Jaid Black (15 page)

She’d been gone for six years now, Amy. Tortured—just like the others. Raped—just like the others. He’d never forget the day her body—or what was left of it—had been found.

Thomas had worked Lucifer’s case from the beginning, when the sadistic killer had first begun his “career” nine years ago. A hotshot detective hailing originally from Georgia, Thomas had been more than eager to prove himself within the CPD, and had taken the case on with the help of his new partner, James Merdino.

Problem being, Lucifer had been smart from the beginning. Too smart. He never left trails, never left DNA behind at a crime scene, never left anything other than maimed, tortured, bludgeoned bodies. And so, hotshot detective or not, the serial killer had eluded him from day one.

Amy had been the light of Thomas’s life, his reason for being. He’d worked his ass off to give her the best that a cop’s salary could, wanting her to be happy. And she had been happy. But work kept Thomas away a lot, and left her feeling lonely. Before he knew what she’d been up to, Amy was found dead.

Her body had been badly mauled, most of the torture occurring while she’d still been alive. She’d suffered hundreds of lacerations and a dozen rapes before she’d finally been put out of her misery.

Lucifer had kept her alive, barely, for four days. That was the hardest part for Thomas to deal with. Knowing that she had been alive, praying he’d come and rescue her, for four long, excruciatingly painful days.

Thomas had sunk into a bitter depression after that, a depression it had taken the better part of a year to crawl out of. He had loved Amy with his entire being, and when she’d been murdered, a piece of him had been killed right along with her.

Which had probably been the demon’s intent.

After Amy’s death, Thomas’s work evolved into obsession. And so here he sat, six known victims later, seven if you counted Dr. Adenike, once again trying to unravel the clues that would lead him to a monster.

Somehow, he knew that he was closer. Knew too that Lucifer could feel it as surely as Thomas could.

He clicked on the e: drive and waited for the files to load.

Thomas frowned throughout the remainder of the email, then clicked open another one to read it. The next exchange Lucifer received from Nikki was teasing and light, almost giddy. Unlike the other emails she’d sent up until now, which all read like dreamy, sometimes erotic Shakespearean sonnets, this one gave the impression of a giggly teenage girl.

Thomas’s eyebrows slowly drew together. Curious, he clicked on the attached photograph Nikki had sent and waited for it to load on his screen. When it did, when Dr. Adenike’s bare-breasted image appeared right there before him, he was so surprised his jaw literally dropped.

“Shit,” he muttered, falling back a bit in his chair. He shifted in the seat, his erection instantaneous and uncontrollable.

Her breasts were gorgeous, he thought, his dark gaze un-apologetically studying them. Large, full, soft-looking. And they were capped off by two of the plumpest, pinkest nipples he’d ever seen. He drew in closer, slowly ran his index finger over one, and then the other. His finger stilled. He squinted his eyes a bit as he noticed something else . . . .

Thomas swallowed. Hard.

“Her nipples are pierced,” he said thickly, his cock so stiff it was painful. “Jesus Christ.”

Apparently the surgeon was full of surprises. In his wildest, most wicked dreams, and he’d had a lot of those revolving around Nikki lately, he’d never envisioned such an upright (and uptight) citizen as her having pierced nipples. But there they were. A delicate gold hoop surrounding each pink, plump nipple.

He blew out a breath as he sat back in the chair. Telling himself he had no business reacting this way—with the desire to drive to her house and ride her for about ten solid hours—he shook off the arousal and told himself to get back to the task of reading the emails.

Thomas grunted. He was a good cop, but he’d never claimed to be a saint. Muttering to himself about what an ass he was, he nevertheless kept the bare-breasted photograph opened on the top right-hand side of the screen as he worked, his gaze repeatedly flicking up to it at whim.

 

 

Nikki distractedly glanced up from where she stood in the kitchen putting plastic wrap over the tub of pistachio pudding she’d just made. She carried the bowl to the refrigerator, set it on the second shelf, and then walked over to the computer to check her email.

She grinned as she sat down, an email from Kim with the subject heading “Oh My God Get Over Here Before I Murder Megan” filling her screen. She chuckled as she read the email, then typed out a reply and whizzed it off.

Nikki hoped that stepmother and daughter worked their problems out soon. She knew what it was like to have a mother die on you, leaving you with the feeling that there were words left unsaid and hugs left unclaimed. She didn’t want that for Kim. Especially not when it had been apparent to Nikki since meeting Megan sixteen years ago that Mrs. Cox would have given her right arm to have a relationship with the only child she’d ever had. That Megan hadn’t been the woman to give birth to Kim had never signified.

Due to Megan’s alcoholism, Nikki could understand Kim shying away from her stepmother’s overtures at a relationship in the past. But all these years later, when Megan was clean as a whistle? That she didn’t get. She just hoped they worked it out soon.

Nikki wasn’t sure what made her do it, probably habit born of a month of the same routine, but as soon as she sent off the email to Kim, she unthinkingly clicked on an icon that would allow her to see if there was any new email at her
submissivegrrrl
account.

Nikki’s breathing hitched when she saw that there was.

Her hand shaking, her heart rate over the top, she clicked onto the account and switched over to it, telling herself not to freak out. “It’s probably just junk email,” she said shakily. These days, she knew, junk email online was even more common than junk mail in one’s real mailbox.

There were twelve new messages. She visually scanned them, relaxing more and more when it looked as if they were all, as she had supposed, junk. But when she arrived at the last email, the twelfth and final one, her eyes widened and her stomach dropped.

The sender of the twelfth email:
FallenAngel
.

