“You said he’s a teenager or young adult,” Connor said. “Are you thinking college student? Maybe underachiever—smart but not living up to his potential?”
“I never said ‘he.’”
“A teenage girl?” Julia asked in disbelief. “Andrew Stanton is not going to buy that.”
“I don’t know if I buy it,” Connor said. “You said yourself that the leaders in killing pairs are men.”
Dillon countered, “The leader could be male or female. Either way, this person was abused as a child by a male authority figure. It may or may not have been sexual abuse. Penile amputation—even if they were going off Emily’s fantasy of killing her stepfather—is still a sexual and incredibly personal crime. It would be difficult to accomplish such a gruesome murder without additional motivation.”
“But the other crime—Judson’s shooting—wasn’t sexual.”
“The eyes—it was Billy Thompson who said that Judson needed to get his eyes checked. But why did that draw out the killer or killers?”
“Maybe because the victim was easy to identify. Billy Thompson gave a personal connection to the victim, called him Jackass Judson, that maybe the other e-mails didn’t do.”
“Made it easy for them,” Julia said.
“We need to learn more about this group,” Dillon continued. “That’s the key. And I don’t think Dr. Bowen’s involvement is a coincidence. I’m going to play a little give-and-take with Patrick and see if I can get any other information if we give up what we know. Patrick needs to dig deeper online. I can almost guarantee that they have more than two murders under their belt.”
“You said the killers were young. Bowen must be in his forties,” Julia said.
“The leader himself may be young or not, but it’s definitely someone older than the others and in complete control. The killers themselves are under thirty. The leader’s the key. Without him—or her—these murders would never have happened.”
“Going through all the unsolved cases in the county will take hundreds of hours of manpower,” Connor said.
“I’m going to write up an informal profile for Chief Causey to give them a direction, but I don’t know if they’ll use it, considering they don’t have me on their team.”
“They’d be foolish not to,” Julia said, “but is this going to jeopardize Emily?”
Dillon shook his head. “The police need to look at every angle, and I’m sure that they will. But there are only a handful of psychiatrists who consult with the police department, myself and Bowen are among them. They need to know that they have to stay away from Bowen. I talked to him today. I didn’t like what he had to say.”
“How far back in the files do we need to look for similar crimes?” Connor asked.
“Eighteen months. Two years, to be on the safe side. They have a taste for killing, so they’re going to continue. They see themselves as meting out justice. Vengeance. They may have started with people identified on Wishlist, but they’ll find their victims in the newspaper, anywhere. They’ve gotten away with at least two murders; they feel invincible.”
“What else? Two years of unsolved crimes? That’s a lot of man-hours.”
“Look at unsolved violent crimes. Stabbings, shootings. Male victims. All ages.”
“I’ll do it. I have the time and I’m still a member of the bar, so I have access,” Julia said. “I’m on leave, remember?”
Connor caught her eye and for the first time Julia felt something like protection from his gaze. “Don’t do anything stupid, Julia. If this gets hairy, let me handle it.”
Spoken like a true Neanderthal. Why had Julia even thought for one minute that Connor had changed?
“Come in, Cami.”
His dark eyes pierced her, held hers, drew her toward him like a bitch to her master. Her breath hitched as she glided over to him. He took her hand, kissed it. So elegant, so refined.
“Tell me everything. Again.”
She crawled into his lap and he stroked her hair. “Everything went exactly according to the plan.”
“I want details. Leave nothing out.”
“You were right about the judge.”
“I’m always right, Cami.”
“He protested at first, but not for long.”
“Sex addicts never do.”
“I turned his chair around so his back was to the door. I showed him my tits, and then I had him completely.”
“You have beautiful breasts, Cami.” He stroked them softly, then squeezed her nipples hard. Twisted them. It hurt but she pushed her breasts into his hand.
Pain meant she was alive.
“I got down on my knees and took out his cock. Sucked him long and hard. The others came in quietly. I slowly moved the chair into position and as he was about to come in my mouth, I pulled back and Faye cut off his erection.”
“How did she do?”
“She didn’t hesitate. Just one hard snap. The shears were really sharp.”
“You did good recruiting her.” He ran his hand up her skirt. She wasn’t wearing panties, as he ordered. She spread her legs to allow access. His fingers played with her and she grew hot.
“Who put his penis down his throat?”
“I did.”
“How did it feel?”
“Powerful. He was screaming when Faye cut it off. Blood shot everywhere.”
“You changed shoes like I told you?”
“Yes. We threw everything in garbage bags, got out fast. Just like you said. We all wore gloves. I didn’t touch anything until… after. We wiped down to be sure.”
“You’re not in the system.”
“No, but Faye—”
“She won’t talk if she gets caught, would she?”
Cami shook her head, enjoying his talented fingers, the line between pleasure and pain, the sensations that poured through her body, making colors brighter and sounds sharper. “Faye would never talk.” Her breath was rushed, rapid.
“Do we have a problem with Robbie?”
“No.”
He withdrew his hand.
“Please,” she begged.
“Tell the truth, Cami.”
