by J. E. Taylor
“Jesus Christ!” Jerry cried. He jumped to his feet and got a shot off but it went wide. He let out a yell of frustration. “Fu…”
Jerry didn’t get the full syllable out before a bullet ripped the top of his head off. He fell dead on the pavement next to Steve.
Anger filled him and he shot to his feet, swiveling in Charlie’s direction with his gun drawn. Their eyes locked.
Charlie shot at him but the bullet sailed wide. “Son of a bitch!” He roared and took another shot.
Ignorant of the bullet that whizzed through his sleeve, leaving a thin trail of blood where it grazed his skin, Steve scrunched his face with fury and he trained the gun between his eyes, pulling the trigger.
Charlie went down, the bullet penetrating the bridge of his nose right between his eyes and blowing a hole the size of a coke bottle out of the back of his head, spattering the side of the warehouse with red and grey matter. He was almost certainly dead before he hit the pavement.
Steve lowered his gun, glancing down at his partner. He blinked back the sudden wave of nausea and leaned down, putting his fingers to Jerry’s neck just to make sure there was no pulse. He closed his partner’s eyes and let out a long shaky breath.
He stood, pushing the grief away and shifted into autopilot, drinking in the details around him as his training demanded. He put the gun in his holster and looked at the torn material of his shirt. Blood seeped into the fabric from the flesh wound.
His eyes rose, taking in the crowd of officers gathering around Charlie. He watched the SWAT team and bomb squad enter the warehouse through the same door Charlie had come out of. No further gunshots or explosions greeted them.
Steve closed his eyes and hung his head for a moment as the day’s events slammed a mixture of grief and guilt into him. With a shaky breath, he turned in time to see the sharks capturing his face on camera.
His undercover career was officially over.
“Damn,” he whispered and turned away from the scene.
Part Two:
Homeward Bound
Chapter 51
Steve sat in the office at his lakeside cottage, staring at pictures of the latest victim.
Three months.
Three months since the warehouse incident. Three months since Charlie’s autopsy confirmed the tattoo on his right forearm matched Jennifer’s drawing and the DNA comparison revealed enough similarities to close the Slasher Case, despite both his and Jennifer’s arguments.
Three months of nothing.
Until last week.
Last week, Jennifer had another vision and a couple of days later, a body showed up in Los Angeles with the same M.O. as the early Slasher cases. The kicker, the DNA matched perfectly. This wasn’t a copycat, this was the real deal and the bastard had his sadistic control back.
“Damn it, they should have listened to us,” he muttered. Steve closed down the computer and stepped into the living room where Jennifer lounged on the couch watching television. “How’re you doing?”
She shrugged and her eyes landed on the crystal eagle. “Why did you bring that back?”
“Because,” he said, swinging his eyes toward the figure. He couldn’t articulate why he’d brought it home with the rest of their things. It was a constant reminder of Charlie and the lives lost over the holiday, and it kept him from finishing off the last vial of cocaine that sat in his desk drawer.
“Because why?”
He turned toward Jennifer. “It keeps me honest.”
The answer obviously took her by surprise and her gaze shifted between him and the eagle. “Really?”
Nodding, he said, “Yeah.” Taking a seat next to her on the couch, he focused on picking a hangnail from his thumb. “We never talked about… you know.”
“The fact we both screwed up?”
Steve nodded and continued to avoid eye contact.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not asking for an apology, Jen.” He glanced up at her. “I’m trying to understand how…” He trailed off.
“How I could allow Charlie of all people?”
“Yeah.”
“Watching that video was devastating, Steve, and I didn’t know it wasn’t real.”
He snorted. He knew exactly what she was talking about.
“I’m serious.”
“I know, I wasn’t discounting that, I was agreeing with you. Seeing the video of you and Charlie… I’m surprised I didn’t kill him when he came in the room.”
Jennifer bit her lip. “Did you have a choice at the warehouse?”
