Twenty
Gray smoke billowed in the moonlight as Parker slowly exhaled. Nicotine helped him focus while he tried to reach inside the mind of a killer.
“You dream about them don’t you, you sick sonofabitch. You lay awake at night with your hand wrapped around your cock, getting off on the memory of your kills.”
Flipping through the pictures of Janeane Dee, he noted again that her hands and feet were bound to the head and footboards of her bed, and Parker felt his blood pressure start to rise. In all the years he’d work for the FBI, he’d never known any of the victims he investigated. Of course, they weren’t faceless to him, but he’d remained detached so he could do his job. This one he knew, albeit briefly, but it changed the rules for him. He’d met Janeane at the police station and had seen her with her friends on the street, when he’d met Nicola for dinner. Therefore, the need to find this killer was stronger than he’d felt in years.
“You like power, the control you have over them, you want them submissive,” he whispered as he closed his eyes. “Master,” he hissed as he thought back to Melissa Webster’s murder and the word written on the mirror.
Parker flipped back to the files of his first victims and noted again that all had been bound by their feet and hands. There was tearing within their anal and vaginal walls, indicating they’d had rough sex within hours of dying.
“Master,” he repeated, “You find your victims online and dominate them before killing them. You see yourself as their master, so are they your slaves? Is that what they are, Shockley? You live in an apartment with thin walls and no room to play so where did you take them, you sick fuck?”
Parker laid the autopsy pictures of all six victims at the end of the bed and stood back, staring. The first three had the same ligature marks. Wide bands, probably leather cuffs, had been used to secure them. He scanned the reports again for any evidence found on the bodies. White-Cline had a single hair that was being rushed through DNA, but there were no fibers that would give them a clue where to look. Only traces of crude oil, they determined had transferred from the dirt where they were buried, had been on the bodies.
“Oil refineries leach oil into the ground,” Parker mumbled as he scanned the report, “three of them within a mile of the dump sites. Christ, only in Texas or Oklahoma would that evidence mean shit.”
Scanning the reports again, he noted that all of the victims’ friends and family members had said they were messaging men on dating sites, but at the time they disappeared, they didn’t know if they had met anyone. It was the only connection the women had in common, that, and they were all blonde and well-endowed by God.
Parker’s cell began to ring as he studied the files so he pulled it out and answered.
“Parker,” he said, distracted.
“He’s got her,” Vaughn roared down the line.
Parker hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing as the words sunk in. There was only one “her” that would have Vaughn panic.
Nicola’s green eyes and angelic face rushed into his mind, and he tightened his grip on the phone.
“Where? When?” Parker barked back.
“Twenty minutes ago. The sonofabitch was waiting for us when we left the wake. We were on a back road. He came out of nowhere with his lights off and rammed my truck, flipping us into a ravine,” Vaughn bellowed, panic obvious in his voice. “I was pinned. I couldn’t reach my fuckin’ gun, and he pulled her from the wreck and drove off. I need you to tell me right fuckin’ now where he would take her. You have a team of experts who need to pull their heads out of their asses and give me a location,” Vaughn thundered.
“Vaughn—”
“Swear to God, if you and your team . . . I can’t lose her—” Vaughn gritted through his teeth, hanging onto his emotions by a thread.
Parker stopped listening; he had the ability to tune people out in stressful situations so he could concentrate when time was critical. He filtered through what he knew about Shockley.
He bound them, but didn’t gag them—he liked to hear their screams, which means he would need someplace isolated. He wouldn’t want to haul the bodies far from the kill site, but they had been found in fields off the west bank of the Arkansas River. Nothing had been found on the bodies but crude oil, which was prevalent in that area because of. . .
“The crude oil,” Parker bit out.
“What about it?”
“It was on all three of the first victims, on their backs but not their fronts. Crude oil is raw oil; it’s useless until it’s processed. How the hell did we miss that? Vaughn, they were exposed to crude oil before they died. The oil in the ground around the bodies should have been processed, not raw. He had them someplace that’s abandoned and deals with crude oil.”
“Refineries,” Parker and Vaughn shouted in unison.
“He’s taking them to the abandoned POCO refinery,” Vaughn whispered. “Jesus, he’s barely driving a mile from the kill site before dumping them.”
“Are you in transit now?” Parker asked as he picked up the pictures he’d laid on the bed and shoved them back into his file.
“I took her brother’s truck when they arrived at the scene. I’m about ten minutes out from that location. If you get there before me, you go in silent. I don’t want squads coming in blazing. He’ll kill her if he knows he’s trapped.”