“I don’t know. He was high today.”
“Take care of him.”
“I told Faye if he used again she would have to take care of him.”
A long silence. Then his hand returned between her legs. He shoved three fingers up her vagina while his thumb probed her anus and then he pinched hard. Her vision faded as the pain took over, every cell in her body alive and on fire.
“Good, Cami. Very good.”
“Thank. You.” Her breath was rushed as she spiraled higher, higher. Thoughts faded, all that mattered was being here, feeling the pain and pleasure, the need, the heat. She was not dead inside, no longer a hollow shell to be looked at, admired, envied. She was real, the pain proved it.
“The final execution will be Saturday. Are you ready?”
“Yesssss,” she whispered.
He murmured in her ear.
“Release yourself to me.”
After Cami left, he tidied up his office. He was hard as a rock, but didn’t dare give himself over to Cami. He knew what drove her, what motivated her. She worshipped him, admired him, and he needed that to continue to control her.
He gave her the pain she craved, but not sex. Not with him. He could give her nothing of him. She manipulated everyone around her, everyone but him. Whether she thought she could was another matter, but he’d leave her to the boys and her fantasies. He gave her what she wanted and she always came back. He gave her lust and held back with the anticipation of more. Later, in the future, but that future would never come. He’d never fuck her. The thought sickened him.
Her desire for pain would be the death of Cami, but not by his hand. Not yet at any rate. He needed her. The victory and passion he saw in her bright eyes when she recalled her part in Victor Montgomery’s execution, that was the highlight of a successful operation.
Ca
mi enjoyed it for the control, the power, the thrill.
He enjoyed it for different reasons, but for one. It was on his orders, his command, who would live and who would die. The thrill of the hunt, of marking the sinners, elated him, kept him focused. He would fix the world one death at a time.
He couldn’t fuck Cami, but he knew who would be waiting for him.
Faye Kessler had given him what he needed before, and he knew she hadn’t told Cami. Cami was a jealous, arrogant girl, she wouldn’t sit calmly on the sidelines if she knew he put his dick in Faye’s cunt when he wouldn’t do the same to her, no matter how much she asked or how much she was willing to do for him.
A woman with a closed mouth was a rarity, but one he would keep as long as it served him. Faye kept her mouth shut tight. He loved her for it… and for other reasons. There were things he could share with only her, because only she understood.
For a time, he’d worried about his attachment to Faye. After they were together, he was surprised to find himself missing her when they were apart. Her soulful eyes, her touch, her quiet understanding—he craved it. He didn’t mind wanting her, but he feared needing her.
These were thoughts for a later time. The game was still working perfectly, and he still had Cami and Faye completely under his thumb.
His girls would do anything for him. Everything for him.
And he didn’t have to bloody his hands in the process.
In less than forty-eight hours, the hammer would come crashing down on the one who had wronged him. He was truly a god.
TWELVE
JULIA WAS DRUNK.
If she hadn’t been leaning so heavily against him on the way out of Dillon’s house, Connor wouldn’t have believed anyone could get drunk on three beers.
“You’ll make sure she gets home safely and unmolested?” Dillon asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Very funny,” said Connor. “I don’t even like her. I’m not going to take advantage of her.”
“I knew you didn’t like me.” Julia pouted.
“Like that’s a big revelation,” Connor muttered.
“And I’m not drunk.” She hiccupped. “I just haven’t eaten.”
“Since when?” he asked as he slid her into the passenger seat of his truck. He and Dillon had eaten all the pizza he brought before Julia showed up.
“I don’t know.” She hiccupped again. “Yesterday, I think.”
“Great.” He slammed the passenger door shut. Now it made sense. Three beers, empty stomach. And now the counselor was his responsibility.
He should have asked Dillon to take her home.
He started up the engine of his truck. He lived only a few blocks from Dillon, but he wasn’t taking Julia to his house.
He glanced at the counselor. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t sleeping.
“Tell me the truth, Connor,” Julia said quietly, not opening her eyes. “Do you think Emily is guilty? Do you think she helped kill Victor?”
How could he answer that? He’d been a cop, cops looked not only at the evidence but used their experience and instincts to figure out who was lying and who was telling the truth. Leave the facts to scientists like Jim Gage; the truth was cops bartered lesser evils. So did prosecutors. That’s why the two professions were usually tight. They needed each other. A prosecutor may have a solid case, but they might turn free a drug addict in exchange for testimony to nail the coffin shut on a killer.
“You do,” she said when he didn’t answer right away. “Take me home.”
“You need to eat.”
“I have food. I think.”
“Julia, I don’t think Emily did it, but you need to face the fact that she may have played some role in the murder.”
A sob escaped her chest. Don’t cry. Dammit, Julia, don’t cry. I can’t handle tears.
But she didn’t cry. Instead she said, “The last thing my brother said to me before he died was ‘Take care of Emily.’ I didn’t protect her, and she ended up being raped, running away from home, and possibly involved with a murder. I failed in the only thing I ever cared about: living up to my promise to Matt.”
