by Mia Thompson
“You sure about that?”
Aston would bet his good ball on it.
The smug fuck puffed his chest. “Considering your histo—”
Prosecutor Pearl kicked Capelli’s leg so hard the table jumped.
“Uh… How’s your momma, by the way?” Capelli switched. “Tired from grinding me all night?” His mouth formed to an O and he spanked the air in front of him.
Aston turned at the feeble attempt to cover up whatever it was Capelli was going to say, and the feebler attempt for an insult.
“Yo! You walkin’ away because I said I did your mom?” Capelli shouted. “Or because of the notion that I would know her better than you ever did?”
Aston swung back around at the deep sting and put his finger in Capelli’s smug face. “When this whole thing is over and you’ve lost, I want you to look over at me. When you do, I’ll be the one smirking.” He stole Capelli’s BLT then took a bite and opened his mouth without chewing. “Delish.”
Aston felt a little taller as he and Barry walked back to their table. He was just about to take another scrumptious bite of his stolen BLT when he looked out the window and saw the door to the restaurant across the street open.
Strange.
Two of them went in, only one came out.
• • •
William Dubois placed her in the trunk of his car, careful not to bump her head.
He looked around to make sure they were still alone.
It hadn’t been easy to pull this off, but by the end of it Sapphire would understand why he had to do it.
Only five minutes ago, William watched his daughter from a table across the upscale restaurant. She was having lunch with the Kraft heiress.
“Your Bordeaux ’95.” The waiter filled William’s glass to its curve.
“Say, would you mind handing this to the young brunette over there?” William held out the eggshell envelope. “Anonymous, of course.”
“Of course, sir.”
William pulled his newspaper back up, then glanced from behind it. Sapphire looked around as she received it. She pulled out the sparkly card: Happy 5th Birthday. Meet me in the alley.
His daughter would know it was from him. One missed birthday down.
“What?” Christina Kraft, or Chrissy as his daughter called her, asked when Sapphire stood.
He watched Sapphire’s expression turn nonchalant. “Nothing, I have to go to the restroom.”
“That’s my girl,” he murmured.
“Oh-oh, me too.” Chrissy stood.
She’s ruining it! The Hunger hissed. William crinkled the newspaper, fearing his carnal-self was right.
Sapphire held a hand up. “I just need a couple minutes alone. Please, Chrissy.”
They exchanged looks.
William had never had a close friend—other than the one he used for show when he was younger—but he’d studied best friends the way he studied all human relationships.
The girls shared a look only best friends could. They communicated wordlessly, using only their brows and eyes. He didn’t believe Sapphire truly cared about the Kraft heiress, but knew Sapphire believed she did.
“Whatever.” Chrissy sat back down and William sighed in relief.
When Sapphire went out to the alley, he threw the candle center piece to the floor by the curtains, and got up. The smoke and flames rose behind him and he moved as every head turned to the budding fire.
He’d shoved the Hemlock needle in her neck before she even knew he was there. As everyone scrambled to put out the fire, he carried her to the Nissan and placed her in the trunk. He looked down at her frozen body in the confined space. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes revealed distress.
“Don’t worry,” William lied. “It’ll barely hurt, Ms. Kraft.”
Chapter 7
“Would you say your ex-fiancée acted peculiar at times?” Marissa Pearl asked.
“Peculiar,” John Vanderpilt repeated. “May I get a definition?”
Sapphire appeared calm, but her pulse raced. Her anxiety grew every time her eyes drew to the time.
“Oh, for the love of…” The prosecutor rubbed her forehead in exasperation. “Strange, odd, unusual.”
“Yes, she didn’t want to marry me.” When Marissa stared at John, he elaborated. “It’s strange because I’m elite.” He moved closer to the microphone. “E-l-i-t-e, elite.”
Sapphire looked at the clock again. She felt like she would explode if she didn’t get out of there soon. John wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed and his dullness was dragging out the cross-examination.
