Blind: Killer Instincts (25 page)

Just a little while longer. That’s all he needed.

E

mma stared out the passenger side window of the sedan Jacob had borrowed from the motor pool. It smelled of stale donuts, coffee, and cigarettes. She could almost see two cops doing a stakeout in a car like this. It would explain the odor. What would Jacob’s Jeep smell like now?

She shuddered and turned toward him. His lips were still pressed into that tight line she hated. How could she lift his burdens enough that he could just be happy? She reached across and ran her fingers over his forearm, taking comfort in the contact.

He glanced her way.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said.

“I doubt I’ll be able to sleep.”

“You could sleep, and I could stay up, watch over you.”

Her heart pulsed. He’d do it, she didn’t doubt him one bit.

“What if we get an officer to hang out in the living room, and we both sleep? It would probably be a hell of a lot more comfortable than sitting in a car. I heard the heat index is going to be up around a hundred and nine.”

“Makes Colorado sound even better, doesn’t it?” The corners of his mouth lifted when he glanced at her.

“Oh, hell yes.” She grinned back. God, she hoped he was serious about this whole get-away plan. At first she’d thought he was talking crazy, now it sounded like the perfect escape. A cabin out somewhere on the river, lazy mornings followed by hiking, riding the bikes, or laying out on a rock, watching the clouds go by. It all sounded so heavenly.

“Do you like to camp?”

“It’s okay for a night or two, maybe three, if the conditions are perfect.”

“Would you be interested in hiking up someplace and doing a one-night camping trip? There’s this spot I read about that has the most amazing sunsets, but you can only get there on a foot path.”

“Have you been researching this trip already?”

“I might have distracted myself for a little bit searching up things to do.”

“Okay, tell me more.”

“Well you hike up there, camp, and then take a raft back down the mountain.”

“Like white-water rafting?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at her again, and she might be tempted to call the twist of his lips and flash of his teeth a real smile. A small one, but a smile nonetheless.

If this camping adventure made him that excited, she’d sign on.

“Sounds like fun. Sign me up.”

“Cool.”

“Would you want to stay in a hotel, or rent a cabin, or something else?” She rested her hand on his thigh and relaxed a little more, reveling in this mental vacation.

“Cabin or condo. I can’t cook in a hotel room.”

“Oh, so you’re going to cook for me, too? We need to leave right now. Let me go pack a bag real quick.”

Jacob’s chuckle died fast. One glance at his unsmiling face and she groaned inwardly. Well crap. There went that moment. Until TBKiller was caught and this case was squared away, they were at a stand-still. Their lives revolved around a killer who very well might be focused on her. She couldn’t think about it too much or it would drive her crazy.

She wasn’t the one who’d told Max to kill people.

Max did this all on his own.

Jacob pulled into the little housing development where Amanda had lived. Had. As in used to. The past tense.

Emma sucked down a shuddering breath. Was she really gone?

“Ems? You okay?” Jacob stopped at a four-way stop sign and turned toward her.

“Fuck. I’m fine.” She dashed away the tears she hadn’t realized she was crying. “Can we get back to the house?”

She slid farther down in her seat as they turned onto her street. It was eerily quiet, though by appearances, nothing was different.

“They’ve evacuated the houses on either side of yours and a few across the street agreed to let an officer be stationed inside as lookouts. The community is really helping out.”

“That’s good. Amanda babysat a lot for the parents here.”

“Yeah. A few of the parents mentioned that.”

“Does her family know?”

“Yes.”

“Shit, they’re going to hate me.” She scrubbed the side of her face with her hand.

“No, they were actually very concerned for you.”

“Yeah, but do they know everything?”

“Not that I know of.” He pulled into the driveway and the garage, squeezing in next to her truck. “Come on, let’s get some rest.”

They entered the house through the laundry room door. A black man in slacks and a polo shirt sat at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper.

“Morning, Payton. Ma’am.”

“Hey, man. Everything quiet?” Jacob asked.

She went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water.

