“She’s right,” Richardson agreed from close by, his voice low and barely audible. “I’ve got your backs on this, even if it means killing him. But it has to be done right so it doesn’t come back and bite any of us in the ass.”
An agreement was struck between the three of them that day. For the first time, Turner and Rene had someone they could trust besides each other.
Chapter Twenty Six
Novak peered through his binoculars as he watched the feds work the crime scene. Judging by some interesting body language going on behind the tape, Benzo must have managed to make this one personal.
From his vantage point inside his car, Novak could see Agent Murphy pulling a distraught Turner away from the cordoned-off area. If someone didn’t know him, they might not notice how hard the situation was hitting Turner, but Novak knew him well enough. It was obvious the woman was trying to comfort him, which could only mean one thing: they knew the victim. Glazov’s radar had been on target, as usual.
Something was going on with these two, and it had everything to do with Benzo. If the agents knew the victim; Benzo was hitting awfully close to home. This guy hadn’t just crossed a line, he had eradicated it. Things just got personal.
Novak continued watching. He wished he could get up closer and see how the woman had died. The manner of death would tell Novak all he needed to know about the killer. But not tonight. Now he was going to have to wait and see it on the news or in the paper.
No doubt the bastard was getting off on all the press coverage he was getting. The media had made the guy a household name and it didn’t take an FBI agent to know that serial killers loved attention. They were empowered by it.
The only good thing Novak could see in this mess was that Agent Turner would be more receptive to Glazov’s help now. Turner’s need for revenge against a killer would far exceed his taste for ethics and need for justice and blah, blah, blah against Glazov. The dumbass killer had unwittingly offered redemption for the Pakhan.
Novak had enough information to present his findings to Glazov. He set the binoculars down on the passenger seat and eased away from the crime scene without ever being noticed.
~~~
“What makes you so sure Turner and Murphy have a connection to the victim?” Glazov asked as he considered Novak’s take on things.
“He was upset and Murphy was crying. They see bodies on a daily basis and it never affects them. I’m telling you; this was different. You know how those two pride themselves on their professionalism. This was bad.”
“I want to know who it was.”
“I’m sure it will be plastered all over the news later.”
“I want details, now. Do we have anybody on the inside?”
“Not at the FBI, but we do at the police station. That little gal that works in the property room. We’ve also got an undercover narc on payroll.”
“I think the narc can find out easily. Contact him and get as much info as you can.”
“Are you going to kill Benzo?”
“Not personally, but he’s going down.”
“Well, one thing’s for sure: nobody’s going to miss him.”
Chapter Twenty Seven
Benzo was surprised at how gratifying Bertha’s death had been. He hadn’t expected to find any satisfaction in it because it was such a quick kill. But she had surprised him and made it all worth it. Normally he enjoyed the hunt, the capture, and the happy days and nights he would spend tormenting his victims. But, by necessity, Bertha’s kill had been fast. One and done, and then he had dumped her body.
Good thing he had that tarp laid out over the backseat of his car. He’d have to get rid of it anyway. Nowadays it only took a spot of blood or a single hair to fuck up a good thing.
He knew why it was such a gratifying kill. He’d done something he’d never been able to do. He’d touched the agents’ personal lives. They would be doublechecking windows and doors to make sure they were locked. Even though they were staying in the penthouse, probably because of its enhanced security, their reasoning would be skewed. Fear had no logic. It swept in and took over all rational thought.
He knew that, even though there hadn’t been time to torture Bertha as he would have preferred to do, he’d done even better: he was torturing the agents. Over time, he would become so deeply embedded in their minds that they would never be rid of him. Even after he was dead and gone, Turner and Murphy would be plagued by memories of just how brutal Mr. Benzo could be.
He wished he could be a fly on the wall for it all. He wanted to see their tears. He wanted to hear their rage. He wanted to smell their fear. He wanted to watch them fuck as they desperately tried to reassure each other that life was still worth living. He wished he could figure out a way to spy on them from afar; to watch them in their private moments…to somehow stay connected without the complications that such personal connections inevitably entailed.
Unfortunately for Benzo, he hadn’t counted on attracting the attention of a ruthless mafia kingpin. There was no way he could have known about the unconventional love/hate kind of relationship Agent Turner had with Alexander Glazov. If he continued on his current path, Benzo was in danger of getting a most unwelcome taste of his own medicine.
Chapter Twenty Eight
Rene stood at the kitchen window, cradling her cup of tea in both hands while admiring the beautiful view only a penthouse could provide. David had introduced her to a world of wealth that went far beyond anything she’d ever dreamed of. Though she enjoyed the perks of having a rich boyfriend, it had nothing to do with her feelings for her lover. The things she enjoyed from his wealth weren’t the normal things one would expect. It wasn’t parties or rich friends, because they were private people. It wasn’t cars or trips or even high-dollar fashion. None of that meant anything to her. His estate in Indian Hills was home, but she never minded when David insisted that they stay at the penthouse during a demanding or particularly dangerous investigation. He also liked being close to the office, and she liked being wherever he was.
