Blind: Killer Instincts (28 page)

Which was all the more reason for the club to go to ground, to hide, retreat.

There would come another day, another time to kill.

O

ne month later...

Jade Perez shuffled the latest case file back into its folder. A little paperwork and she could call it done.

“Hold the phones, don’t go anywhere.” Lali Smith, their tech-kitten—as she called herself—strode between the desks, a stack of papers in her hand.

“What’s happened?” Brooks had his coat over his arm and briefcase in hand. It had been another long week and they were all ready to go home.

“OKC forensics finally sent over the autopsy report and tox screen, and I think you’re all going to want a look at this.” Lali handed the papers to Brooks, her lips tightly compressed. She was a petite, slender woman who often made Jade think of a butterfly, though Lali was rather sedate. Like her, she was a woman edging into the men’s club, and she had to play by their rules.

Brooks flipped through the report. “Conference room. Now.”

Mullins and Abraham groaned. The two were no doubt lining up their ladies for the evening. Not only did the guys work together, they’d gone in on a sizable house last year. If Jade didn’t know they were into women, she might wonder.

She gathered her notebook and tablet, heading to the room. Truth was, she’d been waiting for this report after the initial autopsy had been performed. In short order, the whole team was seated at the half-circle table facing the projection wall.

Lali lost no time in pulling the report up on the screen. “According to the ME, Max Fischer didn’t have any drugs in his system.”

“What about his arm?” Mullins had his own notepad out and flipped through the pages.

“Right—they were able to examine the scar tissue and it appears as though he’d performed some scarification on himself.” Lali flipped through a few of the digital pages until a picture landed on the display. “It says Killer Club. How creepy is that? But that’s not the really weird thing. Remember the coroner said he found something strange in Max’s stomach? Well it turns out it was a piece of bone. A circular disk, probably a femur, that matches the DNA of a missing girl from Calgary who went to Chicago for the weekend and never came home. Make it even weirder, Killer Club was carved into that as well.”

The room was silent for a few moments while they all took it in.

“Max attempted to remove the scar, correct?” Jade asked.

“Correct.” Lali replied. “It looks like he started with a knife, and when that didn’t work out, he used a clothing iron to disguise the words.”

“Someone doesn’t want the idea of this Killer Club to get out,” Mullins remarked. He clicked a pen and shook his head.

“Lali, were you able to recover anything from Max’s laptop?” Brooks asked.

“Not a lot. He’d wiped it of almost everything. I got a few recent emails, some browser history, and the surveillance footage from that night, but everything else is gone.”

“We don’t have proof he used that laptop to make the letters?” Mullins sat forward.

Jade rolled her eyes. “You seriously won’t give up the idea that Detective Payton and Emma Ration are involved somehow, will you?”

“I’m just saying they fit.” Mullins shrugged.

“Mm, except their alibis check out, both in the real world and digitally. I have credit card activity and security footage of both of them during the time of death on at least two of the victims.” Lali shook her head and didn’t look at Jade. They were in agreement that the couple couldn’t possibly be involved, but Mullins could be pig-headed. “Also, Detective Payton just applied for a credit card at a major jewelry store. Wonder what that’s for?” Lali glanced at her, flashing a smile.

“Any purchases?” Jade asked. She couldn’t help herself. She might not understand love, or even know how to feel it, but it fascinated her.

“None yet, but I might watch out so we know when to send congratulations.”

“Okay, focus.” Brooks pulled out his seat and sat down. “What are the chances we’re looking at a club of killers?”

––––––––

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––––––––

November 2015

Part of the Seven Naughty SEALs boxed set.

A new romantic suspense serial featuring Travis Ration, a former SEAL who has been to the ends of the earth and back. This time he’s not only battling his inner demons, he has to save
her
from the terror that stalks the night.

Warning: It won’t end happily ever after—this time.

Part Two & Three due out November/December 2015

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T
ravis Ration hunched over the hotel desk and flipped to the first page of the autopsy report. The lights from the Vegas strip cast globes of colored light onto the paper, but the glitz and glamour held no sway for him. Only the poor woman.

