by Stone, Mary
“Thanks.” He went silent, mulling over their exchange. Telling her about his past hadn’t been part of his plan. She’d asked, and answering wasn’t a big deal. But her cool response excited him. Where others would’ve given condolences or at least offered to take his mind off his nonexistent grief, Katarina only praised Lucky’s smart choices. Such approval was completely unexpected, and for the first time since he’d picked her up, he was having second thoughts about killing her. She was fascinating.
He decided to ask her more about her plans, suddenly interested in where she was from and how she’d come to be in South Carolina in the first place.
“What about you? How did you become a…businesswoman?” She had all but admitted using her body to make money, so he could’ve easily called her a prostitute instead, but she was different in ways he couldn’t put his finger on. Working as a pro truly seemed like a means to an end for her, and he could tell she was whip smart and fiercely driven.
She smiled and let out a low hum of approval. “My parents got me into it, actually.”
Lucky recoiled. “I wasn’t expecting that. I’m sorry.”
Twisting her lips to the side, she lifted one shoulder. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not. Living with them was hell. My second family was better.” The frown came and went so fast, Lucky almost missed it. “For a little while.”
“What happened then?”
“I got too old, and they didn’t want me anymore, so they sold me.” Her voice was low, the easy laughter that had given every word an effervescent quality suddenly gone. When a single tear spilled down her cheek, she flinched and wiped it away with the back of her hand.
“Sold you?”
“My first family did too.” She shrugged, her eyes drying quickly despite the horror she was recounting in great detail to a stranger. “I’m not sure where they got me from, but they weren’t my real parents.”
“Katarina, I don’t know what to say.” He’d thought his own family had been a disaster.
“You don’t have to say anything. I’m who I am now because of how I grew up. I survived, and I found a way to use what I knew to make a living.” Her wide smile was genuine. “I like how things turned out, so I’m not mad.”
Her behavior surprised him. She was calm, matter-of-fact, and seemed completely unaffected. He wondered if she’d ever loved any of her parents. He hadn’t, which had earned him hours of intense therapy that only deepened his hatred. But Katarina had been through so much more and remained indifferent.
His heart swelled, the excitement that had waned earlier blooming again. Katarina was the one. He could already feel the power she would transfer to him.
Her hand reached for him, resting on his leg again. Placing his hand over hers, he slid hers upward until her palm rested on his crotch.
She squeezed gently, but not too gently, eyes slightly wide, nostrils flared.
He sucked in a quick breath as she eased his zipper down and slipped her fingers between the fabric of his jeans and his boxers. His heart raced and his mouth went dry. Gaze flicking to the sideview mirror and back to her, a groan rumbled in his throat. “What do you say I pull over at the next rest stop and show you what’s behind that door?”
“A sleeping cab?” She bit her lip, teasing him, her eyebrow arched as she stroked his length.
“A fancy one.”
“I can’t wait.” Enunciating every syllable, she leaned toward him, and he stiffened. She licked her lips, her eyes on his zipper as she lowered her head.
Gripping the wheel in anticipation, he forced his eyes back on the road so he could take the upcoming blind curve safely. After that, the road straightened for a long while, and there was a wide shoulder about a mile away where he could stop. It wasn’t a rest stop, but Lucky knew this route like the back of his hand, and no one would think twice about a trucker parked to get some rest in the peaceful forested area.
When he came around the curve, he noticed the red Altima first. The car was parked on the side of the road, and if he hadn’t been watching it, he would have spotted the black strips on the asphalt much sooner. “Holy shit!”
Katarina jumped back to her seat, even as he slammed on his brakes, but the spike strips were too close for him to avoid. One after another, his tires blew, each letting off a loud pop as the rubber burst and air rushed out. The massive rig shook as shredded tire chunks clunked against the undercarriage, bouncing across the blacktop. Some of the tires remained intact, the combination of flat rubber and bare metal rims jarring, causing the truck to sway dangerously and forcing Lucky to grind to a halt just a few yards from the Altima.
