No Escape (No Justice Book 2)

by Nolon King

  Jore? Nobody’s ever called me Jore before.

  She didn’t entirely hate it.

  Suddenly, everyone, Bobby included, began to chant, “Drink, drink, drink, drink!”

  Jordyn tasted it. The drink was fruity, and though the alcohol was strong, its bite wasn’t awful.

  “I’ll make sure you’re okay,” Sammi said. She was always so nice, and her honest smile was easy to trust.

  Jordyn took a bigger drink.

  Chapter 19 - Jasper Parish

  Jasper waited in the darkness, stewing in anger.

  He’d called Jordyn six times. Each call went to voicemail. What the hell was the point in buying her an expensive phone if she never fucking answered?

  “You need to calm down,” Carissa said. “She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”

  “Big girl? She’s seventeen, not thirty-seven. I think you forget what teenage boys are like.”

  “You raised her well. We raised her well. You’re not giving her enough credit.”

  “And you’re not giving that boyfriend of hers enough skepticism.”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Yeah, you know that from the few times he’s been in this house? Damn, every boy is on his best behavior in front of a girl’s father. Look at me when I was courting you.”

  “Yeah, and don’t think my Daddy wasn’t on to you, too. He warned me, but I went out with you anyway. And I think I handled myself pretty well.”

  “Well, I’m not Bobby.”

  “No, but you need to have faith in your daughter. You’ve got to trust her.”

  “I’d trust her a hell of a lot more if it wasn’t one in the morning, Carissa. You’re not worried that she’s late? I told her to be home by midnight.”

  “How many times has she stayed out late? Come on, Jasper, it’s a special night.”

  “Well, it better not be too special is all I’m saying.”

  “Tell me, Jasper, how well do you know this Bobby kid?”

  “Not well enough, and that’s the problem.”

  “And yet, she’s been hanging out with him for more than a month, and you knew she liked him. You didn’t make the time to invite him over for dinner or do anything to get to know him?”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Busy doing what? You’re retired.”

  “Don’t start on me, Carissa.”

  “Lie to yourself all you want, but don’t expect me to join the chorus.”

  He glared at her.

  A flash of light cut through the curtains.

  He stood, ready to give Bobby a piece of his mind, but Carissa grabbed his arm. “Don’t do it, Jasper. Don’t you embarrass that poor girl.”

  He looked at Carissa, smiling as if Jordyn wasn’t an hour late. As if she wasn’t with some boy that Jasper barely even trusted.

  He listened to Jordyn fumble with her keys, trying to unlock the door, his anger rolling to a boil.

  The door opened.

  In the background, he watched a limousine shrink down the street.

  Jordyn reeked of weed and alcohol.

  He felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to the pedestal holding his girl, reducing his child to another drink and drug using punk.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, stumbling.

  Jordyn fell forward.

  Jasper moved quickly, grabbing her in an awkward catch before she tumbled face first to the ground.

  He helped her to her feet.

  She looked up at him, and laughed.

  Jasper exploded. “You think this is funny?”

  Her eyes widened.

  “I’ll tell you what’s funny: you’re not seeing Bobby ever again. How’s that for laughs?”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “I can, I will, and look, I just did.”

  She shook her head. “No, you can’t stop me.”

  “What?”

  “I’m seventeen; I’m old enough to go on a date!”

  “Oh, yeah, you really know how to take care of yourself! Look at you. You’re drunk, you’re high, and your makeup is a mess.”

  And even though he didn’t want to go there, he couldn’t help himself once the idea popped into his head.

  “Did he take advantage of you?”

  “What?”

  “Did he take advantage of you? That’s what guys like him do, you know.”

  “First off, you don’t even know the first thing about him! Second of all, what I do with my body is my business!”

  “Not while you’re living under my roof!”

  “What? Do you even hear yourself?”

  Jordyn got in his face.

  He couldn’t understand what was going on. His daughter had never acted like this. Yes, she was occasionally moody, but nothing like this.

  “What happened tonight?”

  Jordyn started to walk away.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around. “Don’t you walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”

  She laughed in his face, her eyes cruel and full of loathing.

  Where is this coming from?

  She inched closer. “No, you don’t get to play now, Dad. You’ve spent the last six years barely acknowledging me! Hell, you spend more time talking to a fucking ghost than you do me!”

  “Don’t you talk like that about your mother!”

  She laughed again. “She’s dead, Dad! Maybe if you took your pills once in a while, or, I don’t know, maybe stopped drinking, you’d see things straight for a change!”

  He slapped her across the face.

  Jordyn’s eyes welled with tears. Something else had swallowed the loathing, a betrayal he never imagined seeing in his daughter’s eyes.

  She ran up the stairs, sobbing.

  Jasper stared down at his trembling hands.

  He’d never laid a hand on a woman. Not his wife, whom he barely even fought with, nor his daughter, even in punishment.

  Jasper had always told himself he’d never be like his alcoholic, abusive father. And in one white hot instant, the lie gave way to a horrible truth. He had failed.

