“They’re copying TBK’s style, but not the method.”
She froze, her beautiful face a contorted mask of disbelief and fear. There were innumerable theories that Mitchell Black’s sudden death in prison was a conspiracy. What if they’d never caught TBK?
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“I—I don’t know. Originally, the first two victims weren’t related to TBK until years later. Most of their possessions were destroyed. If there were any letters to kick off the murders, we don’t know they exist. Am I right?”
“Yeah. I talked to the Strouds and the Lambs. They didn’t know much, but I always thought they were hiding something.” She hefted the filing box up so she carried it with both hands to her chest. “What are you saying? Do you think TBK is still out there?”
Jacob shook his head. “I don’t know. My dad put him behind bars, and it fucks with my head to think he got the wrong man. I want to believe it’s a copycat, but I can’t risk that it’s not. And it’s not a fucking coincidence that he’s sending me letters. That’s why I looked you up.”
“Why? You thought I sent them?”
“It was one of my initial assumptions, but I ruled that out before I ever spoke to you.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “Do you have the letters on you?”
She knew more about TBK than any other living person. Her eyes on the letters would be a great help in putting his mind at ease that this was a copycat.
He thumbed over his shoulder. “In my Jeep.”
“Show them to me?”
“Yeah. Come on. Want me to carry that?” He gestured to the box.
“No thanks.” She tossed a glare his way as they began walking.
One...two...three...
He kept counting until he got to ten, but he was grinding his teeth already. Why couldn’t she understand he wasn’t the enemy here?
“I don’t want to cause you any trouble or anything. I know about your brother. I know about you.”
She stopped, and he turned to face her. If looks could kill, he’d be ten kinds of dead right now.
“So what? Do you know about what my daddy did to me, too?”
He stared at her for a moment before nodding. He’d read the whole file, cover to cover. At first it was to figure out who she was, but her pictures and everything penned on those old pages had drawn him in. If he were really smart, he’d have sent his partner to meet with Emma, but he’d wanted to meet her himself.
“And that what? Makes me supposed to trust you because you can read a file? Detective Payton, we might share a dark and gruesome history, but that’s it. You don’t know me, I don’t owe you anything—”
“I’m not saying you do.”
“You think you understand me? You can flirt with the poor, pitiful daughter of the TBK survivor and get what you want, is that it?”
“No.” He scowled at her, fists clenched. He saw her as so much more than that. She’d survived that darkness, built a life that at least appeared to make her happy. “I get where you’re coming from.”
“I seriously doubt you do.”
“What? Because you’re the only person who could ever have been fucked over?” He closed the distance between them until he loomed over her. He needed to stop this, walk away now, but she drew him in with those dark eyes that saw too deep. “I think you’ve got a chip on your shoulder you really need to brush off.”
“I’m saving it for later. Thanks. The letters? Or should I go now?”
God, that mouth.
“Come on,” he muttered.
She followed him to his Jeep Wrangler, which had seen better days, without another word spoken. He opened the driver’s side door and reached across to the case file he started the day he took the letters to his lieutenant. It was also the day he’d been told to ignore the potential case. He laid it open on the seat and leaned against the door. The dome light provided enough illumination to see the ghastly creation.
“It’s totally different.” Emma squeezed in next to him, soaking up the page. Her disdain for him appeared to have been forgotten, at least for the moment. He closed his eyes and inhaled her fragrance again.
He cleared his throat and glanced at the letter. “I know. That’s why I thought the first one was bogus.”
The original TBK letters were done on copy paper, with glued or printed words, sometimes on ruled school paper. This letter was one huge image. A collage of graphics layered together with a wash of red over the whole thing. The text was printed as well, but the fonts for each word varied, as if imitating the cut and paste style. But it wasn’t the same. It was like a work of art made in imitation. The text was white, with a thin black outline that made it pop on the red background.
Emma put the file box down to peer closer at the page.
“I will finish what my soul began,” she muttered the first line of text aloud. “At least the bastard made it easy to read. What do you think these pictures in the background are?”
Did he tell her the truth?
“I think they’re images of his learning kills. If he’s a copycat, he probably experimented somewhere, and we haven’t discovered the bodies. These could be images of those kills made to taunt us.”
“TBK pieced magazine pictures together on a few of his letters.” She shivered and took a deep breath. Though those images weren’t as graphic, they were disturbing.
“A lot of the text doesn’t make any sense. I think I’m missing a piece of it. Makes me wonder if there was a third letter or if he’s fucking with me.” He reached past her and tapped the first paragraph. “In the first one he talks a lot about finishing what his soul began, but he doesn’t say what it is he’s doing—”
“Why he?” she asked.
He flipped to the second letter and pointed to the first pronoun that caught his eye. “The pronoun usage is masculine. Whoever did this at least identifies as male.”
“You can tell that from this?” She pointed at the page.
“Yeah. I mean, we could tell from the first TBK letters he was an educated man based on the grammar usage. This letter isn’t as grammatically clean.” He pointed at a second block of text. “There are no apostrophes or commas. I think based on the presentation, this person is more artistic. They sure as hell have more graphic skills than TBK ever did.”
