Ultimate Prey (Book 3 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series)

by Kristine Mason

  “The female’s eyes are missing.” Hudson walked near the heads of the victims. “There are stab wounds all around her eyes. The male didn’t get off any easier,” he said, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. He touched the man’s jaw. “His tongue’s been cut out. Looks like he’d had the shit beat out of him before he was set on fire. Her, too.”

  John noticed the fire extinguisher on the counter behind Hudson. He turned toward the kitchen table, which had been shoved at an angle. Several chairs, with severed ropes still tied to the wooden rungs, lay on the tile near a gas can. “He set them on fire to cover up any evidence that might lead back to him, then extinguished the fire to contain it.”

  Hudson stood, then stepped around the bodies and toward the stainless steel refrigerator. “Because if the house caught on fire, the bodies would be discovered before Steven even left the state.”

  He hardened his jaw. “I hope to God they were dead or at least unconscious when he set them on fire. I don’t even want to imagine the pain they suffered.”

  “What about the kids?” Dante asked. “We need to find them, and any evidence Steven was in the house.”

  “We’ll do a search and call you back.” Hudson ended the call. “I’ll head to the second level.”

  “Wait, there’s a calendar on the side of the fridge,” John said, swapping his leather gloves for latex.

  Hudson moved to the opposite side of the fridge, near the gas stove. “It says, H and B at mom’s. There’s a line from Tuesday to Sunday. Do we know the names of Steven’s kids?”

  “When you check the bedrooms, I’m sure you’ll be able to confirm it,” he said, and left the kitchen. He hoped to God H and B stood for the two teenagers. Steven had been proven to be a sick son of a bitch, but was he sick enough to kill his own kids?

  After checking the family room, then the living and dining rooms, he stopped at a half-bath off the hall. All of the rooms were modern and immaculate. Nothing was out of place or indicated there had been a struggle. He left the bathroom, then continued down the hall. When he reached a closed door, his heart rate kicked up a notch.

  He turned the knob, then opened the door. Papers were scattered along the glass top of a large wooden desk. More littered the dark-green and brown area rug. Whatever had been sitting on the built-in bookcase had been tossed onto the rug or hardwood floor. Next to a stack of books was a large canvas painting that had been slit down the middle. He looked to the wall opposite the desk. A built-in safe stood open, a nail sticking out of the wall above it where the painting had likely once hung. He looked to the rug as he walked toward the safe, careful to not step on anything. A shiny sliver of gold snared his attention. He bent, then pushed the carpet fibers aside, and discovered the match to the earring Ryan had found in the old Mazda outside of Ian’s vacation rental.

  After pocketing the earring, he looked at some of the papers on the floor in front of the safe. There was an insurance policy for Elaine Weir and her passport, along with a man’s. He stared at the head shot of Raymond Anderson and noted a strong resemblance between the photo and the victim in the kitchen. He also found several social security cards. One was Elaine’s, the other two belonged to Hailey and Benjamin Weir. Good. That confirmed the H and B written on the calendar as Steven and Elaine’s kids. Somewhat relieved, he looked through several of the other documents. One was a deed to the house, which showed Elaine’s name only. Beneath the deed was Elaine and Steven’s finalized divorce papers. He skimmed through the decree, which confirmed Elaine had taken the house, full custody of the kids and half of whatever money and investments she and Steven had owned. Because Steven had been in prison and could not pay child support, she’d ended up with everything.

  “Find anything?” Hudson asked, stepping into the office.

  “The match to the earring Ryan found in the Mazda.”

  Hudson glanced at a few of the papers on the desk. “Here’s what I find interesting about that. I just left the room Elaine shares with her fiancé, Raymond Anderson. The jewelry on her dresser and in her drawer wasn’t touched.”

  “And yet an earring somehow ends up in Florida. It’s as if he wanted us to come here.” He blew out a breath. “How’d you find out the fiancé’s name?”

  “There was a box of wedding invitations in the bedroom, along with a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses.” He shrugged. “The wallet helped, too. My guess is that the kids went to Grandma’s house for the holiday, and Elaine and Raymond were in the bedroom addressing invitations when Steven surprised them.”

