Beg for Mercy (9 page)

Megan Flynn.

All these years he’d forced himself to keep his distance, unsure of his ability to control himself if he got too close.

Tonight she’d been so close, like a gift dropped from the sky.

His hands shifted on the steering wheel of the car he’d
boosted from a strip mall parking lot located two streets down from the trailer park. Blood raced through his veins, euphoria from the kill sending him higher than any drug. But tonight he was even more exhilarated.

Because of her.

He almost hadn’t lingered at the scene, knowing it was risky, thanks to the girl who had stumbled into the trailer. He still had been naked and in the process of packing up, about to crack the fucking dog’s neck when the girl with dark, purple-streaked hair had burst in.

He’d slipped into the closet and watched, waited. A smile stretched across his face and he had to stifle a laugh as he remembered her scream of terror, the way she scrambled out with the stupid dog in her arms.

He was relieved when she ran screaming, eliminating the complication of having to kill her too. And avoiding complications had helped him maintain a perfect record after all this time. He’d taken on a dozen cleanup jobs over the years, and still the cops had no fucking clue about him. Even with his particular methods and practices.

But goddamn, he wished he’d had the camera turned on the girl when she realized the image on the television was real. The expression on her face, the abject terror when she realized she was in the room with a blood-soaked body…

He’d known the smartest move was to leave, but he couldn’t resist the urge to slip into the dense woods surrounding the trailer park and take out his high-powered binoculars and wait for the cops to arrive.

He loved this part, the Keystone Kops routine that inevitably followed when one of his victims was discovered. Rushing around like morons looking for clues they’d
never find. Nine months and they still had no idea who they were looking for. The press had even given him a name—“the Seattle Slasher.” Stupid of them, since his kills extended far beyond the city limits.

And with many more than the five victims he’d left for them to find. Fucking idiots, thinking they could pigeonhole him, profile him. They had no clue what he was capable of. They had no clue how hugely they were being played. No one did.

He watched the scene play out, knowing exactly what would happen. Clueless cops would do a ham-handed assessment of the crime scene before calling in the equally clueless feds.

So predictable. And yet he never tired of loitering around, waiting for the victim to be found, watching the chaos that ensued.

But tonight, to his shock, before the first squad car had arrived on the scene, Megan had appeared in his field of view. Big green eyes, dark tumble of curls down her back. The subtle curves just hinted at by her loose clothes. So beautiful she made his heart stop. So close, he’d reached out a hand as though he might touch her.

It was a sign. It had to be. He always knew she was meant to be his, from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. And recently with the news of Sean Flynn’s pending execution, he knew the time for them was getting close. Now it seemed Fate had stepped in to bring them together even sooner.

They’d tried to keep him away from her, tried to convince him that he couldn’t control his baser urges, that if he got too close to her, he’d lose control and hurt her. Perhaps even kill her. He would put them all at risk, and it would be impossible to protect him.

He’d played along, let them send him away, pretend he agreed with them even though they were blind to the truth—that he and Megan belonged together. That she and she alone had the power to change him, to save him.

She would be his. And if anyone tried to stop him… it would be fun to send their world crashing down around them.

He wanted nothing more than to go to Megan, right then, experience her purity, her light, have it wash away the darkness and filth that threatened to overtake him. But the squad cars began to arrive, his cue to go. The police would start canvassing the area soon, and there was no way for him to plausibly explain his presence anywhere near the trailer park.

He had summoned every ounce of the iron-clad control that had allowed him to get this far without being caught and had torn himseway from the mesmerizing vision of Megan Flynn.

He held her face in his mind as he drove. Elation poured through him, pure and clean, washing away the fervor of the kill.

Patience. He just needed to be patient for a little while longer, and then they could be together forever. Like they were meant to be.

But tonight, he still had business to attend to.

He waited until he was more than six miles from the trailer park before he turned on his phone. Even though he’d had special security features installed, it didn’t hurt to be careful. He hit the first number of his speed dial and listened as it rang twice, as always.

“Gino’s Pizza. Takeout or delivery?” a voice on the other end answered.

He rolled his eyes at the hokey but necessary ruse.

“Takeout.”

“Please hold.”

He waited several seconds before the line clicked over.

“You’re calling to confirm?”

“Yes. The order has been filled.”

“Good. You’ll get your usual tip. After you finish cleaning up, get over here. We need to go over the logistics for this week’s deliveries.”

He hung up and smiled. He’d gotten off. He’d gotten paid.

And best of all, he’d gotten a live, close-up look at Megan.

Not bad for a night’s work.

B
lood was everywhere. Covering the walls, the bed, the floor of the dumpy, abandoned trailer. As Megan approached the bed, she could feel the blood under the soles of her shoes, tacky and sticky. The salty, metallic smell of it saturated the air. She reached out a trembling hand to the woman lying facedown on the bed.

She was naked and bound, like the others. But there was something about her, something strange and eerily familiar that Megan couldn’t put her finger on.

