Another dingy, blue tiled bathroom. At least the diesel was cheap.
She stepped in and flicked the lock before going about her business. Exactly as she’d expected, there wasn’t any toilet paper on the roll, which was why she never got out of her truck without some in her pocket. She’d learned that trick on her first haul. It was almost a bonus there was soap in the dispenser and the water worked.
She hummed the tune to the latest catchy song and unlocked the door, ready to get back on the road for a few hours before she caught a little sleep.
The door jerked open and out of her grasp. She had the impression of a figure dressed in dark clothing the second before something hit her in the face, directly between her eyes. It felt like an ice pick straight to her brain. Laura stumbled back, holding her nose and howling in pain.
The door clanged shut as her brain screamed at her.
Fight.
Run.
Bad things happened to women on their own out on the road. She’d had that lesson drilled into her. Never, ever give up without a fight.
She charged the man, throwing her weight into it. She wasn’t a big person, but surprise was on her side. She hit him in the side and stumbled.
He shrugged her off, tossing her back against the wall with the sweep of an arm. Her head bounced off the tile, and her vision swam. If she couldn’t force her way out, she needed someone else to come in. The gas station was empty besides her and the cashier.
“Help!” she yelled. The bathroom was a cinder-block box, and all the sound did was resonate through it.
“Go ahead. Scream.” He swung his arm at her and caught her in the shoulder. She bounced off the adjacent wall, her back to the corner.
“Somebody, help!”
He came at her again, but this time she was ready. She balled her hands into fists and punched him, as hard as she could, just like her boss had taught her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, adrenaline giving her strength.
The man knocked her blows aside and wrapped a hand around her throat. He shoved her back and squeezed, cutting off her air. She got a look at his face, only to see the plastic visage of a cartoon character staring back at her.
“You have lovely eyes.” He squeezed her throat tighter, until she saw dark spots.
She kicked out, trying to hit him in his balls, his knees.
Oh God, her lungs burned. She couldn’t breathe. The fight was leeching out of her. Would she see her babies again?
“Usually I like to take time for these things, but not tonight.”
The world went dark.
Max let the woman drop to the ground. He would never tire of the way human bodies went from these vivacious sacks of life to glorified chum.
He turned the lock on the door to ensure they wouldn’t be disrupted. This was a perfect kill room. There was a single vent to the outdoors and two layers of cinder-block between the restroom and the back of the gas station. It was completely possible to stand in either of the restrooms, scream, and be unheard inside the gas station.
The tricky bit was tracking Laura’s route across the Midwest and aligning her schedule with everything else. Planning for tonight had required a bit of creativeness on his part, but everyone had their routines. Even the transient truck driver.
Everything was falling into a pattern. It was beautiful.
He bound the woman’s wrists behind her back and her ankles together. That task accomplished, he could slow down. Savor this kill a bit.
He placed the bag slung across his body down in the sink and pulled out his first, most important utensil. The required camera. He set it on top of the toilet and adjusted the viewfinder so he could ensure they stayed in the frame. He hated this damn mask, but it was important he wear it. The record button blinked, capturing these all-important moments.
Behind him, the woman started groaning.
Good. He liked a live one on film, it made for a more enjoyable watch later.
Besides, his audience loved to hear them scream, and no one could scream like a woman just before she died.
There were better ways to start a Saturday morning than re-interviewing potential witnesses in preparation for the FBI’s arrival later that morning. Jacob would have preferred to spend it in bed with Emma going for round three, but they both had to work.
Thinking of her eased some of the tension in his shoulders. For once, he hadn’t needed to explain himself. His only explanation was that she understood that darkness in him because it had touched her, too. Which made it all that much more complicated.
Emma was a remarkable woman, but last night shouldn’t have happened. She was potentially part of this case, and getting involved with her was a first-rate horrible idea. Except it had felt so right. But he couldn’t risk her life on account of how she made him feel. Chances were he had a target on his back due to his father’s involvement with the original TBK. But Emma, the copycat seemed to have left her alone. Could he be drawing attention to her? It wasn’t like she tried to hide her connection to the Ration family survivor.
