Chapter Eleven

 

 

"Good job," the killer said to Jessica as he disconnected the phone. "Now he will be out of our hair for a little while. By the time he figures out you're not in Georgetown and drives back, I'll be long gone, and he'll have a nice little present waiting for him when he arrives."

He poked her with the tip of the knife once more, and she felt the blood trickle down her neck to her collarbone. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of being afraid. She was done being afraid. This man had chased her her whole life. Now that he was here and she could look him in the eye, he wasn't that scary. He was just a pathetic man. A loser who liked to prey on young girls and women. But not anymore.

He was busy going through her paintings, one by one, admiring her work, reliving each kill. It made her sick. She wished he hadn't seen Adam put them in his car. But he did, and now he was looking at each one, studying them, critiquing them, relishing them, then discarding each as easily as he had the women they represented. Throwing them on the floor like so much garbage to spread in a heap around her. He'd handcuffed one of her hands to the foot of her sofa, and try as she might, she couldn't budge it.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. Not that she really wanted to know. She just couldn't stand the sound of his chuckling to himself as he examined her work.

"They are almost perfect," he said, looking at her with admiration. "Except they're lacking one thing."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Color."

He grabbed her free arm, held it up, and then drew his blade down her forearm to her wrist. Blood squirted then started to drip, spilling onto the paintings lying on the floor around her.

"See, now that's better. Now they're the way I remember them, and you are the way I always imagined you would be—covered in blood."

"You're sick."

"Am I? Or are you? Killing all these women and then finally killing yourself."

She glared at him as she finally realized what he'd been planning all along. "No one will ever believe that."

"Oh, but they already do."

She watched in horror as her blood seeped into the fibrous canvas, moving around the ink and coloring the white between the black lines crimson. Her stomach turned and she began to feel lightheaded. She lay down on the floor, lying on her arm, trying her best to use her body weight to stanch the flow, hearing the crumpling of her paintings beneath her. She caught sight of Lucy hiding beneath the sofa.

"It's going to be okay," she whispered. "We're going to be okay. Adam will come."

***

Adam took the stairs two at a time and burst through the door into Jessica's apartment. The first thing he saw was blood. Everywhere. Jessica was lying right in the middle of it, and a man stood over her, a bloody knife in his hand. Shock tore through him, then the man lunged. Adam knocked him to the ground, brought up his gun, and pointed it at the man's chest. "That's enough. Now, drop the knife and slowly get up."

The man stood and let the knife fall from his fingers, and it landed next to Jessica's still body. He had to tear his gaze away from her and focus on the killer.

"You better hope she is still alive," Adam said through gritted teeth.

The man grinned. "She is, but she won't be for much longer. Not if you don't do something to stop the bleeding. It's getting everywhere. I tried to stop her, but she—"

"Save it for your lawyers," Adam said. "Take three steps back and keep your hands up where I can see them." With the killer away from her, Adam bent down and touched Jessica to see if she was still alive, and then McCloskey burst through the door behind him.

"Hold it right there, LaSalle. Drop it."

Adam held up his hands, but he didn't drop the gun.

"I said drop it."

McCloskey entered the room. "Dunham, you okay?"

"Yeah," the killer answered.

Adam turned to McCloskey, stunned. In that split second, Dunham lunged for his gun. Adam wrestled him for it, but he was one strong son of a bitch. He had a hold on his weapon, but Adam wasn't letting go.

"Drop it! Drop it, I said," McCloskey yelled, coming toward them.

Adam wasn't sure McCloskey wouldn't shoot him, but didn't loosen his grip. He was still struggling with the killer for the gun when the bastard suddenly yelled out and fell to one knee. The gun went off just as Adam grabbed hold of it, the deafening sound booming throughout the room. Taking back the gun, Adam tackled Dunham to the floor and ground one knee into his shoulder.

"Do not move."

Dunham just looked up at him and grinned.

Jessica rolled toward the killer, his bloody knife in her hand, and drove the sharp blade into his heart. "Jessica!" That was when Adam saw the long cut on her arm still oozing blood. He got off Dunham and dropped to her side. "Call 911!" he yelled to McCloskey while pulling off his shirt. He used it to stop the blood flow, pressing it to her arm.

McCloskey groaned, but wasn't moving. The stray bullet Dunham fired must have hit him. Adam took out his cell and called 911. "Officer down. Civilian casualties. Send ambulances." He had just finished giving them the address when Kent burst into the room, gun drawn.

"Hands in the air," he commanded.

"Screw you, Kent."

"I mean it, LaSalle."

"You want my hands in the air, then you get over here and hold her arm, or she'll bleed out."

Keeping his sights on Adam, Kent dropped down to see if McCloskey had a pulse. "What the hell happened here?"

"Your guy just shot McCloskey." He gestured toward the body on the floor with the knife sticking out of his chest. "I called 911. The ambulance is on its way." He kicked his gun over to Kent just to make the cop feel at ease. "How's McCloskey?"

"Looks like he's been hit in the shoulder." Kent picked up Adam's gun then bent down to apply pressure on McCloskey's wound. He took out his phone and called it in. "Officer down. Need backup."