“Megan!” The whisper came from the darkness behind her. She whirled around, heart in her throat.

“Sean?” Her brother stood in the corner, his face in shadow, but she knew it was him. She took a step away from the bed, toward him.

“Megan, you have to run. You have to get out of here.”

“But I have to help her.” She turned back to the woman on the bed. The room had changed. It was no longer the trailer. It was her own bedroom, her own bed.

“Megan!” Sean yelled again, t she ignored him, reaching toward the girl, placing her hand on the blood-smeared cheek and turning the girl’s face so she could see her in the blue glow that illuminated the room.

Megan leaned closer to see.

And realized she was staring into her own sightless eyes.

She staggered back, screaming. But nothing came out except a high-pitched wheeze. She turned to run, but the blood on the floor had turned thick as tar, pulling at her feet until she was trapped.

“Megan, run!” Sean’s voice again.

I’m trying.
But she couldn’t get the words out.

From behind, a gloved hand covered her mouth. Cold metal kissed her throat.

Megan sat up with a gasp, her hand clutched around her neck. Her breath sawed in and out of her chest as her heart pounded so hard she could actually see her T-shirt tremble with every thud.

He’s here.

Her eyes darted frantically around the room, searching for the figure in the shadows. Searching for Sean. Her throat still tingled from the feel of the knife. The sensation was so vivid she had her phone in her hand and dialed 9 and 1 before her brain finally kicked into gear.

Just a dream.

The realization didn’t dampen her panic right away, adrenaline pumping through her as the too-vivid images slowly faded.

She sat up straighter and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands as if she could wipe her mind clean of the dream. Bits and pieces clung to her consciousness, and her stomach flipped over at the memory of looking at her own dead face.

Oh, Sean… A wave of sadness swelled up to mingle with the shakiness. Sean, trying to protect her even in her dreams. She shook her head and sniffed back tears.

She reached over to the bedside table and slipped her glasses on. Maybe if she brought the real world back into focus, the creepy dream hangover would loosen its hold. Most of the time she didn’t mind living alone, but nights like this she wished she had someone lying next to her. A muscular back to curl up against, someone warm and solid who would slip a strong arm around her and stroke her back until she calmed back down.

An image of Cole’s solid chest, long corded arms, and big hands flashed in her brain. She shoved it away and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She reached for the bedside lamp, then froze as she realized what was weird about the room.

She’d fallen asleep with the TV in her room on. Which in and of itself wasn’t unusual, but somehow the input selection had gotten messed up, so instead of late-night infomercials, her TV displayed a blank blue screen. She must have rolled over the remote in her sleep. The room was suffused by an eerie glow, casting her shabby chic furniture in ominous shadows.

The TV.

That was what had been bugging her all night, the little finger tapping at the back of her brain when Devany was telling first the patrol officer, then Cole, exactly what she’d seen in that trailer.

The TV had been on.

Just like when Sean found Evangeline Gordon next to him in that bed. He’d described the scene in grueling detail over and over, to the police, to his lawyer, and to Megan. She’d been over Sean’s case files so many times she could recite every statement from every witness word for word.

I woke up and found her next to me in the bed. There was blood everywhere. On the sheets, on me, all over the rest of the house. I have no memory of how we got there. I left the room to find the phone and noticed that the television was on.

Both Sean and the first responders reported the TV had been on, remarkable only because there was no display, only the blue screen. It had seemed strange to Megan, since Sean had just moved in and hadn’t had his cable installed yet. He’d bought a new TV, but he’d given Megan his old DVD and stereo and hadn’t replaced them.

So why would Sean turn the TV on if there was nothing to watch?

No one took the question seriously, and on some level even Megan had felt she was grasping at straws.

But now the question sprang to life again. What if the man who killed Evangeline Gordon had a camera hooked up to Sean’s TV?

Just like the man who killed the woman in the trailer. The serial killer the press had dubbed the Seattle Slasher.

Something like optimism leaped in her chest.

Do not get ahead of yourself.

But her brain raced, wondering if this, of all the known facts and odd coincidences, could be the one shred of information she’d been looking for?

Even she had to admit it was a long shot.

But right now it could be the only shot Sean had.

Megan tucked a stray curl behind her ear before she entered the building that housed the SPD south precinct.
Her nerves were shot from adrenaline and caffeine. Her dream had woken her at a little past three-thirty in the morning, and she hadn’t gone back to bed. Instead, she’d pored over her copy of Sean’s case file for five hours and consumed a full pot of coffee in the meantime.

She thought she managed to keep the quaver out of her voice as she told the desk sergeant her name and asked to see Cole. But she couldn’t stop the toe of her boot from
tap tap tapping
at the linoleum floor, even when the desk sergeant flashed her an irritated look.

She turned her back on him. The coffee churned in her stomach as she tried to figure out exactly what to say to Cole. The cardboard of the accordion file that held Sean’s case files grew soft and mealy in spots from her damp, clutching fingers, and she willed herself to calm down, stay focused.

“Megan?”