Connor glanced over at Julia when he stopped at a light. He instantly regretted it. She was looking at him, her face a mask of torment, her eyes dry but full of pain. “Matt gave me the world. He gave me freedom to do what I wanted to do with my life. He became the perfect son so I wouldn’t have to be the perfect daughter. All he wanted, all he ever asked of me, was to take care of his daughter. And now…” She turned her head, looked out the window. “Emily is already going to pay the price of my incompetence for the rest of her life.”
“That’s alcohol talking,” Connor admonished.
“It’s the truth.”
Connor drove over to La Honda, a restaurant owned and operated by his mother’s best friend, Felicia, another escapee from Cuba. Though crowded, it helped being family friends. They were seated immediately.
Felicia, a small round woman, came over, hugged Connor, and smiled wide. “The usual?”
“Absolutely.”
“You’ve never brought a lady friend in before.” She beamed at Julia.
“We’re not friends,” Connor and Julia said simultaneously.
Felicia’s smile only widened as she left to fill their order, coming back immediately with two beers, chips, and salsa.
“It’s hot,” Connor warned.
“I love salsa,” Julia said, scooping a huge chunk onto a chip and popping it into her mouth.
Connor covered his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. As the heat from the habanero peppers reached Julia’s sinuses, her eyes watered, her nose began to run, and he could almost see sweat form on her brow. He had to give her credit for chewing and swallowing, before draining her water glass, and then his.
“I warned you,” he said.
“Next time, I’ll listen.”
They ate in silence, and Connor was surprised when the tension dissipated. Julia cleaned her plate, drank another beer, and lost the ghostly pallor she’d had since arriving at Dillon’s earlier in the evening.
They stared at each other in silence. Connor asked softly, “What happened with your brother? I heard he died in a car accident.”
She nodded, picked up her beer, and took a long swallow.
“Were you there?”
She nodded.
“And?”
Julia’s face contorted in pain and anger. “I was driving the car.” Softer, “I killed him.”
“You didn’t kill him.”
“I know that road like the back of my hand. Every bend and turn. It was my car, my road, and—”
Connor regretted bringing it up, but he couldn’t stop now. He didn’t have to know the truth; he wanted to know.
“It was raining and I skidded. Crashed into a tree.” Her voice was quiet, matter-of-fact, as if she were a witness on the stand. “I swerved, acting on instinct—self-preservation—and turned the car. The passenger side slammed into the tree trunk. We were going about forty. Matt—” her voice hitched, she took a deep breath, then said, “Matt was crushed. He died there, before the paramedics came. Before anyone came.”
Connor took her hand. It was soft yet firm, feminine yet strong. “It was an accident.”
Julia couldn’t believe she was telling Connor Kincaid, of all people, about the night Matt died. Her chest tightened—is this what a heart attack feels like? The pain was real, hot, twisting and climbing, taking over.
“He was my best friend,” she said quietly, not able to look at Connor. “My only friend.”
And it was true. She’d distanced herself from her family; and by doing that, she had also separated herself from the friends she’d grown up with. If she could call any of the wealthy families her parents allowed her to associate with her friends. Matt was her only true friend, her brother, her mentor, her savior in so many ways. When he was gone, she had only her work. And Emily.
“I’m sorry about your brother, but it was an
accident.”
“So?”
“You weren’t drinking—if you were, you’d have been disbarred and probably imprisoned. It was raining, but I’ll bet if I went up to that road the posted speed limit would have been forty.”
Julia stared at Connor. She remembered five years ago when he was a hot-tempered cop stuck in the middle of an internal investigation he wanted no part of. He was still hot-blooded, but age—and experience—had calmed him.
Or had it? What did she really know about Connor Kincaid’s life since she told him his choice was testify or prison?
And for the first time in the last five years she wondered if she had made the right decision.
Connor had gone against orders and involved himself in the takedown of crooked cops he was ordered to stay away from. Not only that, but he broke more laws than Julia could count on both hands.
Laws must be upheld. They had to mean something. If they could be disregarded at any time, whatever the reason, wasn’t that the first step toward anarchy? The law grounded Julia, gave her strength and purpose. But Connor Kincaid was a good man, and maybe she should have looked more into giving him a second chance than laying down the rule of law and lecturing him on right and wrong.
Julia had broken no laws when Matt was killed, but she harbored more guilt than most criminals. She didn’t understand why her niece didn’t confide in her about the rape, but she did understand why Emily didn’t turn Victor in.
And for the first time, she began to understand the rocks Connor Kincaid had been wedged between when he broke the law for justice.
She was on the other side of the door. Connor hoped she wasn’t naked, that she had the sense to sleep in her clothes.
He had locked his door. Not that Julia Chandler would step foot into his bedroom, but it would make him pause long enough to unlock his door and think about what he would be doing if he touched her. Stop long enough to remember.
He still couldn’t believe he’d brought her into his house. He never brought women home. Of course, Julia wasn’t really “a woman,” someone he was dating or thinking of dating or sleeping with or thinking of sleeping with, or any other foolish thing like that. She was a district attorney and she’d hired him.
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