The woman must have felt his eyes on her, because she beamed a fake smile and thrust out one hip in a time-honored stance. Weber returned the smile. Her body was better than okay. And she wasn’t wearing a wig. He was going to enjoy this in more ways than one.
He moved closer, until less than a foot of space separated their bodies. In her gold stilettos, she was just a few inches shorter than him. He could see the uneven smears of make-up caked on her cheeks, and her breath smelled of stale tobacco and coffee. Surprisingly, her teeth were white and straight. Not one to take home to Mother, he thought, but she would do. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his money, making certain she saw both bills. He held one of the hundreds in front of her chin. She eyed it greedily.
“I’m all yours, baby,” she purred, clutching the bill between her thumb and forefinger but making no move to pull it from his hand. “Whatever you want, I promise
Wednesday morning, Conner arrived at work to find Sloane waiting in his office, looking completely at home in Conner’s chair with his feet stretched out atop the desk, his cell phone pressed against his ear. Sloane grinned and held up his index finger, signaling he would be through in a minute. Conner plopped onto the leather visitor’s chair beside his desk and waited. He hadn’t spoken to Sloane since Saturday, when he had relayed Jo Hegan’s information about Christy DeMars, but he didn’t need to be a detective to know Sloane’s visit was not a social call. Sloane’s presence meant only one thing—some new development in the case. Either Miller and Sorenson had come up with something important, or else the killer had struck again. Conner prayed it was the former, but he had a sinking feeling it was not.Sloane was doing a lot more listening than talking, but from the little Conner could hear, he was talking to someone back at headq
He was honest enough about his talents to know it might. And could he refuse Sloane when his old friend so clearly wanted his help? Not if he wanted to keep what self-respect he had left. But how deep could he allow himself to be drawn in? He got up and resumed pacing. Finally, he turned back to Sloane. “If I said yes, where would I fit in?” “How about right above Miller and Sorenson?” “Take over? No way. I’m not even a cop anymore, remember?” Sloane studied Conner’s face. How hard could he push his friend? “I can fix that.” Conner’s response was immediate. “No way. I’m through with all that. It’ll have to be something else.” Sloane backed off, not wanting to risk losing Conner completely. “Then we’ll set it up however you want. Make you an independent consultant. Coordinate through my office. You need anything, you ask me. You got any suggestions, you tell me and I’ll see they’re followed up. Do as much or as little as you want.
Sitting on the matted brown carpet of his sparsely furnished apartment, his back propped against the front of his couch, Conner watched the shoot-em-up climax of the “Christ Killer” episode of Vice Squad. Gunshots blasted from the screen as the cops traded fire with the cornered killer, a welcome sign the show was almost over. He could have watched the recording at his office or downtown at Police Headquarters, but this was more convenient, so he had gone ahead and bought a DVR player. He had the grim feeling he would be watching and recording more episodes in the weeks to come, so having the player seemed like a good idea. He’d been singularly unimpressed with the show, finding it nothing more than an hour-long paean to violence and sex. While the writing was imaginative in some ways, the show was full of impossible situations, clichés and completely unrealistic stereotypes of criminals and police. The real Vice Squad dealt with vice—prostitution, gambling, pornography—not
Thursday morning, the shit, as Sloane had predicted, began to hit the fan. An industrious young female reporter from the Times had used her charms to pry a complete description of the condition of Sheila’s body from the motel manager. The details were bizarre enough to merit a follow-up story on the killing, and someone in the copy room immediately recognized that the murder matched the killing on Vice Squad. The television connection was all it took to fan a spark into a flame. The local radio and television news jumped on the story, trumpeting the copycat murder as their lead story. By dinnertime, the killing was the talk of Los Angeles. Curled up side-by-side on the couch in Cecilia’s living room, Conner with his shoeless feet on the coffee table, Cecilia with her legs drawn up underneath her on the couch, they watched a perky, dark-haired female reporter on the five o’clock news describe the grisly details of the killing. “That’s horrible,” Cecilia said as the st
Saturday morning, Sloane dropped by Conner’s apartment to brief him on what the task force had learned since Wednesday. He approached the door with trepidation. This was the first time he’d been to his friend’s home in almost a year, since shortly after the Smithson killing, when he tried to talk Conner out of quitting the force. The hallway was as dingy and unwelcoming as he remembered it. He hesitated a moment, then knocked softly upon the scarred wooden door. A few seconds later, Conner opened the door and ushered him in. “Coffee?” Conner asked once they were inside. “If it’s already made, yeah. If not, don’t bother.” “It’s ready. Be right back.” While Conner disappeared into the kitchen, Sloane glanced around the barren apartment, shaking his head in resignation. The place still looked as if Conner had just moved in. The couch was the same beat-up, tan plaid monstrosity the place’s previous occupants had decided not worth the effort to carry down
Monday Night. Ten o'clock. Channel 7. Throughout Los Angeles, people tuned to Vice Squad. The housewife in Van Nuys, trapped in her boring, ho-hum life, seeking to raise her voyeuristic thrills above the level provided by the supermarket tabloids. The street punk in Inglewood, grinning, eager to see what brand of mayhem would next be unleashed. The matron in Beverly Hills, half-stoned on prescription narcotics, fearful of being left out at the next upscale gossip session. The writers and producers lurking in every corner of the city, preying on pain and misfortune, scavengers, searching for anything that might gain them the almighty dollar. The mayor, City Council members and the Chief of Police, all hoping and praying the madness would cease. And Conner. Perched on his couch, yellow pad and pen beside him, DVR set to record so he could analyze and dissect what he saw. Mycroft Holmes, remaining above the fray, ready to help from a distance. Telling himself he could remain un
