by Linda Ladd
Black watched, shocked, not having expected that kind of misinformation to be floated to the media, trying to figure out why they would disseminate news of his death. How would that help Soquet exact his revenge? When the answer finally hit him, Black went cold all over. They must be planning to keep him captive in this room. Forever. Never let him go. And if everyone thought he was already dead, nobody would even come looking. Life would go on for everyone in his life. Life would go on for Claire.
Then, without warning, the wall of televisions went black again, and all was pitch dark for about a minute. After that, the lights flared on, and a door swung open over to his right. The padded panels had hidden it from him until that moment, and then he saw the girl with the red hair standing there in the threshold. Jaxy. The little boy was on the leash right behind her. Now Jaxy had on a white silk dress and white spike heels and a white mantilla, as if she were dressed to attend Mass. She looked bizarre. Her skin was almost as pale as the dress, making the mass of red freckles more noticeable. Her eyes were black as midnight and so cold that Black tried not to shiver. Her hair was loose and partially covering the dent in her forehead made by the shrapnel from her mother’s car.
“Hello again, my dear doctor,” she taunted him, speaking in French this time.
Black just stared at her. Said nothing. He had not seen her for a long time before last night, not since she was a child of about ten years old. She was innocent then. But now she was no longer innocent. She was very bad news, and she was ready to inflict her cruel arts on him. No doubt about it. He could already see the eagerness to maim inside her eyes.
Black noticed that the camera had come back on, the red light blinking. Whatever she was going to do to him, they wanted it on film. For posterity, or for even worse reasons. He said nothing.
The girl watched him briefly, and then she smiled. She was tall and lithe and attractive in a sort of evil way. She had what looked like his cell phone in her right hand. She walked forward and stood in front of his chair. “You see this?” She held up his phone. “We aren’t completely heartless, doctor. You need to let poor little Claire Morgan know that you are alive and well. It’s not her fault that you have done so much evil in your life. She needs to know that you are here being punished for all your many sins.”
Black still said nothing. He was trying to guess her game. They were not giving him a phone call out of the goodness of their hearts. The phone probably didn’t work, and they were after the disappointment he would feel after having gotten his hopes up. There was no way in hell they would ever let him call Claire. Unless it was to their advantage, and what advantage would that be? Luring her to them? To use her against him?
“Oh, my, you are giving me the silent treatment, I see. That won’t do you any good, dear doctor. But it is up to you. But look here, I have pulled up your poor bride’s number for you.” She patted his cheek with long black fingernails that had been filed into sharp points. “See? I am not so heartless. We are not uncivilized, but you cannot say that, can you? You will stoop to anything that will get you what you want. You have proved that many times, no?”
Black only stared at her. Then she squatted down in front of him and got up close to his face, her dark eyes intense, almost glittering under the ceiling lights. She continued to chat, as if they were friends out having a drink in a neighborhood bar. “Oh, dear, your eye is all swollen up now, getting black and soon you won’t be able to see out of it. I suspect that you have one very terrible headache, too, no? Perhaps even a broken nose. And all that blood on your nice clean white shirt. Poor Nick. My sap is very heavy, is it not? You should not have fought us so hard, and we would not have hurt you at all. We didn’t want to hurt you, you see. Not really. Not then. Our orders were not to hurt you, not a hair on your handsome head. But alas, you left us no choice.”
“Where’s your daddy, Jaxy? He sending a girl to do his dirty work?”
“Oh, he’s watching, don’t you worry about that.”
“Why am I here?”
She stood up and smiled, her glossy red lips glistening under the blinding light. “Why, we want you to suffer, of course. We want you to suffer as no other human being on earth has ever suffered before. And forever, I might add. Until we watch you draw your very last breath on this earth. And that moment is many years away. Many long, torturous years ahead.”
She stood up and poked the screen a couple of times on his cell phone. Then she smiled again and turned the screen toward him. He saw that it was on FaceTime, and she was calling Claire’s number. He would be able to see Claire when she answered, and she would be able to see him. The phone kept ringing without anyone answering. Were they really going to let him talk to Claire? Why would they do that? After going to all the trouble to put out the false news about his death? Or would they hang up before he could say anything? He wondered if the phone had been rigged with electricity to shock him when they put it up to his ear. Like that poor boy’s shock collar. That would not surprise him. They had torture down to an art. They were known for it. Psychopaths, one and all.
He waited. Jaxy waited. She smiled down at him the entire time, while the phone continued to ring.
LINDA LADD is the bestselling author of over a dozen novels, including the Claire Morgan thrillers and the Will Novak thrillers. Linda makes her home in Missouri, where she lives with her husband and her beagle named Banjo. She has two adult children and two grandsons. In addition to writing, Linda is an expert markswoman and enjoys target shooting with her Glock 19. She also loves reading, traveling, swimming, and enjoying her family. She is currently at work on her next novel featuring Claire Morgan. Learn more at lindaladd.com.
LOST GIRL
She was last seen in New Orleans. Her father, a rich, powerful
arms dealer, believes she was abducted. For ransom. For revenge.
For reasons too horrible to imagine.
LOST INNOCENCE
Claire Morgan, recent former cop turned private investigator,
and her new partner begin their search at the girl’s school,
where a violent junkie attacks Claire with scissors, raves of
“demons and devils,” and then takes her own life.
LAST RITES
Sinister clues lead Claire on a twisted trail through the bars and
bayous of New Orleans to a bloodstained altar in Paris.
Vast, secret, and powerful, it is a world that few enter or escape.
And Claire is going in—the devil be damned . . .
BAD OMEN
Homicide detective Claire Morgan has a bad feeling when a man’s
body is found in a Missouri state park. The crime scene is buried
in snow. The corpse is frozen in ice. And nearly every bone has
been broken, shattered, or crushed . . .
BAD BLOOD
Claire’s suspicions only get worse when the body is thawed
and identified. The victim was an ultimate fighter on the
cage-match circuit. His wife blames her ex-husband, a Russian
mafioso. But Claire knows this is no mob-style execution.
This is something worse. Something evil . . .
BAD BONES
Raised from childhood to inflict pain, the killer uses rage as a
weapon. Punishing without mercy. Killing without conscience.
Upholding a dark family tradition that is so twisted, so powerful,
it destroys everything in its path.
And Claire is about to meet the family . . .
MOSTLY FEAR
She suffered a terrifying coma. She survived a serial killer’s
obsession. Now homicide detective Claire Morgan hopes to forget
the nightmare of her Missouri past in the city of New Orleans.
But when a body is discovered near her home,
her darkest fears come rushing back . . .
MOSTLY SUPERSTITION
Surrounded by candles and skulls, the victim is bound t
o an altar
like a human sacrifice. More disturbing to Claire is the voodoo
doll in the woman’s hands. A doll pierced with pins and wearing
a picture on its face. A picture of Claire Morgan . . .
MOSTLY MURDER
Claire doesn’t believe in voodoo. But she does believe in the
power of superstition to warp a person’s mind and feed a killer’s
madness. It is here, in the muddy bayous where it festers,
that Claire must face her fear head on—
and meet the man who’s marked her for death . . .