The question ruffled his feathers, but it was a question he asked himself day after day. Yes, Charlie was shooting at him and killed more than a dozen people that day, but was that it?
Was that the only reason he planted a bullet in Charlie’s brain?
“If I didn’t kill him, he would have killed me.” He sighed, feeling the weight of all those deaths on his shoulders.
“Well, I, for one, am glad you won’t be doing undercover work, anymore.”
“Yeah, well.” He stopped, knowing she didn’t want to hear how much losing that work stung. Profiling wasn’t as adrenaline inducing as being in the thick of things where one wrong move could mean life or death. That rush was as addictive as the cocaine and he missed it. Despite the death toll at the warehouse, the executives in both the FBI and DEA marked it as a great accomplishment, but he didn’t see it that way. Too many innocent people died, and they died because he screwed up.
“You weren’t responsible for what happened,” she said, accurately reading the blame in his expression.
He raised his eyes to hers and shrugged. “If I hadn’t gone to the scene…”
Jennifer cut him off. “If this, if that; stop with the shoulda-coulda-woulda shit. You did the best you could with how things turned out. Even if Charlie hadn’t been sent that picture, those women would have died. And maybe more agents would have bit it. If someone triggered the explosives when they were running out of the building, the entire block would have vaporized. Please don’t do this to yourself.”
“But…”
“No, Steve. Don’t. You blamed yourself for what happened to me here because you couldn’t stop it. I know for months you turned that over in your head, thinking of what you could have done differently. Don’t let this eat you up inside.”
It was a little too late for that. “But I screwed up this one.”
“No, you didn’t. Charlie called and asked you to come down to the scene as his lawyer. Maybe if you had hung back behind the barricades, things would have been different, and he would have never known you were with the FBI.” She reached out and turned his face toward her. “But he still would have killed those people.”
“Carson and Jerry would have lived.”
“Jerry was still between the warehouse and Charlie’s car. You can’t take the blame for his death.” She kept eye contact with him. “You know, maybe you should have kept those sessions with the psychiatrist.”
“I don’t need a shrink.”
Jennifer lifted her eyebrows.
“I don’t!” He stood and crossed to the window, looking out at the dark lake. “What I need is a vacation.”
“I hear ya,” she said and crossed the room, taking his hand and placing it on her belly.
Steve’s attention shot from the lake to the small thump on his hand, their entire conversation forgotten when he felt one of the babies kick. She had been complaining that they were getting more active, but this felt like a game-winning field goal. “Damn.” He glanced up at her. “I felt that.”
Jennifer smiled. “I hope they have your eyes.” She leaned up and kissed him.
“I’m partial to green, myself.”
She blushed and looked down at his hand stroking her stomach.
His gaze snapped to her face when her sharp inhale broke the hypnotic awe of the tiny kicking figure within her belly. Her eyes glazed over in the opaque film of a vision, what Jack had referred to as the
death mask, and he shivered, waiting for the mumbling to begin.
“It isn’t you honey. At one time it was, but now it’s all about him.”
She shivered despite the summer heat and all she could think about was her baby. Fear kept her from fighting and her gaze fell to the ornate tattoo on his forearm before dropping to the detonator clasped in his fist.
“Jennifer!”
His voice cut through the vision and she exhaled. “Jesus,” she whispered and took a shaky step. Then all went black.
Fingers tapped her cheeks and his worry-laced voice filled her ears.
“Jenny? Wake up, babe.”
Blinking, her eyes opened. She focused on the bedroom and then his haunted blue eyes, and sat up despite her lightheadedness. The mattress creaked from the change in pressure and Steve shifted, cocking his head and waiting for her explanation.
“He finds me here.”
“Who?”
“I’m not sure, but he has the same tattoo Charlie had.” She shivered, looking at Steve.
“When?”