Prowling back and forth across his living room, Weber reviewed his notes one final time before folding them twice and shoving them into the back pocket of his jeans. He was primed and ready to go, a bomb whose fuse had been set and activated. His body felt charged, as if a mild electric current was continuously circulating through his muscles. He loved the feeling. It was the feeling he’d carried through Vietnam, a feeling he thought lost forever. But he had rediscovered it, and he vowed never to lose it again. He checked his watch. Nine o’clock. Still early, but there was much to do. Tonight’s mission was far more complex than the previous two, but that only heightened his anticipation. Last night had been for planning and reconnaissance—tonight was the night for implementation. He wondered if the cops thought the respite meant his spree was ended. They would know soon enough it was not. He drove to West Los Angeles, to a sprawling apartment complex picked out the n
EARLY THURSDAY MORNING, still not quite sure why he’d agreed to it, Conner slogged along in an unending stream of brake lights on the San Diego Freeway, inching his way south with thousands of commuters on the clogged highway. Most were heading to work—in a way, so was he. When his phone had jarred him from sleep twenty minutes earlier, he knew instantly it was Sloane, calling to tell him the Video Killer had struck again. Sloane had been blunt. Would Conner go to Venice to take a look at the scene? His automatic reaction had been to say no; this was exactly the type of involvement he wanted to avoid. He had no stomach to subject himself to the grisly realities of the case, realities that would be driven home by viewing the killer’s work first hand. But instead of following his instincts and saying no right away, Conner had allowed himself to think. He remembered the way he felt the day before, waiting to hear from Sloane that another body had been found, frustrated by his i
Serena awoke to the sound of birds chirping and the smell of fresh coffee brewing. She rolled over lazily, reaching out for Raphael, but the space was empty. With eyes still closed, she frowned. Where is that man? That man had probably been out of bed since the crack of dawn, beside himself with nerves for today’s big event, she thought regretfully. They were to be married today. Their lives intertwined for all of eternity. What man wouldn’t have cold feet at the prospect? And they’d known each other such a short time, too. She opened her eyes and blinked a few times, and frowned again. She had awakened in the safe house. Last night, she’d killed a man in her own home, and knew she could never go back there ever again. She didn’t care how good the Brethren’s cleanup crew could restore her home. It would never erase the vivid memories and horrors of what had happened there. She and Raphael would have to find themselves a new home, together. Until such time, this place would be it, th
It’s going to be a long day without Raphael, Serena thought, as she washed and dressed. But she carried on. With so many loose ends to tie up, final checks to be made, people and places to coordinate, she scarcely had time to think about anything else. Except for her father. In the quiet moments between the bedlam of planning a wedding, she reflected upon him and her heart ached. She had arranged for a nursing home staffer to drive him and his wheelchair to the Chapel of the Holy Cross for the wedding. They didn’t usually allow weddings there, but somehow, Raphael swayed their decision. Kemuel promised to wheel her father down the aisle beside her, and she loved him instantly for that. But her dream was to have him walk her down that aisle. A sob caught in her throat, and she quickly shook her head to whisk it away. None of that nonsense, Serena. Don’t be greedy. At least he is alive and here to be a part of it all. As the day waxed on to evening, Serena felt unsettled. She hadn’t s
Raphael spent the next few days cloistered with Serena, away from everyone and everything, like a honeymoon before the wedding. But every morning he made creative excuses to tear himself away from her for a little while and work with Fred. To make sure she didn’t visit her father, he dropped her off at her shop first so she could plan a small wedding with Callie and catch up on the mountains of paperwork.The healing sessions with Serena’s father went spectacularly, and with Raphael’s charisma, he convinced the nursing home staff to keep any improvements secret from her. They thought it romantic that he came to help with his fiancée’s father’s rehabilitation. Everyone there rooted for him, amazed at his miraculous awakening. All of the therapists worked their tails off during his therapy sessions, wanting to see their severely stroke-damaged patient beat the odds and walk his daughter down the aisle.On the morning of the fifth day, Raphael got Fred walking without any assistance.“Co
Raphael grabbed her hands. “Do it!” he demanded. He placed them on his temples and spoke to her through their bonded connection. She felt every thought he had had of Sirona over the years straight to the present down their threaded connection. She heard every thought he’d had of her, including every word he had spoken while holding her in his arms at Dr. Chappo’s estate. He sent her everything that filled his heart and soul about her, and finally, at last, she knew.She knew. And knowing was everything to her. He gently brought her hands away from his face, kissing her fingertips as he eased them down, and she took a few steps backward, looking at him as if for the first time. No one before had ever felt about her the way he felt about her, let alone express so strongly all he’d expressed when she’d lain dying in his arms.“You’re in love with me.” She gasped, astonished. Tears welled again in her eyes, but this time, for a very different reason.“Yes.” He took a bold step toward her.
