand. The interior was dark. I grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight app, giving me some light to move forward. I almost wish I hadn’t. Creepy, half-made dolls littered the factory floor, even on the shelves lining the wall. This was the place, there was no doubt in my mind.
“Welcome, Agent Jackson,” Evans’ voice cried out. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the game we’ve been playing. I know it has been amazing to have someone who could challenge my intellect.”
&n
bsp; His voice echoed all over the place. There was no way to tell where Evans was. “It’s over, Evans,” I countered. “You’re not leaving here alive.” I swept the rafters above me with the Desert Eagle, just to make sure he wasn’t so close.
His creepy laugh filled the factory. “You’re right about one thing; this game has come to a close. Unfortunately for you, and by proxy, Mona, you won’t be the winners.”
The way he said that, I knew she was here. “Where is she, you sick bastard?”
“She is unharmed, for now. She’s having tea with my mirror image.”
I saw something move and I quickly turned and nearly fired. The shadow was of a rat. I was sure this factory was full of them. “I don’t even want to know what that means, Evans. Is that even your real name?”
I heard feet clattering against metal. I turned all around, still nothing. “Mike Evans, yes, it was the perfect name to get me into the FBI. So many Mike Evanses in the world, it makes background checks very easy to forge.”
“So your real name is Deacon.” It wasn’t a question.
“No, but Deacon, yes, that is someone very important to me. You could say we are like peas and carrots. Two different vegetables, but we go so well together.” Even his humor was weird and off-putting. How did no one ever pick up on Mike Evans being a serial killer?
Speaking of the serial killer, there was another bastard in play! I wasn’t expecting that. My heart began to race, my hands began to sweat. I was outnumbered two to one and I had no idea where Mona or the other killer was. My best bet was to keep Evans talking. “Everyone is on to your secret. O’Dell figured it out right before she died,” I lied. “She called it in; every agency in D.C. is descending upon you here.”
In His Custody Page 9