Emma snorted. “Tell me about it. What are you thinking? Copycat, wannabe, or what?”
He didn’t pray much anymore, but he prayed that was all it was. For both his sake and Emma’s.
“I’m hoping it’s a dumb prick. What did you call them? Creepadoodles?” He chuckled.
“Yeah, it seems a lot nicer than calling them crazy fucks. What do the other cops say about this?” She crossed her arms and leaned against the Jeep, finally looking him in the face.
Jacob shrugged and flipped the folder closed. He’d seen those pages enough to visualize them when his eyes were closed. “Ignore it. There’s no bodies, no one’s dead, there are plenty of real crimes to solve.”
He crossed his arms, mirroring her pose, and glanced at a car pulling into the lot. He was seeing things in the corner of his eye, and he couldn’t shake the sensation of being followed, though he had no evidence of anyone stalking him.
Both Jacob and Emma had spent their lives in the shadow of TBK and what he’d done. He couldn’t pretend to know what it was like for Emma, but he knew his father and what he’d been like.
Emma’s brows drew down and she stared at him as if he were a puzzle. He was pretty good at reading people, but she was a mystery. He couldn’t keep staring at her— memorizing the arch of her brow, the slight scar on her right jaw—and he was going to drive himself crazy with this misplaced obsession.
The parking lot was full of cars and relatively quiet. The muted sound of music from the restaurant and the occasional car going by were the only sounds to break the silence. What if they were being watched now? What if this wasn’t an idiot getting their rocks off? What if they were facing a re
al copycat, or TBK himself?
“Hey.”
He glanced at her, somewhat surprised to find her features softer, less stubborn.
Emma nodded at the box. “Anytime you want to look through the stuff, give me a call, okay?”
“Sure. Thanks.” He nodded. That box of paper wasn’t what he wanted from her, but he doubted their desires aligned.
Part of him wanted to pore over the pages just for an excuse to be near her, but that was a bad idea. He needed to walk her to her truck, say goodnight, and drive away. It was better to walk away.
“Hey, Emma?”
“Hm?” She jerked her chin toward him.
“Do me a favor? If you think someone’s following you, give me a call? You’re the only kin of the victims left here. If this is more than a few letters, you might be a perfect target.” It wasn’t like he could assign a protection detail to her because he had a bad feeling, and she wouldn’t like cops hanging around anyway.
“Should I make sure to get an escort back to my truck?” She smiled and thumbed over her shoulder.
Wait—what? Now she was flirting with him again?
“You really should,” he said with a straight face. She shouldn’t play this game with him. Not now.
“Well, come on then, big protector.” She picked up the box and waited for him to lock the Jeep before heading back to her truck.
They wound through the cars, Jacob following close behind her. She didn’t like cops, and she didn’t like him, but Jacob liked her. There was no good reason, but he did.
Her silver truck loomed ahead. It was one of those ridiculously tall ones, with big tires and lifted at least a foot higher. He’d have expected a man to drive it, but the pink stickers across the back window were a dead giveaway.
“If you were a guy I’d think you were compensating.” Jacob nodded toward the truck.
“I like big things.” She grinned at him as if the animosity weren’t there. Women were confusing, flighty creatures, but Emma could probably give lessons.
“I can see that.” He chuckled. “You’ll let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary?”
“Maybe.”
Maybe his ass. If it came down to it, he might kidnap her and stash her somewhere safe. Okay, he wouldn’t, but she brought out all his protective urges, and she didn’t even need them. Emma was the kind of woman who would face down her enemies on her own and win. But she was still human and breakable.
Jacob grabbed her arm and took a step toward her until she was completely in his shadow. “I’m not jacking around, Emma. Please, be careful.”
The last thing he wanted was to find her dead, lifeless body. He’d seen enough to last a lifetime, and he didn’t want that for Emma. She’d had too much pain in her life to pile on this too. He’d do whatever it took to keep her safe. From afar. She tempted him too much.
“You don’t know me very well, detective.” Emma shrugged off his hand. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can.”
“Let me know if you see anything suspicious, Detective.” She winked at him, pulling her bravado around her like a shield. “I could protect you.”
Jacob planted a hand on the truck and leaned down a bit, so they were face to face. “Would you protect me from the big bad wolf?”
This needed to stop, now.
“If I needed to I could probably run him down in my big bad truck.” She flicked a crumb from his shirt, her breath fanning against his skin. Nothing good could come of this, but damn she was tempting.
“I’d have to arrest you then. Vehicular homicide.”
“Again with the handcuffs. You’re a kinky one, aren’t you?” She flattened her palm against his chest. Was she going to push him away? He’d let her, but he didn’t want to give her space. This was going nowhere good, and he couldn’t stop himself.
“I’m pretty sure I can do the job just fine on my own.”
“And we’re back to the compensating.”
“Well you said you liked big things.”
“Do you have something big to show me?”
