Kill for Me

by Karen Rose

  Drawing a deep breath, he stood, arms filled with journals and ledgers, then frowned when the sharp smell of gasoline filled his nose. He turned and froze, raw fury rapidly replacing the shock of seeing one more gun pointed at Susannah.

  Charles Grant stood in the doorway, his gun to Susannah’s temple. At his side was a gas can. Over his shoulder was a backpack, and Luke could see the outline of sharp corners through the canvas. The bag held a box that appeared to have some weight. Hooked through a strap on the backpack was Grant’s walking stick. A glance down at his feet revealed the same shoes Luke had seen in Mansfield ’s grainy photo.

  “Agent Papadopoulos,” he said mildly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t home to welcome you this afternoon. Your visit was rudely unannounced.”

  Luke’s mind raced. Use what you know. He didn’t look at Susannah. One look at her would leave him shaken with fear. He had to stay focused on Grant. “We didn’t need a guided tour. We found what we were looking for. We know it all, Mr. Grant.”

  Charles smiled. “I’m sure you think you do.”

  Luke regarded him carefully. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know everything. Like, how the hell you got in here. We have cars guarding the entrance.”

  “There’s a road that comes in from the back of the property,” Susannah said quietly.

  “It’s how Judge Vartanian would welcome his midnight callers,” Charles said.

  “Is that how you intend to get out of here?” Luke asked. “Sneak out the back way like all the other criminals?”

  “Not exactly. Drop the journals and place your weapon on the floor.”

  He’s waiting for Paul Houston, Luke thought, and hoped to hell Chase still knew where Houston was. “No, I don’t think I will.”

  “Then she dies.”

  “You’re going to kill her anyway. It’s what you’ve always wanted to do.”

  “You have no idea what I’ve always wanted to do,” Charles said with contempt.

  “I think I do. Because I know a great deal more about you than you think I do.” He paused, lifted a brow. “Ray, isn’t it? Ray Kraemer.”

  Charles stiffened, eyes flashing in anger. “Now she’ll die pain- fully.”

  “I know you know how to do that. I found Judge Borenson. You’re a sick bastard.”

  “Then I have nothing to lose, do I?” Charles asked. “You’ll charge me with murder.”

  The man’s voice was mild but the hand that clutched Susannah’s shoulder was white-knuckled. “Multiple murders, Ray,” Luke said. “We found your journals.”

  Again Charles’s eyes flashed, but his voice remained calm. “So what’s one more?”

  “You kept journals?” Susannah asked. “You and Arthur were both that arrogant?”

  “Perhaps,” Charles said, amused. “Your father was a lawyer. He kept impeccable records. And I am an English teacher, my dear. Journals are kind of my thing.”

  “Arthur was not my father and you are a cold-blooded killer,” Susannah said stonily.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Charles drawled. “Killing is an art. A passion. When done well, it’s extremely satisfying.”

  “And when you can manipulate others to do your killing for you?” she asked.

  “Ahh, now that’s the cherry on top. Agent Papadopoulos. Your weapon.” Charles jabbed the gun harder and Susannah winced, her jaw squaring with pain. “Now.”

  Luke knelt, carefully putting the books on the floor. He chanced a glance at Susannah and saw her gray eyes narrowed, watching every move he made. He moved slowly, betting that Grant wouldn’t shoot Susannah, that he planned to use her as a hostage once Paul Houston arrived to take him away.

  “You’re stalling, Mr. Grant,” she said. “Or Mr. Kraemer, or whatever your name is. What are you waiting for? You’ve got a gun to my head. Why not just kill me?”

  Luke knew she was baiting Charles on purpose. She’d understood Luke’s plan to push the man and was helping. Still her words left his mouth bone dry.

  “You want to die, Susannah?” Charles asked smoothly.

  “No. But I’m wondering why you seem like you’re… killing time. Instead of me.”

  Charles chuckled. “You were as smart as Daniel and much saner than Simon.”

  “Speaking of Simon,” she said grimly, “did you know he was alive all those years?”

  He laughed softly. “Who do you think taught him to play the role of an old man so well?” Luke’s stomach turned over. Simon Vartanian had lured his victims dressed as an old man. Simon had also stalked Susannah in the same guise.

