by J. E. Taylor
“This is not negotiable. You already know what you’re required to do to reactivate.”
Steve cut his boss off. “I can’t go to Quantico right now.”
Silence.
“Jack, I can’t, not yet.”
More silence.
“Goddamnit, Jack, tell me what’s happening! Tell me what you’re doing to find that bastard!”
“We’re doing all we can to find him Steve.”
“That’s not enough!”
The sharp inhale filled the line. “You know I’m doing everything humanly possible, but he disappeared off the grid again. He has a new identity and the money trail you found last spring went cold. Our subpoena held no weight overseas and without that trail; we can’t find him unless he makes a mistake.”
Steve hung his head, the phone still to his ear. Jack was right and that burned him, fanning the torch of rage further. Exhaling, his breath whistled through his tight lips. “I get it.” He flipped the phone closed and sat back in the chair, rubbing his two-day stubble with his palms.
He raised his eyes to the full moon peeking in the window. Someone was going to die tonight and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Chapter 4
Kyle Winslow roamed the city, alternating between hopping the T and walking the street looking for someone to vet his need. He tucked into the Emerald Loop Bar & Grill on North Wabash Avenue. The restaurant was packed and so was the bar. Sliding through the crowd, he found an empty seat at the end of the bar. With bruschetta and a martini straight up on the oak slab in front of him, he scanned the patrons.
She walked in with four of her friends. Dark hair, hourglass figure stuffed into a tight little red number, matching stiletto heels, loud and already drunk. All the ingredients for a wild night. An edge of a smile appeared on his lips, his focus returning to the basketball game on television.
The group piled into the back of the saloon near where he sat. She wormed between Kyle and the smelly dude next to him who was wearing a trench coat and nursing a Johnny Walker.
Gardenias. Her perfume smelled like gardenias, flowery, reminding him of his stepmother and clinching her fate. He turned in her direction, offering a small smile as he gazed at her from head to toe, tilting his head and raising his glass to acknowledge her presence. The color rose in her cheeks and she flashed a smile.
“Come here often?” she asked and then started to giggle.
Kyle smiled, shifting his gazed back to the television. He glanced sideways at her, playfully swirling his drink with his olive. He slipped the green olive between his teeth, pulling the toothpick out slowly through his smile. “Are those your roommates?” He nodded toward the group of women cackling in the corner.
“Hell, no. I’ve got my own place overlooking the river. Fantastic view, courtesy of my ex.” She licked her lips and raised an eyebrow. “Want to see?”
His laugh filled the space between them. “Perhaps.” He took a sip of his martini.
“What can I get you?” The bartender asked, shifting her attention away from Kyle.
“Five pomegranate martinis please and can you bring them over there?” She pointed to her friends who all waved their fingers.
“Sure thing.” The bartender stepped away to fill their order.
She turned to Kyle, slipping her card into his hand. “My phone number is on the card. Give me a yell sometime.” And, with the whisper still in his ear, she slipped off toward her friends.
Kyle studied the card. Designs by Carrie. Interesting. It not only had a number, it had an address, and he smiled, slipping it into his shirt pocket. He peeled off the cash for his drink, leaving a moderate tip and casting a glance in her direction as he left the bar.
He stood in front of the address, glancing between the card and the apartment building. Nice building, upscale neighborhood, and lax security, as lax as you can get in the city. The night watchman snored behind the counter, the television drowning Kyle’s footsteps as he headed for the elevator. The eighth floor came fast and he slipped through the open doors, casually glancing both ways. The apartment in front of him was 802. The small sign pointed him to the right and he strolled down the hallway until he found 824, the apartment number tattooed on the card. The lock was unlatched and with a flick of his credit card, he was inside in less than ten seconds.
He chose a chair in the shadows of her bedroom, looking out over the river. She was right. The view was fantastic. Too bad this would be the last night she saw it. Patient, silent, half-naked and unmoving, he waited, playing the forthcoming adventure in his mind. Her, writhing under his hands, screaming for mercy, blood streaking the walls. His breath sped up, the images he painted leaving him hard in anticipation.
