Flame Unleashed (Hell to Pay) (7 page)

So basically, a perfect location for her work.

As a general rule, she tried to spread out the placement of her kills so there would be no pattern and to engender less curiosity from local law enforcement. More importantly, changing the location of the kills made it harder for Jerahmeel to anticipate her whereabouts. Normally, too, she would vary her costume, but she’d brought only the one blonde wig for this trip. She hadn’t planned on needing multiple attempts to achieve her kill quota while on vacation.

Due to a sheltered upbringing in Rockville, Maryland, her upper-class family had raised her to have genteel manners. Now, however, as an Indebted killer, gone was the woman who loved dinner parties and dressing in taffeta, the woman who lived for her children and her husband and helping others. Gone was the woman who believed in love and faith in her fellow man.

Amazingly, her marriage ended not because she had become an Indebted, but because of her other power. The power that had nothing to do with her unhuman state.

She had discovered her husband’s betrayal through her gift of reading minds, the same ability she used now to verify the crimes of each kill.

First the Civil War, then her conversion into an Indebted, and finally her husband’s deception had all but driven away any hope for humanity—her own or others’. She couldn’t trust her husband, and every kill increased her lack of faith in mortals. Who did that leave? No one.

Barnaby’s presence helped, but when he finally passed away at some point in the future, she would be adrift again, searching for purpose, clinging to ... nothing. Fine, she could nurse someone else, but it wouldn’t be the same. The meaning of her life had lost all substance, like trying to grab hold of air. Panic raked her lungs raw, and she had to lean against a light pole to catch her breath.

Nothing. She had nothing left, she had no purpose, no family. Oh, God, there was nothing.

She might have used her gift on Odie, but she hated invading someone else’s deepest sanctuary and, as a general rule, refused to use her power in that manner.

She had no idea where her ability came from, only that it had fully manifested in a time of desperation, her darkest hour—or so she had thought. She had hints of her power prior to that black moment, but the final straw came with the terror that she would lose her children. A weird, high-pitched teakettle-type whistle in her head had nearly split her skull in two. Then bang! The power to read minds—specifically, her husband’s—emerged. After that, the power became a part of her.

And she had no intention of sharing the details of it with anyone. Her ability was her most guarded secret.

But if she had looked into Odie’s mind, she would’ve seen the truth. Did she really want to know what he thought about her?

Even now, a niggling sense of him in the back of her mind remained. Strange. Like he stood right outside of her line of sight, a ridiculous idea, since she hadn’t even told Barnaby where she was headed tonight. Maybe her lust for the kill had gotten confused with her lust for ... other things. Damn Odie’s sexy mouth. She brushed her fingers across her lips before she could stop herself.

Quit it. Finish tonight’s job.

Rifling in the empty purse she used as a prop for her disguise, she smiled when a group of men on the opposite corner nodded in her direction. She turned down another street, searching for a safe location to stage the kill. Her goal: Draw attention as a single white woman, lost and possibly drunk, who had wandered over from the tourist sections of town.

These men would see exactly what she wanted them to see.

Pushing blond hair off her shoulders, Ruth glanced around again.

Almost midnight. Most citizens had settled in for the evening. Anyone who remained out at this hour had a higher chance of being what she, or rather the knife, needed.

To help create her alter ego, she had dressed in stiletto heels. The black slacks and a black wrap top were suited more for a dinner party than a walk through the rough section of town. By adding the flaxen wig, she completed her transition into the right frame of mind for the kill. Now she felt more alluring, more in touch with the other aspect of her personality. The deadly seductress created such dissonance with her normal character.

“Normal character.” What a joke. Even daily life had become an act. Holy hell, what a nightmare she had become.

“Hey, mama, whatcha doin’ out here tonight?”

With some encouragement from his friends, a black man approached. As expected, when she glanced back, additional men closed in behind her. Now she needed to see whether this guy would suffice as a criminal about to die or if another of his friends better fit the bill.

Too bad the man wasn’t alone. She hated witnesses, but she wasn’t in a position to pick and choose. She had to make this kill work tonight.

“Ah, can you fellas tell me how to get back to the French Quarter? I’m a little lost.”

She stumbled and giggled, ignoring the knowing smirks as the men formed a loose circle around her. The knife’s relentless hunger began to heat her leg, and her heart pounded.

When she pivoted back to the first man who had approached her, the knife nearly keened, its desire for a corrupt soul was so intense. This sneering man reeked of evil. Good. The more corrupt, the better, as far as her chances of getting the Meaningful Kill went.

He stared at her chest, oblivious to the danger she presented. Perfect.

“Maybe you want to give me ... directions. Over there.” She pointed with her chin toward a parked car on a side street.

“You know I do.”

He followed her fifty paces away, next to a car without front wheels. He was a big guy, dark as night, with a gold tooth that glinted in the streetlight when he grinned, and all pumped-up muscle and swagger.