“Oh God,” Nikki breathed out, her entire body shaking. “Oh no.”

She sat there for what felt like hours but was probably only a few seconds, staring at the screen, feeling as stunned and semidelirious as a deer caught in headlights. Eventually, however, sanity returned and she knew that she had to open it. She blinked, then clicked the mouse on the email from Richard.

Perspiration beaded at her temples. Her stomach knotted and clenched.

Nikki gasped, bile churning in her stomach. She reread the last sentence, ice-cold fear lancing through her.

He knew who she was, she thought, her hand flying up and clamping over her mouth. He knew who she was and he knew where she worked.

Oh my God.

She surged to her feet and stumbled toward the phone.

Chapter 15

Sunday, July 20 8:07 P·M·

“It’s about time I heard from you, bud. Where the hell
you been?” Thomas shut down the computer, wanting to give his partner his full attention.

“Didn’t Chief Williams tell you I caught a plane to JFK?” James said through the phone connection. “He said he’d pass the message along.”

“Yeah,” Thomas confirmed, leaning back in the chair, “he told me.”

Silence.

“We need to talk, bro,” Thomas said softly.

James was quiet for a moment, and then, “What about?”

“Vincent Pinoza,” he drawled.

“Vincent Pinoza? What is it you want to know?”

Thomas considered his words, choosing them carefully. “According to the report you filed, you stated that four years ago Vincent claimed he believed Lisa to have been a faithful wife. I had a little chat with Vincent last week, and he claims that not only was Lisa unfaithful, but that he has maintained that very thing all along.” He stared unblinking at the powered off computer. “Care to shed a little light on the situation for me?”

Silence.

“Just what the fuck are you accusing me of?” James finally bellowed.

Thomas’s eyebrows rose. “I’m not accusing you of anything, bro. I need some answers is all.”

“Answers? What answers? Vincent is a druggie and a liar. What more of an explanation do you need?”

“Good point. Do you think he was wired the night you interviewed him?”

“I doubt it,” James said, calming down. “He was in a one-man holding cell the night I interviewed him.”

Thomas mentally blew out a breath. His partner had just passed that part of the test with flying colors.

“Oh, right. I hadn’t thought of that. Well why do you suppose he lied, bro? I can understand him being angry at his wife. I mean, the lady was a whore. But—”

“I doubt Lisa was a whore,” James interjected. “Vincent probably made that little story up to you because he felt like fucking with us. He doesn’t have anything better to do with his time, so why not bother the cops?”

“Definitely possible,” Thomas said, relaxing. He had purposely thrown the slander against Lisa out there to see if his partner would react to it. He’d merely sounded explanatory, not defensive. Thank God.

“Happens all the time. You know that.”

“Yeah, it does. Sorry to have bothered you with it, bud,” he replied. “Hey, go take care of your dad and I’ll see you when you get back.”

“It’ll be a few days yet.”

“I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, bro.”

Thomas ran a hand across his jaw after he clicked off the phone. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. There were still too many coincidences for his peace of mind: a missing report, conflicting stories, and James racing off to Brooklyn to care for a father he didn’t get on with.

In such a situation, however, Thomas had only two choices available to him: believe the word of James, a man who was not only his partner but his best friend as well; or believe the word of Vincent, a convicted felon, drug addict, and lord knows what else.

“No contest,” he muttered, his eyes flicking open. “No damn contest.”

Thomas would remain vigilant. He would check out a few things behind the scenes. But for now, at least, he would also give James the benefit of the doubt.

 

 

Seated on the couch, her legs beneath her, Nikki stared
unblinking at the wall across from her while five cops rifled through her apartment trying to ascertain whether or not it was possible that Richard had broken into it at some point prior. So many extreme emotions had assaulted her in the past two hours that she’d eventually gone numb. Fear. Revulsion. Anger . . .

Richard was, it seemed, steadily ruining her life. It was bad enough that she found herself constantly looking over her shoulder. It was worse still that she could no longer relax in her own home. Now the police were telling her she couldn’t go to work without an escort. She wasn’t about to argue with them, for she knew it was the smart thing to do, but the very necessity of it was depressing and frightening.

Nikki had gotten away from Richard once, but his phantom continued to haunt her.

Sighing, she glanced over to where Thomas Cavanah stood behind Leon Walker, the CPD’s resident computer-crimes guru. Judging from the disgruntled look on both men’s faces, she thought as she wound her long curls into a topknot on her head, it looked as though Richard had proved cunning once again and left no residual traces of his location behind.

Surprise, surprise.

“My God, are you okay?”

Nikki glanced up at the sound of Kim’s voice. She offered her best friend an attempt at a smile as she watched her limp into the living room on crutches, Megan in tow.

“As good as you’d expect, I suppose. How’s the ankle?” she asked, her green gaze flicking first over Kim and then Megan.

“To hell with my ankle,” Kim grumbled. “Good lord, Nik, I about had a heart attack when the police called me.”

Nikki’s eyebrows slowly drew together. “You know, I’ve been so out of it I hadn’t thought to phone. Who called you?”

“Detective Cavanah,” Kim announced as she made her way over. “He thinks you better come stay with Megan and me for a while. I agree.”

Nikki’s gaze shot over to where the detective stood. His concentration was on whatever Leon Walker was doing, so he didn’t notice her stare. He’d been off duty when Richard’s email had arrived and was therefore in his street clothes, snug jeans and a nondescript black T-shirt. The biceps-length T-shirt really showed off those vein-roped arms, she thought with a small swallow. The gun holster added another level of danger and intrigue to him. “Thomas?” she murmured. “Really?”