A bundle of nerves, that’s what she’d turned into. Since leaving her father’s, Serena had been nothing but a bundle of nerves, rehearsing over and over again what she would say to Raphael up on the Rock. Looking all around her now, frightening memories kept popping into her mind, making her think that at any moment, Steve or Wheezer were going to jump out and nab her. Unfortunately, she had gotten to the summit way too early, and now paced like a caged bobcat. It had to stop. The bad guys are dead, Serena. Think positive, and let go the past. So, finding a suitable rock to sit on, Serena decided to do a little meditation to soothe her worried heart. “When I see him, I’ll know the right words to say,” she notified the birds. It may sting for a bit, but it’s for the best.****Raphael showed up at the base of the mountain with time to spare, and noticed Serena’s Jeep already parked. Perfect, he thought. He checked his pocket for the millionth time, making sure the ring box hadn’t fallen
Raphael watched Serena leave the nursing home from behind one of the bushes in the front. She seems in good spirits, he thought. Only when he saw her disappear down the street did he dare to venture out of his hiding place. He walked into the nursing home and headed straight to the reception desk.“Hello, I’m here to see Mr. Sikes.” He smiled amiably at the receptionist.“Wow, two visitors in one day. Fred’s a lucky guy. Sign in right here, please. You’ll sign out before you leave. Take this badge so we know you belong here. Room 103 is down the hall, make a left, and he’s at the end on the left.”He looked at her name tag, and winked. “Thanks so much, Judy.”Walking down the hall, he found himself fidgeting with the badge in his hand. Am I actually nervous? Hell yeah! Raphael, the man, is about to meet the father of the woman he loves. Raphael, the man, is about to ask for this guy’s daugh
Great! Just great! There’s a leak in my bedroom ceiling. Wait a minute, that’s not right. I’m not in my bedroom. I’m locked away in Dr. Chappo’s house. She remembered more. Being bound to a gurney, her body broken and dying. But I’m not lying on a gurney now, and I actually feel great. How could she be dying and still feel great? And what’s with the rain shower on my face? Slowly her eyes fluttered open, and she gasped.It was raining. Angel’s tears. Raphael’s tears, to be exact.She lay in his arms, and from the way he shuddered and sobbed, she thought maybe he didn’t know she lived. To be honest with herself, she’d only realized this fact just a few moments before. Iridescent wings were outstretched and trembling though no breeze made them flutter so.She gently raised her hand to caress his cheek and whispered softly. “Shh…there now, Raphael, shh. It’s all right. I’m ok
Raphael noticed a knob on the box. It made sense to dial it to its lowest setting. He followed the tubing to its clamp on Serena’s side and decided to completely clamp it off. Now, no more blood could flow. But he still needed to get the needle out of her arm. He found gauze and tape on the tray stand and proceeded to extrude the catheter from her arm carefully so as not to injure her. He replaced it securely with the gauze and tape. His hands shook. I can’t fall apart like this right now! He quickly shrugged off the threat of paralyzing fear.“Hey, Raphael, this guy says his name is Steve. Isn’t that the name of one of guys who assaulted Serena?” Gabriel asked.“Yes, yes it is,” he said through gnashed teeth. Rage filled him and he clenched his fists, trying to gain some semblance of control. “Bind him, tightly. Make sure he can see Dr. Chappo. I’d like him to see what happens to assholes like him when they choose
Searing hot pain shot like lightning throughout every inch of Serena’s body. Well, every inch she could feel, which left her very disturbed indeed, because she couldn’t feel anything past her waist. She could barely breathe without severe pain ripping through her chest and back. She knew what that meant—broken ribs. But what about her legs? Where were they? And why did her wrists feel shackled? Oh, dear God! What’s become of me? Her shallow breaths quickened. Her heart raced and fought for freedom behind her aching chest. Tears burst through her closed eyes and flowed untapped down the sides of her face.A voice sliced through the whooshing sound in her ears. A voice she knew all too well, and had come to despise with every molecule in her being.“Uh, Doc, I think she’s coming ’round. What do you want me to do?” Steve asked.“Hmm? Oh, nuffin. Nuffin, Seeve. Jus’ keep watchin’,” Dr. Chappo sl