by Syd Parker
Jordan moved to the opposite side of the table, allowing her plenty of space. However, it took several moments of deep breathing before her heart slowed enough to allow her to even turn around and face her again.
Rebecca was certain she had gotten herself together, but when she leaned over to shoot, she sensed the slightest tremor in her left hand and when she shot, her line of fire was a hair off course. Her concentration was broken, from the game anyway. She was forced to admit it had found a new point to center its focus around. It was too much for her, and with a laugh that sounded entirely too forced, she set her stick on the table and smiled. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”
“Scared huh?” Jordan teased. “You should be. I’m better than you think.”
Rebecca walked away quickly, leaving Jordan shaking her head in disbelief. A thought had sprung from somewhere in her subconscious and had started to grow, until for want of saving her sanity, she was forced to run before she did something she knew she would regret. She was forced to admit that Special Agent Gray had overstepped her boundaries in work and in pleasure, and it made her uncomfortable.
Chapter 7
It’s bone—chillingly cold tonight. I lean further into the entryway hoping it will block the icy wind that is rushing around me. Funny that the cold manages to break through my senses and register at all. Normally, my mind is so focused on the hunt that little else matters, although tonight the cold hits me, and I shove my hands into my pockets to warm them. They brush against steel and my focus returns. Tonight is the night, the night she will die.
I mentally stop my body from shivering. My teeth no longer chatter loudly and once again, I can hear the voice talking to me. Yes, tonight is the night. Tonight, she will pay for her sins. I repeat the words again. Tonight is the night, the night she will die.
She doesn’t know that I’ve been watching her, many months now. I see her face clearly at the moment, the lights of the deserted street casting an eerie glow over her features. It isn’t long before my nostrils get the first hint of her scent. She smells fruity, cloyingly sweet, and oh so overbearing. A mere intake of breath and my stomach is sick with her smell. I blink and try to clear my head, as I hear the telltale staccato of her heels pounding against the cold pavement.
If she sees me, she dismisses me just as quickly, another soul looking for shelter from the frigid cold. Had it been a warmer night, she might have felt the evil around her, shuddered involuntarily at the darkness that enveloped her, but not tonight. Tonight, she is focused only on the streets she hasn’t traversed yet, and she takes no notice as I slip from beneath the shelter of the narrow portico and begin the hunt.
I am a lone wolf, a hunter in search of the kill. Only the taste of death can quiet the voice inside my head. He speaks softly now, not wanting to drown out my own thoughts. When he speaks, I have to stop and focus and listen, and this does not allow me to move, and I must move. Tonight I must kill.
I sniff the air and the cold burns my nostrils. I am not close enough to cause alarm, but I can still smell her and her scent angers me again. She smells like her, and I hate her. My eyes have narrowed now. The only thing in my focus is my prey. A stranger bumps me as he emerges from a door, trying to catch a nearby cab. I can feel my blood begin to boil, but the voice speaks up, and I’m paralyzed.
He is not our prey. Do not lose focus of the prey. She must die and we both know why.
No, I know. I shake my head and reassure him that my focus has not been lost. I sniff the air once more, and I imagine I can smell her fear. She turned around at the sound of the scuffle and for a brief moment, I imagined a spark of recognition, but she turns around just as quickly, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
There will be no mistakes tonight, no interruptions. Tonight, my prey will die. I will make sure of that. She is close, and her life cannot continue. She cannot be allowed to give birth. She is not worthy. None of them are worthy. They are abominations, forsaking God’s natural plan for them.
Can’t they see it? Can’t they understand why they must die? Why God has chosen me to end their sinful lives? I am a hunter for God. He has chosen me and tonight he has chosen her for the sacrifice.
I can see her step falter. Perhaps she has finally realized that she is being stalked. I can see her speed up. My dear, you must know running is futile. I will catch you. You will be mine. My stride lengthens, and the gap between us narrows. The wolf is hungry tonight, silently stalking its prey. A low, guttural growl escapes from my lips and is carried off on the wind.