  “Did you find evidence of a struggle?”

  “Oh, yeah. Broken doorframe, blood spatter on the walls…the wine bottle was broken at the base, and there’s dried blood coating the glass. There’s also blood on the area rug by the bed and hardwood floor. I’m thinking Steven used the broken bottle to stab Raymond in the crotch.”

  John winced, and quickly purged the image before it took root in his mind. He held up the deed and divorce papers. “This used to be Steven’s house. I’m sure when he saw another man in his ex-wife’s bed, that sent him into a rage. Not to mention Elaine took everything from him. The house, the kids, the money.”

  Hudson stepped over to the safe. “Not all the money,” he said, reaching into the safe. “He left a dollar bill. And…another note.”

  He set the papers back on the floor and stood. “What’s it say?”

  “‘RIP. You should have obeyed. I’m coming for you’.” Hudson glanced up from the note. “Then he lists our names,” he finished, and handed it over to him.

  John stared at his name, along with Hudson’s, Owen’s and Dante’s, confirming what they’d suspected. Steven only learned about Rachel when he’d used Ian’s cell phone to text her. Still, her life was in jeopardy, considering she was not only a member of CORE but married to Owen. He folded the note and pocketed it. “Let’s make sure he didn’t leave us anything else.”

  They spent the next ten minutes looking through the office. When they found nothing,

  they made their way into the kitchen. John avoided looking at the bodies, but checked the countertops one last time. When his gaze drifted over the under-mount stainless steel sink, his stomach rolled with nausea. Elaine’s mutilated eyes had been placed above the drain, while Raymond’s tongue had been set below, creating a disturbing, taunting face. “Crazy bastard,” he muttered, and turned away.

  Hudson moved next to him and tugged off his latex gloves. “How much you wanna bet that was staged for our benefit?”

  He checked his watch. Damn it, they’d been inside the house for over thirty minutes. “I don’t doubt it. Let’s get out of here.”

  As they made their way back to his sedan, the snowfall began to increase. The local meteorologist had predicted Chicago would be hit with at least six inches by nightfall, which was good. The snow would once again conceal the tracks he and Hudson had made. While he had no intention of taking the heat for illegally entering the house and tampering with evidence, Dante was going to have to find a way to alert the police. Elaine and Raymond no longer suffered, but if her kids walked into the house and found their mom and future stepdad…

  He climbed into the car and turned the ignition. Hudson closed the passenger door, reached over, then cranked the heat and the seat warmers. “How do you want to handle Dante?” he asked.

  John shifted into DRIVE. “What do you mean?”

  “How many dead bodies are we going to leave around the country without doing the right thing?”

  “I know, I’ve been thinking about that, too.” He made a turn toward the freeway. “We need to wait until enough snow falls, though.”

  “True.” He retrieved his cell phone. “And I keep thinking back to the idea of Steven baiting us. He somehow knew we’d figure out he was behind the kidnapping and hunt. He then assumed we’d go to his dad’s house, and then his ex’s.”

  “Jordan Marquette’s, too.”

  “Right. He left one earring at Elaine’s and one in t
he Mazda. We have all the evidence we need to have him arrested for kidnapping and murder, only we can’t go to the police. Well, we could, if we wanted to lose our licenses and jobs.”

  The snowfall increased, making visibility difficult. John turned on the windshield wipers and headlights. “Are you suggesting he wants us in this position?” He shook his head. “He couldn’t know we’d find out it was him behind Ian’s kidnapping. He also knows damn well how Ian feels about hiding evidence and—”

  The quick memory of Steven suggesting they hide his bloodied brass knuckles flashed in his mind. How Steven had pleaded with Ian to hide the evidence and cover for him, with the promise he’d never step out of line again. How Ian had practically boasted that CORE ran by the book. From the moment Rachel received the text from Steven, they hadn’t done anything by the book.

