As he adjusted his cufflinks, Glazov looked her up and down. He straightened his tie and turned to go, saying over his shoulder, “And by the way, you’ll go where I fucking tell you, when I fucking tell you.”
Chapter Forty Six
Benzo could feel his blood thrumming through his veins as he eased up to the apartment door. He took the lock pick from his pocket and pushed it into the deadbolt. As he felt the cylinders lining up, his heart began to race. The door knob turned easily after he picked the second lock. Easy-peasy.
Did this bitch have the gall to believe she could lock him out? Keep him away? Live her life apart from him? Fuck that.
The locks were a fucking joke. If the bitch had any sense at all, she would have had a security company install an alarm and monitor the apartment. She had the money. Oh, well. Her loss was about to be his gain.
“What are you doing in Miss Terry’s apartment?” The question was little more than a raspy croak.
Well, fuck. He turned around slowly, smiling at the frowning, elderly woman leaning unsteadily on a cane. Her pantyhose sagged at the ankles and her pink lipstick had been applied with a shaky hand, making her look like a clown. She smelled like mothballs. Now he regretted not donning a pest-control uniform or some other disguise, which he had briefly considered doing. He smiled benignly and adopted an easygoing posture. “Good evening, ma’am. Sorry if I disturbed you. I’m just checking on her cat for her.”
Her scowl deepened as she white-knuckled the cane. “She doesn’t have a cat,” she said slowly, suspiciously. “We ain’t allowed to have animals here.”
He almost laughed at her grim demeanor. The old bitch actually believed she posed a threat to him. She had sorely underestimated her opponent. Too bad…for her.
He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, breathing deeply as a small smile teased his lips. He could feel the blood boiling in his veins. His right eye twitched uncontrollably as the rage sought a viable outlet, a satisfactory release. He opened his eyes again and there she was. He gave a long-suffering sigh. Neighbors could be such a nuisance. She’d need to be dealt with or she’d ruin everything. He had things to do and he needed to do them perfectly. He needed to feed the media beast that was so fixated on every move he made. And he needed to remind the FBI that he was smarter than they were, lest they forget.
He took a step toward her. “Is there anything I can do for you? Help you put those groceries away, maybe?” he asked as he peered over her shoulder at the sea of boxes and bags on the kitchen counter.
She shuffled backwards and put a steadying hand on the doorjamb. “N-n-no. I like everything out where I can get to it. I d-don’t need any help.”
Another step. All traces of his smile vanished. “Oh, that’s a shame. I’m feeling very helpful.” His eyes took on a flat, lifeless stare as he moved inexorably toward her.
“Y-you stay away from me,” she said, her voice quaking as she turned and lurched toward the door, desperate to close it.
He rushed her, giving her no time to react. He shoved her back into her apartment. She hit the floor with a thud. She shrieked, clutching her hip as her features twisted in a spasm of agony. “It hurts!” she gasped. She looked up and saw him standing over her.
He pushed the door closed with his foot. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry. It won’t hurt for long.”
~~~
He stood in the entryway of Tee’s apartment, chewing the last bite of the candy bar he had swiped off the old lady’s kitchen table. He shook his head as he tossed the wrapper on the floor. Old people always had the best snacks. She’d had a regular sugar stockpile in there. She hadn’t been overly concerned with good nutrition. Then again, what was the point? It sure didn’t matter now.
He locked the door behind him so he could take his time and have a few seconds of warning if he were interrupted. The place was neat and furnished with modern touches. Tee and her roommate appeared to be clean freaks, and he had to begrudgingly respect that.
He walked over to a built-in bookshelf and looked at a photo of Tee and her roommate, smiling on the beach with the frothy ocean waves billowing up behind them. “You look so happy, so beautiful,” he murmured as he turned the frame face-down.
