Cold Revenge Read online

  Ellie’s jaw locked down so tight, she was afraid the slightest tap might make it shatter. “It’s sure looking that way. Melanie Conkle from Charleston. Twenty-three. We need to run her through the system.”

  She snapped another photo with her phone before setting the wallet aside and picking up the next. This one showed the owner’s ID as soon as Ellie looked inside. Her heart sank, settling like a stone in her gut. According to the ID card, Becky Harrison was a freshman at Clemson University. So, no older than eighteen or nineteen.

  One by one, Ellie opened the wallets and snapped a photo of the IDs she found. Each time, the rock in her stomach grew larger. By the time she reached the last one, her camera roll held seven pictures of women and girls. Even so, the student ID in the last wallet made Ellie gasp. Blue eyes gazed up at her from a round face. The same face Ellie had studied at least a hundred times over the past several days.

  Danielle Snyder, the ID proclaimed. Sophomore at McKinley High.

  A deep sorrow settled inside Ellie’s chest. She replaced the wallet on the table and bowed her head. Ever since Fortis had handed over this case, Ellie had been desperate for a lead. Any lead. Only now that she had one, her heart wept for poor Charles Snyder and his untouched piano. Elaine and her boundless hope.

  Ellie touched Dani’s photo with the tip of her gloved finger and made a silent vow. Garrett would tell her what happened to Danielle Snyder and the other women. She owed their traumatized families at least that much.

  15

  Rob tilted his disposable coffee cup all the way back, draining every drop before sighing. “I want another one. Please? You promised.” He clasped his hands under his chin and batted his eyelashes.

  Gabe laughed. Always such a ham, his Rob. “Okay.”

  He got up from their cozy little table to order another coffee, but the register was so far away. He kept walking and found himself inside a tunnel. The bright lights of the café vanished, along with the laughter and chatter. A crackling sound filled Gabe’s ears. Soft at first, but growing in volume the farther he disappeared into the tunnel’s depths. He whirled in a circle, desperate to go back, but nothing but darkness greeted him. The coffee shop was gone.

  “Rob? Rob, where did you go?”

  The yawning blackness didn’t answer, but in the shadows, a murky figure writhed. The crackling grew louder.

  Fear pierced Gabe’s heart. “Rob, is that you?”

  The darkness slithered around Gabe’s ankles, grabbing at his jeans with invisible hands. His breathing quickened, and he kicked up his pace. He wondered briefly why the shadows felt hot rather than cold, but the thought turned into a rat with beady pink eyes and raced away, his spindly tail twitching behind him. A rising certainty deep in his chest fed a growing dread and made him want to howl into the void.

  Gabe shook his head. The dark was messing with him. Once he found the barista and ordered Rob that second latte, everything would be okay.

  In the distance, a circle of light appeared. Finally. Gabe was so relieved that he laughed out loud. The sound distorted, echoing off the walls and turning into sinister whispers. Gabe froze. No, wait. The whispers were coming from the darkness behind him. Someone else was in here. Stalking him.

  Shaken, Gabe turned back toward the light and broke into a sprint. The tunnel poured into a room with tall ceilings, sending Gabe tumbling headfirst into a pile of junk. The light here was bright. So glaring, after the pitch-black corridor, that Gabe couldn’t open his eyes. He crawled around the objects blind, on all fours like a dog.

  “Rob? Rob?”

  The heat grew in intensity, and Gabe started to sweat. Where was the damn barista? This was absurd. A loud crunch came from behind him.

  “Rob?” He wanted to look, but his eyes refused to open, so he patted his way along the path of scattered objects, trying to move his hands and legs even faster. Behind him, he sensed the presence growing closer.

  His fingers closed around a rectangular shape in his path, preparing to fight the monster stalking him. The familiar shape stopped him short. A book. He was holding a book.

  Like magic, the realization restored his vision. He opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by books: on shelves, in heaps on the floor. He laughed out loud in relief.

  “Rob, you dork. Why didn’t you tell me we were in the library?”

  He rose to his feet and turned, expecting to find his boyfriend standing there, flashing that naughty little grin that Gabe adored.