Beside him, Katarina laughed. “That was fun.”
He was ready to backhand her when a large, almost bald man got out of the driver’s seat of the little car. His lips tipped up in a slight grin.
The bastard.
Lucky might not have gone to college, but he was smart enough to connect these dots quickly. The red car was Katarina’s, and he’d been tricked into believing she was nothing more than a helpless woman on the side of the road.
Fully pissed now, Lucky parked the rig right where it stopped, halfway in the roadway, calculating how quickly he could get to the gun he kept in his sleeper cab.
His hands quaking with the rush of adrenaline and fury at being duped, he yanked off his seat belt, the buckle slapping the window with a loud crack.
“What the hell is going on,” he demanded as he turned to his beautiful passenger.
His eyes locked with Katarina’s, and her grin made all the fury in the world race through his veins. He lunged for the door of the sleeper cab, intent on blowing her pretty head clean off with his gun.
Before he could even turn the handle, something cold pressed against his neck.
“No,” he screamed, just before the cold evolved into heat so intense he felt it pulse through his eyeballs and out of his fingers. A distant zap and sizzle sent his body convulsing as pain, exquisite pain, ripped through every cell, every molecule of his body.
He tried to speak. He tried to see. Tried to think. But none of his senses worked correctly. Katarina’s continued laugh was muffled as the driver’s door was ripped open and large hands pulled him out.
He had no control, and the realization created a rage inside him like he’d never known.
The rage was impotent, though, as asphalt dug into Lucky’s back, tugging his jeans down low on his hips. Loose gravel gouged his exposed skin. Trying to fight back, all he could manage was a feral grunt and a flopping roll of his head. A line of drool escaped from his open lips, dripping down his chin unchecked as the man dragged Lucky away from the truck and toward the red Altima.
The bald man regarded Lucky with narrowed eyes, grimacing. “This one’s still awfully alert. Thought you were going to stun him good.”
“I did.” To Lucky’s left, Katarina appeared, hands on hips, hair billowing in the soft breeze as if it had a life of its own. “Hmm. Guess he needs another hit.”
Lucky tried to protest, but his words came out as nothing but a series of slurred, barely recognizable sounds.
To his utter shock, Katarina giggled with glee. “Begging won’t help you now. You’re going to make a fine product.”
Product, Lucky thought, his mind a bit sluggish as he searched his recent memory. You’ll be my first product. Right. She’d said that very thing only a few moments ago. At the time, he’d assumed she meant client and said as much. In that moment, he’d been so sure her use of the word product was a slip of the tongue, nothing more.
“I…had plans…for…us,” he finally managed, unsure why he’d admitted it. He’d had plans. Now they were canceled. When he regained the use of his limbs, he was going to kill her with his bare hands. And her giant too.
But Katarina only rolled her eyes and knelt beside his prone body with an exasperated sigh. Hovering mere inches above his face, she shook her head, scowling at him. “Men like you always think they can talk their way out of any situation
. I’ve got news for you, Matt.” She purred his name. “Today isn’t your lucky day, and tomorrow isn’t looking good, either.”
Brandishing the stun gun, she pressed it roughly against his neck, right beneath his jaw.
His back arched as a painful jolt of electricity sliced through his nerves, but even as the scream ripped from his throat, darkness rendered the world silent.
3
Detective Ellie Kline adjusted the laptop bag strap on her shoulder, stuffed so full that her work computer barely fit. Stepping onto the Charleston Police Department elevator, she almost pushed the button to the lower level where she’d shared an office space with Evidence Clerk Jillian Reed for more than six months. But her amateur sleuth partner was still on medical leave and would be for at least six more weeks after surgery on her broken arm.
The memory of her friend getting hurt flashed through her mind. Dammit. She couldn’t help but feel somehow to blame from Jillian being hurt.
Scowling, she slapped the button for the second floor more forcefully than she’d meant to.