Her career had made her a firm believer in home security systems and he insisted on the best. She reached up, checking the lock on the window for the third time, then laughed at herself. She was in a penthouse, after all.
If Benzo was capable of getting to Bertha then what else was he capable of? And how the hell had he known she was their housekeeper? None of it made sense.
They had talked to the doorman and security guard at the desk and had confirmed that the florist who sent the flowers had been legit. When they contacted the florist, they learned that the owner’s son had taken the order but hadn’t paid any attention to the identity of the man who had ordered the floral arrangement. The customer had paid in cash, so no help there, either.
Nothing but Benzo being dead was going to give her peace of mind. She’d seen plenty of FBI agents end up with mental and emotional problems due to the job. She didn’t want to be that girl. Night terrors and trying to outrun ghosts didn’t exactly give her hope for a bright future. For the first time in her life, she was looking over her shoulder. She was the hunted rather than the hunter. She enjoyed her job of ridding society of criminals and she damn sure wasn’t going to let Benzo take that away from her.
One way or another, Benzo needed to be six feet under, and sooner rather than later. The only problem was how to do it in a way that wouldn’t jeopardize her career or David’s.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Kathleen could feel her husband’s feather light touches over her skin awakening her senses. She never knew what to expect from him: rage, jealousy, sensuality, or gentleness. Whatever it was, it was always exactly what she needed. Right now she needed his reassurance that things were going back to normal; their unconventional brand of normal.
“I’ll always know what you need, Ptichka,” he said as if reading her mind. His lips covered hers as he settled between her thighs and entered her. His tongue began to explore her mouth in time with his thrusts.
> She raised her hips, meeting him stroke for stroke. Making love to Glazov was like becoming one, like they had climbed inside each other. She had never expected to be so unified with the man who’d forced her into marriage, but time had only solidified their bond. Their secrets were many and would be taken to their graves. Sure, they’d make mistakes along the way—mistakes like Glazov killing that writer. But no matter what, they were always honest with each other.
She could feel her body thrumming with pleasure, soaring until it plateaued and shattered into everything he was. He knew every part of her. Her mind, her will, and even her emotions were laid bare for him to do with as he pleased.
“I love you, Ptichka,” he breathed against her skin as he shuddered and quaked with an intense climax.
“I love you too,” she murmured as she caught her breath. “Looking back, it’s hard to believe that there was a time when I never thought I would.”
“I told you I’d have you,” he purred as he leaned over from where he was now lying beside her and kissed her forehead.
His expression became serious as it always did when he was getting ready to talk business. She readied herself, pushing the post-coital stupor from her thoughts and doing her best to focus. She had been with him long enough to know that when he shared Bratva business with her, it was because he wanted her input.
“I talked to Ivan today. It seems one of the inmates has been bragging about knowing a serial killer: Benzo.”
“He may just be a braggart.”
“Inmates are known to do that, yes, but I think it’s worth checking out.”
“I’m sure Ivan is getting antsy in there, not being able to work and interrogate,” she chuckled.
“Fucker’s living as well as you and I are.”
“I’m certain you saw to that.” She knew Glazov had dealt with a lot of guilt over Ivan’s incarceration.
“I gave Ivan the go-ahead to do some Intel work.”
“Don’t you mean beating the truth out of the inmate? Ivan is huge. I’d think his size alone would be enough to intimidate the truth out of most anyone.”
“It damn sure worked to our benefit when he was on the outside. You know what? I miss the big goon.”
“Go visit him. I don’t think it will bring any heat on you. I’m certain the agents are more concerned with the death of Turner’s housekeeper. That was terrible, Glazov. It had to be personal. There’s no other reason Benzo would have killed someone who was like family to Agent Turner.”
“I’m counting on it being personal, because if it was, Turner will be willing to break rules. Revenge has a way of changing a man. He’ll never be the same after this. No reason not to capitalize on it.”
“I think it’s sad to see a man who was so straitlaced being lured over to the dark side. We do what we do by choice, but this is different.”
Glazov looked at his wife like he could see through her. “I disagree. I believe we all have an element of darkness within us. It lies dormant until it is revealed in all its glory. True, some never tap into it, but you can’t hunt monsters and not become one sooner or later. All that darkness has been hovering around the man for years.”
He cradled her face in his hand, his thumb stroking her velvety skin as a frown knit his brows. “It’s going to latch on to you sooner or later, too. Sometimes I’m not sure how I feel about that.” With a decisive sigh, he released her and said, “He’ll be fine. Ironically, he’ll be a better agent because of all this. Lucky me.”
“Yeah, but will his relationship with his partner survive it?”
“Call it cliché, but love may just conquer all. She’s been there right along with him; subjected to all the same demons. If anybody understands what he’s going through, it’s his partner. His woman. But is she willing to hide all his dirty little secrets, or is she going to feel conflicted because she’s law enforcement?”
“Do you think she’d rat him out if he’s planning on killing Benzo?”
“Honestly, I just don’t know. Sometimes all that FBI training causes them to carry unnecessary guilt. It can backfire.”