Harold Espinoza’s house was still taped off with yellow caution ribbon. He’d go there next, but first he wanted to have a chat with the elderly neighbors, the Kelleys. Hopefully they would be less rattled today and able to answer a few questions with greater detail.
Jacob parked his Jeep Wrangler along the curb. Both Harold’s home and the Kelleys’ had lush lawns. A far cry from the simple sod he’d thrown down a few years ago. Emma’s lawn ornament looked awfully lonely out there. Maybe it was time he planted a few things, find out if he had a green thumb or not. Some hedges at least would improve things.
He knocked on the door and waited. There was a TV on inside and the sounds of human life. A figure bobbed toward the door through the frosted glass panes before the door swung open.
“Hello.” An elderly man blinked up at him, eyes magnified by his glasses.
“Mr. Kelley, I’m Detective Payton.”
“Oh yes, I remember you.”
“Would you have some time to talk to me about Harold?”
“Yes, yes. Come in, we were actually sitting down to talk about him now. Join us.” Mr. Kelley waved Jacob into the house. “Irene, we have another visitor.”
“Oh, what’s that?” A woman in a pink velour pantsuit stood in the doorway from the sitting room to the rest of the house.
“Get another coffee for the detective,” Mr. Kelley said at a near-yell.
“Oh, good. Come join us on the porch. I’ll get another cup.”
She shuffled into the kitchen as Mr. Kelley led Jacob through the quaint old house.
“She can’t hear nothing these days,” Mr. Kelley said over his shoulder. “My hearing’s still sharp as ever though.”
Jacob chuckled but kept his comments to himself. He’d called Mr. Kelley yesterday and the old man hadn’t understood a word Jacob had said. He might be able to hear better than his wife, but he doubted Mr. Kelley had the hearing of his younger days.
“Good timing, dropping by right now. One of Harold’s parade friends stopped by. Cute girl.” Mr. Kelley led Jacob out onto a deck overflowing with carefully tended flowers. A white wrought iron garden set for four already had coffee for two.
“Who else did you say was here?” Jacob asked. He’d need to go through Harold’s family, friends, and acquaintances. Chances were their copycat knew Harold. Now that they had a victim, Jacob could parse out the language from the first letters to see if there was anything that pointed to Harold. Not to mention the images behind the words, which might be clues themselves.
“I think her name was Erica or Emily something,” Mr. Kelley muttered.
Jacob’s gaze snapped to the figure of a blonde woman trying to peer over the privacy fence separating the two properties. The scratch marks on his back burned in memory of her touch.
What the ever loving fuck was she doing here?
Emma dropped back to her feet and glanced over her shoulder like a kid caught with their hand
in a cookie jar. Except this was far more dangerous. He grit his teeth and stared at her.
How had she known where Harold lived? The man had been a public enough figure, maybe she’d found it online? Whatever her reason for showing up here, it wasn’t good—at all.
“Here we are.” Mrs. Kelley emerged with two more cups of coffee.
“Want to come join us?” Jacob called out.
That seemed to start Emma out of her deer-in-the-headlights moment. She turned and strode toward them. Her clothes were different— jeans and a t-shirt—but he’d be willing to bet she hadn’t had time for much else in order to beat him here.
“Detective Payton.” He extended his hand toward her.
She winced and took his hand, but still had the gall to meet his gaze. “Emma.”
He wanted to wring her neck. Didn’t she know this was dangerous? And even potentially incriminating for her?
“How would you like your coffee?” Mrs. Kelley asked, breaking the tense moment.
“Black is fine.” Jacob sank into the chair offered and glanced at Emma.
“The same.” She scooted her chair a little ways from him, and when she sat, she leaned away. Her whole demeanor screamed guilt. Good.