The elevator doors rolled over their track, stopping abruptly when a hand slid into the small gap. The doors reopened, revealing Jacob Garcia standing in the hallway, his grin widening as their eyes met. He’d been her longest lasting partner when she’d been an officer on the force. They’d patrolled together for six months before she made detective and he was issued a K-9 for a partner. “I thought it was you.”
Duke followed him into the elevator, a twitch of his tail the only hint that he’d recognized Ellie.
She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Great work face, Duke,” she said to the black and brown Dutch Shephard. “He acts like he doesn’t crawl all over me when he’s off duty.”
“Pretty amazing, isn’t he?” Jacob gazed down at the big dog, who treated his master to one full wag of his bushy, almost wholly black tail.
“I’ll stick with Sam. At least I know where I stand with her. Duke’s hot and cold.”
Ellie’s roommate, Jillian, had brought along her black Lab when she moved into her apartment. Sam was the opposite of Duke, zany and undisciplined, but she came through when she was needed.
“Sam would do the same if she was a highly trained police dog.”
Ellie snorted. “I think any trainer worth his or her salt would retire before the first day was over. She isn’t interested in being trained to do anything.”
“Are we still talking about Sam?” Jacob quirked up a dark brow, to which Ellie glared at him for comparing her to an unruly dog. He backtracked. “Yet somehow, she managed to save Valerie’s life.”
“She’s a naturally good dog.”
Jacob nodded, his gaze going to the floor indicator as the elevator lurched upward. “Speaking of Sam, how’s everything at home? Is Jillian feeling any better?”
“She’s okay, but frustrated at how slow she’s healing.”
“It’s only been a few weeks.”
Ellie shrugged, knowing how Jillian felt. She’d been off a couple of times since making detective, with gunshot wounds. “I told her that, but she wants to be at work.”
“I get that. I’d be going stir-crazy at this point and being alone all day is boring. I could go by—”
“She’s not alone. I hired a helper.”
Jacob’s eyes widened, and even though he held his mouth shut tight to stop his laughter, he couldn’t hide an amused smile. “I’m sure she’s thrilled about that.”
Ellie let out a short laugh. “Not at all, but she’s supposed to be resting.”
“At least she has you and Sam.” He paused, drawing in a long breath. “What about Nick? Anything?”
Sadness welled into Ellie’s chest as she thought about her fight with her boyfriend, Nick Greene. He was rightly hurt at her lack of trust in him, but she refused to let it linger and just shook her head. “Not a word.”
“I’m sorry. He’ll come around.”
The elevator stopped, announcing the floor with a loud ding. Relieved not to have to talk about Nick, Ellie hurried into the hallway with a wave of her hand. “I’ll see you later.”
“Let’s grab lunch soon, okay?”
She gave him a thumbs-up without breaking stride, eager to get to work. Talking about Nick was the last thing she wanted to do. She shoved open the door to the Violent Crimes Unit, her palm flat against the cool metal plate, and let out a sigh. Here, she didn’t have to talk about her roommate or her boyfriend troubles. The other detectives were so wrapped up in their work they hardly noticed her.
Unpacking her laptop, she set it on the empty desk, eager to get back to work on her case.
“You need help bringing the rest of your things up here, Kline?
Ellie closed her eyes and mouthed a foul word, pasting a smile on her face before she turned.
Lead Homicide Detective Harold Fortis stood with a steaming mug of coffee clutched in his hand.
She shrugged. “I don’t see the point. I’ll just have to move it all again later.”
Fortis brought the cup to his lips, hazel eyes watching her, his bronze face freshly shaven, eyebrows raised slightly. He took a sip and used the cup to gesture to the door she’d just come through as someone opened it. “See those words on the door, Kline? This is the Violent Crimes Unit. Detectives work from this office.”
Ellie stiffened, but kept her voice cool. “It’s easier to work on cold cases from the evidence room. Besides, I like it there.”