It is time. I can see ahead that she realizes what I am. I am death, and it is her time. She opens her mouth to scream and only air escapes. She is paralyzed with fear, and I feel my heart smile. She has seen my knife and knows that she cannot run, she cannot hide. I grab her around her bulging waist, and my hand feels the life within in her. A life brought about by her sin. She opens her mouth to scream, and I wrap my hand around her mouth to silence her.
She is fighting me. Her will to live has kicked in, and her will to protect her unborn child is strong. She wrenches away from me and starts to run, and I realize that tonight will not be easy. I spring at her with unearthly speed and let out a low howl. She tries to knee me in the groin, and I punish her with a backhand that sends her staggering to the cold ground below.
It is late, and the streets are deserted or certainly some unlucky passerby would hear us struggling. That last time this happened, he was punished for it. I cannot be deterred in my quest for retribution. I am kneeling over her, and the smell of her fear has made me hard. I can see her eyes that she knows what is about to happen to her.
“Do not be afraid. You are very special. You will get to atone for your sins.” My hand is clamped over her mouth, and she shakes her head from side—to—side with the fury of a trapped animal who knows it is about to die.
I brandish my knife over her and the low lights from the alley glint off of it. She sees the sharp edge, and her eyes widen, knowledge that these are her final moments dawning on her. She wraps her hands around her stomach, and I can feel her lips moving against my hand, begging for mercy. I am not the one whom she should ask for mercy.
I move my hand, and the edge of the knife slices along her neck, the first drops of blood steaming against her cold skin. I sniff the metallic scent and it lights through me like wildfire. I lean in closer and meet her scared eyes with my own dark gaze. A hint of recognition passes over her face. “Yes, you do know me. You must know now why you have to die.”
My weight on top of her and the life seeping out of her has made her tired, and she has stopped moving beneath me. Her eyes blink heavily, so I slap her with a gloved hand. “Oh, no, no. Don’t go to sleep. You won’t want to miss this. This is the best part. This is the reason you must die.”
I reach for the button on my jeans and pull it open hastily. The sound of the snap releasing echoes through the alley and hardens my erection. She has not made this easy. The bitch is wearing pants, so I am forced to my knees to slice them away from her body. She summons all her strength, and her fist flies and connects with the corner of my face. I punch her in response. My eye is pounding from the blow. “Do you know at all why I chose you?”
She shakes her head again. The fear is gone from her eyes. She has resigned herself to her fate. I rub her stomach, and I can see the hatred well in her eyes now. The life that she was given, her miracle and I have the gall to touch her. I reach in and pull my erection out and poise it outside her body. “You fucked up. Your baby, she is not a gift from God. You think that you can turn your back on God and get pregnant without a man? You are wrong, and you must give your life as retribution.”
I can see realization dawn on her. I drive my cock deep inside her with a low growl and pound inside her angrily. This is her sacrifice, her means to forgiveness. God is using me to exact punishment for her sins and with every furious stroke, her last precious breaths ebb away, and as I pull out, her eyes roll back in her head, and she pays h
er debt.
I stare down at her lifeless body, and for the first time today, the voice is quiet. I cannot afford to linger any longer. I know the danger of getting caught. I slice across her belly and reach into her still warm body. I can barely watch this part. It doesn’t get better. Blindly, I fill a plastic bag and bury it in my coat. I wipe the knife against her leg, her blood smearing on what is left of her cashmere pants. I cast one more glance over my shoulder and leave the alley, an angry sneer curling my lip.
Her scent still lingers, and I wave my hand in front of my face before realizing it’s on me. I try to breathe through my mouth, but the cold hurts my teeth, and I shut it just as quickly. The street isn’t clear anymore. The cold is making my eyes water, and everything is blurry. I brush my hand over my eyes and wince at the tenderness around my eye. I touch it gingerly, feeling the first sign of swelling beneath my finger.