“Yup. Want me to clear out?” She could only assume he was one of the officers looking out for them.

“Nah. Would you stick around while we get some sleep?”

“No problem.”

She didn’t miss the slightly raised brows and quick glance her way. At this rate all the cops were going to draw the conclusion they were dating and they hadn’t yet decided what this was. It was a little annoying, but in the scheme of things, it didn’t rate high on her care list.

“I’m going to crawl into bed. Help yourself to anything in the fridge.” Emma ducked into her bedroom and the welcoming embrace of shadows.

The air conditioner kicked on, drowning out the conversation in the next room. Since they weren’t guaranteed to be alone, she changed into yoga pants and a sports bra with a tank top to sleep in. It might not be the most comfortable thing to wear to bed, but if they were right and TBKiller was coming for her, she didn’t want to face him in a thong and nightie. This wasn’t a horror flick and she liked living.

She crawled into bed, exhaustion weighing her down. A couple of nights together and they’d already divided the bed in half. She chuckled and splayed her hand over what was now Jacob’s side of the bed.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Jacob stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

“He’s going to stay on watch for us, so you can sleep and not worry.” He padded across the room and lay down next to her. She noticed he didn’t shed any clothing.

She didn’t point out that if TBKiller was as bad as they thought he was, he might kill them all. No, Jacob wanted to comfort and soothe her, and she’d let him. She scooted closer, and he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m fine.”

She didn’t believe him, but he was the strong silent type. Or something like that.

He cupped the back of her head and kissed her brow. Such a tender, sweet gesture from a man who was so rough and tumble. She cuddled in close, letting him tuck her under his chin and twine their limbs together.

They’d get through this. They had to. Colorado was in their future.

Black Widow watched the unfolding news coverage from the safety of her hotel room. Time was running out. She’d expected this to be a quick in-and-out job, like all the rest, but Max was a real fuck up. Not only had he gone off script, the whole world knew who Max Fischer was now. At this point, she hoped the kid committed suicide and solved this whole mess for her.

Her laptop beeped. She hated how that sound spurred her to action, but it was worth it.

The message was short, a string of digits.

She blew out a breath, picked up the disposable cell phone, and dialed the number.

After this situation was resolved, she was going to have to put some more safeguards in place. Because of Max’s stupidity, the whole club might be exposed. Not their handles, but their existence. They’d operated for years without detection, and now, thanks to a stupid kid, the FBI might very well start hunting them.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end was hesitant.

“Iron, nice to finally chat.” She threw an accent into the mix.

“Who is this?”

“Oh come now, who else would it be?”

“Black Widow.”

“You aren’t as stupid as I thought you might be.”

“What do you want? I’m kind of busy.”

“Yeah, about that.” She turned back toward the TV. “This breaks every rule in the book, Max.”

“Accidents happen. I’m going to fix it.”

“This can’t be fixed, Max. You need to end this, and I need the assurance that you’ve destroyed all your electronics.”

“What? Don’t want this to leak back to you?”

“Something like that. Think of the club, Max. They’re your family. Do you really want to put them in danger?”

“Family?” He laughed, a grating, rusty sound. “I hate to break it to you, but we aren’t exactly that close.”

“Fine. But should you choose to leave us vulnerable, I’ll have to take it out on your friends in their little jars, and I don’t think you’d like that.” He didn’t know she wasn’t in possession of his eyeball trophies. The news hadn’t mentioned them at all.

“You give them back,” he roared.

“That’s a terrible tone, Max. I’ll tell you what, you promise me you destroy the evidence, end this man hunt, and I’ll make sure they have a happy, safe rest of their lives, how’s that?” They were just eyeballs, not souls or windows to the past, but Max saw something in them.

“I’m working on it. Don’t hurt them.”

“Then end this, Max. I don’t have time to clean up your messes. I’ve got work to do.”

Max made a few sounds, as if he were going to reply and thought better of it. Then silence stretched out for a moment before she realized he’d hung up on her. It wasn’t going to be his last mistake, but it certainly put the nails in his coffin.