She was blonde. Like the rest. Pretty. A Vegas native named Linda. She’d been social, so her disappearance had been noted within hours by friends and family, but by then it was too late. Whoever was in the business of abducting blonde, attractive young women was good. And if the list of missing blonde women were a hint, the perpetrator had operated in the Las Vegas area for years—without anyone connecting the dots.

There was a serial killer in Las Vegas, and no one wanted to admit it.

“Hey man, ready to go?” Mason Clark, a new hire to the Aegis Group security firm, stepped into Travis’ room, one hand braced on the door.

“No, man. Hit the strip without me.” Travis didn’t glance away from the report.

It read almost exactly like the last one had. Judging by the time of death, the girls lasted for anywhere from seven to twelve months before being murdered and dumped. Linda was an exception. She’d been missing for almost two months. What was really telling was that from the time of death to the next abduction was somewhere in the twenty-four hour mark, which meant these crimes were well thought out. The perpetrator organized and focused on the details. Travis hadn’t even touched on the disturbing facts yet.

“No? What are...No, you are not on that again.” Ethan Turner, Travis’ best friend, groaned and shouldered past Mason. “I thought you were going to take a break from this.”

“I said I was taking a break from work.” Travis picked up the hotel pen and jotted down the injuries and observations that were different from the previous victims. That was where he’d fine the clues. The guy doing this was too methodical to deviate from his plan, so when and where he did was important.

“What are you doing?” Mason crossed the room and peered over Travis’ shoulder.

“He’s playing hound dog for the FBI.” Ethan popped the top on a long neck from their freshly stocked mini fridge.

“What is this?” Mason snagged the first page of the report with the autopsy pictures clipped to it and dropped it almost immediately onto the ground. “What the hell?”

Travis punched Mason in the thigh, not hard, but enough the other man bent over and rubbed the spot.

“Don’t fuck with my stuff.” Travis grabbed the piece of paper and the photographs. He straightened the documents out, ensuring all of the pieces were securely in place before putting it back in the folder.

“What the hell is that? Why do you have pictures of a dead woman?” Mason’s eyes were wide, his lip curled. They’d all seen death. Everyone who worked for the Aegis Group had served over seas. They’d all killed. But they weren’t all good at it. Travis had reservations about Mason’s hire, but he wasn’t the boss.

“None of your damn business,” Travis replied.

“Is this a job or something?” Mason glanced between Travis and Ethan, who shook his head and took another swig of his beer. The Aegis Group was a private security company on paper, in reality, they performed a wide range of services that often skirted the law.

“Don’t worry about it,” Travis said.

“The fuck we won’t.” Ethan gave Travis the thousand yard stare. Travis was pretty sure Ethan was about to try to deck him for the hell of it.

“I thought we were here for a protective detail,” Mason said.

“You are. I’m not.” Travis flipped the folder closed. FBI and CONFIDENTIAL were stamped across the front of the brown surface.

“What did you get us into this time?” Ethan took two steps toward Travis, and stopped, the beer clenched in his right hand.

“You aren’t involved,” Travis replied.

“The hell I’m not. What is this?” Ethan pointed at the folder.

“Just something I’m looking into.”

“Is this why you wouldn’t go home for Christmas?” Ethan’s gaze narrowed.

Travis studied Ethan, the blood shot eyes, the clenched hand. This wasn’t about Travis or his side gig researching potential cases for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, a specialized FBI team that tracked down the worst kinds of killers, something he’d gotten involved with after a copycat murderer recreated the horrors from his family’s past.

“Molly refused to split Christmas with you, didn’t she?” Travis shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, ready to move if Ethan rushed him. The worst fight they’d had happened the day Molly told Ethan she wanted a divorce. Some emotions could only be worked out with fists.

For a second, no one moved or spoke. Travis was not looking forward to a hotel bill for trashing the place.

Ethan blew out a breath and sat down onto Travis’ bed as if a one-ton weight were on his back. The spring squeaked and the pillows bounced under the man’s bulk.