  Rob was there, but he wasn’t smiling. His beautiful face was frozen into a mask of horror.

  “Oh my god, Rob! I’m coming!”

  Gabe pumped his legs, straining to cover the distance, but the floor seemed to have dissolved into quicksand. He had to get to Rob. He had to help. He had to fix this.

  Just as he broke free, Rob lifted his head, and Gabe gasped. The side of his boyfriend’s head, where his ears should be, were bloody, gaping holes. All Gabe could do was watch in horror as Rob reached up and dug his hands inside. When he pulled them out again, his fingers were gone. They dangled out of the sides of Rob’s head, wiggling like lost worms.

  “Stop! Please, stop! I’ll say it! I’ll say the words!” Gabe screamed as his boyfriend’s blue eyes locked on him and filled with red hate.

  “This is all your fault.”

  “No, please! No!”

  A faceless man stepped out of nowhere, lofting a giant blade. With one swing, he cut Rob beneath his ribs and sliced all the way through. The two halves of Rob separated and tumbled to the floor, where Rob’s blue eyes continued to stare up at Gabe from the top of his amputated midsection. A macabre smile twisted his lover’s face as he called out to Gabe.

  “Silly boy.”

  Both halves burst into flames, while in the distance, an invisible presence giggled.

  “Your turn is coming.”

  Gabe jolted awake to screaming. Ice plunged through his veins, and he whipped the covers off, his gaze darting to every corner of the bedroom, seeking out threats while his muscles tensed in preparation to escape. Not until his bare feet slapped the floor did the truth sink in. The screams were coming from him.

  He sank back onto the bed, his heart rate still rabbit high. His t-shirt and boxers clung to him like a second skin. Wet from his nightmare-induced sweat.

  The dream crashed over him again, squeezing his stomach, making the floor spin before his eyes. He lurched to his feet again and raced to the bathroom, reaching the sink as that hot, acrid taste burned a trail up his throat. He grabbed the porcelain edges and hurled.

  Once his stomach was empty, Gabe twisted on the faucet and washed the vomit away. He splashed cold water on his face, rinsed out his mouth. When he lifted his head, the face that peered back at him in the mirror appeared haggard, with purple crescents underlining the eyes and skin as pale as a vampire’s. His cheekbones jutted out at a sharper angle than before, a surefire tell of his recent weight loss.

  His reflection showed a man a good ten years older than his true years. Funny, because Gabe felt closer to one hundred. His brown eyes held a hunted expression, which made perfect sense. Kingsley had already tracked him down successfully twice now, and Gabe knew his former employer wouldn’t stop. Not until he’d had his fill of torturing Gabe by making anyone around him suffer.

  Gabe’s hand trembled as he tugged open the drawer to grab his toothbrush, needing to wash the lingering sick off his tongue. His gaze fell on the black razor instead. One of the reusable kinds with four blades. Sharp, because Gabe had replaced the old cartridge yesterday.

  Like they were moving of their own accord, his fingers wrapped around the handle and raised the blade to his throat, not stopping until it reached the hollow below his ear. The same spot where Kingsley had sliced open the stranger’s neck in the video.

  The man’s screams echoed in his skull, and Gabe gripped the razor tightly. He could finish this. He didn’t have to serve as Kingsley’s plaything anymore.

  The metal was co
ld on his skin. Gabe shivered and pressed down while holding his breath. A stinging pain seared his neck. Not much worse than that of a papercut. Blood oozed to the surface and trickled toward his collarbone.

  Do it! a voice whispered in his head. Don’t sit around and wait. Take back control. End this nightmare. Right here, right now. Press a little harder, and this will all be over.

  Do it.

  Gabe’s fingers twitched but refused to advance the blade.

  Come on, what are you waiting for? You want Kingsley to carve you up like Rob?

  Rob.

  “No!” Gabe opened his hand, letting the razor clatter to the floor. His lungs burned, and he gasped, gulping down air in a frantic attempt to provide oxygen to his starved cells. This time, when he braved his reflection, the eyes staring back at him held fire in their depths. Determination. A desire to live.

  “Never again. Giving up now means Kingsley wins, and that bastard can’t win. Rob would want you to fight.”