“Would you consider Sapphire animalistic at times?”
“No. We never had sex. Or foreplay.” He eyed the microphone. “F-o-r—”
The witness stand and the microphone must’ve reminded him of a Spelling Bee, because he kept spelling words out.
The air conditioning blasted inside, but the event caused Sapphire such nervous sweats, she had to take off her blazer.
She’d waited for her father in the empty alley, trying to figure out how to possibly take him down, before she realized something was wrong. She went back inside to find chaos; curtains were on fire and people, waiters, diners, were screaming and running.
A bad feeling came over Sapphire as she wrestled her way up to her and Chrissy’s table. Her heart stopped when she reached the empty chair and the card placed on it: Happy 6th Birthday.
Sapphire tried to control her shaking hands as she opened it.
Eloise Parker.
The disorder of the restaurant was nothing compared to the chaos Sapphire felt inside. Her father, a serial killer, had taken Chrissy and left Sapphire the name of her and John’s ex-wedding planner.
It was a message to go to Eloise’s house, and Sapphire feared what waited for her there. She couldn’t bear to add more names to her guilt-list. She couldn’t bear to lose Chrissy.
No one except Sapphire knew Chrissy was gone—her parents would be out of the country until next week—and Sapphire had to keep it this way. Both for the sake of her trial and because she didn’t know what her father would do to Chrissy if the cops got involved.
Sapphire looked at the clock again, praying her best friend was still alive.
At least John was the final character witness of the day. Julia went before him. Whenever Marissa Pearl tried to imply something negative about Sapphire, Julia had given her best how-dare-you look and called her a bruja under her breath. The care Julia displayed somehow made the betrayal burn deeper, so Sapphire opted out of eye contact.
“Mr. Vanderpilt,” Marissa continued. “If I told you your ex-fiancée has captured eight serial killers, what would you say?”
John looked at Sapphire and laughed. “She couldn’t even open a jar of pickles.” He turned serious and leaned in. “P-i-c-k-e-l-s. Pickles.”
“That is… incorrect,” Judge Biggs said.
“Darn it.” John swung his fist in frustration.
Marissa Pearl gave the judge an exasperated look, then turned to Sapphire with fire in her eyes. “Couldn’t open a jar of pickles, huh?”
Sapphire used to make a game of faking stuff like that. There was nothing more un-Serial-Catcher-like than grunting while twisting a lid, or stretching a bag of Lays.
“Strange,” Marissa continued, “I do yoga three times a week and I don’t even have her arm muscles.”
All eyes turned to Sapphire’s exposed arms, and she regretted taking off the blazer. Muscles from years of MMA and daily push-ups were not the same lean muscles one gained from yoga, or Pilates. Sapphire sank down in her seat until Marissa left the floor.
When Judge Biggs finally called it a day, and John asked for a consolation prize, Sapphire was the first to head for the doors.
“Sapphire.” Julia reached for her arm through the crowd. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this all… I was jos so worried about you, and I—”
“Don’t… touch me.” Sapphire yanked her arm back.
“Sapphire! How do you feel about the positive reactions to the Serial Catcher?” The journalists shouted. “Did you kill you stepfather? Did Richard Martin come to kill you? What’s your take on the Beverly Hills Killer?”
If you only knew. Sapphire felt a claustrophobia reminiscent of Lynwood as their bodies pushed against her. She rammed through the inexorable crowd, and jogged until she lost them.
She covered her face and exhaled the panic into her cupped hands. She turned to her Range Rover and froze in place. A handsome cop with piercing blue eyes sat on its hood.
Her objective, her breath, her sanity fell away and left Sapphire with a painful throb in her chest. The scar from the airport was ripped open with force.
Sapphire inhaled, and moved toward Aston. Here it goes…
• • •
Here it comes, Aston smiled, the reuniting kiss he’d longed for. He slid off the hood as she approached. He got her lawyer back. It was a gift that elevated him from knee-to-the-groin, and up to forgiveness.
