Shepherd’s chuckle sliced through the air. “Iris, you have quite a man here. He’s got balls of steel. Probably a dick to match. You’re a lucky girl.”
“Damn lucky.”
“How sweet,” Shepherd said. “So, Agent Hudson, how did you find us?”
“You were under unofficial surveillance in New York,” he said to Shepherd.
“I thought so,” Shepherd said. “Wasn’t sure, though. So you traced me here. Bravo. Didn’t catch me in time, though.” He pressed the gun harder.
“Let her go, Shepherd. The police are on their way. You’ll never get out of here if you don’t leave now.”
“I will if I have a hostage.”
“Then take me,” Luke said. “You’ll be able to negotiate better if you have an officer of the law.”
“True, but I can have a lot more fun with your Iris here.” He licked my cheek, leaving a bloody slime trail in his wake. “She really is a beautiful creature. It must be torture knowing she’ll never reciprocate your feelings. That the grief and guilt of that one night will always cloud her affections. That she’ll always look at you filled with self-loathing, when all you want is for her to gaze at you like she did him. She never will. She isn’t worth dying for, Luke.”
Luke’s clear blue eyes met mine. All fear and doubt vanished in an instant. The whole world fell away as a small grin crossed his face. “Yes…she is.”
Shepherd shrugged. “If you say so.”
With one quick movement Shepherd’s arm leveled, gun pointed out. Three shots, one after another, rang out, drowning my screams. The bullets hit Luke’s chest, three holes blooming on his white shirt. He flew backward from the force, spinning and landing on his bullet-riddled chest.
He didn’t move. No.
Everything became red. Every muscle in my body tensed with pure hate. My blood boiled inside me so hot I wanted to jump out of my skin. Not again. With the strength of six men, I clenched my hands together and elbowed Shepherd’s taut solar plexus. All the air rushed out of his lungs with a large gasp. He bent at a 90-degree angle, clutching his stomach with both hands, releasing me. I spun around and kicked up my right leg, hitting his lower jaw with a crack. Still holding the gun, he fell on his back, stunned for only a millisecond before sweeping my feet out from under me. I fell on top of him.
I grabbed both his hands, raising them above our heads so the gun pointed to the wall. He tried to move the gun toward my head, but I was too strong. Of course, so was he. Shepherd wouldn’t release it no matter how deep I scratched. As we struggled, the jostling and clawing made the gun go off. Once. Twice until the gun clicked empty. With that first click, I jammed my knee as hard as I could into his groin, sending everything but the stove flying back. He groaned like a punk as I jumped off his body and flew up the stairs two at a time.
The alarm still screeched as I entered the bright kitchen. Gun. Had to get my gun. I sprinted into the hallway and then the living room. The front door was broken down, with splinters of wood everywhere. My purse lay on the sofa where I’d left it. Just as I grabbed it, something heavy smashed into my back. A body. I fell stomach first onto the hardwood floor, getting winded as I hit the ground. The contents of my purse scattered onto the floor next to me. Fingers jerked my arm up, spinning me onto my back. A bleeding, enraged-to-the-point-of-madness Shepherd straddled me. He wrapped his hands around my throat, squeezing like a boa constrictor. “You. Fucking. Bitch!”
I tried hitting him with my fists but could muster little more than a tap. It was like throwing pebbles at a tank. I reached to the right for the gun, but it had skidded too far out of my reach. Time passed, only seconds, but they felt like hours. Shepherd’s eyes began to tear up from the force of his grip, his whole body shaking with tension. A maniacal laugh escaped his throat. Spots began to cloud my eyes and all sound faded away.
I was dying.
Suddenly, Shepherd’s body jerked forward like he’d been thrashed by a piece of plywood. His fingers left my throat and I gasped and coughed for breath, gulping it in large quantities. A shocked Shepherd fell to my left, giving me a chance to roll to the right, grabbing the gun on the way. Sound returned. I heard Shepherd groaning and screaming in agony. He looked toward the front door, eyes filled with disbelief. After a few more gasps for air, I propped myself up and managed to find my feet. I turned toward the door slowly and almost fell back down at the sight.
