The Killer in Me Read online

  Joel crossed his arms, the bulging muscles straining the seams of his shirt. He had no qualms about a show of force, especially with a man he had no esteem for, family or not. “This became my business when Ma invited me into the conversation. If she finds out you messed with Elizabeth, what do you think she’ll do?”

  Karl lurched around, glaring at everyone who had suddenly become interested in the free show. “What? You think ’cause you some big-time hero you can jus’ butt in wherever?” Karl hocked a wad of tobacco-laced phlegm and spat it on Joel’s boots. “That’s what I think ’bout you.”

  “Get this drunk ass out of my bar,” Marnie barked.

  He swung an arm about. Elizabeth ducked at the last second, taking a glancing blow to the side of her face.

  “Damn you, Karl.”

  Elizabeth straightened, bright spots cavorting across her vision. She danced out of the way as Joel grabbed Karl by the shirt. “Joel, no!”

  Too late. He flung Karl across the floor. Anyone in the lumbering man’s path bolted. Karl crashed into a table, flipping it and spewing the contents. Joel stalked after him.

  “Damn it.” Elizabeth scrambled after her ex-husband.

  His years as a trained Special Forces operative made him quick and agile. Elizabeth couldn’t catch him. And Karl didn’t stand a chance. Joel reached down and hooked his hands under Karl’s armpits. He hoisted his drunk cousin to his feet. Karl slammed his fists down on Joel’s straining forearms, but it only served to anger her ex.

  Speed born of necessity, Joel backed Karl right out of the bar and sent him sprawling into the street.

  “Marnie, call it in!” Elizabeth threw over her shoulder and followed the men outside.

  Joel was getting in more hits than Karl, who was even more unsteady on his feet. Blood dribbled from Karl’s nose. Roaring, he tried to rush Joel with a bear hug maneuver. Why did anyone ever think that move would work?

  Joel waited for his cousin to come within reach, then swatted his arms aside and tripped him. Elizabeth flinched as Karl face-planted into the pavement.

  “Enough!” She interceded, pushing Joel back. “You’ve done enough damage.”

  Karl rolled onto his back and blinked up at the darkened sky. The pavement had left a bloody road rash all along the left half of his face. Breathing heavily, he lay there.

  “I warned him,” Joel said.

  “It was an accident. He wouldn’t have touched me otherwise.”

  “He’s too damn drunk to know the difference.”

  Glaring, she stepped into his personal space and jabbed a fingernail into his nose. “And your skills as a fighter far exceed his own. If you’d killed him, I would have had to arrest you. Then where would you be? As it stands, I should have you arrested for aggravated assault.”

  “Only if he presses the matter.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  They turned as Ma walked up the sidewalk, Stephen ambling right alongside her.

  “Stephen warned me Karl was drunk and stewing for a fight.” She looked down at her snoring son, Karl having passed out at some point as Elizabeth lashed out at Joel. “I’ll take him home. Sober him up.” Her gaze swung to Joel. “We’ll consider this a family matter.”

  He nodded.

  “What say you, Sheriff?” Ma pointed at a spot under her right eye.

  Elizabeth touched the same spot on her face and winced at the spark of pain. “I don’t want to give him any more cause for friction between us. It was an accident.”

  “I knew you were a sensible woman.”

  Blue flashing lights announced Fitzgerald’s arrival. He parked next to their little group and took his sweet time getting out of his squad car. “What’s going on here?”

  Elizabeth took a look around and felt her blood pressure spike. There was a considerable audience hovering in the bar doorway. Right smack in the middle, Sheehan grinned like a fool. Oh, he had to be eating this right up.

  “You all have had your eyeful. Step back inside and finish up your night. Now.”

  Disgruntled, the crowd dispersed. Sheehan lingered, his smirk plastered on his face. When Ma stepped into his line of sight, he lost his humor. Thumbing his nose at them, he entered the bar.

  “Ma, where are you parked?”

  “I’ll be right back.” She stepped into the shadows surrounding the building.