  “He did more than bait us. You were right earlier. He’s setting us up to fail. Even if we find him and deal with him on our own, we’ve broken a bunch of laws. He might have nothing to lose, but we all do. Our jobs, our reputations…” He glanced to the phone in Hudson’s hand. “Don’t call Dante yet. We need to talk this out first. Dante has made it clear he doesn’t want anyone from the outside involved in this. What he hasn’t made clear is what we’re going to do to Steven once we find him.”

  Hudson’s slight chuckle held no amusement. “Come on, John. Don’t bullshit me. You know exactly what the answer to that is. Hell, it’s the only answer. We’re going to kill him.”

  Somewhere in the Everglades, Florida

  Thursday, 3:52 p.m. Eastern Standard Time

  Steven Weir dropped Cami’s limp body onto the ground near a large tree. She might not weigh much, but between carrying her and the ninety pounds-plus pack for nearly three hours, his arms shook and his back ached. When she’d regained consciousness at one point, he’d considered forcing her to walk. But when she’d opened her eyes, then her mouth, he’d quickly silenced her with another punch. He’d smartened up, though, and placed duct tape over her mouth while she had still been unconscious. No way did he want to listen to the bitch scream again.

  He pulled a jug of water from his pack, then took several long gulps. As it was, he worried about retracing his steps back to Ian before it grew dark. He’d notched many trees along the way. So long as he took care of what he needed to do to Cami, he could find his way back. Ian would likely be gone, which was okay. At this point, his objectives had taken a slight change in direction. He needed to deal with the CORE agents who had dared to disobey his direct orders.

  He glanced to his compass, wishing he’d been able to afford to buy a GPS. During his days with the Marines, he’d spent plenty of time hiking and guesstimated he’d probably only traveled two and a half to three miles over the past three hours. Without Cami literally weighing him down, he could retrace his steps in less than half the time, which should work perfectly for his plan. The sun would set around five-thirty. If his new prey managed to find the signs he’d left behind, then they should wind up right around the spot he’d shot Cami at the same time as him. While he took care of killing his prey, Ian should be busy searching for the screamer. He’d left the notches not just for himself, but for Ian, too. Although he rather enjoyed hunting the duo, if Ian didn’t find her in time…well, it’d be a damned shame.

  He grinned and set the jug on the ground, then pulled rope from the pack. As they said in real estate, it was all about the location. And this one was perfect. The shallow marsh he’d just waded through sat to the left about fifteen yards away. Soon enough, the creatures of the night would crawl out of their nests in search of food. Tonight’s special? Cami Carlyle tartare.

  He took Cami by the wrist and tied one end of the rope around it, then tossed the rope over a thick tree branch, large enough to hold Cami’s slight weight. Fortunately for him, the branch was only a few inches above his six-foot-six frame. Unfortunately for Cami, she was more than a foot shorter than him. He hefted her over his shoulder again, then pulled on the free end of the rope until her bound wrist forced her arm to stretch over the branch. Then he shoved her other arm over the branch, bracing his leg against the tree trunk to keep her upright and steady. He worked quickly, wrapping the rope then knotting it, until both wrists were fastened around the branch. Once he was certain the knots were tight and would hold, he dropped his leg and let go of her waist.

  Her blond head hung forward, while her feet dangled more than a foot off the ground. Perfect. Now he needed to set his bait. He turned, then bent to retrieve the machete from his pack, then fell face forward. Quickly scrambling to his feet, he faced the screamer, who stared at him with a combination of hatred, fear and smug satisfaction.

  Anxious to wipe the smugness from her face, he slid the machete from its sheath, then cut off another segment of rope. She shot her legs out again. He dropped the blade, then jabbed her in the stomach with his fist. She grunted and moaned, but stopped her squirming long enough for him to wrap the rope around her legs. Once he’d tied a knot at the back of the tree, he quickly moved to stand in front of her. “I hope you enjoyed kicking me in the ass,” he said, tearing the duct tape from her mouth. Sweat had loosened it and he wanted her to be able to call out to Ian. He wanted Ian to suffer, and since the little prick was in love with the screamer, the best way to torment him was to kill her. Only he wanted to be there when that happened. He wanted to witness the man’s pain and guilt. After all, Cami’s death would be Ian’s fault, not his. If Ian had done the right thing, he wouldn’t have gone to prison. He wouldn’t have lost his wife, his kids, his money…his dad.