“Roger that. I’ll call it in and meet you there, I’m at least ten minutes out myself,” Parker acknowledged as he headed for the front door. Parker paused when he reached his front door and against his better judgment told Dallas, “He takes his time with these women, Vaughn, he won’t rush to kill her unless he’s provoked.”
There was silence on the other end as Vaughn processed that information and Parker heard him take a deep breath before answering.
“If he’s touched her at all, Parker, I’ll kill him. So you better beat me there,” Vaughn warned him in a voice so low and deadly that Parker knew he wasn’t throwing out false bravado.
“If he‘s touched her at all I’ll kill him for you,” Parker vowed and he meant it. Knowing the victims made it personal now. Shockley could only play this, one of two ways. Either he gave up without a fight or he left there in a body bag. Either way worked for Parker, but he’d get more satisfaction if it were in a bag.
***
A distant light crept in as the sound of water dripping broke through the fog clouding my mind. My eyes wouldn’t focus and my head felt like it had been split in two. Full consciousness seemed to elude me, no matter how hard I tried. My pounding head was pushing me back into a black vortex, spinning me further into its murky depths, submerging me into a place where I only felt peace. Yet, a small voice inside my head kept crying out and urging me to awareness. “Wake up, fight,” my subconscious screamed, so I forced my eyes open, blinking several times until a light came into focus.
Turning my head slowly, I made out the shapes of large pipes running overhead and I stared at them. They were cast in an unnatural shadow from the small light glowing from across the room. The stagnant smell of oil assaulted my senses, powerful and overwhelming. I tried to raise my hands to shield my eyes from the light, but they wouldn’t move. With heavy lids, I turned my head from one hand to the other and saw large black cuffs imprisoning my wrists. My heart rate picked up, galloping in my chest at the sight of the restraints, and then I felt the bindings on my bare legs.
I was spread eagle on some sort of table that allowed my arms and legs to be bound. The black dress that I’d worn to Janeane’s funeral was parted open like a coat. Cut down its length, the gaping center leaving me exposed. Jerking with fear, I started struggling to pull my hands free while the evening came rushing back to me like a tidal wave.
Dallas taking me home in his truck because I’d told him I loved him. The sound of metal on metal when his truck flipped, landing upside down. Angry hands on me as I was jerked from the truck. Dallas’ enraged voice shouting he would kill Shockley while he struggled to break free of his jammed seat belt. And finally, Shockley’s raised fist before he punched me in the temple, sending me spiraling into the terrifying darkness as he drove away.
Oh, God, I’m going to die.
“You know it was your hair that caught my attention most,” Shockley’s emotionless voice called out from somewhere in the dark. “All of Taryn intrigued me, but it was the exquisite color of your hair that sold me.”
“You’re mad,” I shrieked, my scream bouncing off the cavernous room, echoing like a ghost in a forgotten graveyard.
I knew with clarity that it was only a matter of minutes before I also became a ghost.
“And you’re a liar,” Shockley hissed, his voice closer than before. “You tempted your master with a fake woman.”
When he finally stepped into the light, all but his eyes were visible. They were shadowed by the surrounding darkness, but I swear I could see them glowing unnaturally like some sort of demon spawn.
“When your master gives you instructions, he expects them to be followed without question, you fuckin’ cunt. When they aren’t, your master has the right to dole out punishment as he sees fit. You brought this on yourself,” he raged, “and since you can’t be trusted to follow my instructions, the punishment is death,” he explained without remorse as he stepped fully into the light holding a knife. I struggled to pull my feet out of the bindings as he stalked toward me. He was almost graceful, like a jungle predator taking his time before he pounced on his prey. When he reached the table, he leaned down and tilted it until I was upright staring him in the eyes.
“You, Ms. Royse, have disobeyed me for the last time,” he roared in my face, spittle dripping from his mouth. With a quick jab to my side, I felt the knife pierce my flesh like a hot poker. My reaction was instantaneous; I cried out in shock at the searing pain and then I spit in his face.
Nonplussed by my defiance, he reached up, grabbed my hair, and yanked back hard. I glared instead of crying out. I had no doubt he wanted to see my fear as he took my life, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. I started to laugh at him, to taunt him so he would kill me quickly rather than draw out the torture, but he silenced my cackles by slamming his mouth over mine.
Survival is instinctive; your body will protect you from your own foolish behavior because it wants to live. My brain took over in the last fleeting moments of my life and, in a last ditched effort to free myself, my brain instructed me to point my feet and yank hard. My right foot gave way slightly, so I yanked again and it freed from the restraint. Raising my knee up, I wedged it in between our bodies, and kicked him back. When he pulled away to grab my leg, I kicked him with all my might in the groin and then screamed for all I was worth, while I felt the loss of blood slowly weakening my body.