“Kind of like when you grow up in an overly religious family.”
“Exactly.”
“You know what’s weird, Glazov? I find myself rooting for Agent Turner. I hope he gets through all this unscathed.”
“I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. There’s no way he can. But I find myself rooting for him, too.”
“Well, imagine that,” Kathleen said with a small smile.
Glazov shot his wife some serious side-eye as he rolled on top of her, ready for round two. “You repeat that,” he warned her between kisses, “and I’ll deny it while I’m spanking your ass.”
Chapter Thirty
Turner laid in his bed staring at the ceiling as if waiting for it to unlock answers to all of life’s questions. Getting through Bertha’s funeral had been even harder than he’d anticipated. He’d paid for everything, of course. It turned out that she didn’t have any family but him and Rene. Maybe that was what bothered him so much: he hadn’t been there for her when she needed him most. Some fucking FBI agent you are. You can’t even protect your own family.
His rational mind reminded him there was nothing he could have done. He had been blindsided. He’d been expecting an attack on Rene, not the housekeeper. It was like someone had taken life as he knew it, turned it upside down, shook it around, and left him and Rene surrounded by all the debris. Turner wasn’t sure what to do about it.
For years, he’d gone by the book and followed the rules. Now he was questioning everything. His thoughts were jumbled as emotions seeped in to mix and mingle and make a mess. No matter how hard he tried to step back into his old, straight-laced self, he always came back to the same question: how could he get away with murder?
He eased out of bed, listening to Rene’s breathing to ensure he didn’t awaken her. He needed time alone to sort through all of this.
He walked downstairs and into the kitchen to start some coffee. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 3 a.m. There was no way he was getting back to sleep. He decided to get some work done, so he powered up his laptop. He couldn’t help but grin. He took a lot of shit from the other agents about being set in his ways, but he was one of the first agents to embrace all this new technology, such as a portable computer you could take wherever you went. And through the magic of the FBI, he was able to access a database that he hoped would give him the answers he needed.
He grabbed a cup and poured his coffee; black and strong, just like he liked it. He hated cases like this that stuck with you for life. Even if you tucked those cases away in a drawer, every now and then you couldn’t resist taking a fresh look at the file, making a few phone calls, and following up on a few leads. And it would continue to haunt you until, if you were very lucky, you solved the son of a bitch. Every law enforcement lifer he’d ever met had a case like that. Maybe this was his.
By the time he was done, he’d accomplished a lot and knew more than he had before. Always a good thing. By using information from the motorist who had helped Tee, he had extrapolated a likely location where she had been held. The property was in the name of Peter Demandez, deceased. Everything he was looking up about Benzo to this point had been, quite literally, a dead end. He made a mental note to get a search warrant for the house. If she was up for it, he’d like to bring Tee along with them to see if she recognized the place. She was still healing up after the attack and surgery, but he hoped she was well enough for a road trip.
There was still so much to figure out. Turner knew that this guy was bound to mess up. When he did, Turner had every intention of being there. Benzo had unwittingly made an enemy of a determined man. Once Turner sank his teeth into something he was like a dog with a bone; now he was a rabid dog with an unquenchable bloodlust.
He looked up. Rene was standing on the bottom step, rubbing her eyes. “So you can’t sleep either, huh,” she observed with a yawn as she walked over to th
e coffeemaker.
“I’m okay, I’m just a little restless…”
“David, don’t bullshit a bullshitter. This case has got me fucked up, too. Seriously, I’m having thoughts about killing him or having someone else do it. Like, actual thoughts with actual plans. I just didn’t see this coming. I thought he was going to come after me. With the way he was leaving flowers and stalking me I fully expected that, but I never expected him to kill Bertha. That poor woman.”
“Well, we’re on the same wavelength. My head is full of dark, depraved thoughts. There is no one who could convince me Benzo could be reformed. And we both know how hard it is to put a convict on death row. The only way the world will be safe is when this guy is dead. I’m not going to take a chance on losing my career by killing him, and I’m not going to risk the FBI fucking it up. I can’t figure out a way to deal with this guy, and my indecision has given him the control. I don’t like it, Rene.”
“Well, it isn’t like we don’t know criminals who would be willing to kill.” She glanced at him surreptitiously, just to see what kind of response she’d get.
“That thought has crossed my mind, too, and I’m sure we’d have no trouble finding someone for the hit. God knows, money’s no object. But I’m not going to put myself in the position of being blackmailed after the deed’s done.”
She was shocked. Usually, he toed the line. Walked the walk and talked the talk and all that jazz. Even thinking about something remotely deviant wasn’t like him—well, unless one or both of them didn’t have any clothes on.
“On another note, I think we should go talk to Tee today.”
“To see how she’s doing?” Rene asked, looking at him over the rim of her coffee cup.
“That, and I want to get a search warrant. There’s only one house in the area where Tee was found that night. He’s bound to be long gone by now, but there’s no reason why we can’t go look around and see if he forgot anything.”
The Profilers (Born Bratva The Lost Years Book 2) Page 9