  “You?” Susannah breathed. “You taught him?”

  “Oh, yes. Simon thought it was all his idea to stalk you in the park in New York. It was always easiest to allow Simon to believe things were his idea, but it was indeed me. You, on the other hand… I could have done great things with you, my dear.” His smile disappeared. “But you didn’t want to play with me. You avoided me.”

  “I was a rape victim.” Her voice shook with outrage. “And you knew that.”

  “I have to say I was surprised you confessed the whole Darcy affair. That couldn’t have been easy for you, admitting to everyone how depraved you are. How hard the mighty have fallen. It didn’t take Darcy more than a few months to turn you.”

  Her hands tightened into fists. “You recruited Marcy Linton, used her to extort rich men who liked sex with underage girls.”

  “It beat waiting tables as a way for her to pay for college,” Charles said blandly.

  “She never got to college. You killed her. Why? Why did you have to kill her?”

  Charles’s bland façade was replaced with cold fury. “Because of you. You ruined her. Made her soft.”

  “Darcy changed her mind, didn’t she? I remember that last night. She tried to talk me out of going, but it was a special date, the anniversary of the day I became a rape victim,” she said bitterly. “I was going to show myself and the world that I had control. I never had control. You did. You orchestrated the whole damn thing, you sonofabitch. All of it. You put Simon and Toby Granville up to raping me. You fucking coward.”

  Luke saw the minute movement, the slackening of the hand on Susannah’s shoulder just as Susannah jerked away. But Charles wasn’t that off guard. He grabbed her with a snarl, jabbing the gun into her head so hard she cried out. His forearm closed over her throat. Her hands clawed at his arm so that she could breathe. Luke took an involuntary step forward, still on one knee.

  “Little bitch,” Charles muttered. “Papadopoulos, now. Gun on the floor now or I’ll break her goddamn neck. She’ll still look alive and I’ll still have my human shield.”

  Luke placed his gun on the floor, then held his hands out. “There. I’m unarmed.”

  “Your backup, too.”

  “Don’t have one,” Luke lied. “I’m wearing boots, not shoes like you. I like your shoes, Ray Kraemer. They’re what helped us identify you.” He was talking fast, not allowing Charles to calm down. “ Mansfield took some pictures in the bunker, for insurance. Maybe even revenge. Got one of a man with a walking stick, whose left shoe has a higher heel. It’s because Michael Ellis shot you in ’ Nam. Shot you in the leg and left you to die like a dog. It messed up your leg and that’s why you walk with the stick.” Luke hoped Susannah was paying attention.

  “Shut up,” Charles said through clenched teeth.

  “So you got your revenge on Ellis. You took his son, made him yours. He’s still yours, isn’t he, Ray Kraemer?” Every time he used Charles’s real name, the man flinched. “He’s useful to you, being a cop and all. You think he’s coming to get you now, but you’re wrong. We have Paul Houston in custody and he’s going to prison for a very long time.” The custody was a lie, but it did the trick.

  Charles’s face became florid and his breathing hitched. “No. You can’t have him.”

  Stay with me, Susannah. “It’s too late, Ray Kraemer. I have him already. Paul is mine. You have nothing left.” And on
the last word Susannah kicked Charles hard on his left leg, sending them both to the floor. Charles landed on the backpack, the sharp corners of the box he carried knocking the breath from his lungs. Susannah took the advantage, thrashing and clawing like a trapped cat.

  The moment she broke free, Luke lunged, grabbing Charles’s wrist with both hands, his elbow digging into Charles’s throat. But the old man was much stronger than he appeared. Luke’s arms burned from the struggle until he heard a snap of Charles’s wrist bone and a hoarse cry. Charles’s hand released the gun and, fueled by adrenaline and rage, Luke sat on his chest, clutching the old man by the throat.

  “Fucking sonofabitch,” Luke snarled. His hands tightened, shaking Charles until he gasped for breath. Luke bore down, feeling the give of throat cartilage. Kill him. He drew back his fist, then froze. The old man was incapacitated. Injured. Unarmed. Kill him. Luke could hear the words in his mind, a primal chant that throbbed through every inch of his body. Kill him. Kill him with your bare hands. Kill him for Susannah. For Monica and Angel and Alicia Tremaine and every other victim.