“Yeah, she did,” Ethan mumbled.

Mason’s brows rose, but he didn’t comment. The kid had some brains.

Travis stood and stretched. No fight then, which was a good thing. He’d hate to have to break Ethan’s nose, then take his place on the protective detail because he was too scary looking.

“When will you get to see Nate?” Travis crossed to the mini fridge and grabbed his own beer. The case weighed heavily on him, but he’d gone through SEAL training with Ethan. Travis had been the best man at Ethan and Molly’s wedding, and the first one there to load out boxes of Ethan’s things when he moved out. They were brothers in every sense of the word, save blood.

“Before he goes back to school. The second through the fourth. Three days. Three fucking days.” Ethan took another long pull on his bottle.

“Make the most of those days, don’t dwell on what you don’t get.” Travis clinked his bottle to Ethan’s.

Travis knew what it was like to have an absent father. At least Ethan wanted to be in his son’s life. Travis was pretty certain his father hadn’t wanted to live, but he hadn’t wanted to die bad enough to do something about it. That was the kind of mark a serial killer left on a person, and it was the same darkness passed down to Travis.

“What’s the deal with the FBI?” Mason picked up the folder from the desk and looked at the cover. “This is the real deal, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Leave it alone.” Travis watched Mason, not because he didn’t trust the kid. Anyone who worked at Aegis underwent a thorough background check and multiple people had to vouch for the new hire. In the field, Travis would trust Mason with his life, but he didn’t know the guy.

The younger man seemed to consider his options for a moment, then did the smart thing and laid the folder on the desk.

“What’s the case this time?” Ethan asked.

“Some sick fuck is kidnapping young, blonde women. He keeps them for months, maybe a year, then kills them.” He left out the horrific parts about the abuse and the pregnancies. Some things the others didn’t need to know.

What did he do with the babies?

“Why is this your problem?” Mason asked.

“Ever heard of TBK?” Ethan glanced at Travis.

If Mason hadn’t already known, he would find out. It was only a matter of time until someone told him.

“Wasn’t that on the news a while back? Last year?” Mason screwed up one eye and pressed his lips together. “I was getting out about that time. It’s all kind of a blur.”

“Nah, man, TBKiller and that dude are two different people. TBKiller was a copycat,” Ethan said.

“My old man’s family was murdered by a serial killer. Called himself TBK. Torture. Blind. Kill.” Travis peeled part of the label off his beer. Murdered was putting it lightly. They’d been tortured in the most sadistic fashion, then before their deaths, their eyes were removed.

TBK had terrorized Oklahoma City before Travis had been born, but TBK had shaped Travis’ life. TBK’s last victims were Travis’ grandparents, and his father had been forced to watch it all. His old man had never fully recovered. Travis and his half-sister Emma often bore the brunt of the dysfunction.

“Fuck. I didn’t know,” Mason said.

“It happened before you or I were born.” Travis shrugged. “Last year this guy goes ape shit. Starts copying the TBK murders and leaving these sick notes for my half-sister, Emma. They killed him trying to finish Emma off. Turns out this guy who’d worked at the corner gas station she went to all the time, is part of this...serial killer club. The BAU is—”

“BAU? What?” Mason blinked.

“Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re the FBI unit that specializes in serial killers. They’re trying to track down the club members, but no one wants to have a serial murderer on their hands.”

“And that’s where Travis likes to help out.” Ethan thumbed at Travis.

“How?” Mason asked.

Travis could see the skepticism in Mason’s eyes. The kid had been around Aegis long enough to hear rumors, stories about the Z-Team. He was probably wondering what a felon like Travis could do that the FBI couldn’t.

Well fuck him.

“I let their team know where I’m working. If they have any leads, I’ll look into it.” Travis sipped his beer and stared at the mirror.

“Why?”

“Why the fuck do you want to know?” He scowled at Mason, but couldn’t blame him. The whole gig was strange. “The FBI has to be invited into an investigation unless it crosses state lines. Like I said, no one wants to have a serial killer on their hands.”