“What?” Mrs. Kelley blinked at them.
“Black. They want it black,” Mr. Kelley said in his near-yell.
“Oh, okay. You don’t have to yell so much.”
Mr. Kelley shook his head and glanced at Jacob as if to say, See what I deal with?, but the way he smiled communicated years of love. He glanced at Emma and found her watching him from the corner of her eye. Of course, the moment their gazes met, she busied herself with the coffee.
“I don’t know what else we can tell you, Detective. We never heard a thing the other night.” Mr. Kelley sighed and sat back with his coffee.
“What about cars? Did you notice anyone parked on your street that you didn’t recognize? Anyone walking around who doesn’t live here?” Jacob asked.
Mr. Kelley shook his head again. “Not a soul. It’s real quiet around here. We would have noticed anyone new.”
“Actually, the mailman was sick about two weeks ago, and there was a new boy on the route. He wasn’t very friendly,” Mrs. Kelley chimed in.
“Do you know what his name was?” Chances were slim he was connected, but there were too few clues at the scene.
“Mitchell something. Not very polite. He wouldn’t tell us how Jerry, our usual mailman, was doing,” Mrs. Kelley answered.
“Mitchell?” Emma sat forward. “Did his last name start with a B?”
Mrs. Kelley frowned. “I can’t recall.”
Emma glanced at him.
Mitchell Black was TBK’s real name. Was it a coincidence there was someone who happened to fill in on the victim’s mail route before the murder? Was this their copycat scoping out his first kill?
Jacob sipped his coffee and kept his questions to himself. It was his nature to see deception where there wasn’t any, but with her it was everywhere. What had she been doing outside at two in the morning? Was last night some kind of game? An act? Disgust curdled his stomach. For a little while he’d thought they understood each other, but had he been wrong?
He didn’t know what game Emma was playing at here, but he wasn’t going to be part of her file box of TBK memorabilia. Had she come to him last night to add more to her collection? Was that what he was to her?
He honestly didn’t know.
Emma waved goodbye to the Kelleys, hyper aware of Jacob at her back. He’d not said a single word to her during their chat with the elderly couple. Not a single word. Hell, he’d barely glanced at her, and could she blame him?
This was bad. Really bad. She should never have come here. It was a horrible, awful mistake.
And she’d known it—from the second she committed to coming here, she realized it was wrong.
The Kelleys’ front door creaked shut and the second the door thudded into place, Jacob grabbed her elbow and jerked her around.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice was low, practically a growl. Last night this voice had urged her to orgasm. Now, she stared into the gaze of a man with barely contained rage. The tendons on the side of his neck stood out, a vein protruded on his forehead, the muscles at his jaw bulged from clenching his teeth, and his skin was tinged red. He let go of her as if she’d burned him, which for some reason hurt worse.
She gulped and held up her hands. “You’re angry. I totally get that.”
“Hell yes, I’m angry.” He loomed over her, fists clenched.
She couldn’t tell him about the letter, not now that she’d kept it from him. The rest, she could tell him that. The truth was always the best policy, wasn’t it?
“Jacob, you get what it’s like having TBK part of your life, don’t you? It’s something you can’t shake. I just—I just want to understand.”
“Come on, we don’t want to make a scene.” Jacob paced down the drive, away from her, his gait stiff. He half-turned.
She was parked in the other direction around the corner, but it was better to do what he asked of her. They walked down the sidewalk to the next house, the one that had been all over the news.
“I own that getting involved with you right now is a bad idea. I shouldn’t have invited you over last night. At least not until we catch this guy. I accept my mistake, but then for you to show up here? How did you even know where it was?”
Oh, she couldn’t tell him that. Not with his rage pants on so tight.
“The house was all over the TV. Google maps gives you a street view of everything. News tells you a neighborhood. Number’s on the house. Just go street by street, putting in the number until it comes up.” Okay, so she’d done that once, the first time Derrick cheated to find out who he’d been with.