The gratitude on her face was obvious as she approached and Aston wetted his lips.
She looked so damned grateful, she almost looked angry over how grateful she was. Had Aston not been so sure his actions would seal the deal, he would’ve thought she was pissed. In fact…
Oh shit. Aston covered his groin.
Sapphire clocked him in the face.
“Ah—I’m,” Aston pushed his tongue to his sore cheek, “pretty sure what you meant to say was thank you.”
“Thank you for messing with my head,” Sapphire spat. “Thank you for lying to me, so you could arrest me!” She gestured. “Did the guys at the station give you brownie-points for sleeping with me? Did you all scheme together on how to make me trust you, just so you could send me to jail? You lied, and you did it so easily, it’s scary.”
Sapphire reached for the handle, but Aston placed one hand on the door, and the other on the hood, locking her in between his arms. “You want to talk about lying? How long did you lie to me? You knew I was hunting the Serial Catcher and you still slept with me.”
Sapphire stared into the distance.
“It’s not like you’re innocent here, Sapphire,” Aston leaned in. “You are the Serial Catcher. You are a criminal, and I’m still trying to save your ass.”
“I’m not the Serial Catcher.” She shoved his arm away and opened the door again.
Aston slammed it back shut. “I have evidence, Sapphire… so just admit it already. There’s no one around.”
“Evidence?” Sapphire’s eyes grew with interest. “What evidence?”
“Oh, ho-ho,” Aston mocked. She must not have been in her attic since before the wedding. “You don’t know yet? Let me know when you figure it out.”
She gave him a callous look. “Move. Your. Arm.”
Aston glimpsed the thing he feared in her eyes. All the hurt he’d caused her was there; she was just trying to mask it. He couldn’t stand that he’d caused her pain.
“Listen.” He moved closer to her body and spoke with tenderness. “I did what I did for you, for us. What were you going to do, Sapphire, run forever? Live like a fucking fugitive for the rest of your life? That’s no life, trust me.”
Sapphire looked at him, then leaned in so close her lip brushed his earlobe. “Rather a fugitive, than a prisoner.”
Then came the knee-to-the-groin.
A sound only another man could understand escaped Aston and he struggled to remain on his feet. He pulled his hand away to cup his testicles. Sapphire yanked the door open and drove off.
Aston limped back to his car and got into the driver’s seat.
“That looked like it went well,” Barry said as he brought his milkshake to his lips.
“Shut up.” Aston snagged Barry’s cold drink and put it on his sore nuts.
He groaned and leaned back just as his phone rang.
“Ridder,” Aston answered as he pulled the milkshake away from his crotch and handed it to his partner. Barry didn’t want it back for some reason.
The longer the man from Nor Cal spoke, the deeper Aston’s heart sank. He hung up and stared after Sapphire’s Range Rover, long gone. “Shit.”
• • •
Sapphire was still angry as she pulled to a stop in front of Eloise Parker’s house.
She hated what Aston did. She hated that he said he’d arrested her for her own sake, for them. Most of all she hated that the hate hadn’t obliterated her feelings for him.
The street lay silent in the warm night. She cracked her neck to refocus, then tippy-toed up to the front door. She felt unprepared, despite the tranquilizer gun in her hand.
She’d wasted too much time with Aston, so she couldn’t go home and grab everything she needed from the attic. Instead, she’d swung by the vet on the way to Eloise Parker’s and stole another tranquilizer gun from his stash. The guy must wonder why he was always short on horse tranquilizer by now.
Sapphire rang the doorbell and pulled to the side. She stood still, tranq-gun up, as she waited for footsteps to sound, lights to come on, but nothing happened.
The adrenaline pumped through her hand as she turned the doorknob. Unlocked.
She scanned Eloise Parker’s hallway and stepped inside, allowing the darkness to swallow her.
All the doors had been closed, except one. The basement door stood wide open, serial killer code for, “Come on in, the water’s warm.”
