Scarlet Angel (Page 6)

“Take us to that one. I’ll check in on her later.”

She still hasn’t said anything. If she was going to spill the pile of beans, she’d have done it by now, right? She’s been in contact with them, apparently.

“That other case was jurisdiction hell,” Leonard states, waking me up again. I didn’t even realize my eyes had closed.

“The cops were all pissing on their territory. Duke said it was his since the murderer was in his jurisdiction. That place said it was theirs since the burial grounds were in their jurisdiction.”

“Yeah, and they called off her patrol because of a pissing contest,” Logan growls. “Tonight could have gone severely different.”

He holds me tighter, but I pretend I’m still asleep.

“It’s a miracle she got that knife away from him. Hadley told me what happened. Sent it all in a long text,” Elise says quietly.

Logan stiffens. “I still don’t think I’m ready to hear it just yet.”

My heartbeat is in my ears.

“She fought, Logan. She fought for her life, and it paid off. She caught him off guard enough that he made a mistake, and he died by his own knife. Ran right into it. I thought that only ever happened in the movies.”

My lips twitch, but I say nothing. Hadley is keeping my secret if she’s spreading the lie to her friends.

But why?

Chapter 4

Death is a fearful thing.

—William Shakespeare.

LOGAN

I almost feel like even a week won’t be enough. Not that I’ll actually be able to take a week. I’ll be lucky to get a few days, regardless of the fact my girlfriend was almost killed tonight.

My stomach is in knots just thinking of everything that could have gone wrong.

We’re inside the hotel room before I put Lana down for the first time. Checking in was a pain in the ass, but Lana just took my wallet from my pocket, and handed the very curious woman behind the counter whatever she asked for in sequence.

I can tell she hasn’t let the gravity of the situation sink in yet. She’s too calm. I want to be here for her when it does catch up.

She killed a man tonight. A man almost killed her.

And it’s all my fault.

She curls up on the bed, exhaustion weighing heavily in her eyes.

As soon as I’m down to my boxers, I join her, thankful she’s letting me touch her. If he’d…

I can’t keep thinking of everything that could have gone wrong. Hadley is a trained agent and still couldn’t go home alone. She came to a hotel where someone would hear her if she screamed for help.

Lana has to be on the verge of breaking down. She’s just a civilian with no training.

“I’m so sorry,” I say against her hair.

She hums, scooting back into me.

“Not your fault,” she mumbles.

“I knew my job was toxic for relationships, but I naively never thought it’d put you in danger,” I say softly, wondering if she’s already asleep when she doesn’t respond.

She rolls over, facing me, her eyes fighting to stay open.

“If you’re trying to break up with me after I just survived the Boogeyman, I may kick your ass.”

She says the words with dry humor, but I can see the vulnerable look in her eyes.

“I probably should, to be honest. But I’m too selfish to let you go,” I tell her honestly.

She brushes her lips against mine, and she sighs as she snuggles in closer. “I feel the exact same way. I can’t let you go, no matter how much better I feel you deserve.”

I deserve better? She was targeted by a sexual sadist because of me. She was attacked because I didn’t call the patrol one night to make sure they were in place. She was almost hurt because I failed her.

No. She was hurt. Not almost.

The bruises on her face and split lip tell that story plain and clear.

My phone chimes as Lana’s breathing evens out, and I listen to her sleep, holding her to me like I’m worried it’s all an illusion. Worried I’ll wake up tomorrow to realize I’ve had a psychotic break and am now living in my head—in a world where Lana survived.

I read the text from Craig.

CRAIG: Your girl fought back hard enough to leave some bruises on him too. Coroner said it couldn’t have been easy, since he was solid muscle. She’s tougher than you think. Stop beating yourself up.

ME: When your girlfriend almost dies because of a serial killer targeting you, then talk to me.

CRAIG: Touché. How is she?

ME: I don’t think it’s sunk in yet. She’s sleeping right now.

