Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8)

by Kaylie Hunter

  “Probably not. But there’s a killer out there who seems inclined to choke his victims before killing them with a lethal injection. I’m trying to get in the killer’s head. Figure him out.”

  Jackie straightened in her seat but tilted her head to the side. “I’ll need more information. Men, women, or both? Does he choke them with one hand or two? Are they dressed or naked? Does he prefer daytime or night? Indoors or outdoors? Does he cover their eyes? Or bind their hands? Hell, are you sure it’s a man? More and more women are stepping out as aggressors in bedroom play.”

  My jaw might’ve dropped as I listened to her.

  Jackie glanced next to us and when I did as well, I was startled to find Wild Card standing beside the table, holding hurricane glasses.

  Jackie took the glasses from him, setting one in front of me. “Oh, what do we have here?” She took a slow sip of her drink. “Mmm. It’s been ages since I had a good pina colada. This is great, thank you.”

  Wild Card’s eyes swiveled to me before he abruptly spun on his heel and returned to the bar.

  “So? Information?” Jackie said, setting her drink down.

  “Men and women. Clothed. No indication of bondage. And we don’t have enough information to know location or time of day preferences, but I’d wager he’s more concerned about witnesses than either of those factors.”

  “And does he use one or two hands to strangle them?”

  “Neither.” I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “The victims are tackled to the ground and forced on their stomachs. From there, he lies on top of them and uses his forearm across the back of the neck.”

  Jackie squinted in concentration. “Interesting. You said he injects them? Where exactly?”

  “The neck,” I answered, raising an eyebrow.

  “Ah, yes. That would work. That’s his peak moment.” She picked up her glass and took another drink, completely unbothered by the conversation we were sharing.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Imagine old-fashioned ordinary sex. You start off at one pace, kicking it up as the excitement builds, then—if you’re lucky—you orgasm. Your killer likely is rubbing against the victim, building friction, but I don’t think the victim passing out triggers his release. By not using his hands, he’s too distanced from the experience. But the injection, that’s something he can both see and feel as he presses the needle into the skin and then plunges the contents into their bodies. That’s his orgasm trigger.”

  “He’s not sexually excited by the choking itself?”

  “I didn’t say that,” she said, shaking her head. “Controlling his victims is probably enough to make him hard. But it’s foreplay. Most people have a preferred sexual position. Some like missionary, some like cowboy or cowgirl, or rear-entry. But your killer always lies on top of the victim’s backside. He not only gains control but I’d guess it’s also his preferred sexual position.” She took another drink of her pina colada. “You really should drink. This is excellent.”

  I took a long drink through my straw, giving myself time to align my thoughts. “One of the cases involved two people. A man and a woman. My theory is the man interrupted the killer, and then was killed by the injection. The killer then used a knife to kill the woman.”

  Her face scrunched, imagining the scene. “That’s a new ballgame. But if injecting the needle was his orgasm peak…”

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding. “That’s my worry, too. He’ll switch out the needle for the knife going forward.”

  Wild Card brought us two overflowing plates. “It appears Italian is on the menu tonight,” he said as he set the plates down. Joey carried over additional plates, containing garlic bread, along with Edwin’s promised carryout bag of a weeks’ worth of leftovers. Wild Card eyed the bag before glancing at me.

  “Can you hold the bag until I leave?” I asked him.

  “Of course, ma’am,” he said bowing and taking the bag from Joey. “It will be my pleasure.”

  Wild Card hurried away and Jackie watched him over her shoulder. “He’s not really a waiter, is he?”

  I laughed. “No. He’s my bodyguard.” I cut my food before stuffing a huge wad of chicken parmesan and noodles into my mouth.

  “And the two guys who just followed him into the back room?”

  “Security guards,” I mumbled, swallowing my food. “We have a gig later tonight which requires their special skills.”

  “Hmm. Nice bodies. Think any of them would be interested in a quick choky?”

  From across the room, Maggie barked out a laugh before throwing her hand over her mouth. I looked around. Everyone was quietly laughing with their heads bowed. They must’ve bugged our table.

