Furred Lines

by Renee George

  “Why?”

  “She says she has some information about Andy Lark and the death of her cousin Lloyd. She refuses to speak to anyone but you. I think the overnight in jail really spooked her. I’ve given her a drink to calm down, but she seems shook.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll let Dom know, and then I’ll head on over.”

  “Good, good. How’s Sid doing? Your mom told Judy that the surgery went well.”

  “He’s doing better.” I gave a happy sigh of relief. “I’ll tell him you asked about him.”

  “I’ll try to get out there today or tomorrow and see him.”

  “I’m sure he’d appreciate it. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  I clicked the phone back over and took Dominic off hold. “You still there?”

  “Yep. Who was it?”

  “I’m going to see Judge Holt about a whack-a-doodle. Mallory Evans is with him, and she says she has some information about Andy Lark. Something to do with Lloyd Evans’ death.”

  “Maybe I should meet you over there.”

  “It won’t take two of us, and it sounds like you have your hands full with Miss Hilliard.”

  “That’s not a lie. Okay, but if it might impact our official report, make sure you call me.”

  “I will.”

  “Nicole.”

  “Yes.”

  “Call me even if it doesn’t have an impact.”

  I smiled. “You got it.”

  The drive to the courthouse was surprisingly smooth. Mom’s car had a great suspension. The sound system blasted mom’s classic rock-n-roll, and I’d jammed the last three minutes to AC/DC’s For Those About to Rock song as I parked on the street in front of the old building. Damn, I wanted to keep this car.

  I put my phone in my jacket pocket before I exited, humming as I walked up the concrete steps and through the original wood front doors. The tune echoed in the halls, so I stopped. No need to embarrass myself with bad singing. The building was old brick and mortar with tiled floors. I stopped at the clerk’s desk and rang the bell. “Can I help you?” Winifred Davis asked as she walked in from a back office. “Oh, Nicole Taylor. So nice to see you, dear.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Davis. I’m here to see Judge Holt. He’s expecting me.”

  “His office is down the hallway. Go through the courtroom all the way to the back and enter the door on the left side. There are three offices—the judge’s chambers is the last door on the right.”

  “Thanks.”

  I flashed my badge at court security. I didn’t have my gun. I’d left it at the scene so Dom could take it, along with his and Thompson’s, for processing. Yay, FBI protocols.

  The courtroom was eerily spooky. I’d spent some time at the Kansas City courthouse watching a few trials, just to get a feel for the procedure. Honestly, courtrooms, in general, gave me the creeps—even when they were filled with people. After I went through the first door, I found myself in a narrow hallway. When I got to the third door on the right, I knocked. No one answered so I tried the knob. It turned easily, so I stepped inside the chambers without an invite.

  “Judge Holt? You back here?”

  No answer. The room was majestic—just like a judge’s chambers should like. It was tidy enough to wonder if the judge or housekeeping suffered from OCD. A handcrafted cherry wood executive desk and chair were the centerpieces. Shelves of law books lined one wall. Another wall was filled with his degree and awards as well as pictures of him with important people. Huh. There was a photo of him and Emmanuel Cleaver, who used to be the mayor of Kansas City, but was now a congressman. There was even one with him and Scott Bakula, the guy from Quantum Leap. My mom had had the biggest crush on that guy.

  “I met Scott at a fundraiser in St. Louis. He was kind enough to pose with me.”

  I jumped because the judge had come into the room like a ninja. “Dang, Judge Holt. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry, Nicole. Your mother would never forgive me.” He smiled. He was dressed in an immaculately tailored charcoal gray suit with a pinstripe gray and light purple button-down shirt, a burgundy tie, cuff links, and a pair of black Italian dress shoes. Fancy. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Where’s Mallory?” I asked.

  “I had to show her where to find the ladies room. It can be a little tricky in this old building. It’s easy to get lost.”

  “I can imagine.” I looked at a few more of the photographs. “You sure have met a lot of people.” I saw one of a woman with bright eyes. The photo was black and white. She stood next to a boy with those same bright eyes. “Who’s this?”