  Wait. The small voice in his mind was soft, but firm. This is not the man you are. Yes, it was. But it wasn’t the man Luke wanted to be. Disgusted both with Charles and with his own still, small voice, Luke grabbed Charles by the lapels, hauled him into a sitting position, and leaned in close. “I hope some prison con kills you like the dog you are.”

  Charles’s mouth curved as a searing pain ripped through Luke’s biceps and too late he saw the short blade in Charles’s other hand. Sonofabitch.

  “You’re the coward, not me. Never me. You’re weak,” Charles grunted, twisting, going for the gun with his unbroken hand. “Weak,” he repeated, and clumsily Luke grabbed at him, abruptly halting at the sickening sound of crushing bone.

  Charles flew back, his head striking the carpet so hard it bounced. His body went still, his mouth wide open. Stunned, Luke looked up. Susannah stood over him, Charles’s walking stick clutched in her hands like a baseball bat. Her eyes were wild, turbulent, as she stared down at the man, who with so many others, had ruined her life.

  “I’m not weak,” she said. “Not anymore. Not ever again.”

  Luke grasped her wrist gently, tugging until she met his eyes. “You never were weak, Susannah. Never. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known.”

  Her shoulders sagged, her breathing strident. “Did I kill him? Please say I did.”

  Luke pressed his fingers to Charles’s throat. “Yeah, honey. I think you did.”

  “Good,” she said fiercely. She let the stick fall. For a moment they simply stared at each other, catching their breath. Then a voice called from the back of the house.

  “Hello? Anybody here?” It was Chase.

  Luke blew out a relieved breath and rose, his sliced arm burning like hell and bleeding sullenly. Luckily Charles hadn’t hit anything vital. “Back here, Chase.” With his good arm, he brought Susannah close, burying his face in her hair. “It’s done.”

  She nodded against his chest. “You’re hurt.”

  “I’ll live.”

  She lifted her face, her lips curving in a trembling smile. “Good.”

  He smiled back. “You could do some first aid, though. Rip off your blouse to make me a bandage, something like that.”

  Her smile finally reached her eyes. “I think the medics have regulation bandages. But I’ll keep the blouse request in mind for later.”

  “Oh my God.” Chase stopped in the doorway, shock on his face. “What happened here?”

  “What? What happened?” Another man pushed past Chase, and Luke opened his mouth in warning, but caught Chase’s warning stare.

  “This is Officer Houston,” Chase said soberly. “He’s searching for a suspect he tracked here. Of course we offered support. Houston, is this your man?”

  Houston was stumbling forward, horrified. “No.”

  “It’s not your man?” Chase asked carefully.

  Houston fell to his knees next to Charles’s body. “Oh God. Oh no.” He looked up, the rage and fear in his eyes focused completely on Susannah. “You. You killed him.”

  The remaining color drained from her face. “You. You raped me.” She looked at Luke, then Chase in confusion. “It’s him. Do something. Arrest him.”

  “You killed him.” Houston lunged to his feet, reaching for Susannah. “You bitch.”

  Chase was on him, suddenly joined by four agents. Quickly subdued, Houston still struggled, now sobbing. “You killed him. You bitch. He was mine. Mine. Mine.”

  “Well, now he’s dead, dead, dead,” Susannah said with contempt.

  “Take him,” Chase said. “Don’t forget to read him his rights.” Shoulders sagging, he turned to Susannah. “I’m so sorry. We had to link him with Charles or all we might have had would have been accounts from the criminals he was blackmailing. IA wanted him red-handed so we let him come here, hoping we could catch the two of them together.”

  “Susannah hit Charles after he tried to grab the gun,” Luke said. “Self-defense.”

  “I know,” Chase said and pulled an earbud from his ear. “Pete reported the whole thing.” He pointed to the window. Pete stood outside, glaring as Houston was dragged away. “Pete saw Charles drag you in here. He mobilized the GBI backup, including a sniper who had Charles in his sights almost the whole time. We were just waiting for a clean shot.” He noticed Luke’s arm and the bloody knife on the carpet. “You’re cut.”

