The retina scanner cleared him to enter his inner sanctum. He stepped inside the large room and the motion detector triggered the low-lit recessed lights. Dropping onto his worn chair, he sat in silence and stared at the six dark screens hanging on his wall.What the fuck happened to April?
Hair on the back of his neck prickled as the depravity of the situation took hold. He dug out his phone and dialed.
“You better have a damn good reason for waking me,” his attorney said, his voice groggy.
“I’m being questioned by a homicide detective about a murder.”
“Dammit, Stryker, what did you do now?”
He gave him the short version, ending with, “It’s the cop who arrested me—”
“Emerson Easton?”
“Yeah. She wants to review the club’s surveillance and talk to my employees. I told her to get a warrant.”
“Not cooperating makes you look guilty.”
“Not news,” Stryker replied. “Last time I cooperated, she arrested me.”
“That nightmare I remember. So, I gotta ask…did you kill—?”
“For fuck’s sake, of course not,” Stryker replied.
I’ve got blood on my hands, but it’s not hers.
3
Boomslang and Justice
As soon as Stryker left, Emerson called three judges for a search warrant. She got through to one who told her he’d help. Next, Emerson checked April’s front door and windows. No sign of forced entry. Her gut told her that April knew her assailant. There were no dirty dishes in the sink, no glasses of half-drunk booze, no crumbs on the counter.Had the killer stayed to clean up?
If so, this criminal was brazen, which made him that much more dangerous.
Emerson spoke with neighbors. No one heard a thing. No loud music, no raised voices. Not even a scream from April’s apartment. Nothing.
A shudder ran through her. The possibility that a serial killer could be stalking his next victim fueled Emerson to work harder and smarter. She didn’t stand a chance in hell of catching him if she didn’t work day and night to find him.
She drove home in silence, her thoughts laser focused on the crime scene, the images of April and the first victim etched into her brain. She’d need to discuss strategy with her captain first thing in the morning. The public needed to be warned, but knowing Captain Perry, she wouldn’t want to unnecessarily terrorize women in the DMV. People needed to be vigilant, not prisoners in their own homes.
Emerson pressed the garage door opener, drove inside, and shut the door. While she wasn’t scared a criminal would target her, she always watched her six. Opening the door to her townhome triggered the security system, so after bolting the lock, she punched in the code. Once the alarm went quiet, she reactivated the system.
Meow, meow, meeeeoooooow.
Like every night, there he was, waiting for her. “Hello, Pima, how’s my little guy doing?” She knelt to scratch the cat’s head while he rubbed against her knee, his rhythmic purr a comfort. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Pima knew the routine well and scampered up the steps ahead of her, then took his position near his water bowl in the kitchen. Her return home meant the black cat with the bright yellow eyes got a treat. She shook the can of kibble and he rose on his hind legs, pawing at the air. “Maybe I should quit my job and we should join a circus.”
She dropped a few treats in his bowl before trudging upstairs to her bedroom. After stripping naked, she walked into her bathroom and turned on the shower.
The stench of death would stay with her for days, but the shower helped. She stood under the warm spray and tried to detach from her latest case, but each one clung like a disease…until she solved them. Her mind replayed the evening. The gray pallor on the young woman’s face. The simple, white wedding gown, the positioning of the victim’s body on the bed. April Peters was thirty-five, just three years older than Emerson. Unless terminally ill, most women in their thirties didn’t even think about death. They were too busy living.
But death was a regular part of Emerson’s life. It was her chosen career, week in and week out. Death was inevitable, but the objective of life was to cheat the grim reaper for as long as possible. Her victims were robbed of that chance.
So was Doug. Doug was robbed of that, too.
Thinking about her brother filled her with anger and bitterness.I failed him.Pain slashed her heart.ButI’m never giving up.
As she dried off, she thought of Stryker. How could she not? Built like a steel tower, his ripped muscles had stolen her attention the first time she’d met him. But it was the intensity in his eyes that drove her wild. He always looked pissed off, like that fiery gaze was intended just for her. Because it was.