  I turned to see him standing closer to me. “My mom,” the judge said. His dark eyes were distant. Sad. “She was a beauty, wasn’t she?”

  “She really was,” I agreed. “Was this taken out of the TSS property?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Shortly after my father died. She was determined to make a life for us there.”

  I’d noticed at my parents’ house that Holt had tensed when my dad mentioned the judge’s father. He’d done it again just now. “How did your dad die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I don’t mind.” His body language said he minded a lot, but he was trying to appear relaxed. “Truth is, I don’t remember what happened to him. I was young. My mother told me he had a heart attack.”

  I looked at the clock. What was Mallory doing? How long did it take to go to the toilet? I glanced at the judge and noticed something I hadn’t before. “That’s a nice tie clip, sir.”

  He fingered the metal strip across his tie, it had a duplicate pattern to the metal we’d found down in that basement cellar. “It belonged to my father.”

  “Was it part of a set?”

  “Yes.” He furrowed his brow. “How did you know?”

  My stomach knotted. “Do you think Mallory got lost on her way back? Maybe I should go find her.”

  The judge walked to his desk, his face blank as he studied me. “You really are a smart girl, Nicole. Your mother and father always say so. I guess they’re right.” He opened a wooden box, usually reserved for gavels, but what he retrieved was a gun. “So smart.”

  I swallowed hard. I tried to appear cool even though my heart started pounding. “Is Mallory Evans really here?”

  He nodded. “She is, and you’re about to join her.”

  It was a stretch to make the judge fit my original ideas about the Little Piggy killer. Andy Lark was a much better match. But the judge had traveled for awards and charity events. The pictures on his wall proved that he was out of town enough to carry out the abductions. He was charming, almost superficially so, and he’d grown up on that compound. But still, I’d known him my whole life. He and my dad were friends.

  “Was I a part of your plan, Judge? You only kill men, right? If you’re the Little Piggy killer, then why pick me?”

  “Because you are the easiest to explain away.” He gestured with the gun for me to move to the back of the room. He flipped a switch inside the bookcase, and one section opened like a door. Inside the dark room, Mallory Evans was gagged and tied up on the floor. Her eyes bulged with absolute fear. I noted the bruise on the right side of her face. She was beyond terrified. As much as I didn’t like the woman, she didn’t deserve to be beaten and trussed up.

  “My partner knows I’m here. In fact, he’s probably on the way right now.”

  The judge tsked. “I know everything that goes on in Peculiar, little missy. Special Agent Dominic Tartan has his hands full with the Tri-Council rep. That Ms. Hilliard is harder than a barrel full of tacks. Why do you think I requested her as the liaison?” He kept the gun trained on my chest. “Get inside.”

  I did as he asked and he shut the secret door behind us. The dim glow of the bulb cast a sickly yellow over the small concrete room. Mallory remained still. Only her eyes moved—switching between the judge and me.

  “I am sorry it’s come to this,” he said. “I know Jean and Sid will be devastated.
” His smile was feral. “But you know what they say—time heals all wounds.”

  Judge Holt wasn’t sorry at all. I’d bet he’d never been contrite in his entire life. Lucky for me, the judge’s psychopathy included a heavy dose of narcissism. If I could keep him talking, it might give me time to find a way out of this mess. Given that he had the upper hand and we were secluded from prying eyes, I was guessing he’d be more than happy to gloat.

  But first I had to attack his ego, just a little. He’d want to prove his superior intellect before he killed me. “You won’t be able to fool Dominic. He’ll have your number the minute you lie to him.”

  The judge’s gaze flickered. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Nicole. That boy will be too torn up about Mallory killing you. You see, she took me hostage in my own office and demanded that I call you. As Andy Lark’s lover, she’s furious with you—enough to kill you.”

  “Yeah, that’s brilliant all right,” I said, adding just a touch of sarcasm to my voice. “Did she steal your gun first?”