  A moment later, her ancient Suburban appeared. Leaving the engine running, she exited the vehicle.

  “Fitzgerald, would you assist Joel in getting Karl into his mother’s car, please?”

  A flush to his features, Fitzgerald nodded and helped Joel lift the unconscious Karl into the Suburban. Once she had Stephen retrieve Karl’s truck, Ma sighed.

  She dipped her head respectfully. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  “Good night, Ma.”

  When they’d gone, Fitzgerald returned to his car. Without a word, he left.

  Left alone with her ex, Elizabeth turned to him. “Thank you so much for undermining my authority. I had it handled.”

  “Karl’s a belligerent drunk, Ellie. He would have never listened to you.”

  “Guess now we’ll never know, will we? My God, Joel, you are not my protector. I don’t need saving—I’m the sheriff. By intervening, you just proved Sheehan right and made me look weak in front of my voters. If I’m seen unable to control one drunk, what’s that say to them when it comes to more precarious issues?”

  “All the more reason you need to give up this asinine idea of being sheriff. Leave it to those who know what they’re doing.”

  The poison of her fury drained from her body, leaving her slack-jawed. What had she expected from her ex? For him to actually support her in this? “Not only do you not know me”—she stabbed a finger into his chest—“you underestimate me and what I’m capable of doing in this job.” She turned and headed toward home.

  “And what do you hope to accomplish, Elizabeth?” Joel asked.

  She paused, catching a glimpse of movement in one of the bar’s windows. Sheehan watched her through the beveled glass.

  “I’m cleaning up this county. No matter what it takes.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Stacked boxes filled with her meager possessions lined the front hall of the small one-bedroom bungalow. Lila kicked out of her boots, leaving them by the front door. Instinct drove her to flip both the dead bolt and the handle locks, ensuring she would never be caught by surprise again.

  She had chosen this house because of its recent renovations and updates, high among them the secure windows and doors. Forget the security system. That hadn’t saved her last time.

  The only other living soul in the house drifted through its brightly lit waters. Green and red fauna waved about, blocking the view of the Easter Island statuette. Lila bent down, peering inside the tank. The blue Betta flicked his gorgeous tail at her and then darted inside the gaping mouth.

  “Nice to see you too, Gerry.”

  Giving the uppity fish a few flakes of food, she checked the thermometer. The water’s temp was holding steady. Lila worried during Gerry’s precarious trip from Chicago to Juniper that his water would get too cold and put the fish in a state of shock, possibly killing him. It was absurd to be so attached to a fish, but attached she’d become to the Siamese fighting Betta. He’d been an impulse purchase, one that left her grasping for reasons, because she’d never thought she’d ever replace the Koi that perished the night of her attack.

  Lila pressed her right hand to the left side of her abdomen. A knife was not the sole thing that had left scars.

  A warm glow from the back of the house drew her to the kitchen. More boxes sat haphazardly on counters and the dinette set wedged in the corner. Another reason to take the house: it came fully furnished. Unlocking a hidden drawer under the fish tank, she retrieved the firearm she’d hidden there.

  Her certainty of getting the deputy job had been high, but she had refused to bring a sidearm until she took the oath. Lila had
felt exposed without a weapon as she’d worked alongside the sheriff, but she was home now. Tomorrow when she reported for her first official shift, she’d have duty belt and gun on.

  Shrugging out of her filthy clothing, she chucked them at a pair of slatted, folding doors that hid her laundry facility. Naked, the Glock gripped in her hand, she slipped into the bathroom.

  While the Jacuzzi tub filled with hot water, Lila inspected the damage inflicted from her fall in the Barrett house. She hadn’t bothered as Dr. Thorpe did his exam. There’d been no use. Without a mirror, she’d not been able to see her sides and back. The abrasions, still lined with tiny dots of blood, were fading to pink. Purple bruising indicated the points where her abdomen had slammed into the broken flooring. All in all, she’d gotten off scot-free.

  Steam filmed over the mirror. Backing from the sink, she glanced into the other room. Propped against the wall, the NordicTrack treadmill waited for her to extract it from the box and set it up. She closed the bathroom door. Not tonight.

