A Killer Among Us (19 page)

“Yeah. It was like I could hear you whispering in my ear that's what I needed to do.”

Noah wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a very un-partnerlike embrace. “Sounds to me like God's given you another chance to start talking to him.”

With her nose buried in his chest, he could smell the fresh scent of vanilla shampoo mingled with the odor of sweat from her ordeal.

Concerned the killer might be hidden somewhere in the shadows, watching, waiting, laughing as they searched without finding anything, Noah pulled her to the safety of the car. Right now, he needed her to be away from the commotion of the crime scene team and any other prying eyes.

Once inside the relative privacy of the car, she leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.

His heart clenched at her drawn features. The need to comfort her gripped him. And the need to kiss her nearly overwhelmed him. Definitely not something two partners should do.

Should they?

In one sudden, smooth move, she turned, maneuvered around the gear shift, and slid her arms around his neck, tucking her head under his chin. Feeling her warm breath fan across his throat made him cave.

He tilted her chin and placed his lips over hers.

She went completely still, and he froze for a brief moment, wondering if he was going to get a fist in his gut.

Then he felt her respond, her soft lips moving under his and sending his senses reeling.

His hands crept up to cup the back of her head to bring her closer and she gasped.

In pain.

The soft sound brought him back to earth with a thud.

He pulled back and sucked in some much needed oxygen.

She stared up at him and blinked. “Wow.”

He gave a little laugh. “Uh, what just happened?”

“I don't know, but if you say you're sorry, I'm going to have to hit you.”

“Sorry's the last word on my mind right now.”

A little grin pulled at the corners of her lips. “Good.” Then she frowned and scooted back against her seat, her gaze flicking to the window to study the woods and the surrounding area. “What if he's watching?”

Drawing in a deep sigh, Noah grasped her hand. “Then he's going to be mighty upset with you. Let's get out of here, I don't like it.”

“Right. And I need to get back to the hospital to check on my mother.”

“Sounds like a plan. I have an idea too.”

“What is it?”

“There's an ATM right across the street from that little jewelry store Bonnie's bling came from.”

Realization dawned. “And ATMs have cameras.”

“Then there's that pawnshop next door. It probably has a camera on the outside.”

“And another ATM about three doors down.”

Excitement lit her features in spite of the pain she must have been feeling. “He may have walked past one of them.”

“I'm guessing if he went to all the trouble to dress up in a hat and sunglasses, he wouldn't park his car right out front.”

“I'll call Dakota and tell him to get the video from those and any others in the area. With Jazz on it, we should have access to them by the time we get back to Spartanburg.” Jazz, the computer expert located at the FBI's home base of Quantico. She could find anything needed in the blink of an eye. Getting videos from an ATM would be a walk in the park for her.

Kit still felt a little light-headed, but she had a feeling it didn't have a thing to do with getting knocked on the head. In fact, she was quite sure it had to do with getting knocked off her feet. Even though she'd been sitting down.

That kiss had left her reeling and she wasn't quite sure what to think about it.

Or do about it.

Then again, did anything need to be done?

Apprehension curled inside her and she wondered if he'd just ignore it—or do it again.

She wasn't sure which option she wanted to happen.

“You're awfully quiet.”

“Sorry, I've got a lot on my mind.”

“Thinking about that kiss? Because I sure am.”

Okay, so he wasn't going to ignore it.

She breathed a little laugh. “Oh yeah, I'm thinking about it.”

“And wondering how it's going to affect our partnership?”

“That too,” she admitted.

He shrugged. “We just won't let it.”

She raised a brow at him. “You think?”

He shot her a warm smile. “I think. I don't regret it and plan on doing it again. Now, how's your head?”

She didn't know how to respond. To the comment that he wanted to kiss her again or answer the question about her head. She chose the latter and winced. “Throbbing.”

Sympathy made him frown. “I'm sure. We'll find you some ibuprofen or something when we get back to the hospital.”

“I'll take it.”

At the hospital, Kit and Noah went straight to the surgery waiting room. Brig sat next to the window, knitting needles clicking away. The needles paused as Kit slipped into the chair next to her and asked, “How's she doing?”