Luke stood six feet away, his hair a wild mess, body trembling, breathing raggedly, with his smoking gun trained on Shepherd. Luke glanced over at me and we both turned back to Shepherd, who was struggling for breath himself. A pool of blood rested under him, staining his white shirt.
I took an uneasy step toward him, then another, the gun dangling in my hand. He looked away from Luke to the gun, and his anger rose with each of my steps toward him. Meriwether had that same defiant look on his face before I blew him away. A small smile crept across Shepherd’s face as I reached his prostrate body.
“Go ahead…kill me.”
A slide show of horrible images clicked through my mind. Diana with her blond hair saturated with blood. Audrey Burke’s naked body lying on the riverbed. Chuck and Gabriel’s eyes both so lost and hurt. Then Luke as the bullets hit his chest. With my shaking arms, I raised the gun.
“Iris…” Luke said behind me. “Please. Don’t.”
I didn’t take my eyes off Shepherd. “You’re a killer, Iris,” he whispered. “Do it.” That grin of his grew. “DO IT!”
“Fuck you.” With one quick move, I brought the gun down on his forehead, knocking him into unconsciousness. “You’re not even close to worth it.” I did kick him just for good measure. He was out. I won.
I spun around and dashed straight into Luke’s solid arms. I threw mine around his neck, holding tight. He squeezed me back so hard I could barely breathe. I didn’t care. He could have crushed me until I burst as long as he didn’t let me go. Safe. I was finally safe. I sobbed hysterically into his neck as he kissed the top of my head. I breathed in his smell, stroked his hair. I wanted to touch his face to make sure this was real.
“Oh, thank God,” he whispered through the kisses. “Thank you, God.”
I lifted my head up from his shoulder. “I thought you were dead,” I managed to whisper, though my throat felt like it had been cut by glass.
He wiped the tears off my right cheek with his finger. “Can’t get rid of me that easily,” he said with a smile. He released me and opened his shirt, revealing a blue Kevlar vest with three gold slugs still in it. “I’d never enter your house without one.”
I touched the vest, and he winced. “Are you okay?”
“Just a few broken ribs. I’ll live.”
“Oh.” I threw my arms around him again, getting another wince. I quickly let go. “Sorry. Sorry.” I made a mental note to thank the people at Kevlar.
“You and me both.” He grimaced. “I think I need to sit down,” he admitted. I grabbed his right arm, throwing it over my shoulders. He put his gun back in the holster. We walked past the broken door onto the porch, opening the screen door so we could sit on the steps. With a groan on both our parts, I managed to get him down, taking a seat right next to him. We stared at one another for a few seconds as the alarm screeched. I tried to smile, but when I did pain shot through my cheek.
Luke reached over and lifted my chin. “Did he break anything?”
I shook my head. “Could have been a lot worse. You got here just in time.”
He pushed back a strand of my bloody hair plastered to my forehead. “Not quite.”
“How did you know he was coming after me?”
“I had him under unofficial surveillance. I had people following him.”
“Why? I thought—”
“After you left, I got to thinking about all the other cases we worked together, and I tried to remember a single time you were wrong.” He scoffed. “I couldn’t. I trusted you then, and despite everything, my gut told me to trust you now.
So I called my father. He gave me the names of some retired agents to tail him. They followed him to bondage clubs, to hotels he went to with escorts, and…I knew you were right. So when I got your message today, they entered his apartment. He must have snuck out the back.” Luke shook his head. “I caught the first flight here. I was going crazy. I couldn’t reach you or the police. Reggie, he…I wanted to kill him when he wouldn’t send anyone over. I just…I…” He touched the gash on my forehead and looked toward the driveway. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you sooner.”
“You were willing to give your life for mine,” I said softly.
He turned back and smiled, tracing my eyebrow with his thumb as his tender eyes stared into mine. “Of course. Only person I’d do it for.”
