The Steve Williams Series Boxed Set

by J. E. Taylor

  Steve stepped inside the house and flipped the deadbolt, scanning the house again. Nothing seemed out of place. He went to the bedroom, grabbed a change of clothing, and took a shower. A half hour later, he headed back to the hospital in clean, comfortable clothes.

  * * * *

  Kyle stared at the monitors, watching as Steve climbed in the car and drove away. “You lost one of the twins.” He chuckled at the thought of the despair Steve must be feeling. “That’s only the beginning,” he whispered and looked at the array of weapons laid out at his feet on the living room floor.

  Leaning over, he picked up the large hunting knife and the sharpening block. He slowly dragged the blade across the block several times, gritting his teeth at the gravelly high-pitched sound it made. The knife cut cleanly through the magazine paper and he smiled, slipping it back into the case.

  Chapter 58

  Steve stopped at the florist and bought a large bouquet of multi-colored roses for Jennifer, walking into the maternity ward ten minutes later

  Jennifer emerged from the bathroom with her hair pulled back in a wet ponytail. “Those are beautiful.” She pointed at the bouquet.

  “Yeah, well, you deserve it,” Steve replied. He placed the flowers on the windowsill. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m still sore, but I feel much better now that I’ve cleaned up a little,” she said. “How ’bout you?” she asked.

  “I’m clean.” He shrugged. The tasks he’d completed at home took a toll on his emotions, leaving him drained. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “And hungry,” he replied, his stomach growling in unison.

  “You look tired.”

  He shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

  “What’s bothering you?”

  He took a deep breath. “I took down one of the cribs.”

  Tears immediately sprang to the surface and she nodded. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I did. You didn’t need to come home to that kind of blatant reminder.” Steve’s vision blurred and he blinked the tears back. He offered her a small smile, drawing a deep breath and putting his feelings aside.

  “Thank you,” Jennifer whispered. Her tears brimmed, slipping down her cheeks.

  Steve leaned over and kissed her. “No problem,” he whispered and they shuffled to the NICU.

  “She is so tiny.” Steve ran his finger gently down the bridge of their baby’s nose. The edges of his lips curled into a smile as he lifted his eyes toward Jennifer.

  Jennifer sat on the other side of the crib, holding the tiny hand.

  The phone in Steve’s pocket vibrated and he glanced at the display. “I’ll be right back,” he said and left the room. “What’s up, Jack?”

  “Another murder—in Boston this time,” Jack said. “How much time are you taking off?”

  “How much time do I have?”

  “How much do you need?”

  He glanced through the glass at Jennifer. “At least a couple of weeks,” he replied. “If Jen hasn’t been given the go ahead to drive by that point, I may need to revisit this conversation. Okay?”

  “I’ll give you a week completely off the clock,” Jack stated. “I can’t give you more than that. I need you to continue your research on this case.”

  Steve inhaled sharply. “My daughter’s still in the NICU, Jack.”

  “Look, you can give me feedback from home for as long as you need. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough,” he agreed and folded the phone, walking back into the NICU.

  “I’m tired,” Jennifer said.

  He nodded and helped her back to the maternity ward and into her hospital bed. “Do you mind if I crawl under the sheets with you?” He wanted to hold her tonight.

  “I’d like that.” Jennifer moved a little to the side. “Just be careful. My stomach is still really tender.”

  Steve slipped his shoes off and slid into the bed, gently wrapping his arms around his wife. “This okay?”

  “It’s perfect.”

  Sleep came fast.

  * * * *

  A sharp pain exploded in her side, making her gasp.

  “Please don’t.” His blue eyes were full of anger and anguish.

  She felt searing pain as the invisible man grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back. The sharp edge of a knife pressed against her throat.

  Jennifer sat up in bed, gagging. Her breath came in sharp pants.

  Steve peeked out from the bathroom, grabbing a towel for his hands. “You okay?” He hurried to her side. “Jen, are you all right?”

  Tremors flowed through her and the bed vibrated with them. “No,” she finally gasped.

  “What’s wrong?” Panic crept into his voice.

  “Nightmare.”

  He reached out and touched her cheek. “Breathe,” he said.

  Her eyes held his and she began to get a hold of her airway. It was one thing to see all those women die, but seeing her own death rattled her to the core. She was still shaking but at least her lungs gave way, allowing air to flow freely again. “It was me this time.”

  His skin broke out in gooseflesh. “Tell me what you saw,” he said, his voice raspy and dry.

  “We were at home,” she began, trying to dissect the dream for him. “You were sitting in a chair in front of the window and I…” She trailed off.

  “I was sitting in front of the window,” he said, picking up where she had left off.

  She nodded. “Facing the living room.” She swallowed.

  “Where were you?”

  “In the living room. Looking at you while…” She stopped and closed her eyes. The dream dissolved.

  “While what?”

  She opened her eyes. “I remember being terrified and it wasn’t because he was hurting me.” She looked back at him. “I was terrified for Samantha.” Her chin trembled with the memory and tears sprung from her eyes, blurring Steve’s face into a hall of tiny prisms.