  Chapter Forty

  CHARLIE

  Tuesday, 8:30 p.m.

  As the elevator whisked Jackie upstairs to her next adventure, Spence strutted across the room toward me. “We need to talk.” He was carrying his laptop which was my clue he’d found something during his background searches. “Preferably someplace without an audience listening.” He placed his ear mic on the table.

  I slid out of the booth, picking up his earpiece and on our way past Maggie, I handed it to her. With an arm around my waist, Spence steered me toward the elevators.

  “This way,” I said, turning to the right. “Most of the rooms in the building have surveillance, but Kelsey insisted one was left without cameras.”

  Entering the employee hallway, I followed the hall to the left, swiping my keycard for the solid metal door labeled: private. Inside was one of Kelsey’s typical isolation rooms. The room had plain, tiled floors with a floor drain. A metal railing ran along three walls. And, eyebolts were mounted to the floor and each wall in various places.

  Spence looked around the room, turning in a slow circle. “Do I even want to know?”

  “My cousin is a planner. She likes to be ready for anything.”

  Spence shook his head, and with a serious face, he opened his laptop, turning the monitor toward me. I waited for him to explain but he remained silent.

  I began reading his background notes for the patients Terri Weston saw the day she was murdered. Using the touchpad, I scrolled down to continue reading. And that’s when I saw it. Why Spence had requested to speak in private. As I read the details, I felt my knees weaken. “Did you show this to anyone?”

  “No. Not even Bones. I figured since we’re not even supposed to have access to this list, the less eyes the better.”

  “He—” I pointed to the screen, “He wasn’t a patient. Right? He was with a patient?”

  “Right. The patient was being treated for injuries acquired when he resisted arrest. The cop was listed as the arresting officer.”

  Even though I knew we were in a private room, one with walls crammed full of soundproofing insulation, I still looked around to ensure we were alone. “We need to talk to the prisoner. Find out what happened.”

  “He’s in the state prison. I can drop by for a chat on visiting day.”

  I shook my head, turning to pace in the small room. “No. Don’t do anything. Visitors logs can be monitored.”

  “Is this really a possibility then? That a cop killed Terri Weston?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ll be damned if I accuse a cop without more information. We should get back. We need to check on the rest of tonight’s activities.”

  I opened the door and spotted Bones and Wild Card leaning casually against the far wall, waiting.

  Bones looked over my shoulder and frowned. He stepped over, pushing the door wider and looked around the room. “Kelsey’s a nut.”

  “Maybe,” Wild Card said as he also looked inside the room. “But it sure is handy to have one of her holding cells here if we need it later.”

  Bones smiled at Wild Card. It wasn’t a cheerful smile. It held a lot of sinister thinking.

  “There’s more than one of these rooms?” Spence asked, thumbing toward the room over his shoulder.

  “This is the fourth o
ne I know of,” Bones answered. “But Kelsey has real estate hidden across the country, so who knows how many cells she’s had built.”

  I laughed as I started down the hallway. “What makes you think she only has real estate in the U.S.?”

  ~*~*~

  Regrouping in Baker’s office, Wild Card walked over and kissed my cheek.

  “What was that for?” I asked.

  “Sharing your dinner. It was insanely good.” He patted his stomach.

  “I’ll be sure to let chef Edwin know.” I walked over and sat on the couch near the bar. “Where are we? What’s the plan for this evening?”

  “Owen Flint won’t be here until around ten according to Baker’s records,” Ryan said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Ooh,” Maggie said, rubbing her hands together. “We have time to hit the club downstairs and dance.”

  Bridget clapped, jumping up and down. “Can we?” she asked me. “Please, please, please.”

  “In a minute,” I said. “First, Maggie, did you talk to Roseline’s family?”