  Upstairs, he heard Jordyn puking.

  Carissa appeared beside him at the bottom of the stairs, looking at him with disappointment all over her face.

  “Go up there. She needs you.”

  “She hates me.”

  “No, she doesn’t. You’re her father. She loves you. She just needs to know that you still love her.”

  He started up the stairs, then stopped on the fourth step.

  He couldn’t go any farther.

  “What are you doing?” Carissa asked.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I … I just can’t.”

  Chapter 20 - Mallory Black

  Eleven dead bodies, including a six-year-old boy and a nine-year-old girl. The worst mass shooting in Creek County history, and still no suspect. The one they did have was sitting in his parents’ house when the shooting went down, and they had nothing tying him to the killer.

  Mal stood outside the diner, interviewing witnesses while FBI agents — as part of the task force headed by McDaniels — processed the crime scene.

  She typically enjoyed being lead on the case — walking the crime scene, determining next steps, helping evidence techs sort between collection and documentation. But a part of Mal was glad that she didn’t have to enter the diner.

  She saw these people die in the video, watched this maniac butcher them, fueled by the cheering of anonymous cowards online.

  It was all she could do to bury her burning rage at this murderer. They almost had this man in their grasp but failed to catch him.

  She kept wondering what would have happened if they had not stopped for the train. What if they kept going? Sure, maybe they would’ve been killed in the pursuit, but they might have caught him and prevented the next massacre.

  As Mal talked to a crying woman named Louise, she looked up and saw Wilson st
anding next to his son, Trey, whom he’d hugged for nearly five minutes straight once they arrived on the scene. It was odd seeing Wilson’s softer side. She was glad that he didn’t have to discover what it felt like to lose a child to a serial killer.

  After thanking Louise for her information, though she offered nothing helpful, Mal took a moment before moving on to the next witness.

  She stared into the diner’s broken windows, shattered by gunfire, trying to comprehend what could make one person kill so many.

  Her phone rang. Mal answered.

  Katie was crying. “He’s going to kill her.”

  “What? Your dad?”

  “Yes, they’ve been fighting all day.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know. My dad just showed up, pissed and yelling. I thought he was in jail.”

  Daryl probably made bail, was given a temporary injunction for the protection of domestic violence, and was told to get a deputy escort to his house, to pick up his shit and get the hell out until the judge could see both Daryl and Sue.

  That was the typical procedure, and the husband or boyfriend usually obeyed.

  Daryl was ignoring a court order, and that made the situation volatile. Mal had to get someone over there before Daryl snapped.

  “What’s going on right now?” Mal asked.

  “They’re fighting.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Hiding in my room, under my bed.”

  “You need to stay put and call the police. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  Mal heard Katie’s father screaming. It was a punch to the gut. There was nothing she hated more than seeing someone in trouble and being unable to help, especially a child.

  “Katie? Stay on the line. I’m calling dispatch.”

  Mal called dispatch with Katie on the line, relaying details while looking around for a car to use. Her car, like Mike’s, was back at the Sheriff’s department.

  The dispatcher, a woman named Wanda Green, asked Katie questions, coaching her through the ordeal, explaining that an officer was on the way.

  Mal found Skippy interviewing witnesses. She pulled him aside and asked if he had a ride she could borrow. Something in her face or voice must’ve been screaming. He reached into his pocket and handed her his keys with a sympathetic smile and not a single word behind it.

  “That one.” He pointed toward the end of the parking lot, just inside the crime scene zone.

  Mal ran toward it. “Stay with me, Katie. I’m coming right now, just a few minutes away!” She hopped into Skippy’s car, adjusted the seat, and peeled out of the parking lot.

  A loud POP! came through the phone.

  Katie cried out, “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”

  “What is it?” Mal flipped on the siren bar and lights.

  “I … I think he shot her.”

  “I’m on the way, Katie. Do not do anything.”

  “I have to help her!”

  “No, Katie! Stay put. I’ll be there. Ambulances are on the way, too! They will help her, but I need you to stay put so he doesn’t hurt you.”

  “I … I can’t hear her.” Katie cried.

  “Katie?”

  No answer.

  Mal’s gut sank. Katie must’ve gone into the other room to try and save her mother.

  No, no, no.

  Mal was approaching a red light.

  A big Target truck was crawling through the intersection, probably not seeing her approaching until it was too late to stop.

  She swerved, pumping her brakes, and managed to avoid the truck.

  She was a block away.

  “Katie?” Mal said, same as the dispatcher.

  Neither got a response.

  She made it through the intersection and turned into Katie’s neighborhood, now four streets away.

  Come on, come on.

  Katie’s father screamed in the background. “This is your fault, you little whore!”

  Katie cried out, “Mom!”

  Mal yelled at the phone, though she didn’t think Katie could hear her. “Do not engage him, Katie! Do NOT engage him!”

  Two streets away.

  Mal narrowly avoided a pair of bicyclists, making a hard turn onto Katie’s street.

  Four houses away and it seemed like a mile.

  Just hang in there, Katie. Hang in—

  Another gunshot.