  He ran his hand over her cheek. “Sweetheart.” He kissed her gently.

  She tried to smile.

  “I won’t let anything happen to either of you,” he said, slipping under the covers and wrapping his arms around her. “I promise.”

  Eventually, she drifted to sleep in his arms.

  * * * *

  Steve lay awake long after sleep found Jennifer. He pulled his arm out from under her and folded the chair in the corner into the bed it doubled as. Falling face-first on a pillow, he was out in seconds. This time sleep took hold and didn’t let go for six hours.

  Fragmented memories of the ordeal at Brooksfield University assaulted his dreams, keeping him somewhere between a state of sleep and wakefulness. Claws raked across his back and he sat bolt upright in the makeshift bed. The blanket Jennifer must have draped on him during the night slipped to his lap. The bright sun streaming through the window made him squint.

  Jennifer stepped out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower. “Morning,” she said and flopped into the cushy chair in the corner. She sighed.

  “You’re thinking about that nightmare.”

  She met his gaze. “Yes.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “He’s holding the knife to my throat while you watch him hurt me.”

  He shook his head slowly. “Not going to happen, Jen,” he said. “Not again.” The muscles in his jaw worked and he stubbornly stared at her. “Nothing is going to happen.” He denied the possibility, refusing to accept it. Something she said triggered his next question. “Why didn’t I get up? Why didn’t I stop him?”

  Jennifer chewed her bottom lip in that familiar way signaling that she was thinking and he waited. After a minute, her eyes widened. . “I, uh, I think you were tied to the chair.”

  Steve saw the change in her eyes. “What’d you just see?”

  “Nothing.” Her eyes focused on the pattern in the linoleum.

  He crossed his arms, his brow furrowing and his lips pressed together, waiting.

  Jennifer broug
ht her gaze to his stark questioning eyes, before glancing at the door. “You don’t want to know.”

  He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, silently willing her to continue.

  She shook her head and met his gaze. “Why didn’t you get up?” Biting her lip, she blinked back tears. “You were tied to the chair.” She averted her eyes again, looking at the floor.

  “Jen.” He reached across the small table and lifted her chin so she met his glance.

  “This was violent, not the bizarre pseudo-seduction he’s fallen back into. It was more like the last few killings when we were in New York,” she replied.

  “What else?”

  “He stabbed me in the side.”

  Steve leaned back in the seat, his throat tightening at the prospect of anyone hurting her. “Why?”

  Jennifer’s eyes welled up. “I fought back,” she replied, almost too low for him to hear.

  “What else?”

  “I tried to get what he put down, that’s when he stabbed me.” She began to shake a little.

  “What did he put down?”

  Her eyebrows creased and then her eyes slowly went wide again. “A detonator.”

  “Where’s the bomb?”

  Jennifer began to cry.

  “Is it under my chair?”

  “No, it’s on Samantha.”

  He didn’t want to hear any more, but he needed to in order to prevent what she described, what she believed their future held. “What happens next?”

  “The man grabs my hair and presses the knife to my throat,” she said without looking up at him.

  Steve sighed and wiped his face. “Okay. Let’s look at this a different way. Let’s say this is only a nightmare. That makes sense too.”

  She tilted her head. “You psychoanalyzing me?”

  He shrugged. “Go with it for a sec. Based on everything that has happened in the last few days, it makes perfect sense. It could be your subconscious trying to figure out how to accept the fact that you can’t have any more kids and the resulting fear of losing Sam.”

  “But…”

  He put his hand up. “The rest could stem from the combinations of visions, Charlie and here. Being raped in front of me again as well as dying violently.”

  Jennifer seemed to reflect on what he was saying. She didn’t respond either way immediately. Silence blanketed the room.

  “While I’d like to believe it was just a nightmare, you and I both know differently,” she finally said.

  Steve looked away. He stood and walked to the window. His mind turned over how to change the course of fate. “How does he get the drop on us?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  As he glanced at the bright cloudless sky, questions flurried in his head and one barreled into the forefront of all the others.

  How the hell do I stop this?

  Chapter 59

  Coming home wasn’t the joyous occasion it should have been. Neither Jennifer nor Steve wanted to leave Samantha in the hospital, but now that Jennifer had been released, they needed to abide by the neonatal visiting hours and were shooed out at ten on the mark.

  She curled up in the recliner with an ice pack on her chest. “My breasts are killing me.”

  Steve glanced at her from his position on the couch, raising his eyebrows.

  “Shut up.”

  “I didn’t say anything.” He turned away from her, his lips pressed together to stop the smile from forming and he flipped the television on. The drone of the eleven o’clock news followed him into a light doze.

  Steve woke up with a start. A rasping sound like rough sandpaper on a tree stump was coming from somewhere on his right and he turned his head toward the noise. His heart leapt into his throat and he was up, running into the bathroom, rummaging through the medicine cabinet, his hands shaking. He grabbed the inhaler and ran back into the living room.