  “I spoke to her brother.” Maggie walked over and sat in a side chair. “According to him, their parents are too distraught to talk, but he gave us enough background to get us started. He described Roseline as quiet, shy even, but intelligent and observant. The family wasn’t surprised when she turned in the drug dealers and entered WITSEC. He said she used to volunteer as an advocate for at risk teens and had a habit of fighting for the underdog. And her volunteer work was in addition to working two other jobs. She was a secretary at a large firm during the day and worked nights at a truck stop. She was trying to save up for college. She wanted to be a social worker.”

  “I’m surprised she was so reserved with me then. She knew I was a cop, yet she gave me the same illegal immigrant BS story she told everyone else.”

  “She couldn’t tell the truth. The rules are very clear: Don’t trust anyone. Keep to yourself. Use the same lies every time to help keep them straight.”

  I thought about the drug dealers. “Had she broken the rules? Had she contacted her family?”

  “No. Not according to her brother. The first news they’d received since she’d entered WITSEC was her death notification. They’re in shock.”

  “I bet.”

  “Charlie…” Maggie glanced at the floor before looking back at me. “Not to pile on your plate, but it’s not enough to find the person who killed her.”

  “I know.” I ran a hand through my hair. “We also need to figure out who hired the killer.”

  “Do you think it was the Jameson crew?” Bones asked.

  “Not really. I mean, they’re the obvious choice. But Lisa’s brother, Phillip, said the Jameson crew doesn’t have the reach. He suggested maybe their suppliers, but my conversation with Mickey was cut short when bullets started flying so he didn’t have a chance to tell me if he knew of a network in Miami.”

  “I’ll go talk to Mickey,” Spence said. “He’s more likely to share details with me than you.”

  “You need backup?” Bones asked him.

  “You don’t take backup to a meeting with Mickey,” Spence said, shaking his head. “He’ll read it as an act of war. No, I’m good. I’ll be back before ten.”

  I was staring at the floor, biting my lip. “Spence—” I called out just as he was opening the door. “Ask Mickey about the prisoner from the hospital log. See if he knows anything about the arrest.”

  Spence dropped his head in a quick nod before walking out.

  “What was that about?” Ryan asked.

  “I don’t know yet. Just a thread that needs to be pulled.”

  Maggie laughed. “I’ll let you keep your secrets, for now, if you let us go dancing.”

  I laughed. “Fine. Go. Have fun. But watch the time. I need you guys back in The Parlor before ten.”

  Bridget started squealing and grabbed Maggie’s hand, dragging her toward the door. Bones narrowed his eyes at me before reluctantly following the girls. Ryan sat in the chair that Maggie had vacated. Wild Card sat in one of the guest chairs. Jackson and Trigger looked at each other, then back at me.

  “Go! I mean it. There’s nothing on the agenda until later.”

  Their faces brightened with smiles as they hurried for the door.

  Evie walked over and sat next to me on the couch. “Baker showed me a picture of Xander earlier. Do you know his real name?”

  “I do. And it’s not good. His real name is Miguel Remirez. He’s married, but the bigger problem is that he’s the head of a Mexican drug cartel.”

  Baker muttered an f-bomb as he threw a stapler across the room into one of the monitors, shattering the screen. Garth, who’d been standing guard near the door, shook his head before disappearing down the hall.

  We all sat in silence. Several minutes later, Garth returned with a box containing a new monitor. Wild Card walked over to help him.

  Baker walked toward me, stopping next to the bar. He stood with his arms crossed, staring at me. “How bad is this situation?”

  “Bad. I’d wager Miguel’s girlfriends don’t usually live past the break-up stage. The man is ruthless. We suspect he killed both his uncle and his older brother. His other brother, Santiago, tried to kill Kelsey recently.”

  Baker’s face was hard. Frozen in anger. “What’s the plan to protect Evie?”

  “For now, she stays here. But no more trips to The Parlor without one of Kelsey’s bodyguards.”

  Garth stopped hooking up the monitor and turned to face me. “Are you questioning my ability to protect her?”

  “No. But if the cartel finds out she’s here, they’ll show up with automatic rifles. They’ll shower this place with bullets. You’re good, Garth, but you’re not bulletproof.”