“Ditto.” The butterflies returned with a vengeance. “He was wrong, you know.”
“About what?”
I cupped his hand against my face, nuzzling it. As he always had, he read my mind. His thumb moved down to my lips, caressing them and making my whole body tingle. He began to lean in, and I closed my eyes.
Fuck!
A loud siren and crackling gravel ruined the moment. We jumped apart like jackrabbits. I felt like a teenager who had been caught by her father making out with her boyfriend. Luke must have felt the same, since his face was as red as mine probably was. A sheriff’s patrol car barreled up the drive, sirens blaring and lights flashing. Sheriff Wade and Deputy French jumped out of the car, guns at the ready. “Dear Lord in heaven,” Wade said as he looked at us. “You Agent Hudson? The one who called? What in the hell happened to the two of you?”
I helped Luke stand. “You need to radio for an ambulance right away,” Luke instructed. “We have a white male, age forty-six unconscious with a GSW to the back. He needs immediate assistance.”
French jumped back into the car and grabbed the radio. Wade holstered his gun and walked up to us. “Looks like you both could use one too.”
“We’ll live,” I assured him.
Sheriff Wade walked into my house, but Luke and I waited at the entrance to the living room. I had no desire to go anywhere near that man ever again. Wade bent down next to Shepherd, feeling his neck for a pulse. He pulled his hand away and stared at Shepherd’s face. “Is that really who I think it is?”
“Dr. Jeremy Shepherd, in the flesh,” Luke said.
“Damn,” Wade said, shaking his head in disbelief. He turned back to us. “I guess you were right.”
“She’s always—”
Suddenly, Shepherd’s eyes flew open as his hand shot up out of nowhere, grabbing Wade’s gun out of the holster. The world moved in slow motion. The shocked sheriff fell onto his butt, scrambling away from the maniac with a gun. Shepherd lifted into the sitting position, his lips stretched so thin his bloody teeth showed. The gun in his hand pointed straight at me. No hesitation this time.
Six gunshots filled the room, only three originating from me. Shepherd’s body jerked with each burst of blood on his chest. His disbelieving eyes never left us, not even as he fell to the ground. He didn’t get back up. Ever. Luke and I lowered our guns in unison.
Some people just didn’t deserve a second chance.
For Emily Kimelman, a true friend
Acknowledgments
This was the first book I ever wrote. One day I was bored in college and thought, “Huh, I wonder if I could write a book?” So instead of taking notes I just took out a new sheet of paper and began writing. I was nineteen. I’d always been fascinated with serial killers and profiling in particular, I think mostly because I’m a control freak and want to predict how people will behave and plan accordingly, so I’d researched the FBI and especially Behavioral Analysis for years. Iris just came from that research. I’ve since written a dozen other books, but this one started it all.
So first and foremost I have to thank Dana Isaacson and Junessa Viloria at Penguin Random House for taking a chance on this one and for the suggestions given to make it better. I’d long given up on ever seeing my firstborn published, but here she is.
I also have to thank the millions of libraries and bookstores where I worked on it, especially the Prince William County, Albemarle County, Orange County, and Fayette County library systems.
As always, thanks to my betas Susan Dowis, Ginny Dowis, Jill Kardell, and Theresa Friedrich for their suggestions and criticisms. Being my first book, it was pretty rough and went through many incarnations. They were there for them all.
Last, but not least, thank you to my agent Sandy Lu of The L. Perkins Literary Agency for her hard work correcting and selling the book.
BY JENNIFER HARLOW
Iris Ballard
Beautiful Maids All in a Row
Galilee Falls
Justice
Galilee Rising
Fall of Heroes
Nemesis
F.R.E.A.K.S. Squad
Mind Over Monsters
To Catch a Vampire
Death Takes a Holiday
High Moon
Midnight Magic Mystery
What’s a Witch to Do?