  “Oh, this?” Judge Holt preened. “Unregistered. I was raised TSS, remember? They don’t register their guns. And they teach their children how to disarm marauding humans.” He rolled his eyes. “Which will be how I saved my own life. Your death will be tragic, Mallory’s will be deserved, and I’ll be the hero.”

  The sheer arrogance of this man galled me. The fact that he was friends with my parents—and would continue that façade after he killed me—filled me with rage. Stay calm. Stay focused. Stay alive.

  “Why do all this?” I asked. “We pinned Lark as the killer—you could have gotten away clean.”

  “Don’t I know it!” He pointed the gun at Mallory. “The stupid girl really did come to me. She was with Lark the night her cousin died buying illegal guns. Evans wanted to militarize the TSS. Make sure we could defend ourselves against the humans. She knew he couldn’t be the murderer.” He chuckled. “You can imagine the dilemma. How did I get rid of her and keep your dad from investigating? The answer became obvious. If Mallory shot you dead, your dad and your boyfriend would be devastated. No point to an investigation. See? All wrapped up in a sweet little bow.”

  “Yeah. Okay. So that means you’re done killing integrators?”

  “No.” He got a distant look in his eye. “My father was an integrator. He left my mother to go live with the humans. He married one. Can you imagine the shame my mother felt? We lived with the TSS. They let us stay in the compound, but we were outcasts. Because of him.” Judge Holt shook his head. “She told me that my father was beset by demons. Male shifters who leave their real families to mate with female humans were all possessed. She showed me how to remove those demons.” He held up his finger and a large white claw slide out from the tip. “She taught me how to sharpen my tool so we could relieve them of their sins.”

  I felt my stomach pitch. Psychopaths were born, sure, but they were also made—especially those awful few who became serial killers. “What did she do to you?” I asked softly.

  “I had to carry on the work,” he said in a faraway voice. “You have to strip the flesh. You have to dig deep into the muscle. Drill into bone. You have to make them scream. When they die, they’re free.” He blinked and turned his gaze to me. His eyes were dark and empty. This man had no soul. And he fucking scared the crap out of me. “Even though the demons are gone, they’re not worthy of being returned into the fold. So, I take them back to their humans.”

  “You must’ve been disappointed that you couldn’t excise Lieberman’s demons.”

  The judge shrugged. “He had an allergic reaction to the chloroform. He was out of it most of the time. You can’t exercise a man’s demons if he’s not conscious for the process.”

  “You spared him because he wasn’t awake enough for you to enjoy his pain.”

  Judge Holt didn’t answer, and I realized he was done talking. He had a stillness about him that made terror rip away my calm. My fight or flight instinct kicked in, and it took every ounce of willpower to stay put and keep silent.

  I took a step back. My coat swung a little, and my phone bounced on my hip. Yes! Hurrah for smartphones with voice control. “You know what?” I raised my voice, “I call,” I lowered my voice, “you,” I raised it again, “Agent Pain in My Ass.” The phone heard me and rewarded my efforts with a loud, “Calling Agent Pain in My Ass.”

  The judge’s strange stupor evaporated. “What is that?” the judge asked. He rushed toward me.

  “What’s up, Puddin’?” The minute I heard Dom's voice I shouted, “It’s Judge Holt! He’s the kill—” was all I got out before the judge shot me. The bullet ripped through my shoulder throwing me back against the wall. Pictures dropped off the wall, and glass shattered around me. Oh, Jesus. Glass falls. Mallory screamed through her gag and tried to wiggle away, but the judge wasn’t focused on her.

  He only had eyes for me. And you know what I thought about? Sunny’s predictions. Death was next. Death strikes at twelve.

  The judge squatted next to me. “You little bitch,” he said. He stuck his finger in my bullet wound and twisted. The pain made me light-headed, and I couldn’t help but scream.

