No Darker Place

Gaylon had held Detective Gentry in an abandoned cabin about twelve miles outside Meridian. Even now, his body hardened at the memory of fucking her...of tasting her blood. He’d never had a cop before. She had been his most challenging and most satisfying prey. If only he’d been able to finish her story. “They had to do surgery while she was in Mississippi,” he prompted, not wanting a single detail left out.

“Yes.” Adams licked her lips. “The femur was fractured, but the worst was the fibula. It had to be reassembled and stabilized with screws and a rod.”

His heart raced as his mind replayed him standing over Gentry and crushing those bones in a fit of rage. He rolled his hand so the woman staring at him with such sheer terror in her eyes would continue the story.

“She had three fractured ribs and one toe that had to be partially removed from the frostbite.”

He squeezed his toes together inside his sneakers. His own injuries had been life threatening. Running through those woods, blood leaking from his chest and his ability to draw in air compromised, had been terrifyingly exhilarating. It was only by utter force of will that he survived long enough to reach help. His mother had always called him determined. Ah, but determination was merely one of his tenacious traits.

“Numerous lacerations were infected and required attention,” Adams continued, her voice growing faint with understanding that those very words described the fate awaiting her. “One spot on her left breast required removal. The tissue loss was repaired with a small amount of fat and skin from her buttocks.”

She fell silent, her body trembling.

“Then the doctors in Mississippi sent her home,” he said, urging her beyond the more mundane details. Why was it that no one knew how to tell a good story anymore? His students had been utter morons. True storytellers were a nearly extinct breed. Such a pity.

“She was released, yes.” Adams executed another of those awkward nods. “She was back home in Montgomery for barely a day when her partner found her near death.”

“Found her where?” Gaylon demanded. She knew better than to leave out the best parts. Her lips trembled with renewed fear. How utterly tedious. “I’m waiting, Nurse Adams.”

“In her little boy’s bedroom.” Adams drew in a halting breath. “Later, when I was taking care of her, Bobbie told me about that day. She was supposed to go directly into rehab, but she’d insisted on spending one night at home first. She said as soon as she was at home alone she’d gone straight to her baby’s room and slit her wrists. She wanted to die. She didn’t want to go on without her family.”

Gaylon savored the words for a moment before he prompted, “So she lost a lot of blood before she was found.”

“It was a miracle she was alive. She’d lost more than enough blood for her heart to simply stop beating.” Her mouth worked for a moment before more words came out. “She was in a coma for five days.”

“A coma? Why?” He knew the answer already, but he wanted to hear her repeat the splendid details. He couldn’t have written a more compelling story himself. Perhaps since it was his work that inspired her actions he could be considered the director.

“She’d given up.” Her voice sounded distant now, as if she was remembering the day a grief-stricken patient had shared her most painful thoughts with a trusted medical professional. “She didn’t want to wake up. But for some reason, on the fifth day, she opened her eyes and started trying to live again.”

“Bravo!” Gaylon clapped enthusiastically, making her jump. “Detective Gentry survived.” Providing a second chance for her as well as for him. He hesitated, pondering the last part. He’d been so excited when he read the medical files and listened to Adams tell the story the first time that he hadn’t thought to ask a very important question. “Why do you suppose she changed her mind? Did her family sway her decision?”

Gaylon knew better. Bobbie Gentry didn’t have any family. There were her in-laws who blamed her for their son’s and grandson’s deaths. She had the chief of police, who was a lifelong friend of her father, and she had her partner. Such a sad little detective. She hardly had anyone to care about her since she’d pushed all her friends away. He couldn’t wait to dismantle her mentally and physically all over again. Piece by piece, and this time he would destroy her completely. He would watch the life drain from her body as he finished her story.

“Either Chief Peterson or Detective Newton had been with her day and night.” The nurse blinked, licked her lips again. “Maybe one of them said something that finally got through to her. I don’t know.”

“No priest visited her? Maybe it was all those people praying for her,” he mocked. He recalled the many requests for prayers in the local news for poor, poor Detective Gentry.

“She never mentioned church while I was working with her.” Adams’s body was trembling harder now. Fear that her unreliable memory would anger him was no doubt coursing through her veins. “I can’t be sure.”

Gaylon knew the answer. Bobbie Gentry was like him; she never had time for such trivialities. Her husband, the man who failed to protect his family, had gone to church and taken their child. Bobbie had only attended on special occasions if work didn’t get in the way. Her work was her religion, her weapon her cross.

Gaylon understood every part of her. He had become thoroughly obsessed with her during those weeks when she participated in the joint task force with the FBI to find a heinous serial killer who could not be found. He’d wanted to possess her so badly that he’d thrown caution to the wind and taken her like he’d taken no other victim.