Jennifer’s brow knit. “I’m not sure, but I’m wearing a summer night gown, and I’m not pregnant anymore.” She caught the nuance of surprise in his eyes, but his face remained neutral. Usually her visions happened within a week or two from the time she had them. With the Slasher, it was within hours of the kill, so this was unusual for both of them. “He’s hunting us, Steve, and his sole purpose is to see you suffer.”
This time the surprise found its way into his features. His eyes went a little wider and his mouth opened a fraction before he regained composure. “Me?”
“Yes, and I’m just a vehicle in his sick game.”
He stood and took a step back. “Why?”
All she could do was shrug.
He took a deep breath, his chest rising with his inhale and lowering with the exhale. “Okay. I just need to figure out who would want me to suffer.”
“Is there a long list?”
He gave her a sideways look. “Long enough.”
Chapter 52
Hidden by the thick woods, Kyle blended with the dark shadows, staring at the house across the lake through his night vision goggles. The target and his wife stood in the living room window and he hoisted the rifle to his shoulder.
Just as he lined the man up in the sights, recognition set in. Tony had ordered this hit, but never explained whom he was going after. Tony just gave him an address and said to take out everyone in the house. He focused on the sights again, moving the rifle from the man to the woman just as she swayed and passed out, falling out of view.
“Shit!” He lowered the rifle. That’s the bastard who killed Charlie. He’d tried to find Steve Williams for the better part of two months when this assignment was thrown his way. He connected the dots and he shook his head, laughing aloud in the quiet night at the turn of events.
He took his goggles off and sat down on the muddy shoreline, mulling over what to tell Tony. He had no plans to carry out the hit just yet. He wanted the man across the lake to wish he had never survived to kill Charlie, or better yet, never been born. He wanted to destroy everything Steve cared about and he needed time to execute his plan. He wanted Steve Williams begging for mercy.
Kyle smiled as he glanced around at the few houses he could see. The only home occupied at this time of year was Steve’s. All the others were dark. He’d have to check out his hunch in the morning, but he could tell Tony no one was up here. That would buy him at least a few weeks to start his assault on the Williams homestead.
Chapter 53
The first Saturday in April, Jennifer’s usual nervous energy progressed to restlessness, alternating between cleaning the house and driving Steve nuts. He needed a change of scenery and dinner out was just what the doctor ordered.
Steve led Jennifer into a quaint French restaurant and the maitre d’ hurried over to greet them.
“Monsieur, Madame, welcome to Chez Paris,” he said and pulled two menus from beneath the desk before leading them to their table.
“I’ll be right back.” She stood, heading in the direction of the restrooms.
Steve reached for his water glass, diverting his eyes for an instant. Steve’s gaze flew toward her gasp of shock, bouncing between her wide eyes and the puddle around her feet. It took an instant for the reality of the situation to sink in. He stood and went to her. “Come on.” He took her arm and led her toward the front door. When the maitre d’ approached, he smiled awkwardly. “We have to go,” Steve said and walked out, leaving the maitre d’ looking around until he spotted the mess.
“It’s too early,” Jennifer sniffled and slid into the passenger seat.
Steve’s heart pounded in his chest cavity and he slid into the driver’s seat, swallowing back his own bundled nerves and focusing on her. “Don’t worry, babe, it’s going to be all right.” He turned the ignition and sped out of the parking lot, heading in the direction of Brooksfield General Hospital.
“Holy crap!” Jennifer cried and curled into a ball in the passenger seat.
“Breathe through it, hon,” he said calmly. Despite the sudden lurch of adrenaline hammering his pulse, he navigated the car expertly through the town. “Breathe, Jen,” he said and then panted with her like the Lamaze instructor had taught them. He shot glances in her direction as often as he dared, the high speed hindering both his attention and his panting.
Her breathing slowed and she uncurled, leaning into the back of the passenger seat. A light sheen of sweat stood out on her forehead.