  With a shaky but firm nod, he turned and headed back to his bed. The realization at how close he’d come to dying settled into his legs. They wobbled before buckling beneath him, sending him collapsing onto his mattress. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift.

  He weaved his way through the crowded sidewalks, his feet so light, he wondered if he could walk on air. A languid, liquid warmth filled his limbs, his very favorite part of the high. A kaleidoscope of colors exploded on the street before him, making him laugh in sheer joy. He lifted his fingers to touch one of the shapes, but the colors danced beyond his reach.

  A couple approaching him from the opposite direction grabbed their toddler’s hand and veered to the side, giving him a wide berth.

  “Crack head.”

  Gabe giggled, unbothered by the man’s scorn. Poor guy had no idea what he was missing. If he did, he’d know that Gabe wasn’t high on crack. Why would he settle for that when heroin was so much better? So good that Gabe’s parents had chosen to keep chasing the highs over caring for their own son.

  Another gloomy thought invaded his euphoric bubble.

  Heroin cost money, and Gabe was almost out. Wait. Didn’t drugs have something to do with why he was out here? He blinked at the tourists passing by, trying to focus. Everything clicked when his gaze landed on a couple on the sidewalk ahead, paused to study a map.

  The man’s shirt was one of those expensive silk Hawaiian prints, and gold flashed on his wrist. A Rolex. The woman’s purse was patterned with the telltale L and V, and diamonds glittered at her ears, throat, and wrist.

  A mark! That was why he’d ventured near this stretch of beach, a tourist trap that most locals avoided like the plague. Rich marks provided Gabe with his most reliable income since he’d finished high school. Lucky for him, the pair ahead were perfect. He’d float right up, snag the woman’s wallet, and vanish into the crowd before either of them noticed.

  Only fleece the rich marks. That was his rule. He wasn’t a bad person. He never touched poor people, or the elderly, or the disabled. He just needed to eat and a little extra to feed his habit. These two probably tipped their cab drivers more than Gabe would even take.

  He drifted toward them, hands in his pockets. Before he could reach them, though, a new man snagged his attention. Tall, maybe twenty, twenty-five years older than Gabe. The kind of person who exuded wealth from head to toe. Gabe never intended to switch targets but somehow found himself gliding in the tall man’s direction anyway, like the man’s designer linen shirt contained a lure and Gabe was a hungry fish.

  Gabe closed the gap between them, waiting for his chance. When the rowdy group of college-aged kids coming their way passed them was when he’d strike. Same routine every time. He pretended to stumble right as a noisy group showed up, accidentally bumping the mark. After a quick apology, Gabe would disappear into the crowd. By the time the mark noticed their wallet had vanished with the stranger, Gabe was long gone.

  The three boys in the front started to sing a loud ditty about girls and beer. Sweet. The more commotion, the better. Gabe edged closer to the man as the students shouted their approach from the opposite direction.

  Wait, wait, wait…now!

  Gabe darted forward at the same time the larger group parted to allow his target through. He was an arm’s length away from nabbing the wallet when the man spun in his tracks.

  Caught off guard, Gabe stumbled. For real this time. As one knee hit the ground, he glanced up. The man towered over him with his arms crossed over his chest and a stern expression etched onto his shrewd face.

  “Why are you watching me?”

  Think fast.

  Only heroin dulled his brain to the point where even thinking at all was a challenge.

  “I…” With the way the sun streamed over the man, his skin appeared to be glowing. Almost like one of the golden angels in the church he’d walked by earlier, where the man in the wheelchair sat begging. Perfect. “I was coming over to ask if you could spare some change.”

  The man didn’t say anything as Gabe climbed to his feet, only studied Gabe with those weird eyes of his. Almost like he could peel open Gabe’s skull and pluck the thoughts right out of his brain. Gabe shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, preparing to run as certainty pierced his haze. He’d made a mistake, a big one. This man wasn’t a mark. He was a hunter.

  “How would you like a job instead?”

  Gabe tapped his hand against his ear. The heroin must be messing with his hearing. “I’m sorry?”

  “I said, instead of begging, would you be interested in a job?”

  “A job?”