Sapphire studied the cellar’s abyss and covered her nose. There was a stench she didn’t recognize.
The stairs creaked as she worked her way down into the darkness. Her fingers searched the brick wall for a light switch, but found none. She moved one stair at a time, until her feet hit dirt.
“Chrissy…” Sapphire whispered into the black space. She pulled out her phone and pushed the flash light app. She held it out and moved.
Crack. Sapphire stopped. She angled the phone downward and lifted her foot.
A scream arose in her throat and Sapphire smacked her hand to her mouth to stop it.
Eloise Parker’s face lay below her and she had cracked her decaying skull. Had Eloise not been wearing the same puffy dress she wore on the day of the wedding, Sapphire wouldn’t have recognized her; she’d been dead for months.
The vomit climbed up her throat and she reared back. She tripped on something and fell backward. Her head hit the dirt hard and she dropped the phone. She squinted toward the light and her body tightened.
Blonde hair stuck up from the soil in the faint glow.
“No.” Instant panic grabbed Sapphire’s chest. She launched to the blonde hair and dug. “No… no-no-no.”
Looming tears built as she clawed at the dirt around the scalp. She saw the scenario play out before she uncovered the face. She saw her father kill Chrissy. She saw the light go out of her best friend’s eyes. She saw him bury her body, just enough for Sapphire to find her.
Fear flamed up and scorched her insides as she scratched the last dirt away. She stared at the lifeless face and cupped her hands around her nose and mouth. A jagged breath escaped her and she closed her eyes.
It was Erika Phelps.
The relief was both blissful and horrifying. It meant Chrissy might still be alive, but her father had killed Erika Phelps. Sapphire had met the selfless heiress several times. She was a rarity in Beverly Hills.
She noticed the colorful card placed next to Erika and reached for it. The Happy 7th Birthday card opened with a crack and she held her breath as she read it in the phone’s glow.
Sapphire got up in panic, wiped her prints from anything she’d touched, then got out of the house. She drove in a haze until she spotted a payphone near Santa Monica beach.
She called in an anonymous tip for Eloise Parker’s house, saying she’d walked by
and heard something strange coming from the basement. The least she could do was allow Eloise’s and Erika’s families to bury their daughters, along with whoever else he may have killed there. Those poor girls.
Sapphire crossed the bicycle trail and sank into the dark sand, still warm from the day’s blazing sun. The ocean’s swells, dark and rhythmic, stretched across to the shoreline as she held the card.
Chrissy’s spoiled behavior had annoyed Sapphire their entire friendship, but she knew there was something loyal, and caring, deep inside Chrissy. Sapphire would do anything to hear her best friend’s voice right now.
She stared at the words William Dubois had left her.
Do as I say and gain your friend.
Fail to follow…
Two thoughts tumbled in her mind. One: according to the note, as long as Sapphire did everything her father wanted her to do, she could trust that Chrissy would live. Two: the years Sapphire had spent dealing with men like her father had taught her one valuable lesson.
Never trust a killer.
Chapter 8
“Name: Bennett Rivers. Age: twenty-eight. Occupa…” Detective Meadows looked up. “I’m sorry, could you not smoke here; secondhand smoke kills.”
“I hate to break it to you, but…” Aston pointed at the decaying body and whispered, “I think he’s already dead.”
He received a look that told him humor anchored with the recently deceased was as frowned upon as smoking. Aston sighed and tossed the cigarette in the closest Styrofoam cup. Barry looked down at the bobbing butt in his coffee and whined. It was the first sound he’d made since they’d passed Bakersfield.
The phone call Aston got was from Detective Meadows in Modesto, who told him he had information on the Serial Catcher. Knowing further evidence against Sapphire would ruin her in court, Aston told Barry they were driving to get donuts around the corner, then kidnapped him for the five hour drive to Nor Cal.
It was going smooth until Barry asked Aston the wrong question.