“Let’s take a walk.” He nodded toward the door and walked away, holding it open for her to follow.
Ellie glanced at her laptop, at the welcome screen prompting her to sign in. Taking a deep breath and trying to remain calm, she nodded, following him in long, quick strides, eager to get whatever this was over with.
Silent as he led her down the hall, Fortis nodded at colleagues as they made their way through the corridor with sleepy eyes, laden down with coffee and pastries from the break room. He slowed at the end of the hallway and took a left, and Ellie’s stomach sank. She didn’t have to read the name etched on the frosted glass window to know where they were. She’d been in Chief of Police Marcus Johnson’s office more than once.
She swallowed but didn’t let any other hint of anxiety show on her face. “Is something wrong?”
Fortis paused, hand on the doorknob. Without answering, he swung it open and gestured for her to enter first.
Shit. This can’t be good.
Chief Johnson was wrapping up a call when they walked past the secretary and into his office. He smiled and motioned toward the chairs in front of his desk. Fortis took the seat on the left, pulling it to the side rather than sitting beside Ellie, aligning himself with the chief.
Her stomach sank further as she took the empty seat.
Chief Johnson hung up the phone and folded his hands on the empty space in front of the keyboard, tilting his chin downward, peering at Ellie over the rim of his glasses. “I’m guessing by the look on your face you don’t know why you’re here.”
She shook her head.
Johnson glanced at Fortis, who shrugged one shoulder. Johnson nodded, opening a drawer and pulling out a small stack of papers.
“What’s that?” Ellie leaned forward, but Johnson didn’t turn the papers around.
“With Jillian out, I’ve been keeping an eye on the activities in the evidence locker. As I’m sure you’re aware, everyone who has access to the room has their own code.”
Ellie nodded, dread building in her chest. What was going on?
“I’ve noted several trips to the evidence locker under your access code. In fact, you visit the evidence vault more than three times more often than any other detective.”
“Fortis has me working from the second floor.”
Chief Johnson glanced at Fortis, who was sitting back in the chair, letting the chief lead the discussion. “That was actually my call. I’ve noticed you’ve isolated yourself from the rest of the department, and that’s not good
for morale. I suggested a change, and Lead Detective Fortis agreed.”
Ellie shot Fortis a look of incredulity. “You were the one who put me down there in the first place.”
Fortis cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. “At the time, I didn’t have anywhere to put you. And with you working cold cases, it made sense.”
“I’m still working cold cases.” She spoke the words slowly, gaze darting from one man to the other, and back again.
“That’s another thing we wanted to talk about.” Chief Johnson shuffled the stack, pulling out two sheets and sliding them toward Ellie. “I received an email from Detective Valdez, who is working Jillian’s kidnapping case. It seems that you’ve been pressing him for updates and providing leads for possible sightings of Dr. Kingsley.”
Shit.
She cleared her throat to cover the curse. “I was just checking for information—”
Johnson snapped his fingers. Stiff-shouldered, he leaned across the desk and stared her down. His normally calm voice was louder than it had been moments before. “It’s not your case, Kline. And since you’re one of the victims, I need you to be hands off on this one.”
“I’m not a victim.” Her chin snapped up. She might have been once, when she was fifteen, but she refused to be a victim ever again. “I went there to rescue Jillian.”
Fortis interjected, his voice lower than usual, as if he was fighting to keep his tone level. “Kingsley kidnapped your best friend to lure you to the warehouse, the same one where he tortured you thirteen years ago. And you weren’t on duty, Kline. You may have gone of your own free will, but let’s not muddy the waters here. You know you’re not supposed to get involved.”
“I’m concerned, as well, about you chasing leads on Dr. Kingsley’s whereabouts,” Chief Johnson put in. “Based on your description of his injuries and the amount of blood found on the scene, the medical examiner’s office has assured me that Dr. Kingsley would’ve required medical intervention immediately after fleeing the scene. Yet no area hospital has any record of him seeking treatment.”
