“My father came out of his room. He begged the man not to hurt me, promised him money and went to his safe. I saw my father open the safe and pull out my mother’s jewelry, and then…and then…” Her voice never faltered. The words simply died. She strained forward, but couldn’t push anything else out.
His breathing grew shallow along with hers. “What happened after your father took the jewels out of the safe, Sky?”
“I don’t know. Next thing I remember, I was lying on my bed. The man was on top of me. Holding something sharp against my throat.”
As her eyes closed, he fought the urge to wrap her in his arms.
“A knife. A knife against my throat. The blade was so cold. I didn’t feel pain, but I knew when he cut me, because I felt warm blood dripping down my neck. I didn’t want to die with my eyes shut. I wanted to see the world one last time, so I made myself open my eyes.”
She opened her eyes.
As brave now as then. This couldn’t be easy for her, but she seemed determined to tell him everything she remembered. “The man’s face was covered by a ski mask. All I could see were coal black eyes…horrible, dead eyes. He said, ‘Welcome back, sweetheart. I want you awake for this.’ And then he pushed my skirt up and started touching me.”
Danny swallowed back the fury that scalded his insides and drove acid up through his esophagus. His knuckles ached as he clenched his fist around his pen. For Sky’s benefit, he had to contain his rage. Deliberately relaxing his fist, he dropped the pen and extended a hand, palm up, in offering. She didn’t take it. His hand felt so empty. “Maybe you’d rather talk to a policewoman. I can arrange it, if you’d like.”
Her shoulders lifted, and her eyes met his. “I need to finish.”
He nodded. “Okay, but we can stop anytime. You said the intruder tried to kill you.”
“Yes, I knew he was going to kill me, because he told me so. He said he killed my father, and I was next.” At last, a tear slid down her cheek. She seemed not to notice. “He said first he was going to rape me. He said—” Her chin jerked, and her low voice dropped to a mere whisper. “He said I should try really hard to come because it would make it better for him. He said if I…if I came for him, he’d be merciful and kill me quick. That’s when I started begging, ‘Please just kill me now, just kill me now.’”
Tension coiled Danny’s muscles so tight his legs burned. He set the pad down on the table and rubbed his thighs. Lifting his hands in front of his face, he watched his fingers first spread and then curl, as if he could grab the motherfucker who hurt Sky and choke the life out of him. Then her soft voice called him out of his fog.
“But Garth came home. And he saved me.”
“Garth came home.”
“Yes. I remember hearing him thunder up the stairs. I remember he screamed at the man, ‘You bastard. You bastard.’ And then Garth was on the floor, on top of the man with his hands around his throat…” She covered her eyes with her hands.
“What happened after that, Sky? Where is the man who murdered your father now?”
Uncovering her eyes, she looked at the ceiling. Smoothed her shirtsleeves methodically. “Garth killed him. Choked him to death. With his bare hands.”
Danny felt a surge of gratitude toward Garth Novak, a man who appeared mild-mannered, genteel even, and yet had the balls to take down a murderer. If not for Garth, Sky wouldn’t be alive today. And that realization shook Danny to the core; made him more determined than ever to watch over her.
Tamping down his rage, he flattened his palm against his forehead, tried to put the facts into perspective. With the intruder dead, the murder of Sky’s father was tied up in a neat package—just like the robbery at Jolene’s. He had to admit this information put a damper on his serial killer theory and explained Captain Scarborough’s lack of interest in reopening the case.
Unless the man who killed Sky’s father had reached out from the grave, he wasn’t responsible for Edmond’s death. Still, for him, the pieces weren’t a perfect fit: One family, two murders, Halloween. There had to be a connection. Steepling his fingers, he asked, “What was his name—the man who killed your father?”
Sky raised her chin and brushed her hair back behind her ears. “Steve Regan.”
“Does Regan have any family members still living in the area?”
“His younger brother is Carson Rothschild. Have you heard of him?”