  Jennifer gasped like a guppy out of the water, her eyes wide and filled with panic. Steve shoved the end of the inhaler in her mouth and pressed down, sending a spray of medicine into her constricted lungs. Jennifer took a slight breath and nodded for him to spray again. He complied, and this time she was able to get a bigger breath of the medicine into her lungs. She took the inhaler out of his hand and held it.

  He took a seat on the couch and ran a shaky hand through his hair. Jesus, she hasn’t sounded like that since we were at Brooksfield U. That memory triggered a shiver and he clamped his teeth against it, instead, focusing on her. “You okay?”

  She didn’t nod, nor did she shake her head, just wheezed. She brought the medicine to her mouth again and shot it down her throat, inhaling as her chest rose with the infusion of oxygen.

  He watched her exhale and drop her shaking hand to the armrest, the inhaler still clutched in a death grip.

  “That bad?”

  Tears slipped down her cheeks. “He, he, he makes me…”

  “Shhh.” Steve kneeled next to the chair and took her hand. “Just breathe.” He kissed her palm. “Breathe, baby,” he whispered. He kept his gaze steady, holding eye contact. “That’s right, just breathe. We don’t have to talk about it now.”

  Jennifer nodded, tears still making tracks down her cheek. The crease between her eyes smoothed and her glistening eyes reflected relief.

  * * * *

  Steve drove Jennifer to the hospital the next day and they sat by Samantha’s bedside watching her struggle, silently praying their little girl would make it.

  “Tell me about your vision last night,” Steve asked when he pulled out of the parking lot.

  “He makes me hurt you,” Jennifer said. “If I don’t do what he tells me, he’ll blow up our daughter.” She took a breath.

  “What does he make you do?” He turned toward her.

  Jennifer lifted his right hand to her lips, kissing his palm. Tears sprouted from the corner of her eyes. “He makes me cut off this hand.”

  Shock like a tazer shot rammed Steve’s frame and he tried not to let it show. “Why?” he asked, miraculously keeping the shake from his voice.

  “You’re right-handed.” Her chin quivered. “You’ll never shoot anyone again.”

  Steve pulled over to the side of the road and things began to click in his mind. “Did you see him?”

  “No, but he’s definitely got the same scorpion tattoo Charlie had.”

  Steve put the car in gear and pulled back on the road.

  The muscles in his jaw contracted and Jennifer inhaled. “What?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Bullshit! You pushed for the details, now you’re going to tell me what that look on your face is all about.”

  “I need to do some research,” he answered and took a deep breath as they pulled into their driveway.

  He had a call to make.

  Chapter 60

  “Kyle Wisnowski,” he said into the phone.

  “He’s dead, Steve.”

  “What if he’s alive?”

  Silence was Steve’s momentary answer while Jack mulled the question over. “What’s your point?”

  “Maybe he has the same tattoo?”

  “There are hundreds of people with that kind of tattoo.”

  “I know,” Steve answered and looked out over the dark lake. He knew that better than anyone did. He’d been tracking them down since Jennifer provided the sketch. The list was dwindling fast.

  “What are you driving at?”

  Steve sighed. “Jenny’s been having some visions. The first one happened quite a while ago. But she’s telling me someone’s hunting us and will eventually attack us. At first, she thought it was the Slasher, but then she switched gears, saying he wants me to suffer. So I got to thinking, what if Kyle was alive? Charlie’s DNA didn’t match exactly to that of the Slasher, but it was close enough to be a family member. Hell, it was close enough for them to close the case until the killings started again. It would make perfect sense that he’d come after me since I was the one who ki
lled his brother. And who knows, he might have the same ties to the Bondino’s.”

  “Do you have anything concrete to back the notion?”

  “No. I’ll do some research, but the car accident that Kyle died in was suspect anyway. Cars don’t just blow up.”

  “True. Let me know what you uncover.”

  “Will do.” Steve snapped the phone closed and headed into the house.

  He tucked Jennifer into bed and gave her a peck on the cheek, retiring to his office to dig through Charlie’s history, specifically focusing on finding some interesting tidbits beyond the auto accident when Kyle was sixteen.

  The fiery crash had rendered the kid’s body unidentifiable, yet his foster parents provided positive identification by confirming he had driven the car away less than an hour before the accident. No dental match was done and it perked Steve’s interest more now than it had when he stumbled on it in New York.

  He leaned back in his chair, his radar now in overdrive. Leaning forward, he opened the photo file, studying the last school picture. The kid certainly looked like Charlie, even with the punk rock hair. Pouring over the information, he found allegations against his foster parents by the school stating Kyle had been abused, but nothing ever came of the complaint. Steve glanced at the names and did a search in the database. What came up made his blood turn to ice.

  He read the news and autopsy reports, and sat back in the chair with his heart hammering in his chest. “Jesus,” he muttered and pressed the print button.

  He stared at the report and then dropped it on the desk, wiping his face with his hands. It was time to call it a night and he made a note that he’d have to call Jack tomorrow. He wanted the grave exhumed to verify that Kyle was indeed dead and buried.

  Chapter 61