“Shit.” A black eye will be hard to explain, and suddenly, I’m angry again. But my fury is not directed at her. It is directed at my wife. My ex—wife.
“No, you don’t understand. I want to have children.”
I regard her helplessly. We have this same argument daily. “I can give you a baby.”
She laughs mockingly. “Can you? We’ve tried, and I’m still not pregnant. I can’t wait any longer.”
I follow her out the door. “So, now what happens? You’re just going to leave? And go where?”
She flees to the waiting car and throws the door open. She gets in without so much as a second glance in my direction. I see the driver lean forward. It’s not her mother, whom I assume she would be running away to. It’s a man, and immediately I know what she is up to. I couldn’t get her pregnant no matter how many times we tried, so she has picked a man she feels is more virile.
“Hey, buddy, watch out!”
I wake up and realize I have walked to the Loop. I see a man shove his way around me, as I have stopped in the middle of the stairs and am standing like a statue, watching his car drive away again.
Chapter 8
Jordan checked the display on her phone and grimaced. Detective Foxx was obviously still pissed about her little display at the bar, and she was about to get an earful. She sighed and pushed the Receive button. “Special Agent Gray.”
“We have another murder.” Rebecca’s voice trembled, and Jordan could tell how angry she was. Not at her as she had suspected, but at the killer she hadn’t managed to make any headway on.
“Where are you?” Jordan heard the concern in her voice, and she realized that somewhere between trying to flirt with Detective Foxx for information and almost kissing her, she had started caring about her feelings. “Shit.”
Rebecca answered without hesitation, and Jordan breathed a sigh of relief. Obviously, her cursing was for her feelings surrounding the case and not Jordan's behavior. Jordan scribbled the address down. “I’ll be there in ten.”
She hung up and called Matty. He answered drowsily, and Jordan gave him a quick recap. She could hear him moving around and knew he was trying to find something to wear. “See you in ten.”
It was a given now, Jordan and Matt would be called to the crime scene. Rebecca no longer worried about their presence there. To the casual observer, they looked like a couple of detectives. It would only be if someone started digging and put two and two together that anyone would catch on to the fact that the FBI was showing up at cases that weren’t their jurisdiction.
When Jordan skidded to a stop in front of the crime scene, the place was already crawling with Chicago’s finest. This part of the city was eerily familiar to her. Her gym was right around the corner, and she shuddered involuntarily. She didn’t wait for Matty, instead locating Detectives Foxx and Jones just inside the yellow crime tape.
She had walked past this alley many times and wasn’t prepared for the site that awaited her. The victim, a woman in her early thirties, was lying on her back, her lifeless eyes staring out vacantly. Her body was covered with a thin sheet, but Jordan could see the blood on the ground near her face and around her midriff. She covered her mouth and swallowed bile.
Detective Foxx materialized beside her. “We covered her in case reporters showed up. I can have them remove the sheet.”
Jordan nodded weakly. She watched them pull the sheet back, and the first glance made her look away. She took several shallow breaths and turned around. The woman’s stomach had been sliced open, and the blood covered her body. “Fuck.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot you had only seen crime scene photos of the other victims, and Ms. Keppler got lucky. I should have prepared you.”
“Shit.” Matt slid to a stop behind them and pulled back quickly.
“Special Agent Riley.” Rebecca watched him over her shoulder. She felt sorry for him. She wasn’t sure how long he had been with the FBI, but something told her, he wasn’t used to the kind of cases she saw. She gestured to the M.E. “Cover her back up.”
“Pregnant?” The question was almost a whisper and Jordan cleared her throat. “Was she pregnant?”
Rebecca nodded. “We can’t be sure until the autopsy, but it’s a pretty good guess she was.”
“And he…he took the baby?” God bless him, Matt was trying. Seeing crime scene photos was one thing. Seeing it firsthand was a perspective he wasn’t exactly comfortable with. He saw the response in Rebecca’s face and stumbled backwards.