  “I did enjoy kicking you,” she said, panting as she struggled to hold onto the branch, likely to keep the pressure off of her shoulders. “Why don’t you bend over and let me do it again.”

  Bend over and take it.

  He backhanded her, causing her head to smack against the tree. Aaron Moody’s haunting words had rage coiling through his body, along with the humiliation, the degradation…God, the fucking shame. If only he could have killed the man. Cut off his dick and used a broomstick to shove it up his ass. He’d fantasized about doing exactly that during the entire time he’d been incarcerated at Stateville. But his fantasy hadn’t ended there. While Moody suffered the loss of his dick, he’d take a knife and slice him open. Rip out his entrails for the piece of shit to see. He’d keep Moody alive long enough to cut the dicks off the bastards who’d helped humiliate him, then stuff the flesh into Moody’s mouth. Just before Moody choked, he’d slit his throat and—

  Cami let out a scream, popping the fantasy and bringing him back to reality. He looked to the blood at the tip of the machete, which he didn’t recall picking up off the ground, then back to Cami. A small shallow slice ran down the center of her torso. Blood oozed from the cut and had already soaked her camisole. “Well, I guess you won’t be telling me to bend over now. Will you?”

  Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head.

  “Good. Sorry about cutting your stomach. I didn’t mean to do that. I meant to do this.” He sliced the machete along her outer thigh, from below her hip to near her knee.

  Cami cried out, then began sobbing and trying to twist her body free.

  “Be strong, Screamer, there’s more to come.” As she screamed and wailed, he ran the blade along her left forearm, then he dropped to the ground and did the same to her right calf. “For the love of God, stop the pathetic crying.” He stood and gripped her mouth. “These are nothing but paper cuts. Ask my ex-wife. Oh, wait. She’s already dead, so that won’t work.” He let go of her mouth, then went to his pack. After he found his dad’s cell phone—which had no service and hovered at thirty percent battery power—he opened up the photos, then slid his finger to the first one he’d taken of Elaine. “It’s a good thing you haven’t eaten, because these might make your stomach a little queasy. Once you look at them a few times, it passes.”

  He held the phone in front of her face. “These are great before and after pictures. He
re’s one of Elaine tied in the chair. If you ignore the swollen eye and bloody nose, she’s really quite pretty.” He slid to the next picture. “I took this one after I cut open her womb. When I broke into her house, I stood outside the bedroom door and listened to her talk to her limp-dick fiancé about their upcoming wedding, and their plans to try and get pregnant right after they were married. As you can see, I didn’t think that was a good idea.”

  He hadn’t been able to see straight when he’d overheard them discussing having a baby. She’d already had two with him, and had talked him into having a vasectomy eight years ago after her period had been late. Money had been tight and he’d been looking for a job. She’d worried they couldn’t afford another kid. He wouldn’t have cared if they’d had one more. Hell, who didn’t love babies? But she’d insisted on the no more baby rule, only to change her mind when Uncle Ray-Ray came into the picture.

  He slid to the next picture and laughed when Cami gagged. “Yeah, this one is pretty gruesome. Even my stomach soured when I carved out her eyes. You know that saying about the eyes being the mirror to the soul? Elaine was a soulless, heartless whore. So I took her eyes.” He moved to the next picture. “And her fiancé’s tongue.”

  Cami retched. He stepped back as bile dribbled down her chin.

  “Now that’s disgusting. Understandable, but disgusting. Since you have a weak stomach, I’ll save the slide show for another time.” He took another step back, then pressed the phone’s camera function. “Let’s get a few shots for my album. You’re used to posing for the camera. Say cheese.” He snapped a few pictures, then put the phone back in his pack. After checking his watch and deciding it was time to move on with the hunt, he took another swig of water, then repacked the jug.

  “Consider yourself lucky. I’d planned to cut off your ear.”

  “Why?” she asked on a pathetic sob.

  “To torture you.”

  She shook her head. “No, why are you doing this? Who are you?”