Chapter 5
Another death. This time closer to home.
New York City.
Steve sat, angry and bitter, in Dr. Montgomery’s office. He wanted to be out there hunting the bastard, but no, Jack insisted on these stupid sessions.
His hands trembled with rage and his gaze snapped from the floor to meet the doctor’s. “If I ever find him, he’s a dead man,” he said through a solid wall of teeth. “Can I go now?”
Dr. Montgomery leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped on the desk. “I think you should join my group therapy sessions.”
He laughed.
The doctor cocked his head. “Do you want to remain in the FBI?”
His chuckle stopped as if a light switch tripped. “Fine. When?”
“Monday at Brooksfield Mental Hospital. Nine A.M. sharp.”
Steve raised his eyebrows. “You want me to discuss an active case in front of a bunch of crazy lunatics?”
Dr. Montgomery nodded and offered his most sincere a-yup smile.
Steve muttered a ream of curses under his breath. He rose and crossed to the door. “Fine,” he shot over his shoulder and slammed the mahogany door, storming away while the wood rattled in its frame.
Chapter 6
Jack glanced through the dossiers on the table in front of him. “I need the best we’ve got, Ron.” He looked up at Assistant Director Ron Cleary. “And that’s Steve Williams.”
“I’ve got reservations…”
Jack held his hand up, interrupting his superior. “Steve’s the best field agent I’ve ever seen. There hasn’t been anyone like him since his grandfather walked these halls. But, he’s angry, and if we cut him loose, he’s got nothing left. He’ll go after Winslow.” Jack paused and looked out the window at the Quantico campus. “If he’s paired up with a partner, he’ll be less likely to go rogue on us.”
“He’s overdue for his refresher,” Cleary said.
“If I can get him down here, will you reinstate him?”
“I don’t like this. His psychiatric evaluation says he’s an unstable risk.”
“He’s a little hot headed at times but I’d stake my career on him.” Jack kept Cleary’s sharp stare, holding his ground, wondering if he’d be able to deliver on his end of the bargain.
Cleary drummed his fingers on the desk and then turned, pulling another file out of the cabinet. He tossed it to Jack. “Eric Connor, he’s the brightest of the new recruits.”
Jack opened the file and perused the contents. His eyebrow rose. “You want to pair Williams with this kid?”
“He’ll keep your boy in line.”
“You’re willing to give him up?”
Cleary leaned forward on the desk. “I looked into Agent Williams’ file and you’re right, his ability to put the facts together is genius and if you’re willing to put your career on the line, he must be even better than the paperwork suggests. That kid is the best I have and he could learn a thing or two from Agent Williams. So, yes, I’ll lend him to you, provided you can get Williams down here to run through the refresher course.”
“I’d like to speak with him,” Jack said, holding up the file.
With a nod, Cleary picked up the phone, punched in a few numbers and beckoned the young
agent. Before he resumed the conversation, a knock interrupted and Cleary traded a glance with Jack. He crossed to the door and opened it.
Eric Connor stood in the doorway wearing gray sweats and a t-shirt, his hair wet and slicked back. “You called sir?”
Jack blinked, shocked at the kid’s unusual eyes—eyes that would stand out anywhere. They reminded him of a spring storm in New England—grays, greens and blues gave the illusion of raging, rolling clouds.
“Yes. Special Agent Eric Connor, I’d like you to meet Special Agent in Charge Jack Murphy,” Cleary said.
Eric stepped forward, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
Jack accepted the handshake and nodded. “Likewise. Director Cleary speaks highly of you, young man.”
Eric raised an eyebrow and glanced at Cleary before bringing his gaze back to Jack’s. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“What do you know about Kyle Winslow?”