  “Well…” He turned back toward the monitor he was installing. “When you put it that way…”

  “If I stay here,” Evie said, pulling my attention, “I’ll be putting everyone in danger.”

  “Only if they find you. If you stay on the fifth floor, you, and everyone else, will be safe.”

  “I’m shutting down the private rooms,” Baker said, recrossing the room back to his desk. “There are two security doors between this office and the private rooms, but I don’t want to take a chance. Owen Flint knows the layout on this floor.”

  “What about tonight?” Ryan asked me.

  I knew what he was asking. He wanted to know if we were still using Evie as bait. “Evie stays upstairs. Maggie or I will bait Owen Flint.”

  “You sure?” Ryan asked. “Kelsey worried someone new might make Owen suspicious.”

  “I’m willing to take that chance. One way or another, we’ll get him either upstairs or into the holding room on the third floor, but we won’t use Evie to do it.”

  Evie shook her head. “I promised Kelsey.”

  “It’s not your call. It’s mine.” I smiled over at Ryan. “Besides, Kelsey doesn’t scare me. It’ll be fine.”

  Ryan smiled, knowing I was lying.

  ~*~*~

  I needed some thinking time, so I walked out of the office into the hallway. I leaned against the wall, sliding downward to sit on the floor. A sharp pain shot through my bum knee. I carefully stretched out my legs, groaning at all my body aches.

  I looked at my hand, but the swelling from being stomped on had receded and there was no bruising. The swelling on my face was also gone, and the bruises, already turning from black to purple, were hidden behind layers of makeup. In a day or two, they’d be a pretty lime green or canary yellow. My knee would heal too, but would require a few days of rest, which wasn’t an option right now.

  I thought of Roseline and all the clues surrounding her death. Maggie was right. It wasn’t enough to find her killer. I had to find the person responsible for hiring the hitman, too. Benny was my best lead to do that, but with him skipping town, that conversation would have to wait.

  Baker’s office door opened and Wild Card stepped out, tossing me a pad of paper
and a pen. “You and Kelsey are a lot alike. Probably more than you know. Create a visual.”

  I picked up the pen and looked down at the pad of paper. “Yeah, but she gets a whiteboard. I only get paper?”

  “Should I go buy you a whiteboard?” Wild Card asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “I’d like that,” I answered with a grin. “But I’d settle instead for an icepack for my knee.”

  Wild Card looked behind him. “Garth? Where do I find an icepack in this place?”

  “Kitchen. Chef Edwin keeps them in the walk-in freezer.”

  Wild Card stepped over me and started down the hall toward the elevator. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Since you’re going to the kitchen…”

  Wild Card paused, glancing over his shoulder.

  “Tell Chef Edwin I’ll heal faster with one of his desserts.”

  Wild Card flashed his perfect smile before continuing down the hall.

  I stared down at the pad of paper, picking it up to start writing out the details. I drew a circle in the middle of the page with Roseline’s name penned inside it. From there, I branched out lines for the Jameson crew, WITSEC, and Pauly—who also had a second line to Lydia. I wrote under Jameson crew: supplier with a question mark. Then under that, I wrote: Mickey/Spence.

  Returning to Roseline, I wrote a few notes under her name: time of death, cause of death, worked at truck stop, took down drug dealers, fights for underdogs, observant, phone missing…

  I paused to text Quille and ask about the phone. He texted back that the tech guys told him the phone was turned off. Roseline’s phone records also showed she hadn’t received a call since her death.

  That was strange, I thought. Even if the calls went to voicemail, her boss’s calls should’ve shown on the phone records. I texted him back, saying as much. He replied with a question mark. I stared at the phone and a good two minutes later, Quille replied he’d recheck.

  Knowing Quille, he was at home listening to his wife Miranda screech from across the room that she wasn’t a priority. I understood her frustration. And I knew Quille did, too. But the odd hours came with the job and after fifteen years of marriage, she knew a multiple homicide trumped dinner at home with the wife. It was a fact. A fact that every detective knew, and their spouses had to live with.