She rose up on her toes the same moment he lowered his face. There was nothing soft or tentative about the way she set her mouth against his. He wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her flush to his chest. Her arms were around his neck, pulling him down farther. Hell yes, he wanted closer. He wrapped her ponytail around his fingers and tugged, pulling her head back and breaking the kiss. Her gaze ate him up, driving sane thought out of his mind.
“You need to be more careful,” he whispered, his voice low and rough.
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He could do that.
Jacob pushed her back up against the truck and pushed his knee between her thighs. She shifted against him, wiggling on his leg. This couldn’t go farther. She didn’t need someone like him in her life. But he wasn’t strong enough to keep from devouring her mouth.
This close, he could see the same shadow that haunted him deep in her gaze. They were cut from the same cloth. Two souls created from darkness, struggling in the light. He’d protect her, even from himself if he had to.
2.
H
arold Espinoza flipped through his mail on his way into the kitchen. A few bills, some fliers for local businesses, and—ah, there they were. His permits for the upcoming LGBTQ parade. Every year the city turned out more support for the growing community in Oklahoma City. It was a far cry from what things had been like when Harold was coming out in his twenties.
Tomorrow was the first planning meeting for the Pride Week festivities. Local businesses and organizations who would never have considered such a move five years ago were turning up to support the movement. This year, he’d cracked the motorcycle community. On the weekends bracketing Pride, there were organized rides and even a dirt bike competition. They were doing a big push this year on the new acronym, QUILTBAG, which besides sounding like a new sort of insult was actually an inclusive representation of the community. Instead of just standing for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans or Queer, QUILTBAG would bring all of the identifications together. It would be a while before it caught on, but Harold had hope.
Things were seriously getting better. He wished his brother from another mother had lived long enough to see this, but AIDS had taken Jose’s life five years ago.
Harold dropped the rest of his mail onto the kitchen counter. The permits called for a celebratory drink. He poured two fingers of scotch into a crystal glass Jose bought him one year for Christmas.
“Jose, you’d be shocked to see how far we’ve come.” He lifted the glass, saluting the picture of Harold and his chosen family on his refrigerator.
He swirled the amber liquid in the glass, watching the light refract off the crystal. Maybe he should whip up some cocktails tomorrow to kick the meeting off with a bang? He could do the sangria recipe that had been Jose’s favorite.
A creak of wood sounded through the house.
He paused, listening for the sound again. Was that the back door?
Harold peered at his back door. The kitchen and patio were next for his renovations, which would cut down on the creepy noises at night. Nothing was out of place. Chalk one more up to things that go bump in the night. He shook his head, but caught a glimpse of something on the floor, past the counter, in front of the back door.
He crossed to the piece of paper.
“You’re losing important stuff,” he said out loud. It had to be one of the permit documents. He really needed to be more careful. Jose wasn’t there to keep him on track anymore and the city offices weren’t that understanding of lost paperwork.
Except, he stared at the piece of paper and couldn’t make heads or tails of the orange hodgepodge of images. Was it a flier of some sort? He turned it ninety degrees and saw the text. He needed his glasses to read something that fine.
Now, where were his glasses?
Jacob Payton climbed out of his Jeep, a sense of dread settling in his st
omach.
“Detective. Where’s your partner?” One of the patrol officers crossed the lush, well-manicured lawn toward him.
“Morning, Aaron. Freeman’s going to be out for a few days. It’s just you and me. Some family thing.” Jacob shook the officer’s hand. “What do we have?”
Dispatch had only informed him of a dead body and a bad scene, but these days any dead body made him anxious.
“It’s...” Aaron shook his head. He seemed a little green around the gills, which was saying something. Aaron was a seasoned officer who had been around it all. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Show me. Anyone else here?”
“EMTs and another patrol. We set up a perimeter.”
“EMTs weren’t able to help?”
“Fuck, Jacob, no one could help this guy.” Aaron led him toward the house. “Elderly neighbors called it in. I guess he picks up their newspaper and has breakfast with them every day, and when he didn’t show up they got worried. We knocked, no answer. Went around back and saw it.”
“Who called the EMTs?”
“Dispatch had trouble understanding them, so they sent the EMTs out just in case. The husband’s had a couple of falls. Guess they figured it was better to cover all the bases.”
Jacob swallowed as they stepped over the threshold. He could hear the buzz of flies and smelled the nauseating aroma of human excrement mixed with the metallic tang of blood. He breathed through his mouth as Aaron led him through a very neat, well-kept home. At a glance he could tell the owner liked thrillers and non-fiction books on finance. There were a number of pictures of large groups of people—several of them displayed parade floats.
“He’s in here.” Aaron stepped through an arch into a long, rectangular room that comprised a breakfast nook and a kitchen.
“Fucking Christ,” Jacob said before he could think better of it.
“I can’t stay in here.” Aaron pivoted and fled to the front of the house, leaving Jacob alone with the carnage.
In life, Harold Espinoza would have been of average height, maybe five foot ten, of Hispanic descent, and neat—much like his home. In death, he was an image out of Jacob’s worst nightmares.
Blind: Killer Instincts Page 3