At that moment, Mia and her team arrived at the front door. "We're with the Phoenix Agency," she said to Kent. "May we come in?"

He nodded grimly.

She rushed to Adam's side. "How's Jessica?"

"I don't know. She's lost a lot of blood." Adam didn't like how pale Jessica was, or the slight blue tinge of her lips. He heard the sirens of the first responders as they pulled up. Paramedics came running up the stairs, took in the scene, and immediately went to work on Jessica and McCloskey.

"You want to explain what happened here?" Kent asked again.

"Your guy, Dunham, is your serial killer," Adam said, and gestured toward the body on the floor.

"No way," Kent said. "Convenient that he can't tell me what happened himself."

Ignoring him, Adam turned to the paramedic who was bandaging Jessica's arm. "Is she going to be okay?"

"Why don't you tell me how one of our volunteers at the station ended up with a blade in his chest?" Kent asked, his voice raised to get Adam's attention.

Adam turned back to him. "Listen, this asshole came here to kill Jessica and make it look like she killed herself. You're damn right he's the killer, and while I was fighting him for the gun, it went off, and McCloskey was hit."

"What Adam's saying about Dunham is true," Mia said. "We have a complete file on him being sent to your chief right now. He has lived in, and volunteered at police and sheriff departments in, four different cities where women have been murdered by strangulation. All of the cases unsolved."

Kent looked stunned.

She turned to Adam. "It is also how he knew you were related to Sara. When we made the request from Armani to review the case files of the murder victims here in Charleston, we told him you'd be coming and mailed him your file. Dunham was the one who gave your file to the chief. He obviously had time to read it first, and must have recognized your name."

The paramedics loaded Jessica on a gurney and were getting ready to carry her out the door when she called to Adam.

"I'm right here, babe." He leaned over to brush the hair back from her face, and gently kissed her on the forehead. "You're going to be all right. I'm here for you."

"I couldn't move much," she said. "But I was able to cut his Achilles tendon. I hope that helped you."

He remembered Dunham crying out and falling to one knee, and smiled. "Oh, baby. It sure as hell did."

"I hope he's dead," she said as they carried her out the front door.

Adam looked down at the sightless eyes of the killer on the floor. "Oh, yeah, he's dead. He'll never hurt you again."

***

Jessica woke in the hospital to find Adam sitting beside her. She smiled at him. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?"

"Thankful."

He grinned. "It's all over. Your killer, a Mr. Mark Dunham, is dead."

"I must admit I've never been happier to hear of a person's passing before."

"He was certainly deserving of it."

A moment of fear and uncertainty came over her. "Am I going to be arrested?" she asked, her voice wavering.

"For killing a man who's been stalking you for most of your life? Who almost killed you? Not a chance."

"For killing a cop."

"He wasn't a cop."

That couldn't be right. "But I saw a radio in his car."

"He was a volunteer cop through the Citizen Policing Program. It's how he was able to stay one step ahead of us and move so freely about the station.

"Oh." She closed her eyes as fatigue washed over her. It really was over. She was finally free.

"Lucy?" she asked, suddenly worried about her cat. The last time she'd seen her, she'd been hiding under the couch.

"She's fine."

Jessica smiled and drifted back to sleep. When she woke again, she was surprised and pleased to see Adam still in the chair bedside her bed, sleeping. She stared at him for a long moment, wondering if he'd leave her now and go back home, wherever home was. Her heart ached at the thought that she might never see him again. She couldn't imagine going back to her empty apartment alone, couldn't imagine having to say goodbye. Tears moistened her eyes as loneliness, profound and all-encompassing, stole into her heart.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, suddenly awake and looking at her.

"Yes," she admitted.

He stood. "Where? I'll get the doctor."

She touched her heart. "Here."

He sat back down, leaned forward, and took her hand. "Why?"

"I'm afraid."

"Sweetie, you don't have anything to be afraid of. Not anymore."

"But I am." She thought she'd miss his eyes the most, and the way he looked at her—full of warmth and caring.

"Why?" he asked softly.

"Of having to live my life without you."

He leaned forward and smiled. "Now why would you think you would have to do that?"

She held tightly to his hand, afraid to let it go. "The case is over. The killer is dead. There's no reason for you to stay. You can leave. And then it occurred to me that I have no idea where you live."

He smiled and kissed her. "I live in New Orleans, and I would love for you to come spend time with me at my place."

"You would?"

"I was hoping you would. I think you would love it. Like the city itself, my house is brimming with all the different colors and textures you've been missing. I'm a mean cook, and I would like nothing more than to wake up each morning to a strong cup of chicory coffee and you."

"Can I bring Lucy?"

He laughed. "Absolutely."

"Then yes, I'd love to come see your place."

"Good, because I made you a promise that I'd never let anything happen to you, and I intend to keep it."

"But the killer's dead. You don't have to protect me anymore."

"True, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to let you go."

"Promise?" she asked, suddenly believing it could be true, that she could have a life filled with happiness, love, and color.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Promise."