Werewolf Sings the Blues
Witch Upon a Star
Verity Hart vs. the Vampyres
JENNIFER HARLOW spent her restless childhood fighting with her three brothers and scaring the heck out of herself with horror movies and books. She grew up to earn a degree in psychology at the University of Virginia, which she put to use as a radio DJ, crisis hotline volunteer, bookseller, lab assistant, wedding coordinator, and government investigator. Currently she calls Atlanta home, but that restless itch is ever present. In her free time she continues to scare the bejeebers out of herself by watching scary movies and opening her credit card bills.
Want more from Jennifer Harlow?
jenniferharlowbooks.com
Facebook.com/Jennifer.harlow.52
@jenharlowbooks
Read on for a sneak peek of the next Iris Ballard thriller
by Jennifer Harlow
Coming soon from Alibi
Chapter 1
I am going to throw up.
The doughnuts I ate in the green room five minutes ago were churning like a washing machine in my stomach, and were making their way up to my throat, wishing to return from where they originally came from. I knew it was a bad idea to eat four of them, but what could I do? They were sitting there calling to me like the sirens in The Odyssey. I couldn’t resist them anymore than Odysseus could. It wasn’t like there was anything else to do in that room. I’d read all the magazines and was left entirely alone with no distractions except a full buffet of my favorite foods: eclairs, doughnuts, and candy bars. My willpower was only so strong.
I blamed it all on Miranda Snow, my agent. If she hadn’t been so good at her job and hadn’t sent in a request for my favorite foods to be available, I wouldn’t have been willing the doughnuts to stay down in my stomach where they belonged. If they were there, of course I was going to eat them. I ate when I was nervous, she knew that. I should have begun requesting a fruit basket when I realized I’d gained almost ten pounds in less than a month. But no matter how many talk shows or interviews I did, I’d get nervous just before going on and pigged out. I should have been over the pre-show jitters after three weeks of doing practically nothing else but no. I’d been on everything from BNN, The Piers Anthony Show, Today, but it never got any easier. But the show that day, the show, was the one I’d been dreading/eagerly awaiting since Miranda first told me they’d contacted her. This was Shelly Monroe, the biggest of the bigs.
Shelly Monroe, who’d interviewed royalty, presidents, dictators. She was the grandmother of the modern talk show. She started them all forty years before and had been a constant friend in millions of homes for decades, including mine. I’d watched her since I was seven years old when I had chickenpox. Her guests fascinated me. One day she had on a sex worker and the next a movie star, anyone with a story to tell. It was the hour she did on Ted Bundy that got me interested in the profiling
of serial killers, which ultimately led me to the FBI. And if I hadn’t been with the FBI, I never would have crossed paths with Jeremy Shepherd, which landed me on The Shelly Monroe Show. I’d come full circle.
My stomach gurgled again, that time loud enough for the PAs on the other side of room to hear. My babysitter, a twentysomething PA with a hood down over her eyebrow had pretty much ignored me, but after the rumble she glanced over, that hooded eye cocked. I smiled unevenly.
“You nervous?” she asked.
“A little,” I admitted.
“Shit, after everything you went through, this should be nothing,” she said.
“One would think,” I said under my breath.
Chatter from her headset made the girl turn away from me. “Yeah, gotcha,” she said into her microphone. She turned back to me. “It’s almost time. Come on.”
Oh, fuck, I thought. Here we go.
I swallowed down the doughnuts and sighed. She was right. I’d gone to-to-toe with some of the evilest people imaginable but it was a stupid talk show that was finally going to give me a heart attack. The PA led me behind a curtain backstage, which hid me from the audience and vice versa. I wanted to peek out from behind the curtain to see them all, especially after they began applauding, but I refrained. It was on the list of no-nos reiterated to me by the assistant producer. The clapping went up a notch—okay, it was bordering on frenzy—a second later. Shelly had strolled onstage, wearing her signature Anne Klein pant suit. I couldn’t help myself. I peeked out and saw two middle-aged housewives dressed in floral skirts on their feet, hooting and hollering like they were at a football game. Everyone loved Shelly.
Beautiful Maids All in a Row Page 30