  “Nic! Nicole!” Dominic’s panicked voice distracted the judge for all of a second. Holt took the phone from my pocket and threw at the wall. It shattered—cutting off the only source of help I had. “We’re going to have so much fun,” he whispered as he dragged his bloodied finger down my cheek. “So much fun.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I felt sick to my stomach as Judge Holt carried me through a system of passages hidden in the courthouse walls. Mallory hadn’t had a chance. He’d put the gun to the back of her head and pulled the trigger. I would never forget that horrifying moment. Murder was so profoundly gruesome—both physically and spiritually.

  My multi-tool was in my front pocket. Problem was, he’d tied my wrists behind my back.

  As we went along, it seemed the judge knew every secret nook and cranny the building possessed. The ropes he’d used to tie my wrists and ankles scratched my skin, and he’d stuffed my gunshot wound with gauze to slow the bleeding. He’d been serious about not killing me quick. I was both grateful and crazy scared.

  “What happened to your father?” I asked him again. The question seemed to be the only one that evoked any real emotion from the man.

  “I told you. He left my mom for an integrator because he was possessed. She showed me how to release him from his sins.”

  I had no doubt there would be scars on his back from his mother’s “training.”

  “You killed your father.”

  “I saved him.” He continued moving, his voice once again flat. “Integrators have to repent first. But the demons are strong, and I have to cut away the flesh. Only then do the integrators confess. As their life force drains, I cut off the pinky toe so that the demons will leave the body.”

  Judge Holt might believe he cut off the pinky toes to release demons, but the reality was that those toes were also his trophies. I had no doubts that he had them stored somewhere.

  We stopped, suddenly, but it was too dark for me to see. Judge Holt set me down on the dusty floor. He turned his gaze on me, and I recoiled at the sight of his white, glowing eyes.

  “What are you?” I hadn’t meant to sound frightened, but his gleeful response told me he’d enjoyed my fear.

  “I’m Scalapus humanus. My animal is a version of the Eastern mole, but my species has developed eyes that can see better in the dark than in the light. I wear contacts when I have to be above ground to keep them protected.”

  “I’ve never heard of your kind.”

  “We’re rare. Other than my parents, I’ve never met another like me.” He moved close enough to my face that I could smell the sweet smell of whiskey on his breath.

  He moved away and was doing something that I couldn’t see. I twisted my body, fighting to get my arms to bend enough to reach into my front pocket for the tool.

  “What
are you doing?” the judge asked. “You know I can see in the dark.” He turned his spooky eyes on me. “Perfectly. You are in my world. You can’t escape me.”

  “Leiberman did.”

  “Well, I had to kill Lloyd. After dumping the body, I returned to find that Lieberman had escaped. The man never saw my face. I wasn’t worried about him identifying me.” The judge made a noise of triumph. “There.” He pulled a panel from the wall, and the corridor lit up.

  When he shielded his eyes, I screamed as I kicked him at the knees and felt my ankle snap again. Holt bellowed his rage as he fell through the opening. Quickly, I closed my eyes and willed my animal forward. It would make me more vulnerable for a moment, but was my only hope of escaping the madman.

  I changed easily, but now I was trapped in my clothes, tangled in a mess of pants, shirt, undergarments. When I got myself free, I looked up to see the judge’s glowing eyes as he tried to hammer me with a gavel. I rolled as it hit the concrete. Cripes, the hammer end was metal and took a small chunk out of the floor where my head had just been. I engaged my legs as fast as they would carry me, which would typically have been close to fifteen miles per hour, but unfortunately, with the hurt ankle, I moved a little slower. I was blind as I flew down the secret path, trying to remember which way to turn to get back to the judge’s quarters.

  “Nicole!” the judge roared. “Nicole!”

  If he thought I was going to answer him, he really was nuts. In the distance, I heard my name coming from the opposite direction. My pulse jumped as I realized it was Dom.

  I’m here, I chittered in raccoon language, but not in any way he could hear me. I couldn’t risk changing forms. Not with the judge hot on my trail. Call my name again, I willed Dom. Call my name to guide me out of here.

  I hit a wall. No! I turned around to go back, but it was too late. I was trapped.

  “I can see you, little Nicole,” the judge said. I could see his glowing eyes about thirty feet away. “You can’t escape me.”