  “Katie!” Mal screamed as she floored the pedal, then braked as her car hopped the curb and rolled right into the front yard, stopping just inches from Katie’s front door.

  Mal jumped out, gun drawn.

  The front window curtains were wide open.

  Daryl stood staring at Mal with stunned disbelief on his red face, a shotgun loosely slung over his shoulder.

  “Put the gun down!” she yelled, aiming her pistol at him.

  Mal was too far away to see the ground, but she had to assume that he was standing over his wife and daughter.

  “I didn’t mean to! It was an accident!”

  “Put the gun down!” Mal repeated, stepping closer to the window, and finally getting a better look.

  And then she saw them.

  Katie’s mother was lying face down in a pool of blood behind him.

  Katie was lying beside her, hands clutching at a gunshot wound to her gut.

  Her eyes were wide open, but she wasn’t moving. Mal had to get in there to try and save her, assuming she wasn’t already gone.

  She yelled again. “Put the fucking gun down!”

  Daryl didn’t.

  He lowered his shotgun, aiming at Mal.

  Mal fired first.

  Four times.

  Chapter 21 - Mallory Black

  Mal watched raindrops slide down the window. A world of grays had seeped into her soul, a darkness no amount of rainfall would rinse away.

  Katie was in a hospital bed next to Mal, hooked to machines monitoring her vitals and helping her breathe. She looked so pale and fragile; Mal felt a sickening certainty that the girl would die before morning.

  After coding twice, once in the ambulance, and the other on the operating table, Katie was now in the ICU following a three-hour surgery. She was expected to survive her wounds, but she’d lost a lot of blood and had slipped into a coma.

  The surgeon had said it was too soon to tell if she’d come out of the coma. Mal had seen this story enough times to keep a positive attitude. Usually the younger or more innocent a person, the more likely they were to die.

  If Mal believed in God, this would be more evidence that He was a cruel bastard. Mal had lost count of how many good people she’d seen die over the years.

  A knock on the door. The nurse peeked in.

  “You’ve got a visitor. Mike Cortez?”

  Mal stood and squeezed Katie’s hand. “I’ll be right back. Okay?”

  Mal stepped out of the room and saw Mike holding a large cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.

  He handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” she said, taking it in her hands and feeling its warmth through the foam cup, the anchor of routine rewinding the day and inviting it closer to normal. She sipped, savoring the heat.

  Mike asked, “How’s she doing?”

  “She pulled through surgery okay. But she’s in a coma. So, I dunno.”

  “Any family show up yet?”

  Mal shook her head. “Her parents were all she had.”

  “Shit.”

  “Shit, indeed,” Mal said.

  “So, how long you on administrative leave?”

  “I don’t know. Could be a few days, could be a few weeks of desk duty.”

  “I’m sure IA won’t hold it up too long. One, we need all hands on deck. And two, it was a clean shooting. The dude had just shot his wife and daughter.”

  Mike said it as a fact, but Mal felt like he was asking.

  But that was the sort of question a good partner knew better than to ask. The kind that could haunt you during an Internal Affair
s investigation.

  “Yes, it was a clean shooting. He was aiming at me.”

  But it wasn’t as easy as that. If Mal were honest, she would tell Mike that a small part of her had decided to shoot him the moment she saw Katie and her mother bleeding beneath him. A part of her wanted him to pay.

  Fortunately, he had aimed at her.

  But what if he hadn’t?

  She didn’t dare present the question to Mike. It wasn’t the sort of baggage anyone but she should carry.

  What would I have done if he hadn’t aimed at me?

  She felt no joy in killing him. Hell, she was pissed that he forced her to pull the trigger. She wanted him to sit in a prison cell and pay for what he’d done, for many years. And if he had to die, then it should be an execution by the state, not at her hands.

  “Ain’t no way they’ll try and jam you up on this, Mal. I wouldn’t sweat it.”

  “Any updates on our serial killer?”

  “No. Two more dead, though. An elderly couple. Woman died en route to the hospital. Her husband died from a heart attack a few minutes later.”

  Mal shook her head. “Nothing on the killer?”

  “Nothing. It’s like he vanished.”

  “Brendan Woods?”

  “We talked to him, but no, I don’t think he’s involved.”

  “What about the woman whose LiveLyfe account he used. Was she dead?”

  “No, not this time. It was a waitress who worked at the diner. And she had her phone. Someone had logged in using her account.”

  “Interesting. And have you gotten anything on that yet?”

  “Aanya’s working it, but I doubt the killer used his own phone. Might have been a burner.”

  “And we’re sure this waitress isn’t connected to the killer?”

  “Doubt it.”

  Mal paced in the hallway, looking out the windows to the parking lot below. Thunder rumbled as rain pelted the windows.

  “What about the victim?”

  “Which one?”

  “The last one he killed. He spent most of his time talking to her. They need to be looking at her, finding out if she’s any relation to any of the victims at the ball field, specifically Chip Halverson. Maybe talk to the guy’s daughter, see if she knows the woman. Or Coach Kincaid.”