Beg for Mercy (41 page)

I did it again.
Megan waited for the guilt to hit her, to urge her to pull herself out of that bed and out of his arms. But even as the outside world threatened to creep in, it was too good, too perfect, his arms around her, the shift and flex of his muscular body moving against hers.

But s kiss was sweet, tender, only hinting at the fierce lust that had overtaken them only minutes before. His huge hands were so gentle on her skin, caressing, squeezing, like he was trying to memorize every inch of her.

Nothing had changed. Sean was still in prison, waiting to be executed. The real killer was still out there, lurking. Ready to kill Megan to keep his secret safe.

Yet everything had changed. Talia Vega was ready to give
a statement. Krista Slater was taking a closer look at Sean’s case to see if it could be connected to the Slasher murders.

And Cole had been by her side every step of the way. He’d been reluctant at first, but now Megan couldn’t question his commitment to uncovering the truth.

His commitment to her.

The knowledge sent a rush of warmth through her as she savored the taste of him on her tongue, the feel of his hair-roughened skin against hers, and oh, the slide of his lips against her nipples, so gentle, like he could tell how sensitive they were after two orgasms. It was crazy how safe, how whole she felt with him, and she wanted to will the rest of the world away so she would never have to leave this bed, never have to leave his arms.

She couldn’t, of course, but for the first time in what felt like a century, the real world held hope. There was finally a real chance Sean could go free.

And maybe, just maybe, there was a real chance for Megan and Cole. Because even though common sense said they were still doomed, the thought of letting him go made her heart feel as if it were being sliced open with a straight razor.

Oh God, I love him.
She’d tried to keep it buried, but it had been there the whole time, simmering along with the anger, hurt, and resentment that had kept it hidden.

Now it burst to the surface, undeniable in its force.

There’s no guarantee Cole feels the same.

Just because he was helping her didn’t mean he loved her back. Guilt was a powerful motivator, and God knew she’d misread Cole’s feelings before.

Megan burst into tears. Cole stiffened, then wrapped his arms tighter against her. “Shhh,” he whispered. “It’s
going to be okay, Megan. Don’t worry. Sean’s going to file the appeal. Talia’s meeting with Krista. You’ll have more time.”

Megan sobbed harder as she realized she hadn’t been thinking of her brother and his pending execution but of her selfish love for Cole and the inevitable heartbreak that loomed on the horizon.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. “No matter what, I’m with you. I know you don’t trust me after what happened last time, how I treated you after Sean was arrested. I let you down, let you think I didn’t care for you, but it’s not true.” The words came out in a rush, as though he wanted to get it all out before he thought too hard about it.

Megan’s heart stuttered, than started to beat so heavily she could feel it in t tips of her fingers. “Then why did you say those things?”

“I didn’t, at least not the way they were quoted by the reporter.”

“You never tried to correct him.” She buried her head against his chest, afraid to look at his face, afraid to hope he meant what she thought he might.

Her head rose and fell with his heavy sigh. “I thought it would be better for you to hate me, less complicated.” He made a sound that was half chuckle, half sigh. “I was an idiot.” He reached down and cupped her cheek, urging her to meet his eyes. “I want to make sure you understand I”—he hesitated, swallowing hard—“cared for you. Very much. And I still do. You can trust me, Megan. I’m not going to let you down again.”

There were so many things she wanted to say, questions she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t force them past the lump burning in her throat. She lifted her mouth to
his, greedily drinking the kisses he rained on her lips and cheeks. Stealing their warmth and hoarding it away. Trying to shove away the knowledge that even with Cole by her side, they weren’t even close to being out of the woods.

“Can you translate this into English?” Krista said, glancing from the report to the white-coated lab geek looking up at her expectantly from his chair. She rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. It was six-fifteen and she wasn’t firing on all cylinders yet.

Tucker was the only one in the lab at this hour, wide awake and on the job for two hours already. Krista was banking on getting out before anyone else came in.

Tucker quirked an eyebrow over his wire-frame glasses. “How about you tell me what you’re doing in here at the crack of dawn asking me to run unauthorized tests.”

Krista shot him a withering glare. “How about I don’t tell anyone about the time I came in and found you surfing bigblackasses-dot-com?”

Tucker blushed so hard his bald spot turned pink. He took the report from her and laid it on the desk next to the baggie containing the knife Sean Flynn used to kill Evangeline Gordon. “His prints and her blood are all over it, just like the original report said. But right here, and here”—his finger indicated two spots on the knife, one on the hilt and one on the blade—“there was something else. Latex powder residue.”

“Could it have been contaminated during testing?”

Tucker scrunched his nose. “It’s possible I suppose, but
for that amount to get on the knife, someone would have had to handle it pretty rough.”

Krista was starting to feel a little sick. “No one noticed it in the initial report?”

Tucker shook his head. “It would be hard to miss if it was there.”

She pulled the original report from the case file. “Where’s the tech who did the initial analysis?”

“Ortiz?left over a year ago. Moved to somewhere in California, I think.”

Krista nodded absently and shoved the old report, Tucker’s new analysis, and the bagged knife into her briefcase.

She left Tucker with a curt “thanks” and tried to tell herself it was probably nothing. Either the powder had gotten on the blade during testing or Ortiz just hadn’t noticed it.

First Talia Vega coming forward with new information, and now this. Not matter how hard she tried, Krista couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that something about Sean Flynn’s case was starting to stink.