“The injury lawyer? Of course, those commercials of his are outrageous. Sky, I’m thinking that maybe someone in Regan’s family wanted to avenge his death.”
A furrow appeared between Sky’s brows. Her eyes widened, and then she let out a harsh breath. “Oh, God. You think Rothschild might’ve hired someone to get revenge for his brother? If that’s true, why kill Edmond? Wouldn’t he have been after me or Garth?”
Careful not to let his agitation show, Danny rose from the couch. He walked slowly over to the telephone, carefully lifted the receiver, and dialed his precinct number.
Two rings, and then feedback reverberated in his ear. The desk sergeant must’ve dropped the phone.
“Sonbitch.”
“Grimshaw? It’s me, Benson.”
“Aren’t you on leave?”
“Can you dispatch a protective detail to Dr. Garth Novak’s home?”
“I’ve got a car that can swing by.”
“Not swing by. I need surveillance for the rest of the night.”
“What the fuck, Danny? I can’t tie up a team all night.”
“Just do it for me please. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”
“You’re putting me in a bind here. I got nothing but love for you, Danny. But we don’t got the manpower, and I’m not looking to get my dick guillotined by the captain.”
“I have reason to believe someone may be after Novak and his sister. I’ll watch the sister. But if one of Flagstaff’s most revered citizens takes a bullet on your shift, your dick is going to be the least of your worries.”
“Then maybe you better ask me nice.”
“Don’t cock this up.”
“Sweet talker… I’ll send out the babysitters, but you better have some industrial strength air freshener ready for when the shit—”
Danny hung up, spun around and bumped into Sky, nearly knocking her to the ground. Catching her in his arms, he steadied her against his chest. Through the layers of his T-shirt and woolen sweater, he felt the fullness of her breasts, the delicacy of her petite frame. His hand slid down her spine to the small of her back. Beneath his palm, her tense muscles softened. Only the slightest pressure would be required to guide the full length of her body against his.
Jerking his hands to her shoulders, he pushed back. “A squad car’s headed to Garth’s place. Tomorrow I’ll speak to Scarborough and figure out a way to protect the two of you until we get this sorted out.”
She released a choppy sigh. “Thank you for looking after Garth. I don’t know how I could go on if anything happened to him.”
“Time for bed,” he said. Her color heightened, and he cleared his throat, correcting the huskiness in his voice. “I’ll take the couch.”
“No.” She retrieved his coat and held it out to him.
Tossing it over a chair, he said, “I’m sorry, Sky, but we don’t have the resources to send a team out here, too. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. At least for tonight.”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want you here. Garth’s the one who needs protection.”
His shoulders drew back. “This isn’t negotiable.”
“I don’t need protection.”
“I disagree. And I’m not just talking about from outside threats.”
She grabbed his coat off the chair and shook it at him. Her mouth set into a hard line. “What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m saying straight out I think you’re in trouble. You don’t eat. You don’t sleep. When you’re not working at that clinic, you’re moonligh
ting in the ER. You don’t take care of yourself.”
“You sound like my brother.”
“Your brother’s a smart man. Why don’t you take better care of yourself, Sky? Why fight the people who want to help you?”
“I don’t know, Dr. Freud. Suppose you tell me. I’m sure you’ve got a doozy of a theory, so lay it on me.” In a gesture of surrender, she draped his coat back over the chair. “I’m waiting for your analysis with bated breath.”
“Okay.” He took a step forward.
She retreated to the wall.
“I think you feel guilty you survived those robberies. I think some part of you wishes you’d died along with your father and Edmond. I think it’s possible you don’t really want to live.”
A flush rose on her cheeks, and her pupils darkened. “You have no right. You barely know me.”
“I know you well enough. And I care about what happens to you.”
“Don’t.” Her eyes blazed a warning. “It could be hazardous to your health.”