“Fucking Internet.” He rolled his eyes and tipped his head back for a moment. “What makes you think coming here is a good idea?”
“I didn’t really think. I needed to see it.” She shrugged. Being the center of Jacob’s wrath was not a fun place to be.
“Seeing it on the news wasn’t good enough? You can’t go inside. It’s still a crime scene.” He gestured toward Howard’s house.
Emma held her tongue and didn’t dare ask if she could see it with him. She already knew the answer there was, Oh, fuck no.
“I didn’t know you’d be here. I thought I could come here, see the house, then the neighbors came out and invited me in once I told them I knew Harold.”
“I thought you met him once.”
“Yeah, I didn’t tell them that part.” Her insides squirmed. She hated Jacob’s anger turned on her. She didn’t even know the guy and he had his hooks in her. It wasn’t fair—not at all.
His phone beeped and he pulled it out to glance at the screen. She resisted peering at it, but only barely. She might hate being the object of his regret, but this TBK copycat was all she could think about. While she might want to see the guy dead, she didn’t want to be the person to pull the trigger on him. At least not when she was rational. Last night, well, she’d been emotional. She’d rather see the copycat suffer in prison, which meant he needed to get caught.
“I’ve got to go.” There was no emotion in Jacob’s voice, which was worse than the anger seething through his teeth.
“No, wait.” She grabbed his arm before he could circle his Jeep.
He stopped, but didn’t bother looking at her.
“You have every right to be angry with me.” You don’t know all the reasons. “I’m sorry, okay? I just—I need to understand this, and I thought maybe I’d get something if I came here. I knew you couldn’t show me, and I didn’t want to ask in case you’d consider it. TBK might as well have killed my daddy. I think leaving him alive was crueler than letting him live, and I can’t wrap my brain around a person like that. I thought...I don’t know...I’d see something that would help me. Be angry with me, but don’t shut me out, okay?” She let go of his arm and took a ste
p back.
He pivoted toward her, his head tilted to the side. God, it felt like he saw straight through her.
“I’m trying not to.”
“Okay.” She nodded.
Yeah, she’d never hear from him again, which was probably for the best, anyway. She didn’t need her heart getting tangled up with someone who was unobtainable. She might not be educated, but she could see all the reasons they couldn’t work out, and she was beyond the appeal of something that was merely a flash in the pan.
Jacob took two strides, almost bowling her over. Instead, he slid his hand into her hair, cupped the back of her head, and crushed his mouth against hers. She fisted the front of his shirt, lifting up on tiptoe to get closer. It might be the last time he touched her, and she wanted to commit it to memory. The kiss was rough, bruising, and short.
“I have to go,” he said against her mouth.
“Okay.” She kissed him back, short and sweet. God, she shouldn’t do this.
He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
“He killed again,” he whispered into her hair.
Shut. The. Front. Door.
Emma hugged him back, unsure if she should be scared or sad. The more kills, the more chance there was this guy could get caught. And what were the chances Mitchell the postman was their guy?
“Go get him for me, okay?” She squeezed Jacob harder, then released him.
He backed away from her, his gaze still hard.
“We aren’t done,” he said.
She hoped not, even if she knew they should be.
Jacob climbed into his Jeep, and she stayed rooted to the spot. She didn’t want him to know she wasn’t in her truck right now.
She knew following him was a bad idea, but she would do it anyway.
To catch a killer you had to be a killer, or at least understand how one thought, and she was pretty close on that point.
I’m coming for you, TBKiller.
Jacob gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white.
She’d lied to him.
Emma Ration was a liar.
She was sneaky, but she wasn’t sneaky enough. His phone was department property, and everything was backed up. And since he couldn’t shake the feeling something didn’t ring true with Emma’s story, he’d checked the logs. The messages were there.
Blind: Killer Instincts Page 8