H
e took a quick look around and darted across the street to Talia Vega’s house. It was still dark, and the rain was coming d
own in sheets, but he still risked encountering an early morning runner or someone getting a head start on work. He was late, later than he’d wanted to be. He clamped down on the agitation. It had taken longer than he’d wanted to get everything ready. He needed to stay in control if he wanted to succeed.

The early hour and nasty weather were working in his favor, so he could slip, unnoticed, around the back of her house. A trip to the fuse box disabled the security system, and he had the bolt lock on Talia’s back door picked in seconds.

He crept through the kitchen, barely breathing as he entered the living room. He slipped a pair of night-vision goggles on to navigate the inky darkness of her living room. The sound of heavy breath, the shift of a heavy body on the couch. He turned and saw Brooks’s huge body on Talia’s couch.

He’d expected the whore to share her bed with him. What a pleasant surprise not to have to take the other man’s sloppy seconds.

He moved carefully through the darkness as he snuck up on Brooks. He leaned over the end of the couch and moved his hand down.

Brooks’s hand shot up, knocking his hand away as he rolled to the floor. He jumped to his feet, hands up, poised to fight. “Who’s here?” Brooks whispered.

He could see Brooks’s wide eyes through the NVGs as the big man tried to focus. He charged, and Brooks saw him too late. The needle sank into Brooks’s neck, and within seconds the man slumped to the floor as the phenobarbital went to work. He gave the man a quick frisk, removed a Glock from Brooks’s waistband and tucked it into his own.

There was a creak of floorboards coming from the hall off the living room.

“Jack? Is everything okay?”

His breath caught and his body went tight with anticipation. He could hear her padding down the hall. Closer… closer.

He covered her mouth and yanked her to his chest. “You thought you could get away with it, didn’t you, little cunt. You know what happens to the ones who talk.”

She was squirminglittle mewling sounds coming from behind his hand. His cock was rock hard. He shoved her against the wall, made sure she felt him bulging against his fly. “Feel that? It’s all for you. I’ve been wanting to do you from the first time I saw you, but the old man wouldn’t let me touch his special pet.”

She made a choking sound and tried to shrink from him.

“I can’t wait for you and Megan to see what I have planned for you.” His balls tightened when he thought of
the fear that would mask their faces as they saw exactly what would happen to them before they died. They’d see their blood, hear the screams as he cut them, hear them beg as he shoved his dick into their unwilling bodies. Knowing they would share the same fate.

Stupid bitch, thinking she’d get away with this.

Stupid idiots, thinking they could control him. They thought they could control him, keep him in check by throwing him a tasty little morsel every now and then.

They had no idea the damage he was capable of when he didn’t get what he wanted.

He dropped her to the floor, went back to Brooks’s slumped form, and grabbed him by the hair. He pulled out his knife and felt the skin of the man’s neck give against the blade. His muscles tightened in anticipation of delivering the killing blow.

No.

This wasn’t necessary. Brooks hadn’t seen him, would never be able to identify him. And even if Brooks could, by the time the drugs got out of his system enough for him to make sense, Megan and Talia would have suffered the heat of his revenge, and he would be long gone.

He started to leave Brooks where he lay, facedown on the floor.
Think, idiot.
Once they heard Talia had missed her little meeting, they’d come looking. It wouldn’t do for them to find Brooks unconscious, all but announcing that Talia had been kidnapped.

There was an SUV parked next to Talia’s sedan that he assumed belonged to Brooks. He stuffed Brooks and Talia in the back and covered them with a blanket.

He drove away from the city, up a narrow winding road littered with tree limbs blown down by the storm. A
fire road split off to the right, and he turned, guiding the car over the dirt road peppered with potholes full of rain. He stopped when the fire road got too narrow, about two miles from the main road.

He pulled Brooks from the trunk, took his phone, wallet, and shoes before dragging him a hundred yards off the road into the woods. He shuddered in the damp frigid air of the February morning. He didn’t have the drive to kill Brooks himself, but there was no guarantee the man would survive the morning. In a cold, wet rain like this, hypothermia could set in in a matter of minutes, and that was if a man was active. The dose he’d given Brooks would leave him inert for at least four hours.

He started to walk away, then went back to Brooks’s prone body. He lifted Brooks by the hair and pulled out his knife, delivering a deep slice that bisected the skin over Brooks’s cheekbone.

A little souvenir, if the other man survived the morning. A reminder of what happened when he tried to play hero.

The way the blood pooled under his cheek to mix with the rain and mud made him smile.

He climbed back in the SUV and continued up the hill several miles swerving to avoid tree limbs blown down by the storm. Finally he turned down a driveway. The house wasn’t much to look at. The paint had been peeling and the steps had been broken when he’d bought it years ago. But it was far from the neighbors and private. More private than his condo downtown could ever be.

A stairway led from the outside of the house, down to the one room he’d bothered to work on. He dragged Talia through the heavy steel door, down a short hall, and into the finished basement.

When he’d bought the house, he’d known instantly this would be a perfect screening room for his own personal projects. A fifty-two-inch plasma TV dominated one wall, hooked up to a state-of-the-art surround-sound system. A hard drive on the shelf held hours of his favorite films. The walls were thickly padded, soundproofed by an acoustics expert who built recording studios. When he watched his own productions, he liked it loud, and he considered himself a courteous neighbor.