All those witless profilers had been running in circles. He’s deviated from his MO! He’s never taken victims without waiting the usual year. What fools! Admittedly, he had acted impulsively last year. With the loss he’d suffered, he had been undeniably weak. But he was beyond that now. Now he would finish what he’d started.

He reached down and stroked Adams’s lean rib cage. She shuddered deliciously. His cock stirred. Another hardworking, dedicated woman. Despite being a full-time home health nurse, Gwen still picked up every available shift at the hospital. She was saving up to buy a home. Poor thing. He wondered if Chief Peterson had paid her well to take care of Bobbie. Gaylon hoped so; after all, accepting the extra work was going to cost her so very, very much.

“There...there was one other visitor,” she said suddenly.

He drew his hand away, giving her a moment’s reprieve. “What visitor? You never mentioned another visitor.”

“I just remembered. It was on the last day she was in a coma.” Her brow creased in concentration. “Her partner was sitting with her that day. He told me to take a break. When I came back, he was waiting in the corridor outside her room and there was another man inside. I assumed it was a family friend, so I took a few more minutes and went to the bathroom. When I came back, the door was open and this man I’d never seen before was sitting next to her, holding her hand.”

“Holding her hand?” Rage coiled hard and fast. “Who was this man?”

“I don’t know. Detective Newton started talking to me. I guess the man left while we were talking.”

“What did this stranger look like?” Gaylon thought he knew everyone who had come into contact with his detective since he touched her. If there was another man and he got in Gaylon’s way, he would die in the same tragic manner as her husband had. Bobbie Gentry belonged to him. Only he could finish her story.

“He had longish dark hair, maybe down on his collar. He was tall. I only got a glimpse of his face, and then his profile.” She shook her head, instinctively tugged at the restraints binding her hands above her head. “I don’t know. Bobbie’s partner must have known him. I never saw him again.”

Gaylon had watched Bobbie running tonight. He noticed a man he couldn’t place at her door. He’d assumed this was a cop from her department. Perhaps not. “If I bring you a picture, would you recognize him?”

She blinked back a new rush of tears. “I think so. I’ll try.”

He trailed a finger between her nice breasts. “You’re doing very well, Nurse Adams.”

A sob tore from her throat. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Now, now. You know I’m going to hurt you—the only question is how much.”

The sound of whimpering had her twisting her head around to see where it came from. “What was that?” Her worried gaze collided with his. “Is someone else here?”

“That’s none of your concern.” His cock hardened again as he thought of what he had in the other room and the way it was going to hurt Bobbie. “Now be quiet before I change my mind about how much I need you.”

Gaylon stood and walked to the window. He peered beyond the dirty glass. In the distance he could just distinguish the taller of the buildings that was downtown Montgomery.

In her wildest imagination, Bobbie Gentry could not possibly conceive what was coming.

Four (#u2ef781e5-dc56-5d2d-b98d-c0ecc3b52fea)

Economy Inn, West South Boulevard

Saturday, August 27, 1:30 a.m.

Nick Shade taped another photo of Detective Bobbie Gentry on the wall. He stood back and surveyed the new additions to the timeline he had created. The data he’d collected during this hunt were far more extensive than he usually gathered. The instinct he’d recently started to ignore warned again that he had ventured too close on this one.

What the hell had he been thinking going to her house?

He plowed his hands through his hair. He hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem. But had there really been a choice? He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Gaylon Perry had proven significantly more resourceful than he had anticipated. For such a singularly focused killer, whose carefully choreographed world had been so abruptly turned upside down, Perry had regained his balance and scurried out of reach in the blink of an eye.

Nick could only watch and wait for his return.

Fury tightened his jaw. “I knew you’d come eventually.”

Nick studied a photo of the forty-year-old English teacher. His generic brown hair and eyes were less than memorable. His soft jaw and weak chin along with a slim build disguised his physical strength. Classroom videos showed a soft-spoken man who interacted comfortably with his students. Those same students, as well as Perry’s colleagues at the high school, considered him to be kind and compassionate. And yet fourteen murders, not counting Gentry’s husband, had been attributed to him. The community of Lincoln, Nebraska, was still reeling from the news. Parents were sickened at the idea that their impressionable teenagers had been taught by a sadistic serial killer.

According to the statements Gentry had given, Perry had mentioned other murders. A total of twenty-three. Based on his sophisticated signature, Nick felt confident that number was closer to right than the one previously thought. The Storyteller’s first victim, as far as the cops knew, had been dumped in a quiet Louisiana town when Perry was twenty-seven. He had followed that pattern annually until last year. The MO was simplistic, yet it was that very simplicity that had protected Perry for so long. Each year between June 1 and mid-July, he took a victim from one of the southern states, kept her for three to four weeks, torturing her relentlessly before tattooing a sadistic poem on her back and then murdering her. The body was immediately dumped in another state. Each step was carefully planned and executed.