“So far so good is what they tell me,” she reported, her eyes taking in Noah, who sat next to Kit. Then her eyes narrowed back on Kit. “What happened to you?”

“I had a little run-in with a bad guy.”

Brig put aside her knitting and pushed her glasses up. Leaning in, she examined Kit's head, then made a tsking sound. “You should have that looked at.”

“I just need to take some ibuprofen. I know you have some in that monstrosity you call a purse.”

Brig gave an affronted frown. “That ‘monstrosity,' as you call it, is the best purse I've ever had. I can fit anything in there and always have what I need.” So saying, she rummaged through it and came up with a bottle of Motrin. She shook it and handed it over with a smirk. “And what everyone else needs too.”

Kit popped two dry and leaned her head back against the wall.

A cup of water made its way into her hand and she looked up to see Noah standing in front of her. Grateful, she took several swallows, then looked at Brig. “Guess you already met my partner, huh?”

“I did.”

Kit made the formal introductions anyway, and Brig went back to her knitting with a speculative gleam in her eye.

Noah's cell phone rang and he excused himself.

Brig took the opportunity to cast a questioning glance at Kit. “Well?”

Kit played innocent. “What do you mean?”

“He means something to you. What?”

“He's my partner. That's it.”

“Uh-huh, right.” Back to the knitting. “That's why he looks at you like he'd like to stake a claim on your heart.”

“Brig!” Refusing to squirm or say another word about it, Kit pressed her lips together.

Noah came back in, the grim look on his face causing her to sit up straight. “What is it?”

“They spotted the black Mustang.”

“Are they sure it's the right one? Where?”

“They're sure. It has that yellow eagle on the hood. At a diner off I-85. Units are responding even as we speak.”

Kit bit her lip and looked in the direction of the operating room where her mother would be for another hour or so.

“Go,” Brig said.

“What?” Kit jerked her eyes back to her mother's friend.

“Go. Your mom will understand.” She glanced at Kit's head. “And seeing that won't be a good thing for her. You know how she worries about you.”

On impulse, Kit leaned over and hugged the woman who'd been another mother to her growing up. “Thanks. Give her my love and tell her I'll be in to see her as soon as I can, okay?”

“Are you working that serial killer case?”

Surprised, Kit cocked her head. “Yes, why?”

“Thought you probably were. Your mom would want you to get that guy off the streets. You know she would. So go take care of it.”

“Thanks, Brig.”

Kit and Noah rushed from the hospital, Noah snagging the keys from his pocket. “We're about twenty minutes away from him.”

Once in the car, he put the siren and the light on and they raced to the location Noah had been given.

Four police cruisers sat in the parking lot. Several patrons stood outside watching the excitement.

Kit climbed out of the car and flashed her badge as Noah did the same.

The officer in charge came up. “I'm Gage Wilder. Your man is long gone. He left this Mustang here and stole a motorcycle.”

“Who's the car registered to?”

Officer Wilder consulted his notes. “A Zachary Hadley. He reported it stolen from the Wofford Law College early this morning.”

Kit paused, then drew in a slow breath. “He was watching me even then.”

Noah lifted a brow. “What?”

“This was a spur-of-the-moment trip. In order to follow me, he had to have been watching me.”

“Why would he follow you in a stolen car?”

Shoving her hands in her pockets, she walked a few steps away then back. “I don't know. That doesn't make sense.”

“Unless,” Noah said slowly, “he has another target in mind and was going to use the stolen vehicle in some way.”

“Like to avoid getting caught?”

“Yeah.”

“But he was watching my house, saw me—us—leave, and made a last-minute decision to follow.”

A hand reached up to rub his neck and Noah frowned as he thought. “But he stayed on the highway when we turned off. How did he know you were going to be at the cemetery?”

She blew out a sigh. “Good question. But right now, I'm more concerned with another question.”

“Who is his next victim? The one he's already got picked out and was ready to snatch this morning before he decided to follow us?” Noah guessed.

“You got it in one.”