Max Fischer was a dead man.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Max paced the kitchen of his newly borrowed house. All the blinds were drawn and he hadn’t bothered with the lights. If he only had the cops
or
Black Widow after him, he might be able to get out of this, but with both of them out there, he was finished.

To escape the police, he’d need the Killer Club resources, but now that he’d pissed off their leader he doubted anyone would lift a finger to help him. As much as he hated Black Widow for pulling his strings, he had to think of the others. Without her, without the club, he’d never have met Mercy.

He pulled out his laptop and set the upload to fire off the raw footage of the morning’s kill. Let that be a parting shot. While that was going, he opened his email and a new draft. A clean, white space, ready for him. He blew out a breath and cleared his mind.

This might be his most important letter yet.

To: Mercy

From: Iron

Subject: Parting Words

Dear Mercy,

I don’t know if these really will be my parting words, but should these be the last thing I ever write, I want them to be to you. I know we haven’t spoken or met in person, but the connection we have is real. I believe in our next lives, if I accomplish this mission, we might meet again. I’d like the chance to tell you I love you without the barrier of the internet and email. You’re a special lady, and my life is better because of you.

Iron

Max attached a zip folder titled LoveLetterstoMercy.zip. They were killers. Murderers. And they spoke the same love language. Hopefully she got his message and saw the same beauty in the words and imagery as he did. And maybe she’d carry that into her next life, a life where they’d recognize each other across a room and know they would spend a lifetime together. One that was better than any before it.

He hit send and turned away from the laptop. His neck burned, and he had to fight the urge to turn around and cut off the Wi-Fi connection before the message went through. They were honest words from his heart, and he wanted her to know.

It would be hours before the coast was clear enough for him to go visit Emma and Jacob. Thankfully he could log into the feed from the house remotely or else he’d have been screwed.

In the meantime, he had a few things he needed to take care of.

He went to his bag and pulled out a small, wooden box he carried with him whenever he killed. Inside was a quarter-sized disk of human bone. The letters K and C had been carved onto it. It was one of the rare things he’d gotten from another member of the group, and he couldn’t risk anyone catching him with it. He took a deep breath, and without a second thought, swallowed the medallion.

Human stomach acid could dissolve bone. He hoped it worked fast enough.

That task accomplished, he stripped and laid out his knives and the bag of things he’d purchased at the drug store. He opened the box of topical anesthesia and squirted it in his left forearm.

This was going to hurt like a bitch, but writing “Killer Club” on his arm with a knife until he developed scar tissue hadn’t been his brightest idea. He needed to protect Mercy. He was fairly certain after the area was deadened to pain he could take off enough skin the cops wouldn’t be able to read the letters.

He squirted the liquid onto his skin, rubbed it in and waited for the sensation to deaden. Again and again, he treated the area until it was as numb as he could make it. He couldn’t say reality TV had never taught him anything. This was a trick he’d learned watching tattoo reality shows.

When the area around the scarred letters was sufficiently numb, he selected a nice paring knife from his kit and placed the tip at the end of the word “Killer.” He took a deep breath and pushed, waiting for that moment when the skin would stop resisting, that precious moment of give.

The knife slipped under his skin and white-hot fire seared his nerves. He gripped the sink with his left arm and pushed onward with his right, peeling the skin up with the blade. Blood gushed down his forearm and his vision hazed.

Fucking anesthesia wasn’t strong enough.

God, it hurt like a bitch. So, so bad.

He pushed on, driving the knife under his skin, but the blood made his fingers slip and the knife went skittering and spinning across the floor.

“Shit,” he spat and leaned on the counter.

This wasn’t as easy to do on himself as it was to other people.

Jacob opened the front door and waved the officer out carrying a casserole dish, as if he were a neighbor come to visit. Up and down the street, lights were on in the homes, the occasional car passed by, but nothing out of the ordinary. Unless you watched the houses closely and noticed the TVs were off, and the occupants were watching one particular house.