Shockley went down on one knee, breathing deep as I tried to free my other foot. I kept kicking out with my free leg, trying to knock him out, but he was out of my reach. He rose slowly after he’d recovered from my kick, pulling a clear plastic bag from his back pocket. Cold fear coursed through my veins when I realized what he intended. Moving quickly, his eyes blank as a snarl ripped from his mouth, he threw the bag over my head, twisting it tight around my neck cutting off my oxygen. I fought with my free leg to no avail and felt my lungs burn and my eyes bulge as my brain and lungs cried out for oxygen. Stars danced before my eyes as Shockley grabbed my breast squeezing hard as he rubbed his hardened shaft on my leg.
Shockley released his hold for a moment, long enough for my oxygen starved brain to gasp for air before he tightened it again. I was too weak at this point to move, to fight against him and the darkness crept back in. He released his hold on the bag again, and blood rushed back to my brain. It was almost euphoric the way the blood rushed through my arteries, releasing a sense of calm. He pulled his knife from the back of his waistband again, turning the blade toward me. Before I could kick out, he shoved the blade deep into my stomach in a swift strike. Unbearable pain that would have doubled me over if I could have moved caught what was left of my breath as Shockley leered in satisfaction. This is it; this is the moment when he raises his knife and buries it deep in my heart.
As if he could read my mind, he smiled sadistically, pulled the bag from my head, and raised the knife high. I closed my eyes and waited for the strike that would end my life, saying a silent good-bye to Dallas and my family. I was almost calm, peaceful in the knowledge that the red-hot pain in my stomach would soon end. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, preparing for the blow that would end my life, I gasped and my eyes flew open when I heard a door slam open and Dallas thunder in rage, “Nicola!” before the rapid fire of a gun caused Shockley’s head to explode in front of me.
Through tears and pain the likes I’d never felt, I watched Shockley fall into a heap to the floor, blood pouring from what was left of his head. I heard Dallas’ pounding footsteps as my eyesight blurred and a cold numbness set in.
“Hold on, baby,” Dallas shouted as he pulled out a phone, called 911, and began barking orders. I closed my eyes to block out the pain as my head slumped forward. Dallas grabbed my face and ordered, “Don’t you close your fuckin’ eyes! Do you hear me? You stay with me Nicola, help is almost here.”
I could feel the darkness seeping in, pulling me under, and I knew I needed to say good-bye just in case. As Dallas loosened the restraints on my arms and leg, I laid my head on his shoulder and whispered, “Tell my family that I love them.”
“You can tell them yourself after we get you to the hospital,” Dallas replied, his voice shaky as he spoke.
I tried to nod, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. When he lowered me to the ground I cried out, my back arching in pain as he pulled the shirt from his body and applied pressure to my wound.
Parker arrived just as I screamed out, bursting through the door with his gun drawn.
“Look at me, baby, keep your eyes on me,” Dallas ordered so I focused on his honey-colored eyes with their flecks of green. They were the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen, but they were wild looking now, betraying his somewhat controlled movements. He was terrified. My dark and dangerous warlord was shaken to his core.
“Heard your call over the radio, the ambulance is less than five minutes out,” Parker stated as Dallas stroked my face. “I see you handled Shockley.”
“Yeah, and if you want my badge for the kill, you can have it,” Dallas bit out, “I don’t give a fuck.”
I tried to keep my eyes open like Dallas ordered, but I was tired, and so very cold. Reaching out I placed my hand on Dallas’ face. I felt his warm mouth on the palm of my hand as he kissed it, and I wanted to burrow into his body so I could feel warm again. I was going into shock and I knew it. So, with my last conscious thought, I curled my fingers around his hand and whispered, “Love me, Dallas.”
***
“Love me, Dallas.”
Jerking awake with a start, Dallas turned to look at the tiny woman lying in the hospital bed. The dark circles under her eyes and the constant beeping of the monitors reminded him that Nicola was alive, but not yet awake. She’d lost too much blood from the knife wounds and slipped into a coma. After coding twice during surgery, the doctors had given Nicola a 50/50 chance of making it through the night. That was two days ago and he’d refused to leave her side for a minute. Her family and friends were in the waiting room, coming in every two hours as allowed, but Dallas had flashed his badge and glared, daring the doctors to throw him out.
They quickly saw the wisdom in letting him stay.
Tangling his fingers with hers, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the only spot on her hand that didn’t have an IV in the way.