The Judge grunted as he pushed the weights above his head. He'd arrived at the gym an hour ago and he was furious with himself. He'd failed. He'd been so exhilarated to finally have his wife where he wanted her, he'd gotten careless. Too much talk, not enough action. He should have forced her to go with him.

No matter, he'd have another chance. He still had too much to do before he was ready for a wife and child. He looked at the clock. Almost time.

He hated having to give up the Mustang, but he'd found another car once he'd gotten back into town.

Soon the party would start and the Judge would find the one whose time was up. It was time to face the consequences for his actions.

Soon, Corey, soon.

After all, you do have the right to a speedy trial.
But before he paid Corey a visit, he needed to check in on someone. Someone who had the perfect son. Settling the weights on the bar, he grabbed the towel and dried the sweat from his face. He'd done his homework, he knew where Kit lived. And he knew where to find the perfect son.

Thirty-six-year-old Corey Samples tipped the beer to his lips and took a pull. Music blared and he wondered how many of the girls were actually of age to be doing the things they were doing with the college guys they were doing them with.

Then decided he didn't really care.

One hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around the bottle, he sauntered to the door and slipped outside.

So this was college.

He'd signed up for the army when he was eighteen. He'd just gotten back from Iraq and taken an honorable discharge. He looked down at the disfigured left hand and shuddered.

Depression weighed on his shoulders and he blinked at the images his mind conjured up at the most inappropriate times.

Law school.

Is that what he should do?

His uncle sure thought so.

Sitting in on the mock trial had been interesting, but most of the students were just kids. Kids who'd never experienced a day of going hungry. Never experienced a fear so intense you thought your insides were going to shrivel up and die just from the adrenaline rush. These kids thought they were going to change the world. What did he have in common with them?

On the other hand, he'd always liked to be right and could argue like a pro for something he believed in.

Maybe his uncle was right. Maybe law school would give him direction and a purpose in life. Maybe it was worth a try.

Blowing out a sigh, Corey rubbed his head.

And felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise, his finely tuned sense of being watched setting off his internal alarms.

Keeping his back toward the frat house and his eyes on the parking lot beyond, he backed slowly, steadily . . . until he felt something gouge him in the lower back.

Whirling, fist ready, he dropped his hand when the guy with the beer bottle started laughing. “Dude, you're so uptight. Loosen up and have a little fun.”

Corey forced a smile. “Right. Right.”

But he glanced back over his shoulder.

And saw something move in the shadows beyond.

Dakota met them in the office. Dusk approached but Kit didn't care. If this was going to help nail the psycho who was going around cutting parts off the people he killed, she'd stay up all night.

“What did Jazz come up with?” Noah asked.

Dakota waved them over to a wide-screen monitor, and Kit smiled when she saw who was there.

“Hey Samantha, what are you doing here?”

“I was told my computer expertise might be needed.” She gave them a quick grin and clicked on the frozen image on the screen. “Mom and Dad are keeping Andy so Connor brought me over. Jamie's working late. Dakota decided he was lonely and thought we could all go grab a bite to eat after you find what you're looking for.”

The video played and Kit leaned in for a closer look.

“Our regular guy had to leave. Sam said she'd come in for us,” Dakota explained.

“I think this may be who you're looking for,” Sam said and zoomed in on an individual with a baseball hat and glasses. She froze the image, and with a few clicks of the mouse, she cleared it up as best she could.

Kit pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Is that who it looks like?”

Noah met her eyes. “I sure hope not.”

Sam squinted at the picture. “He looks familiar.”

Connor came from his office and took a look. “Hey, that's Stephen Wells. Why are you guys investigating the DA?”

The Judge approached his next victim, his heart pounding in anticipation of the upcoming trial. He had more reasons than one to want this guy out of his way. He'd been paying way too much attention to Alena. Alena was a good friend. Like the sister he never had. She was family. And he had to protect her. Like him, she'd grown up with an abusive father. Just the other day she'd confided to him that she'd wished for a big brother. One who would have protected her against the abuse.

And now she was seeing an older guy.

