A Deeper Grave

Adele led her prey to her bedroom, not turning on a single light. Suited Nick fine. His eyes had already adjusted to the darkness. He spent the next fifteen minutes listening to frantic, drunken sex. When Cashion muttered something about the bathroom, Nick readied to put him out of commission.

He moved soundlessly to the side of the door as it opened. Cashion shoved it closed as he reached for his dick. Nick closed one hand over the man’s mouth and simultaneously wrapped an arm around his throat in a sleeper hold. Cashion struggled for three or four seconds, but he was far too wasted from the alcohol and physically spent from the sex to put up a real fight. Nick lowered his naked, unconscious body to the floor and eased back to the door.

Adele would be waiting. To deviate from her usual pattern was not unheard of, but to commit the murder where she lived was risky. Perhaps she was ready to move on, adopting another alias and home. Or maybe she had sensed someone was watching her and decided to act out of character just to see what happened.

Nick opted to wait and let her come looking for her lover.

A full minute elapsed before she called out her lover’s name. When Cashion didn’t answer she flipped on the light in her bedroom and came to the bathroom door, pushing it open. She stood naked in the open doorway staring down at the man.

“Fucking useless bastard,” she grumbled as she moved toward him.

Nick slipped behind her and she stalled, her body going rigid as his shadow fell over her.

“Hello, Adele.”

Before she could whip around and charge him, he grabbed her and pulled her against him, one hand closing over her mouth.

She kicked and elbowed frantically as he carried her back into the bedroom. She squirmed and twisted, but her slight frame was no match for his. On the bedside table he spotted the hypodermic needle she used to disable her victims. These days more serial killers than not used drugs on their victims. The ease of purchasing injectable drugs on the internet or even on the streets made their work far less complicated. Clearly she had planned to finish Cashion tonight. As if she’d read his thoughts, she stilled in his arms. It wasn’t necessary to be a mind reader to know what she was thinking, but he wouldn’t use the drug on her. The risk of overdosing was far too great. Adele wasn’t getting off that easily.

“When did you notice you were being watched?” he asked, curious. He dared to loosen his hold on her mouth.

“I didn’t.” She inhaled a big breath, her breasts moving against his arm. “Yesterday my neighbor thanked me for the money I’d been leaving in his coffee can.”

Nick laughed. That was what he got for trying to help the old guy out.

“Who hired you?” she demanded. “Let me go and I’ll pay you twice whatever you’re being paid.”

Keeping a firm grip on her, Nick moved toward the bed. She squirmed, elbowed and kicked in earnest. “I’m afraid,” he said between her attempts to head butt him, “you can’t afford me.” He tossed her on the bed.

“I could scream,” she warned as she tried to scramble away.

“You could—” he snagged her easily “—and the police would likely be summoned. Then I’d have to show them all those trophies you’ve kept from your kills.”

When he started to cover her mouth once more she clamped her teeth down on his hand. He growled and yanked his hand away. As he shouldered off his backpack, she fought even harder and spewed curses. He manacled her slim wrists in one hand and kept her pressed against the mattress with his forearm as he fished for the duct tape in his pack. He grabbed the edge of the tape with his teeth and pulled.

“Bastard,” she muttered. “What are you? Some sort of bounty hunter?”

“Not exactly.” He flipped her onto her belly. She tried to squirm away, but he held her in place. He wrapped her wrists tightly in duct tape, binding them together. She muttered more curses against the pillow as he ripped off another length.

He reached for her legs. She quickly spread them apart and arched her butt upward. “Don’t you want some of this before you do whatever you came here to do?” She laughed. “They all want it so badly until they realize just how much it’s going to cost them.”

“No, thanks.” He pulled her legs together and bound her ankles tight despite her wiggling. With her arms and legs secured, he rolled her onto her back and readied to place a strip of tape over her lips.

“Who are you?”

“No one you know.”

Nick pressed the tape over her mouth while she glared at him. Then he rolled her to her side and wound several layers of tape around her neck. He pulled her calves toward her back, forcing her body into an arch, and then wound more of the tape around her ankles, effectively hogtying her. She groaned and grunted and struggled but couldn’t move more than an inch or so without choking herself.

That would do.

He returned to the bathroom as Cashion was struggling to his feet. Nick put him down again. “Tomorrow you’ll understand that this was the luckiest night of your life.”

Nick bound Cashion as he had the woman in the other room. When that was done he went to her walk-in closet and removed the faux drawer that hid her keepsakes. He brought the photos and the trophies into the bedroom and spread them around her on the satin linens. No matter how she pleaded when the police arrived the photos and newspaper clippings would tell the tale.

Nick used her cell to call 9-1-1. He gave the operator the address and left the phone line open as he tossed it onto the bed. Three minutes later he was in his car and headed away from her street. He hadn’t driven a mile when blue lights barreled past him heading toward the scene he’d left behind.

Tomorrow the Executive Executioner’s capture would fill the headlines, print and electronic. Nearly a dozen homicide cases would be solved.

One less serial killer to take lives.

Nick pondered the other names on his ever-growing list. His cell vibrated before he could decide on his next hunt. He dug the phone from his pocket and checked the screen. The name gave him pause.

Malcolm Clinton.

He’d only met Clinton on one occasion and that had been two months ago. Clinton was a guard at the prison where Randolph Weller resided in far better circumstances than he deserved. For an agreed-upon fee, Clinton had promised to call Nick with the names of any visitors beyond the usual FBI profilers who wanted to pick the monster’s brain. This was the first time Clinton had called. The idea that his father hadn’t had the first visitor who wasn’t FBI in all that time made Nick inordinately happy.

Or, even better, maybe the bastard was finally dead.

He accepted the call. “You have an update for me.” His pulse reacted to the anticipation pumping through his veins.

“Yes. Dr. Weller had a visitor this evening. I had to pull a double shift so I couldn’t call until now.”

“I’m listening.”

“It was a woman his attorney called for him. A detective from Montgomery.”

Tension slid through Nick.

“Detective Bobbie Gentry,” Clinton said.

“How long did she stay?” Why the hell would Bobbie visit him? Nick couldn’t fathom any reason she would visit Weller.

“Not more than fifteen minutes. She seemed a little distracted or unsettled when she left.”

Nick glanced at the time on the dash. “What time was this?”

“About five thirty.”

“Thank you.” Nick ended the call before Clinton could say more. He tossed the phone onto the seat. “What’re you up to, Bobbie?”

He’d kept up with her since he left Montgomery. As hard as he’d tried to forget her, he could not. She showed up in his dreams when he slept and in his thoughts when he didn’t. He’d learned Bobbie had a new partner, a Detective Steven Devine. Nick had done a thorough search of Devine’s background and found nothing troubling except that he was single and close to Bobbie’s age.

The idea of her spending long hours each day with the guy grated on Nick. He’d watched her interactions with Howard Newton—the partner she’d lost. The bond had been palpable. Would she forge that same sort of bond with the new guy? Wasn’t that what cops did?

None of your business.

He shook off the thoughts. He had more pressing concerns. Why would she visit Weller?