In the kitchen, he opened a cabinet and left it that way. “I wonder if you’ll ever be that happy again, now that your life is not your own. You’ll always be mine and I’ll always be yours. That’s how this works.” It didn’t even matter if he lived or died; he’d rule her life from the grave if he had to. But he planned on sticking around, which made her previous escape more palatable somehow. After all, he could always come back and kill her later. But before he did he would toy with her, just a little.
He strolled down the short hallway in search of Tee’s bedroom. Time to see the good stuff. He knew when he’d found her room. Her perfume lingered in the air.
He eased open a dresser drawer and began fingering her panties. As tempted as he was to jack off in a pair and leave them on her bed, he knew better than to leave any DNA behind. Moving on…
On top of the dresser, he found a small tray that held trinkets. Jewelry. Some spare change. He selected a single earring from a particularly pretty pair and tucked it in his pocket, leaving its twin behind to glint up at him all by its lonesome. His next stop was her nightstand. He moved the digital clock from the back of the tabletop to the front. He opened the single drawer and found the Holy Grail: her vibrator.
As OCD as this bitch was, she wouldn’t miss a single thing he’d done. He paused, just taking it all in. It all felt strangely…intimate. When he saw her again, he intended to get to know her so much better. He would shape her into something new, something only he could truly appreciate.
He ventured back to her dresser. He selected a pair of delicate lace panties and stuffed them into his pocket with the earring. He agonized over whether to jack off in them but decided it would be best to wait until later. He didn’t want to have to rush.
He took one last look around the room. He was pleased with what he’d accomplished, but it was time to go—until next time.
Chapter Forty Seven
Novak sat in the shadows of the dimly lit bar. Jake’s. He hadn’t been here in a long time, but he needed to know if his memory was playing tricks on him. He needed to be on top of his game. Anything less would be unacceptable.
He could still remember every detail about that night when he’d been attacked in the alley. He’d killed three men and one had escaped with his life. He’d kept tabs on him, of course, because all things were possible with the Bratva—but from a distance.
Tonight he had been in the mood for a stroll down Memory Lane, Bratva-style. Unfortunately, he’d been there for two hours and still hadn’t found what he was looking for.
“Can I get you anything?”
Novak glanced up at the waitress and shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m good. I was just leaving, anyway.” He handed her a Benjamin and winked at her as he rose to his feet.
He kept his head down as he left the bar. The night air was brisk, but not too cold. Perfect weather, really. A walk to clear his head would do him good. He had a lot on his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. What was it? He had to find the missing link. This Benzo thing had gone far beyond a serial killer. For the first time, his interest in a job was about more than his loyalty to the Pakhan. This felt like unfinished business.
Couples strolled along holding hands, stopping in front of all the tourist traps he had grown accustomed to, like the Belle of Louisville. He rolled his eyes at one particularly amorous couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
He couldn’t help but wonder what life would be like with a woman who was more than just a one night stand. He’d watched as Glazov evolved from a player to a family man who only had eyes for one woman. Part of him wished he could experience what it was like to have that kind of loyalty. It wasn’t a fairytale love story he craved; Glazov and Kathleen had that shit covered
enough for everyone. Theirs was a twisted fairytale, but still. Novak just wanted loyalty. He wouldn’t settle for anything less. If it could happen for a man like Glazov, then maybe it could happen for him. But he wouldn’t hold his breath.
Fuck it. Enough with the soul searching already. Novak turned for home, but his feet took him to Foxy’s instead. As he stared up at the neon sign by the entrance, he decided to stop in for a quick nightcap and see if Tee was around. She was a tough girl, but he still wanted to check on her. A waitress brought him his order and he waved her way. He didn’t want to be disturbed. He needed more time to figure out how to tie up the loose ends that continued to plague his mind; more time to watch the shadows…and discern the source of the evil lurking there.