Closing the gap between them, he smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Sky. You make it sound like it’s your fault your father and Edmond are dead. But you’re not the one who killed them. You didn’t pull the trigger. Maybe you don’t want me pointing that out, asking you tough questions. But I’m going to keep on asking them until I know you’re okay.”
Brushing his hand away, she turned her back and crossed to the window. He followed. Her voice softened and she said, “I appreciate your concern, I truly do. But I’m not your responsibility. I don’t need you to take care of me.”
In the quiet room, he heard her breathing accelerate followed by the squeal of tires. He yanked the curtains aside, and a flash of headlights blinded him before disappearing into the night.
Chapter Ten
While a grandfather clock ticked, the man tapped his fingers on his desk and stretched his booted legs. It was ten o’clock, Friday night. His appointment was long overdue, and in any other circumstance, he would not have stayed, but tonight he would be patient. Later, he would dispose of the despicable creature who had the temerity to keep a man of his importance waiting.
Smoothing his cheek against the buttery leather of his armchair, he drew in a deep breath of power. The sweet, musty scent of animal hide reminded him who he was, how he came to be so strong. As he stroked the chair’s slick arms, his fingertips lingered over the decorative nails, recalling the metal studs that so often bit into the flesh of his neck as a boy.
Hands tingling in anticipation, he pulled a tiny key from his suit pocket and turned the lock on the gilded ebony box that anchored today’s mail to his desktop. Sifting through the precious contents, his fingers convulsed around worn leather and brought forth a studded dog collar.
His heart quickened.
Tugging his shirt up to protect his neck from marks, he carefully settled leather over silk, adjusted the dog collar so it lay beneath his Adam’s apple, and cinched tight. Heat surged through his veins until his blood scorched tender skin from beneath the surface. Here, in this sanctuary, memories stroked him like lover’s fingers. His chest ached, and his breathing grew labored from childhood memories that were simultaneously suffocating and arousing.
Now, moonlight entered his office through a narrow window, reminding him that night had arrived. Then, nighttime meant relief, adults coming home from work, his tormentor forced to release him from his fence-leash to avoid getting caught. Had he been a loved child, the adults would have asked how the little boy came to have bruises circling his neck and arms, why his skin was blistered from the sun. But the little boy was not loved, and each night he cried and prayed for an angel to come and rescue him, to come and love him. Until one night as he prayed, the child had a revelation: these creatures were not his family. They were vermin, a blight upon the earth, and he was the exterminator. Once he understood this truth, he became immune to suffering. He no longer felt pain.
The clock ticked.
In response to disgusting moisture on his cheeks, his body stiffened. Water leaked from his eyes, but he did not feel sad. He cinched the leather collar tighter around his neck, and his eyelids fluttered closed. Memories replaced tears.
After many years the boy’s prayer was answered. She came and rescued him. She was his angel. She lifted him out of a living hell and charged him with a mission. Not to kill vermin—no, his mission was far more exalted than that, and his angel far too pure to see the cockroaches, too blinded by her own innocence to recognize them for the pseudo-human creatures they were. But he was not blind. He vowed to protect his angel from the evil she could not see. He vowed to exterminate all who interfered with the mission she gave him. If a few innocents were sacrificed in the process…so be it.
One notch of the collar tighter and he could see her face again, smell the trace of lilac soap that used to linger in the air around her. As breath abandoned his body, her presence grew stronger. Her whisper seemed to brush his cheek, affirming his purpose, begging him not to fail her.
A timid knock at the door set his fingers working to release the dog collar. He removed it, rose from his chair and carefully replaced the collar in his treasure-box. “You may come in,” he said, his voice scratching his throat.
The office door opened, and a large man approached, shoulders hunched, head bowed in submission. His gaze slid over the man’s beefy arms and prison-made tattoos, x-rayed beneath pasty skin and saw what ordinary humans could not: the exoskeleton of an arthropod. To think this pitiful fellow had come to him—as had his predecessor Jack Spurlock—seeking to blackmail him. But he had quickly turned the tables, and now the idiot found himself in his employ. “You’re late.”