Rick put a protective hand on Matt’s shoulder. “Listen, Riley. Why don’t we check the area outside the alley? See if he got careless and dropped something. Maybe you can find someone that saw something.” Rick knew they would find nothing, but he could tell Matt needed a distraction.
Jordan watched him walk away, thankful for a reason to get out of the alley. “Take the sheet off.”
She knelt over the body. The smell of blood repelled her. She saw the remains of her torn pants and knew without being told that this woman had been violated sexually as well. She shook her head. “Do we have an ID?”
“Yeah.” Rebecca pulled a pad out of her pocket. “Purse was on the sidewalk outside the alley. That’s how they found her. Name’s Elizabeth Hudson.”
“Does Ms. Hudson have a husband?”
Rebecca shook her head. “We’re tracking him down. The only contact number in her purse is a cell, and he’s not answering.”
“Hell of a way to find out about your wife and kid.” Jordan ran her hand over her jaw. “I don’t mean to be an ass, but I’m thinking it’s time to lay everything out on the table. Whatever issues we have, catching this guy needs to come first.”
Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job. I’m well aware of how important catching this guy is.”
“Whoa!” Jordan held up her hands defensively. She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “I realize I may have rattled you at the bar, but that’s no reason to make this investigation more difficult.”
“First off.” Rebecca held up her finger. “You did not, nor can you, ever rattle me, and second, don’t for a minute think that I would let whatever personal issues you have get in the way of an investigation. It may behoove you to remember that you came to me, Special Agent Gray, not the other way around. My continued allowance of your involvement is a personal favor to your boss, nothing more.”
Jordan’s mouth dropped in shock. Rebecca lived up to every stereotype about redheads and tempers. She toyed with putting the Detective in her place and decided against it. What she really wanted to do was laugh. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to her like that, and truth be told, when Detective Foxx got all worked up, she was downright beautiful. “I’m going to check on Riley. Please let me know if there are any developments in the case.”
Jordan spun around and walked off in search of her partner. She had a name at least and figured that a little homework of her own might produce a lead. First thing she was going to do was a little research on the victim’s husband. It wasn’t so far—fetched to imagine that the hus
band had something to do with it. Some lunatic commits a string of murders to cover the one that mattered. It was a sick thought, but Jordan had met enough wackos that she would buy anything these days.
She caught up to Matt and grabbed his elbow. “Come on.”
He looked relieved. This case wasn’t sitting too well with him. He preferred the high tech cases, the ones that required chasing white—collar criminals. The ones like this almost sent him over the edge. He didn’t do blood and guts.
“So, what’s your take on this?” Jordan asked after a few moments of silence, broken only by the well—tuned hum of her 370Z.
Matt shook his head. “This guy’s a fucking nut job. I’ve never seen someone mess women up like this. You gonna ask Redmond?”
Julien Redmond was a criminal profiler and a genius at giving them something out of nothing. Asking him meant alerting someone else that she and Matt were working a case that wasn’t technically the FBIs to work. Normally, she would worry about that, especially since Assistant Director Mitchell had specifically said under the radar. The less she pinged on the radar, the better. “I thought about it. Detective Foxx hasn’t given me the go ahead, but something tells me we are going to have to do some investigating outside of what we share with the CDD.”
“Think that’s a good idea?” Matt asked quietly.
Jordan shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“Don’t tick her off, Jordie. In case you hadn’t noticed, she’s not exactly thrilled the FBI is sticking its nose in where it doesn’t belong.” Matt’s tone held a friendly warning, but buried beneath that was something else. Something Jordan couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it was something akin to admiration, maybe even like. “She’s given us more than I thought she would; now she’s even letting us into the crime scenes. That’s more than the CDD has let us do before, and I’m guessing if we fuck it up, the shit will hit the fan.”
