The boy was still unconscious when Weber unzipped the bag and rolled his limp body out onto the smooth brown tile, but Weber was unconcerned. The boy would awaken shortly. Moving quickly now, Weber emptied his spare clothes from the bag onto the floor beside him and dropped his straw hat onto the tiles beside the clothes. Leaving his running shoes on, he pulled off his shorts and hastily slipped into the gym shorts, then took off the Hawaiian shirt and donned the old T-shirt. When he was done, he put his original outfit on over the new clothes. Originally, he’d planned to wear the T-shirt and shorts under his clothes when he left his apartment, but the unseasonable heat made him decide otherwise. He shoved his gun back into place under the Hawaiian shirt and finished by folding the baseball cap and stuffing it into his rear pocket.
The boy’s eyes were open now, staring up at Weber with the same detached curiosity as before. The look didn’t change when Weber
Weber strode swiftly out of the building, exiting beneath the opposite tower from the one where he had thrown the boy. A small crowd was already beginning to gather around the costumed body, and more students were scampering in that direction, eager to see what was going on. A couple of kids glanced Weber’s way as he hurried away, but he resisted the temptation to break into a trot. He wanted to be noticed, but as an afterthought, not as someone running from a crime scene. His hat and sunglasses would prevent anyone from giving much more than a description of his clothes and his build.Suddenly, a siren wailed from surprisingly close by, and he saw a campus security cruiser rushing up the plaza, its rooftop light bar flashing red and blue. Damn cell phones, he thought as he quickly shifted his path away from the oncoming car. Someone had already called in the killing, and the cop had obviously been very nearby. Weber had not expected the cops to be here quite so swiftly
He inched his hand toward the gun under his shirt as he considered his options. How many were back there? He had seen only one guy when he stepped onto the sidewalk, but maybe there were more now. Why were they stopping him? Could he play dumb and bluff his way out? In his new outfit, he thought he might, as long as they didn’t frisk him or ask to look inside his backpack. If they did either, he was cooked. His fingers wrapped around the butt of the Browning, his decision made. Surprise was his best chance.Conner took a few steps toward the waiting man, then stopped. Something about the guy’s reaction pricked at his brain. Most people would have looked back at the sound of his voice. This guy had stopped, sure, but he hadn’t turned around. Instinctively, Conner sensed danger. Suddenly, the man began to spin, his hand holding something dark, but Conner had already launched himself to the side, flinging himself to the ground behind a pair of sturdy blue U.S.
When Conner entered the plaza, he found the scene much busier than the one he and O’Malley had circled over just a short while ago. Three LAPD squad cars and two more university police cruisers formed a ragged semi-circle around the murder scene, their glaring headlights all pointing inward, illuminating the area around the body like klieg lights from a movie set. The crowd of gawkers milling behind a row of yellow police barriers added to the image of a movie production at work. But this was no movie. An ambulance sat on the lawn close to the body, but its flashing lights were off, and two paramedics stood idly nearby chatting with one of the cops, confirming what Conner had already guessed—the kid was dead.He stopped near the far end of the plaza, away from the crowd, where O’Malley would be able to land the chopper to pick him up. Now that he knew what to look for, he wanted to get back up in the air, where he would be able to cover the most ground. He was glad he had a good reaso
Conner watched Sloane break away from the horde of reporters and shuffle back inside the yellow barriers, lumbering back toward the Explorer like a weary bear. He yanked the door open and slid into the driver’s seat beside Conner.“Bunch of assholes,” Sloane sighed as he pulled the door closed behind him. The solid thunk of the door gave evidence of his anger and frustration. “They all wanna know when we’re gonna get this guy, like we’ve got some kind of schedule cooked up telling us the day and time.” He rubbed a thick forearm slowly across his forehead, using his sleeve to wipe away the glistening film of sweat that mottled his skin, then twisted in his seat to face Conner. “So, what happened, Case?”Conner recounted his story in detail, hating to think about how close he’d come, but knowing that talking about what he’d seen would implant it more firmly in his brain. By the time he finished, he was see
Conner forced his tired eyes open and glanced groggily at the clock atop the cardboard box that served as a nightstand beside his bed. His eyelids felt like sandpaper as he blinked to bring the blurred red digits into focus. It was just past seven. He groaned and pushed the sheet aside, feeling like he hadn’t slept at all, which was not far from the truth. After returning from the murder scene and his brush with the killer, he’d spent most of the night thinking and scribbling notes while his impressions were still fresh in his mind. Sometime after four o’clock, he finally dragged himself to bed, but even then sleep resisted him. Just one more hour in bed would be wonderful, but he had too much to do today.He rolled slowly to the side of the bed, swinging his legs over the edge and pulling himself up into a sitting position. For a moment he just sat there, head slumped forward while he rubbed his heavy-lidded eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to clear
Conner knew he was chasing a long shot—the killer could just as easily practice on tin cans in some remote canyon. But at least it was something, an angle to pursue while the task force went about its work gathering a list of Superman costume buyers and interviewing everyone connected with Collins-Cline for some hint how the killer could have known about the costume in advance. Meanwhile, the Vice Squad production crew was at the beach, filming the revised scenes penned by Keith Stennie.Inspired by his buccaneer persona, Stennie had come up with an old pirate method of execution, one they were certain would attract the killer’s interest. The primary victim was to be buried in the sand up to her neck and left to drown as the tide rolled in. Conner hated the thought that they were risking someone’s life in such a horrid manner, but unless the investigation turned up some important information soon, someone was going to die next week whether they changed the s
The wariness in Malomond’s eyes deepened. Conner knew most of his clients walked on the wrong side of the law, and Malomond would necessarily be protective of them. The ex-cop pulled himself erect and looked down at Conner. “I don’t talk about my customers, Case. You shoulda known that before you ever came here.” Conner held the big man’s gaze. “I know that. I’m hoping this one might be different.” “Why?” “Because the guy I’m looking for has killed seven people, including a ten-year-old kid. And he’s gonna keep killing until we stop him.” Malomond studied Conner. “What’s your interest? I heard you quit.” “I did. But this is a bad one. I’m unofficial, but I’m lending a hand.” Malomond’s look softened. He leaned back against the thick wooden rail fronting the shooting booth, his belligerence gone. “The guy you’re looking for don’t sound like none of my guys, Case. Honest.” “He’s probably not one of your regulars. Maybe a guy who comes in now and then, or was here for awhile and
For the first time, the killer had a face.Perched on the edge of his couch, Conner stared at the two sketches in his hands. The light from the floor lamp beside the couch threw a soft glare on the portraits. They were good. Malomond had come through as promised, meeting with the police artist within three hours of Conner’s visit and providing a detailed, cop’s description, albeit one based on memories several months old. The first sketch showed the killer with long hair and a thick beard, the way he looked when he practiced at Malomond’s range. With the dark hair and beard covering much of his face, Conner thought he looked a bit like Charlie Manson, with one notable exception. In every photo he’d ever seen of Manson, the man’s eyes were fixed in a crazed, fanatical stare that let you know right away something was wrong inside him, that the wiring in his brain was different from other men. The Video Killer bore no such look. He looked tough, sure, but you could pass him on the street
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