  Easing into the large bathtub, Lila sank beneath the near scalding water and moaned. If it were possible to melt, she’d have done it. After a few moments of letting her body acclimate to the temperature, she ducked under the water and scrubbed her scalp and hair. Coming up for air, she shook her saturated locks. Actual soap and shampooing would come later. She flicked on the jets, setting the timer to turn off in twenty minutes. The water frothed around her, the two jets at her back beating a steady blast against aching muscles. Her hand resting on the butt of the Glock, she reclined against the bathtub’s side, closed her eyes, and relaxed.

  Two days. The unnamed victim had been dead two days. It certainly explained the lack of rigor and the distinguishable presence of lividity. Despite narrowing down the proximate time of death, they didn’t know what had killed her. And why had the victim’s rate of decomp not matched the time of death? Two days, she should be bloated and skin beginning to loosen and sag from the skeleton. Oddly for December, it hadn’t been chilly enough to slow decomp. Nighttime temps maybe, but for the last two days the daytime temps were in the upper forties and midfifties. Something wasn’t right about this.

  Shifting her bare bottom on the tub base, she sank farther into the water. No point circling the subject now. There wasn’t enough information to make any conclusions, and evidence was lacking. Lila would do what Sheriff Benoit ordered: she’d sleep. Tomorrow there should be more answers.

  The thrum of the jets created the perfect backdrop of white noise. Between the heat, and the massage on her body, Lila dozed off.

  Her shoulder jerking down as her hand splashed in the water brought her awake. Floundering, Lila shoved her body upright. The jets had stopped, and the bath water cooled. Wiping a dripping hand over her face, she groaned. A nap in the tub was never a good idea. Stiff from sitting on the hard surface, she rose gingerly. After running the shower for a quick rinse, she stepped out. Towel wrapped around her, she reached over the tub, grabbed the Glock, and left the bathroom.

  Hesitating at the curtain separating her sleeping quarters from the rest of the room, she tilted her head to the side. Glock gripped firmly in hand, she rotated. There it was again. Gun cradled in her hands, she crept to the doorway. The buzz came from her pile of clothing.

  Right. Her phone. Lowering her weapon, she padded over to the pile. Digging her buzzing cell from her coat pocket, she checked caller ID. Cecil. Answer it, or let it go to voice mail? There was a right answer to that question. Sighing, she tapped the green phone icon.

  “I’m not coming back.”

  “That’s not how you answer a call. Now let’s try this again. Hello, is Lila there?”

  Biting the inside of her cheek, she stopped the grin. “Hello, Cecil.”

  Detective Cecil Waterford, retired, was the sole man she trusted to know her whereabouts. Her partner for the brief time she was a detective, Cecil had been the unfortunate soul to find Lila after the attack, barely clinging to life and shattered. He’d vowed to find the bastard that had put an end to their partnership. But Lila couldn’t wait forever.

  “I’m still not coming back,” she said.

  “I never said you would.”

  She headed back into the bedroom. “Every time you talk to me you insist I rethink my decision, and tell me the force still needs me.”

  “Well, it does.” He sighed. “But I understand why you left.”

  “Do you? Really?” She hit the speaker icon and dropped the phone on the bed, next to the Glock.

  “Yes. Really.”

  Lila dug out a pair of yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt from her suitcase. “So, what brought you to this enlightenment?” Screw putting on undergarments. She slid into her comfy clothing.

  Cecil cleared his throat, and let silence permeate the fiber optics.

  “Wow, those must be some heavy thoughts brewing in your head.” Silence remained on his end of the connection. “Cecil?”

  “I’m here.” His voice cracked.

  Her chest tightened, as if a hand had reached inside and squeezed her heart. They hadn’t been partners for long, but Cecil had managed to fill a Dad-shaped void in Lila that had been empty for the majority of her life. Biting her quivering lip, she drove back the emotions.

  “Hey, you know, this isn’t why I called,” Cecil said. “They made a positive ID on one of the victims.”