Both the kid’s eyebrows rose and he took a deep breath. “Kyle Winslow is wanted by the FBI and Interpol for the murders of twenty some women across the globe in relation to the slasher cases. The FBI believes he is Tony Bondino’s personal assassin because nearly all the slasher cases correspond to mafia hits, but they were unable to get concrete evidence to that fact.” Eric stopped and shifted his gaze to his commanding officer before continuing. “Last spring he went after an FBI agent and his family before being arrested. Unfortunately, he escaped and went underground for a couple of months before the killings started again. His latest victim showed up in New York City a few days ago.”
Impressed, Jack nodded. “Now tell me what you know about Agent Williams.”
The question clearly stunned Eric and he opened his mouth to speak and then closed it for a second, shifting his weight and staring at the floor. He raised his gaze. “Steve Williams is perhaps the most gifted agent the FBI has ever encountered. His ability to sniff out the truth is as uncanny as…” he trailed off, his lips pressing together like he didn’t want to finish the sentence.
“As what?” Jack asked. He had a feeling Eric was going to say as his wife’s clairvoyance, but this kid would have no way of knowing about Jennifer’s abilities.
“As his aptitude to find trouble.”
The answer brought a bark of a laugh from Jack. He studied the young agent. “Why do you say that?”
“With the exception of the rape case at Yale, his career is peppered with as many close calls as collars.”
“True,” Jack said. He’d been there for some of those narrow escapes. “How would you feel about working with him?”
Eric’s eyes widened and the color bled out of his cheeks. “I, uh,” he stumbled and cleared his throat. His gaze dropped to the floor and he shifted his stance. “I, um, I’m not sure. Didn’t his last partner die?”
Jack crossed his arms. “Yes. His partner died in a firefight with Charlie Wisnowski. If Agent Williams hadn’t been there, Wisnowski might have gotten away.” And his cover wouldn’t have been blown and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
Eric chewed on his lip and nodded.
“Let me clarify what SAC Murphy is trying to say,” Cleary interrupted. “You are Special Agent Williams’ new partner. He will be joining us in a few days and while he is here, you are to keep him out of trouble.”
Even though Eric frowned at the news, he nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“I don’t want him going after Kyle Winslow half cocked, understand?” Jack asked.
“Yes, sir,” Eric replied.
Chapter 7
Steve stood in the doorway of the community room at Brooksfield Mental Hospital with his arms crossed, observing the dynamics. Patients wearing olive-green scrubs gathered in a circle waiting for the group therapy session to begin.
“There’s a seat for you, too.” Dr. Montgomery said as he approached Steve from behind.
Steve grumbled and followed Dr. Montgomery, annoyed at the prospect of discussing his situation with a bunch of crazy strangers. He didn’t exactly blend in, not with his jeans and work shirt marred with a hospital issued ID badge slapped on the pocket. Everyone gawked as he slid into the empty seat and crossed his arms.
“We have a new member of the group today. Steve Williams.” Dr. Montgomery said. “Mr. Williams, would you like to tell the group why you are here?”
“Not particularly,” Steve answered. He let the silence fill the space, unaffected by the dozen pairs of eyes boring into him. He slightly tilted his head, his lips curling into a smirk. I’m not going to make this easy.
“I lost my daughter a couple of years ago.” A man sitting next to the doctor said, breaking the awkward silence. He was staring at Steve.
Steve turned and it took a moment to identify the familiar face. When the name came, so did the circumstances. Little girl, seven years old, killed in the woods here in Brooksfield. The most bizarre case he ever encountered but at least he met Jennifer. We almost died that year, too.
A shiver caressed the back of his neck and Steve uncrossed his arms, shifting in his seat.
“I was too busy trying to put up the stupid tent and when my wife showed up at the campsite, that was when I realized Amy was gone.” He took a moment to pick at the hangnail on his thumb. “They found her a couple of days later.” He paused, his Adam’s apple jiggling. “In pieces.” An audible gulp followed.