“That’s it.” He took the sharp turn into the hospital parking lot and slammed to a stop, yanking the emergency brake before turning the car off. He didn’t realize he was still panting until he glanced in her direction. Her soft laugh escalated into a hysterical gale.
“Breathe, baby,” he reminded her and got out of the car. She was still laughing when he opened her car door. He leaned over and kissed her. “Stop laughing at me.” He grinned and pulled away, guiding her into the hospital.
“You look ridiculous breathing like that,” she replied after the nurse situated her in one of the maternity rooms and another contraction abated.
“You don’t see me laughing at you,” he countered and took a seat to complete the forms. He winked at her and turned his attention to filling out the mundane information. “Are you allergic to anything?” he asked, looking up at her.
“Labor,” she replied with a smile, which immediately faded with the next contraction.
Steve put the paperwork down and sat on the side of the bed, breathing with her again. He broke out into a smile as he saw the laughter in her eyes and heard it in her breathing.
“Hurts like hell.”
Steve shrugged a little. “We’ve been through worse.”
The humor in Jennifer’s eyes died and a shadow passed over them. She offered a slight nod as her breathing returned to normal.
Steve glanced at his watch. Damn. “I’ll be right back.” He hurried into the hall and grabbed the first nurse he could find. “My wife’s contractions are less than three minutes apart.” He glanced at his watch and knew she would be hit with another one in no time. “Please, can you send a doctor in to look at her?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but shot back to the room, stopping for a moment to take a deep breath and gather himself before he entered. Jennifer didn’t need to see the anxiety lacing his blood.
Raspy pants came from the opened door and he crossed the room.
“Don’t leave again,” she managed to say between pants.
He sat next to her on the bed and took her hand. “I won’t. I was just checking to see when the doctor was coming to take a look at you.” As if on cue, their obstetrician walked in the room.
“Good evening, Jennifer,” Dr. Schneider said and flipped open her medical chart.
Jennifer panted through the next contraction. “Early, we’re too early,” she breathed.
Dr. Schneider looked up. “Twins tend to come early.” He
stepped next to her and moved the sheets over. “Let’s see how far you’ve progressed,” he said as he slipped on a pair of medical gloves. He looked under the sheet between her legs and slid his gloved hand out of view.
Nodding, he pulled his hand out and stripped the glove off, making a notation on the chart. “I’ll be back to check on you in a little while.”
Before Steve could ask when, Jennifer interrupted with a groan.
Curling into a ball on the bed, she gasped and cried, “Something’s not right!”
The doctor did an about face and pulled the strip on the fetal monitor. Concern passed over Dr. Schneider’s features, taking his smile and turning it into a grimace. He dropped the end of the bed and positioned himself between Jennifer’s legs, examining her further.
Steve caught the look that passed between doctor and nurse and his already hammering heart jumped into his throat. “Is everything all right?”
As Dr. Schneider removed his gloved hand, a gush of blood poured out of Jennifer, sending the doctor and nursing staff into action. The end of the bed jerked up and the locks on the wheels released. They pushed Jennifer’s bed out of the birthing room and down to the operating room with Steve sprinting alongside her.
The nurse stopped Steve at the entrance. “I’m sorry, Mr. Williams, but you can’t be in the operating room.”
“Bullshit,” he said and tried to maneuver around the stout nurse. “That’s my wife and children in there!” Jennifer’s wail of pain came from behind the closed doors, fueling his need to be with her.
The nurse stood her ground. “You will only get in the way and the doctors don’t need that kind of distraction right now,” she stressed, blocking the operating room like a ferocious guard dog.
Steve shot his eyes from the operating room to the nurse and what he saw in her face shut him down. He looked between the nurse and the operating room. “She is going to be okay, right?”
The nurse took a deep breath. “You’re wife is hemorrhaging, Mr. Williams,” she said, gaining his full attention. “Dr. Schneider is one of the best in the region. If anyone can save your wife and children it’s him.” She took him back to the birthing room and left him to pace in angst.