And that just couldn't happen. He would corrupt her sweet innocence with his worldly ways. Just the other day when the Judge had called her, she turned down his offer of a dinner out.

Because she was going out with Corey.

It made him sick to think of it.

And just gave him one more reason to get rid of the guy.

“Hey Corey, how's it going?” He passed over the beer he'd just opened and handed it to his “friend.”

“What are you doing here?” At first he frowned at the bearer of the alcohol, then shrugged. Mimicking his earlier actions, he tilted the bottle and took a swallow. “So, what do you think of this shindig? I wouldn't think this would be your kind of party. I noticed you're not real popular with a lot of the people here.”

From the edge of the rail, the Judge looked through the open French doors into the living area beyond. And while his fingers tightened around the neck of his beer bottle, he ignored the last comment. It didn't deserve a response. “Nice place. I'm going to have me something like this one day.”

“After you make all your money freeing the criminals?” There went the lip curl.

The fury he'd held inside for so long bubbled near the surface. He swallowed and forced himself under control, but one hand curled into a fist.

Keeping himself under control, he waited. It wouldn't be long now. “So, are you thinking of going to school here?”

Another swig on the bottle and Corey turned to look back out into the darkness. “Maybe.” A pause. “Why do you act the way you do?” He shifted to look at the Judge.

“What do you mean?”

“So arrogant. Like you're better than everyone else. I mean, when you were talking . . .” His prey stumbled and leaned into the railing of the porch. “Whoa. I think I've had one too many.”

“You need a ride home?”

Corey blinked and the Judge figured he was probably seeing about four of everything right now.

“Um . . . yeah. Yeah, I'll get someone from inside.”

“Now Corey, what's wrong with accepting a ride from me?”

“'Cuz I don't like you.” Corey's words slurred and the Judge knew it was almost time. Time for the fun to begin. Time to exact his vengeance. To prove who was the best and wipe the smirk off Corey's face.

He remembered the look on the man's face as he'd wound up his argument. An upper lip curled in disgust, his knowing look that the Judge was an idiot and he could do a much better job. A look that had haunted the Judge's dreams for several weeks.

Only now the time was here.

“Come on.” He placed a hand around the man's waist and hoisted him from the rail. “Let's go.”

“No, don't wanna go wid you.”

“Too bad, big guy, you can't drive.”

With the drug running through his system, Corey was in no shape to argue. The Judge easily pulled him along down the back steps and never saw another individual on his way to his stolen ride. He glanced at his now unconscious passenger. The seat belt held him in, and with his head lolling against the window, he simply looked like he was taking a nap.

The Judge looked at Corey's mouth, imagined those lips curled into a sneer. Then imagined that sneer permanently removed.

One by one, he was getting the bad guys. The ones who didn't deserve to breathe the same air as he. The ones who thought they were so much better.

The ones who had laughed—and the ones who'd interfered with his plans for the perfect family.

Corey had watched him during his argument, his eyes following everything going on. And then Corey had met his gaze and curled his upper lip. In disgust? Shocked, it had thrown the Judge for a brief moment, had made him stumble. And that angered him, infuriated him, not only with himself, but with Corey and his superior attitude. One the Judge was getting ready to wipe off his face.

He leaned in close and whispered in an ear that wouldn't hear him. “Because I am better than everyone else and it's time everyone saw that.”

Kit's eyes popped open and she lay still, barely breathing. She'd fallen asleep in the recliner after Noah had dropped her off around midnight. Unable to sleep, she'd turned on the television and curled up with a blanket in her favorite chair.

And dozed off.

Now she held still.

Listening.

Waiting.

The television, still on mute, flickered.

What had awakened her?

The phone?

No.

A soft noise.

There!

A subtle rustling near her front door.

Adrenaline surged and she groped for the gun she'd placed on the end table. Instant comfort suffused her as the butt of the gun slid against her palm.

Shrugging off the blanket, she considered her options. Lowering the footrest of the recliner would make noise, so she placed a foot on either side of it and stood.

Another noise reached her ears.

A scrape.

A curse?

Her heart thudded. She reached for her phone and called Noah's number as she moved on socked feet across her hardwood floor.