“Harry, right?” Steve asked pulling the name out of his memory banks. When the man nodded, Steve continued. “You didn’t know what was in those woods.”
Harry shrugged and shook his head. “I should have kept an eye on my daughter. I yelled at her to stay out of the way.” He took a deep breath. “That was the last thing I said to her.” A tear slid from the corner of his eye.
“You didn’t know.” Steve sighed, fidgeting restlessly, one ankle tapping the chair leg. Propping his chin on his thumb, he curled his index finger over his lips, sucking in a deep gulp of air. He held it for a moment, letting it seep out like a punctured tire, leaving him empty and hollow. Guarded. His gaze slid away from Harry, calm and unblinking, belying the drumbeat of his pulse roaring in his ears. It amazed him that the rest of the group couldn’t hear it. His stare hardened as he aimed it at the doctor. The bastard ambushed him.
“Agent Williams was the one who caught the monster.” Harry informed the group.
All eyes swung toward Steve.
Steve acknowledged the statement with a slight nod.
“Why are you here?” Harry asked.
“My little girl was murdered in April. She was less than a month old.”
Harry stared at Steve with slightly parted lips.
“How did that make you feel?” Dr. Montgomery interjected.
He tilted his head, challenging the doctor. Silence filled the space as twelve pairs of eyes bore into him and he shifted in the chair.
“Why don’t you tell the group how losing your daughter made you feel?” Dr. Montgomery pressed.
“I felt like someone kicked me in the gut and I’d never be able to take a full breath of air again.” He locked eyes with Harry. “Then the anger took over,” Steve admitted.
“And now?” Dr. Montgomery asked.
Steve crossed his arms. “Now, I’m going hunting.” A deadly smile spread over Steve’s lips creating a collective shiver through the group like the brittle New Hampshire winter stroked their skin.
Dr. Montgomery blinked, unable to hide the shock of Steve’s answer quickly enough. He paused and took a sip of water. “What are you hunting?”
Steve’s smile widened a fraction. “Another monster.”
Chapter 8
Steve stepped out of the Brooksfield Physical Therapy center, slipping on the sunglasses that hid his eye patch.
“Hi, Steve.”
Steve turned and raised his eyebrows. “Jack, what are you doing up this way?”
“You need to get your ass down to Quantico.”
“I’m not leaving Jennifer.”
&nb
sp; Jack dug his hands in his pockets. “Has there been any change?”
“No. There’s been no brain activity, not since the last murder, if that’s what you’re asking,” he snapped. “Have you found the son of a bitch?”
Jack shook his head. “We’ve got nothing.” The disgust bled into his voice and he looked away taking a deep breath. “You need to go through the refresher course if you want to remain in the FBI.”
You are out of your fucking mind! He went to speak but thought better of it; instead, he dug in his pocket and pulled out the keys to his car. “I can’t leave her.” The bleep-bleep of the car unlocking punctuated his statement and Steve met Jack’s irritated stare.
“I promise, if her status changes, we’ll get you back here as fast as we can.”
Steve paused, looking out over the rugged snow covered landscape. He opened the car door and leaned his arm on it. “Only if you put me on the case.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
Steve cocked his head and shrugged. He went to sit in the car.
“Goddamnit, Steve!”
He paused and glanced at his boss. “You want me back? You let me track down that son of a bitch.”
“And what are you going to do when you find him?” Jack shot the question back, his face red with aggravation.
“You’ve seen my psych evaluation.”
Jack sucked his breath in. Steve had made it clear in his psychotherapy sessions that if he ever found Kyle; he was going to kill him. “Is that what Jenny would want you to do?”
Steve’s nostrils flared. “That’s low, even for you.” He slid into the seat and pulled the door closed.
Jack stopped the door from latching, pulling it open and staring at Steve. “You can’t keep her alive if you don’t have a job.”
Steve closed his eye and hung his head. He turned so he could see Jack with his good eye. “Fine,” he growled with white knuckles on the steering wheel. “When?”