  The room spun. Squeezing her eyes shut, Lila brought a halt to the vertigo. She picked up the phone, stiffening as her hand shook. Her legs unable to keep her upright, she collapsed onto the edge of the haphazardly made bed.

  “Which one?” she whispered.

  “John Doe number five, the one found off the Eisenhower. His name was Brian Waters.”

  Lila swallowed against the tidal wave of bile in the back of her throat. “How many does that make that have been ID’d?”

  “Brian makes six now.”

  Six known victims, and four left unaccounted for. And those were only the ones discovered in the greater Chicago area, all along major interstates. God knew how many were still out there, waiting for someone to stumble upon their graves.

  “Where was Brian from?” Why was she asking this? She shouldn’t be asking. Not her problem.

  “Arizona, a suburb of Phoenix called Surprise.” Cecil sighed. “He’s been missing for nine years.”

  “Why was he in Chicago?” She should end this conversation. Now.

  “His family doesn’t know. He was twenty when he went missing. So far, that makes him the youngest of the victims.”

  Lila cradled her forehead in her palm, digging her fingernails into her scalp. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “This was your case, Lila.”

  “Was, Cecil, was my case. It isn’t any longer. It stopped being my case the moment that psychopath broke into my home and attacked me.”

  “You can move as far away as possible. Try to separate yourself from the inevitable, but you’ll never outrun it. You have to face that fact. You aren’t the investigator working the case—you are now the case because you encountered this guy and lived. He’s still out there.”

  “And every time you bring me back into the fold, you give him a chance to get that much closer to finishing what he started.”

  “It’s not my intention. I want you informed so you know what your next move is.”

  Slapping her thigh, she jerked her head up. “My next move is to get over it. Move on with my life and let the guys do their job back there. I’m not bringing it here. I won’t be a victim again.”

  Dead air met her outburst. For a solid eight ticks of the second hand, Lila held her breath. Had he hung up?

  “I don’t want that, either.” The strain in his voice brought a quiver to her lip.

  Moisture built in her eyes. “I appreciate you watching out for me. But I’ve got a good thing started here, and I want to focus on that.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Wiping her eyes, she cleared her throat. “I�
��m sure. But that doesn’t mean you’re forbidden from calling to check on me.”

  “Just from talking shop with you.”

  “To a certain extent.”

  “I can live with that.” He let the normal pause in their conversation carry on longer than usual. “Are all aspects of your former life off-limits?”

  Lila frowned. “Depends.” She pushed off the bed. Her growling stomach begged for relief. “What part of my former life are we talking about?” She ambled out to the kitchen.

  “A few nights back I ran into Tate.”

  Halting, she stared at the fridge door. “That part is off-limits.”

  “I figured as much. But if you ever get the urge to know—”

  “Not happening. He made his decision, end of story.” She yanked the door open and bent over to look inside. Empty. Like it had been this morning and last night.

  “You sound tired,” Cecil said. “A long day?”

  “Aren’t the first days on the job usually long?”

  He chuckled, the warm sound lifting Lila out of her funk, even if for a brief moment.

  “I’ll let you go.”

  Propping her elbow on the fridge door, she leaned into it. “Despite the news you dropped on me, I’m glad you called.”

  “You could repay in kind.”

  “I’ll think about it. Night, Cecil.”

  He grunted his response and the connection went dead.

  Lila looked at the screen as it faded to a photo of Gerry peeking between red fronds. As she lowered the phone, her gaze drifted to her reflection in the darkened windows above the dining table. The woman using the fridge as a prop was not the woman Cecil wanted.

  Tearing away her gaze, she shut the door with a slap and stalked to the pantry. A grocery sack sat on the middle shelf, its contents spilled out of the bag. Dry cereal for supper. She dug a hand inside, pulled out of fistful of Lucky Charms, and kicked the pantry door shut.

  As she turned to return to her bedroom, a flicker of motion outside made her freeze. Gulping a mouthful of marshmallow rainbows, she scanned the area. Empty.