Chapter Forty Eight
Tee stood outside her apartment, digging her keys out of her oversized designer bag. She let her duffel bag’s strap slide from her shoulder. As the duffel landed on the floor with a thud, she unlocked the deadbolt first, then repeated the process in the doorknob lock. She may have been overreacting when she’d had them changed, but it was worth the cost to reassure herself that Benzo didn’t have access to her home. She loved the apartment she shared with her roommate. It was a tiny oasis from all the crazy outside the door.
She pushed the door open and used her foot to nudge her duffel bag over the threshold, noticing the candy bar wrapper on the floor as she did so. Strange. Harper was a neat freak, just like her. It wasn’t like her to be so careless. She reached down to pick up the wrapper, then she closed the door. She flipped the light switch on the wall and took a step into the room, only to stop mid-stride. No light. Strange… Her fight-or-flight instincts slammed into overdrive and she dropped the candy wrapper like it was hot. Benzo had been there. She could practically smell him nearby. Sonofabitch.
She eased over toward a table lamp, as if tiptoeing would keep an intruder from hearing her. She flicked the lamp on and ran back to the door. Still no light, but no serial killers either. She ventured over to the ceiling fan and pulled the chain. Still no light. Weird. And what was that noise, anyway? On a hunch, she reached up and tightened a lightbulb and the room was suffused with a soft glow; then a second and a third, until the front room was bathed in light.
Someone had unscrewed all the lightbulbs. Her heart slammed against her ribs in warning: someone had been inside her apartment.
“That’s it, I’m getting a dog. A big, vicious dog,” she declared to the empty room before recalling that this was a ‘No Pets Allowed’ dwelling. Somehow she felt like moving out would be letting Benzo win, but the thought of upgrading to a house was appealing. After all, she damn sure didn’t plan on working in a strip joint forever.
She decided that if there was indeed an intruder, he would have attacked her by now. She called the first number on Agent Murphy’s business card and left a message at the beep. She hated the panic in her voice but maybe when they heard it they would take her seriously. With that done, she settled into the task of seeing just how violated she’d been.
She dug her mace out of her purse and held it in front of her like a gun as she searched each room. As she moved farther down the hall toward her bedroom, the strange humming noise grew louder. Upon entering her bedroom, the source of the noise was revealed in all its cylindrical glory: her vibrator. It had been positioned on its end on her nightstand and was just buzzing away. Muttering obscenities, she turned it off and tossed it back into the drawer where it belonged. Then, thinking better of it, she retrieved the vibrator and tossed it into the trash. No way was she ever going to use it again now that he’d touched it.
From there, she looked under the bed and rummaged in the closets. She quickly determined that he had moved a few other things around, but nothing appeared to be missing. Finally, she sat on her bed and huffed a sigh of relief. Okay, no boogey man in sight. She was optimistic that she wasn’t about to be added to the long list of women who’d gone to the ‘sweet by and by’ lately. At least, not yet. But she had a feeling this guy got off on mindfucks as much as he did killing, which only pissed her off even more.
She took a quick shower and was in the kitchen staring out the window at the starlit sky when she heard the keys rattle in the door. Harper was home. Tee stood perfectly still and didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until she heard her roommate’s chirpy voice.
“Another night in the land of the lies.”
Tee laughed, “Yeah. Don’t you love it when they ask you what you’re thinking about as you gyrate on a stripper pole?”
“Oooh, baby, I’m thinking about you,” Harper dramatically moaned as she pointed playfully at Tee.
“Pretty funny, when you’re really thinking about ironing, laundry, and what has to be picked up from the drycleaners tomorrow,” Tee agreed. “So, seriously, how was your night?”
“Your hottie came in.” Harper’s eyes settled on Tee, looking for any evidence that might reveal an interest in Novak.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve sworn off bad boys,” Tee declared, knowing perfectly well the direction of her friend’s thoughts.
“You can’t be serious. That’s almost depressing.”
“I’m dead serious. I’m raising my standards. I want the white picket fence. I’m so sick of this life. It’s a struggle to get through every day. I’m tired, Harper. Just plain fucking tired. Not the kind of tired that comes from lack of sleep; the burnt-out kind.”