“You told me to watch the cop, and you were right, he’s at Skylar Novak’s house right now. Looked to me like they were getting cozy. Real cozy if you get my meaning. I figure he’s there for the night—so I left.”
Grabbing the edge of his desk, he waited for his vision to clear. “Have you made the necessary preparations?”
“Yes, but I still don’t see why this job has to be done so risky.” Fat, greasy fingers reached out to shake his hand.
He shook, but then wiped the foul residue from his fingers with his handkerchief. “Fortunately, you are not required to understand. Your role is to carry out my orders. I don’t need to remind you what’s at stake for both of us.”
“Maybe so. But seems to me we could just do them while they sleep. No muss, no fuss. You sure this is the easiest way?”
“Not the easiest way. The best way. I have my reasons, and that’s all you need to know. You’ve studied your target well, I presume?”
The fool nodded. “Why do I have to take the cop? My part’s a hell of a lot more dangerous. How come you get the girl?”
“I’ll say again: I have my reasons. You remember the time and the location?”
“I ain’t ignorant.”
His lips curled. “No, no, you’re quite the erudite. But humor me. Tell me when.”
“Monday night. Eight o’clock precise. You wanna synchronize our watches?”
“No. Now tell me where.”
“Jolene’s diner. Guess you must like the Dolly Parton song or something, considering you used the same damn place last time too.”
By God, he’d not expected his pawn to appreciate the connection between their plan and his angel’s favorite songstress. Blocking its contents from view, he raised the lid of his treasure box, withdrew his cherished harmonica and blew out the tinny strains of “Jolene”.
The man’s eyes narrowed to slits, and his brow creased. “You still got that damn harmonica?”
“Of course—my mother gave it to me.”
The lout grinned, revealing the deplorable state of his dentition. “You don’t know what’s a lie and what’s real, do you? And you play a tune while you plot murder. I wonder what folks in Flagstaff would say if they knew.”
Recognizing the thinly veiled threat
in his pawn’s words, he paused, pulled the harmonica off his mouth and licked his lips. “Knew what?”
“That their precious Dr. Garth Novak is a sick fuck.”
Chapter Eleven
Garth didn’t know what an ordinary murderer would feel when he rounded the street corner after midnight and found a police cruiser parked in his driveway. What he felt, however, was a tingle in his toes, a slight—make that very slight—acceleration of his heartbeat, and a mounting sense of satisfaction.
Let the games begin.
Whichever tweedle dee and tweedle dum occupied that squad car, he was certain they were no match for him. Flagstaff’s finest couldn’t connect the dots between a whore’s tits, much less between his crimes. Crimes that had been planned with minimal effort and only the slightest attempt at concealment. In a way, it was disappointing not to be acknowledged as the culprit. Escaping detection meant he was free to continue as he pleased, but it also meant he received no recognition for his deeds. Where was the thrill in outsmarting the authorities if they didn’t know they’d been outsmarted?
Thrills were a highly sought after commodity in his world, but they were becoming increasingly difficult to obtain. Until the moment Edmond’s skull blew apart and splattered all over Sky’s breakfast, he’d almost forgotten the excitement of a kill—his last had been so long ago. Reminding himself that unlike your standard-issue, run-of-the-mill, demented serial killer, he didn’t kill for pleasure, he checked his urge to plow into the squad car in front of him and pulled into the driveway like the respectable citizen the boys in blue were expecting.
He killed for a noble purpose and demolishing the Tweedle Twins wouldn’t serve. Absent noble purpose, he kept his bloodlust reined in—mostly. But lately, he found himself craving that rush of adrenaline and curbing his appetite was becoming more and more difficult.
Annoying as Benson’s meddling was, it at least provided him a just motive for a fresh kill, and for such good cause, for her cause, his angel, his Isabella looking on from on high, couldn’t fault him.
First Do No Evil: Blood Secrets, Book 1 Page 10