  “A scratch.” It was a lie, but he was more worried about Susannah. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay,” she said, which was also a lie. She was pale but alert as she examined the walking stick. “The top comes off.” She worked it free, then sucked in a breath. Inside was a swastika brand, the same size she wore on her hip. “He was there that night.” She looked at Charles’s backpack. “I want to see what’s inside. I need to know.”

  “And you will know,” Chase said. “As soon as the crime lab is done with the scene, the ME is done with the bodies, we take statements, and you both get checked out at the ER. And don’t even consider arguing with me. I knew Grant had a gun to your head, but I had to pretend nothing was happening to keep Houston off guard.” And the haggard exhaustion in his eyes was testament to how hard that had been.

  “I’m sorry, Chase,” she said. “You’re right. Luke needs medical attention first. I’ve waited thirteen years to understand. I can wait a few hours more.”

  Atlanta , Monday, February 5, 5:30 p.m.

  “Knock, knock,” Susannah said, and Monica Cassidy looked up, smiling.

  “Mom, look.”

  Mrs. Cassidy stood, considerably more relaxed than the last time they’d seen her. “Susannah, Agent Papadopoulos, come in. What happened to you two?”

  Luke’s arm was in a sling after receiving twenty stitches to what he’d called “just a scratch.” Susannah had a black eye and a broken rib, courtesy of her fight with Bobby.

  “We tangled with the bad guys,” Susannah said lightly.

  Monica’s eyes went wary. “And?”

  Susannah sobered. “We kicked their sorry asses.”

  Monica’s lips curved. “And sent them to hell?”

  “Forever and ever,” Luke said. “The woman who was transporting Genie and the man you heard in the bunker that day. Both gone to hell without a key.”

  “Good,” Monica said. “What about Becky’s little sisters?”

  Luke’s smile faded. “We’re still looking. They’d moved away. I’m sorry.”

  Monica swallowed. “I know you can’t save them all, Agent Papadopoulos, but could you look real hard? Please?”

  Luke nodded. “I give you my word.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “But we have good news,” Mrs. Cassidy said, patting Monica’s hand. “We got a call from Agent Grimes in Charlotte an hour ago.”

  “They found my dad. His car was at the bottom of a lake, but he managed to get out of the car and
swim to shore.”

  “He was found with no identification,” Mrs. Cassidy said. “Some Good Samaritan took him to the hospital and he was unconscious until this morning. He’s on a ventilator, too, so he couldn’t tell them anything. One of Agent Grimes’s colleagues took his photo to all the area ER’s until he found him.”

  “Agent Grimes said the man who hurt my father was the subject of an ongoing investigation,” Monica said, “and he couldn’t tell us anything yet. Can you?”

  Luke nodded. “The man’s in custody. As soon as I leave here, I’ll call Agent Grimes and tell him. I’m glad your dad is okay, Monica. You’re looking pretty good, too.”

  “They let me out of ICU this morning. I might get to eat some real food soon.” Her smile faltered. “Thank you, so, so much. If you two hadn’t come along…”

  Susannah squeezed her hand. “But we did. You’re a survivor. Don’t look back.”

  Monica nodded soberly. “I won’t if you won’t. Don’t feel guilty anymore, Susannah.”

  Susannah’s throat tightened. “I’ll try.” She kissed Monica’s forehead. “Stay well.”

  “You did that, even when you thought I didn’t know you were there,” Monica whispered. “But I knew. Thank you.”

  Susannah managed a smile. “Don’t be a stranger, kid.”

  Luke rubbed his hand over Susannah’s back. “We have a debriefing in a half hour, so we need to go. If any of you need us for any reason, don’t hesitate to call.”

  They were quiet until they got to Luke’s car. “Did you mean it?” she asked.

  He frowned, confused. “What?”

  “You told Monica you’d keep searching for Becky’s little sisters. Did you mean it?”

  “I gave her my word,” Luke said quietly. “So yes, I meant it.”

  “Does that mean you’re going back to Internet Crimes?”

  “Yeah. This case was supposed to be just a break, but I had to go back into The Room regardless. Maybe it’s meant to be. At least for now.” His eyes grew dark. “Did you mean it or was it part of the secret coded message?”