“You need to wake up, Nicola,” Dallas ordered for the hundredth time and he watched her face for a sign she’d heard him, any movement at all.
Nothing.
Releasing her hand, he rubbed his own across his face, then stood up, and stretched his back. Dallas was still dressed in the suit pants and white dress shirt he’d worn to the funeral—he had refused to go home to change.
A knock on the door had Dallas turning to find a hospital technician dressed in blue scrubs holding a chart.
“I’m here to take Ms. Royse for neuroimaging.”
Dallas narrowed his eyes at the man.
“Why?”
“To check for brain function.”
“Her brain is fine, she just needs time to recover,” Dallas growled.
“I’m just here to take her for the test, sir, I’m not a doctor.”
Dallas saw Dr. Royse in the hallway talking with Nicola’s doctor, so he exited her room and joined both men.
“She’s not brain dead,” Dallas argued.
“We aren’t saying she is, but she hit her head in the accident, so we want to take a look and see if there’s anything going on that could be prolonging her coma,” Dr. Royse explained.
“She just needs rest,” Dallas argued again as fear crept in again.
“She should have woken up by now,” her father explained, Dallas’ own fear mirrored in his eyes.
“She. Just. Needs. Rest.” Dallas bit out each word, then turned his back on the men, and walked back into her room.
The technician had started disconnecting the machines, pausing alarms as they rang out so the nurses wouldn’t come running. Frustrated with Nicola for being so stubborn, Dallas leaned down and kissed her forehead before moving to her ear so she could hear him.
“Nic baby, I need you to wake up,” he whispered. Grabbing her hand, he squeezed hard hoping for some type of sign that she heard him.
Nothing.
“Goddammit, Nicola, open your fuckin’ eyes,” Dallas ordered, “you’re missing out on a love story for the ages while you lay there sleeping.”
Still nothing.
Taking a deep breath, Dallas lowered his head to hers and tried to reach her through her greatest love—her books. “Ok, Nicola, have it your way . . . Once upon a time there was a lonely warlord, who spent his life fighting one injustice or another. Even though he was disillusioned with life, he kept looking for something that made all the shit he waded through daily worthwhile. Then one day, this sexy maiden bumped into him in a coffee shop and smiled at him,” Dallas chuckled. “With that one smile, that one single sexy grin, all the filth in my life faded away. Nic baby, if that isn’t a fairy tale that deserves a happy ending I don’t know what is,” he whispered. “You asked me to love you, Nicola, but the problem is I can’t tell you that I already do unless you open your eyes and look at me. Do you hear me, gorgeous? I love you, but you have to open your eyes so we can have our happy ending.”
Nothing, not even a twitch.
“I need to take her downstairs now, sir,” the technician broke in. Dallas reluctantly stepped back and followed him out of the room. Once they were in the hallway, the tech stupidly advised that he wait in her room, so Dallas pinned the man with a look that would have made most men run.
“Or you can come with us,” the tech spit out quickly.
“I’m not leaving her side until she wakes up,” Dallas stated as he grabbed Nicola’s hand and held on. He saw Bo and Finn standing in the hallway, concern etched on their faces mixed with a shit-eating grin that said they’d seen the whole encounter.
Dallas ignored them both and started talking to Nicola as if she were awake. He told her they were headed downstairs for an MRI and that it was a, “Fuckin’ waste of money,” since she was only asleep. When they stopped at the elevator, he started to tell her about her cats and how they were tearing up her mother’s house. When a slight movement had Dallas jerking his head down suddenly, looking at where her hand lay in his. His heart beat swiftly as he watched her pinky twitch, then seconds later her hand moved and she curled her fingers around his own.
“Dallas,” he heard Nicola mumble weakly. He turned his head quickly at his name to find two jade-green eyes looking up at him.
“Thank, Christ,” he breathed out, leaning down toward her face as relief rushed down his spine and settled in his legs. He whispered, “Welcome back, baby,” against her lips, then pulled back to look at her. She had a funny look on her face when her mouth formed the words, “Where’s your Kilt, you always wear a kilt.”
“My what?” Dallas asked confused.
“Kilt,” she replied groggily.
“Are you saying you want me to wear a kilt?”
Nicole nodded slightly as her eyes closed, a dreamy expression overtaking her face.
“Christ . . . will you remember if I say okay?”
“No,” she mumbled weakly, sleep almost upon her.
Smiling at her expression, he leaned down and whispered, “All right, babe, I’ll wear a kilt for you.” When she smiled brightly without opening her eyes, he waited a moment longer for her to fall asleep again and then added without guilt, “When hell freezes over.”