  When the man nodded, Gabe’s mouth split into a wide grin. “Yes, please. More than interested.”

  In his altered state, there was a moment when Gabe convinced himself that the man’s weird eyes lingered a bit too long on his mouth. But to be fair, Gabe noticed many things that weren’t really there when he was high. Besides, the idea that a street hustler like himself held any appeal for a successful man like this? Ridiculous.

  That chance encounter changed Gabe’s life. Dr. Kingsley, as the man introduced himself, was a psychiatrist who recognized Gabe’s addiction from the very start. The first thing his rescuer did was send him to rehab. Once Gabe was clean, Kingsley trained him to be his assistant. Life had continued along just fine until the day Gabe found the video on his boss’s computer, revealing the man had a dark side too disturbing to ignore.

  When Gabe came back to the present, he still sat on the edge of his bed in the new safe house in McMinnville, Oregon. Rob was still dead. Murdered by Kingsley, along with the stranger last night on the video. Gabe’s brain hurt, trying to reconcile the man who lifted him up off the streets and turned his life around with the monster he knew today.

  “Why didn’t I pick the blue pill?” Gabe had tortured himself with that question many times. If he’d had a choice like Neo in The Matrix, would he pick the red pill? Or would he stick to the cozy world he’d known. In the blue world pill, Gabe never would have learned about Kingsley’s sadistic practices. He could have lived out his days in blissful ignorance.

  Some days, Gabe even wished that he’d done exactly as Kingsley had requested and played along. Would that really have been so bad? Do what Kingsley said and not worry about the rest? Surely anything was better than watching the people around him die while Kingsley hunted him like an animal.

  His phone chimed, yanking him from his trance. A message alert. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as Gabe clicked to open the message. An image popped up, and Gabe stopped breathing. The picture showed a naked woman’s body, except her head was missing. Blood dripped from her stump of a neck, but that wasn’t even the most horrible part.

  Ha-ha.

  At first, Gabe mistook the sloppy red writing on her belly for paint. His vision focused, and he realized his error with a gasp. Not paint at all. Blood. No wonder the letters appeared so haphazard.

  Kingsley had carved the word into her flesh so tha
t the wounds would fill with blood to spell out a message. Like the woman was nothing more than a human version of a Jack-o-lantern.

  Gabe’s stomach lurched again. His gaze fell on the caption at the bottom—your time is up—and his hands turned boneless. The phone fell to the floor for the second time that morning, but Gabe barely noticed. He pushed to his feet, and on heavy legs, shuffled his way to the dining room table, feeling older than he’d ever felt in his life.

  He sat in the chair, grabbed the notepad and pen, and started to write.

  16

  Katarina arched her back on the silky black sheets and stretched her arms overhead, relishing the buzz flowing through her naked body. The air was heavy with a musky-sweet scent, sex and sweat mixed with laundry detergent, and Clayne’s even breathing was the only sound. For the first time in months, Katarina felt truly alive.

  Amazing, what a little midday sex could do for morale. Not that she bothered deluding herself. Sex alone wasn’t enough to jumpstart Katarina like this. No, she needed an extra element to really get her blood humming.

  Danger.

  She rolled onto her side, studying the naked man sprawled beside her. With his lashes fanned against his cheeks, he appeared softer. Sweet, even. But Katarina knew better.

  She’d spent her life around dangerous men, and Clayne Miller triggered every warning signal. Goose bumps shivered along her bare skin. Clayne might be dangerous, but he had no idea that Katarina was too. Perhaps even more dangerous than him. That was a secret she would keep tucked away, to take out and savor whenever the urge arose. Watching Clayne underestimate her might be exactly the entertainment her life here in Wyoming was missing so far.

  Her phone dinged on the nightstand. Katarina stretched one last time before turning over to check the screen. Damn. Time to pick Bethany up from her movie night already. If nothing else, rolling around in the sheets with Clayne had sure helped to pass the hours. So much better than cleaning.

  Katarina pushed to a sit, laughing when strong hands latched around her waist and yanked her back to bed. Her skin pressed against Clayne’s bare chest, and she sighed, her body tingling with renewed interest. Another round sounded like fun.