He held up the dress. While he stared at it, a coldness settled into his eyes. “My fiancée had a dress like this.”
Did she die? Leave him at the alter? Emerson didn’t want to ignite his anger by asking the wrong question. So, she stayed silent, hoping he’d continue talking.
“She dumped me two days before our wedding. All she said was, ‘I met someone else’. She gave me the ring and left.” He glared at Emerson. “I killed eight women in Florida and I was on a roll, here, too. You’re trying to stop me. You’re ruining my fun, Detective. You’re ruining my life!” He threw down the dress and stomped on it. “First, my bitch mother hates me! Who does that to her own child?” He started flailing his arms. “My dad never wanted me. And then, my fiancée rejects me!”
He picked up the gun and stared at it, his finger on the trigger.
Emerson’s heart sank. He was going to kill her.
* * *
Stryker cut the engine, threw his bike down, and ripped off his helmet. As he ran toward Emerson’s end-unit, he surveyed the townhouse. Garage door was closed. The front room was lit up, but the blinds were closed.Emerson’s office.
He slowed outside the window to listen, and pulled out his Glock.
“Lyle, you need help,” Emerson said. “Killing these women isn’t going to bring your fiancée back to you.”
“Back?!” Lyle yelled. “I don’t want her. She married some loser. She’s used goods. But the women I kill, they’re so trusting, so nice. They’re so eager to be in front of the camera, they’ll do anything. Now, it’s your turn, Detective. I’m going to untie you and you’re going to put on this wedding gown!”
Stryker bolted up the front steps, shot out the lock, and threw open the front door. He raised his weapon.
BANG! BANG!
Hit in the chest, Stryker staggered backward. Lyle turned to Emerson and raised the gun.
POP! POP! POP! POP!
Lyle dropped to the floor.
Stryker and Emerson locked eyes, the frantic energy whirring around them. He rushed to her and knelt down. “Are you hit? Are you okay?”
“Not hit.” She was trembling so hard. “Are you?”
“He got me in the vest. Mighta fucked up a rib, but I’m wearing my vest.” He cut the restraints with his blade, pulled her into his arms, and hugged her so hard. Despite her shaking, she broke away, pulled off his leather jacket and yanked up his T-shirt.
“Emerson, is now really the time?”
“Shut up.” She helped him remove the shirt, then the vest. “One bullet pierced the vest in the upper chest and the second in the stomach.”
Then, she lifted his undershirt. His skin hadn’t been punctured. “Thank God. Thank you for getting here in time.” She hugged him again. When he held her in his arms, he realized how close he’d come to losing her.
She broke away and checked Lyle. “No pulse.” Then, she ran out of the room, returning with her phone. “This is Detective Easton, ACPD. The Wedding Gown Killer is in my house. He tried to kill me. I need police and an ambulance.”
“Are you hurt?” asked the operator.
“No. My boyfriend got here in time and shot him in self-defense.”
“Is he breathing?”
“No.”
“First responders are on their way,” said the operator.
Emerson hung up and bolted out of the room.
A dark, red pool was expanding beneath Lyle’s body, which lay face up on the white wedding gown, now turning crimson. Emerson came flying into the room and laid towels around his body to absorb the blood.“I didn’t see Pima.”
“I got this, babe.” Stryker took off in search of the cat. “Pima!” He checked inside the cat house, then took the stairs, feeling the pain of the shots with each step. He strode into Emerson’s bedroom and smiled. Pima’s head was sticking out from between their pillows.