“Well, you are indeed depressing. Who are you and what the fuck have you done with my roommate?”
Depressing or not, Tee still felt a hell of a lot better bantering back and forth with her roommate than she had earlier when she’d been chasing ghosts.
“On a serious note, Harper, be careful.”
Harper’s eyes locked onto hers. “What’s wrong? Should I be scared?”
“I’m beginning to think so.”
Chapter Forty Nine
For many (most) FBI agents, years of staring down dead bodies and pondering unanswered questions eventually resulted in sleepless nights, obsessive thoughts, and—when one did manage to sleep—nightmares. Nightmares because of the horrific things they saw; seemingly endless hamster wheel thinking because they were always trying to figure out the ‘why’ of something; and insomnia because they were usually in the middle of a case and that’s just how that worked at 3 a.m.
FBI agents all had their own ways of coping with stress, but inevitably they used humor as a way to deal. If outsiders overheard some of the things they said, their perspective might be considered callous. You had to be an agent to ‘get it’.
Richardson was throwing a Nerf ball into a basketball hoop he’d mounted on the far office wall. Rene picked it up and threw it back to him on her way to the coffee machine. Turner was reviewing the same information he’d been obsessing over for days, trying to figure out Benzo’s real name.
When Rene returned to her desk with her first coffee of the morning, she reached over and punched the ‘voicemail’ button on her desk phone and listened as Tee’s panicked voice informed them that someone had been in her apartment.
“Looks like our boy’s still playing games,” Richardson said. “Wonder why she didn’t call your cell, though?” He reached high above his head and released the squishy ball into the air. “Who’s the man?!” he chortled when his ball sailed through the hoop.
“Well, she sounded pretty panicked, so she probably just called the first number on the card I gave her. Who knows? I feel like shit that she couldn’t reach me. I need to talk to her ASAP.”
The shrill ringing of Turner’s desk phone startled all three agents, prompting Richardson to cuss when he missed an easy shot and Rene to cuss when she sloshed hot coffee on her hand.
“Who the hell calls this early in the morning?” Rene scowled, not wanting to be distracted from calling Tee in the next minute and a half. She canted her head toward Turner’s desk phone and looked at him as if he’d just grown a third eye.
“Death waits for no
man,” he said dryly before answering the phone. “Turner.” A couple of ‘uh-huh, uh-huhs’ later, Turner hung up and turned to face his coworkers. “We’ve got another body. A female.” His eyes locked onto Rene’s. “At Tee’s apartment building.”
~~~
The crime scene was already crawling with marked cars. Curious neighbors milled around in bathrobes, cradling mugs of steaming coffee in their hands. Red and blue lights bounced off the brick edifices, announcing that a tragedy had befallen the neighborhood.
Some faces in the crowd looked fearful, others seemed strangely eager as if this was the most exciting thing that had happened in a while. Sure, they were used to the steady stream of nightly gunfire and broken beer bottle brawls in back alleys, but they knew that only something really big could prompt a deluge of law enforcement vehicles to descend on their block.
Rene leaned in toward Turner and quietly voiced the thought that had been banging around in his own head ever since they had left the office. “I hope like hell it isn’t Tee.”
As if on cue, a uniform approached them and waved them over. He was very young compared to the other officers on the scene. As he drew closer, his swagger became more pronounced and his chest seemed to puff up with self-importance. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder as he declared, “Got a dead old lady in there. Looks like somebody choked her to death.”
Rene exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, then felt guilty for being glad it was someone else. Turner glared at the cop and bit out, “That’s probably somebody’s grandmother in there. Somebody’s mother. Have some respect.”
The officer’s mumbled apology was lost on the breeze as he hurried to keep up with Turner and fill him in on the details. “Forced entry?” Turner asked, not bothering to look at the young officer who now was doing his damnedest to win points.
The Profilers (Born Bratva The Lost Years Book 2) Page 14