CRAIG: BTW, I know you want time off, but…I sort of found something major.

ME: Fuck. What?

My phone rings, but Lana doesn’t even stir. I answer reluctantly.

“So, this little town is covering up the fact there was a serial killer ten years ago. Sexual sadist much like our dearly departed Boogeyman.”

“Too soon,” I state dryly.

“Right. Sorry. But there’s literally not one mention of this ever in their papers.”

“What does the serial killer have to do with anything?”

“That’s the thing, it doesn’t look like they put away the right guy.”

I slowly sit up, careful not to disturb Lana. I’d normally go to another room, but not right now.

“What?”

“The Godfather profiled him to be in his mid-thirties to early forties, and a blue collared worker. But Leonard—yes, I called him first—said that it didn’t make sense. The guy was well organized, and displayed psychopathic tendencies when he killed. The women were brutally assaulted perimortem, antemortem, and postmortem. This guy was seriously into annihilating the body.”

“What’d he do?”

“In short, he carved them up, with a serrated knife, then drilled nails into their foreheads. It started off being mostly after they died. Then it started happening before they were dead. He developed into a true heartless bastard.”

“He’s a psychopath with sadistic tendencies. Not a sexual sadist. Sounds like sex was an afterthought. What does this have to do with our killer? I admit it sounds crazy to have another serial killer from that town, but this is obviously not a copycat situation. Our unsub’s motivation is revenge.”

“That’s what I was saying. I think the Godfather locked up the wrong guy. Serial killers rarely have kids. Psychopaths rarely have kids. Hell, ninety percent of all unsubs are childless because they can’t form healthy relationships long enough to have children. The guy they locked away was a doting father of two kids. Single parent too. His wife died five years earlier in a car accident. His kids were never late to school or neglected in anyway. They argued how impossible it was that he was the killer, claiming he was home with them every night and helping make supper as a family.”

“Why did he get pinned with it then?”

“DNA. They found his jizz at the crime scenes.”

“Way to be professional. But that is pretty incriminating.”

“Or brilliant. Who gets off on controlling a situation?”

“Narcissists. You think the killer was a narcissist?”

“Maybe it’s because of the Boogeyman thing still being so fresh, but yes. I think there was a whatever you said with some narcissism tossed in there. I think the true killer framed our guy. Why else would someone so organized blatantly leave behind DNA? And get this, they found two types of spermicide on each victim.”

“But spermicide is from condoms. If he left behind sperm, then why wear a condom?”

“Sounds like questions that should have been asked ten years ago. Anyway, he had two kids, but they’re no longer in Delaney Grove. There was an accident that happened shortly after their father was found dead in the county holding cell.”

“What?” I ask, confused. “What happened in the holding cell?”

“Yeah. Robert Evans died the day he was convicted. The coroner’s report had three words: He hung himself. Legit, that’s all it says. Then the kids went missing two nights later.”

“Fuuuuck. What happened?”

“I had to dig deep to find the report, because they went to a hospital five towns over. Long way to drive for a doctor when one is right in town. Supposedly there was a car accident, but the boy—seventeen—had severe signs of sexual trauma, and get this…he was castrated.”

I swallow the bile in my throat. “That’s our unsub.”

“You’d think. But unless he’s killing as a zombie, it’s not possible. He died that night in the hospital after somehow managing to drive him and his sister there, despite his injuries. If he drove from Delaney Grove… Hell, I don’t know how he didn’t die from the blood loss alone. The sister was beat to hell and back, stabbed multiple times, face caved in, a huge piece of glass sticking out of her. She had severe signs of sexual trauma too, but she claimed it was a car accident, just like he did. It’s noted they were too scared to speak, and the girl died later that night from complications. That’s all I could charm out of a helpful nurse without a warrant.”

My hand runs over the scar on Lana’s side, even though it’s covered by her clothing. Lana is sleeping hard, not noticing the way I touch her. The glass part strikes a nerve, reminding how she’s actually come close to dying twice now.