She staggered once again for good measure, and the idiot did nothing to help. Not that she expected chivalry, but his lack of couth only added fuel to the knife’s hunger.

“Let me tell you a secret.” She hiccupped.

“What you wanna tell me, baby?”

The knife wanted him. Now. “Lean closer, sugar,” she said.

He licked his lips, grinned, and preened like an overstuffed peacock. As a lover would, she took his face in her hands, almost caressing the arches of his cheekbones. The hoots from his friends faded as she entered this guy’s mind.

“What the—”

He pulled back, but she pressed her hands tighter to lock him in place. “Shush. Just enjoy it.”

She effectively shut down his speech center with a thought as she parted the curtains of his mind. Since he hadn’t admitted to a crime, she would have to find it.

His friends walked toward them, restless and punching each other on the arms as they watched their mute buddy. To them, he appeared riveted on Ruth and about to get some action.

Which was exactly what she wanted them to see.

Her scalp beneath the blond wig itched.
Concentrate
.

Into the deepest recess of his conscious mind she went, filtering past images of a woman whose gray-laced, curly hair surrounded a careworn face. Ruth pushed past glimpses of babies, all smiles and outstretched arms, each perched on a different woman’s lap. This guy was a real winner.

She found the crime. There, buried deep down and abutting his subconscious. Although he had done a remarkable job suppressing the memory, if a person had a past, Ruth could eventually find it. When the man made a guttural sound as he fought against her control, she tweaked the mental pressure so he could no longer move.

“Let me see what you’ve done there, handsome,” she crooned.

Part of her wanted to ease the indignity of the mental invasion. Part of her no longer cared; she only wanted to complete this kill and move on.

His eyes widened into two terrified whites hovering in a dark face. She pressed deeper to unlock the memory of his crime. Or should she say, crimes? Where to start? Good God, was he a sociopath? How had he suppressed this much evil? During a robbery, he shot a convenience store worker at point-blank range. She watched blood spread over the clerk’s shirt as he crumpled to the floor.

What about breaking and entering into a little old lady’s house? Ruth couldn’t stop the flow of images slamming into her mind, one after another. Damn it, the lady’s screams and the impact of his booted foot shattering brittle bone echoed in Ruth’s head, an aftereffect of the images. She would have that sound in her head forever, damn it.

Mentally backpedaling, she couldn’t exit this man’s mind fast enough. When she withdrew, her restraint over his speech center ceased.

“Shit, lady, what the hell? Get the fuck away.”

He lashed out, likely expecting to knock her to the pavement, but she absorbed the impact and didn’t budge. Before he could reach for the gun hidden in his waistband, she slid the knife, glowing lurid green and starving, out of the sheath. It guided her hand toward the man and she plunged the knife to the hilt, right below the man’s xiphoid process, angled toward the heart, right where it liked to feed. As the knife consumed the man’s disgusting soul, languid and delicious relief flowed through her limbs. Sweet, sick satisfaction. She didn’t want more, she only wanted to finish and get out of here.

“Shit ...” He would have crumpled, but Ruth pressed him against the car, hiding the knife from his friends.

A shot rang out, whizzing by her head so close her hair moved. Holy hell. To be fair, she wouldn’t die from a gunshot, but a direct hit would leave her vulnerable until she could heal. Not only did the bullets hurt like the blazes, but it would raise questions if she returned to the hotel dripping blood.

She swung her gurgling friend in front of her like a shield to absorb the bullets that thudded into his flesh and knocked her back a pace.

“Shit, you hit Deshawn,” one of the men screamed as he reloaded his gun.

When her victim drew his last breath, she yanked the knife out of his ribcage and stuffed it back into the sheath. She’d clean it later.

For an instant, relief from obtaining the kill made her weak in the knees. This man had been so utterly evil.

Had she done it? Did he qualify as the Meaningful Kill?

She stared at her bloody hands. Nothing had changed.

Anger deflated her soul until all that remained was suffocating disappointment.

Then remorse flooded her like a dam had broken. Damn it, every time she killed, it was like reconciling two ill-fitting halves. The daytime Nurse Ruth and her murderous alter ego didn’t mesh well. She collapsed to her knees, spent, guilty, and relieved. God, she hated killing and she loved killing, thanks to the damned knife and Jerahmeel.

Hearing footsteps, she glanced up in time to see a gun leveled at her head. Then a flash of light and a bang.

But not from the gun.

Sulfur fumes burned her nose.

Not him. Not tonight. She only wanted to get the heck out of here and pretend to be normal for as long as possible, until the next urge to kill.

“Delicious dining,
mademoiselle
. Much appreciated,” Jerahmeel said. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

He blew smoke off his smoldering fingers with an air of satisfaction. The other men, or what remained of them, had been reduced to blobs of charred flesh, the only indication of their passage from this Earth. The odor of singed hair and fried entrails turned her stomach.

Sure, she had worked in burn units before, but this horrific scene was altogether different. It had taken about two seconds for Jerahmeel to roast them alive. Holy hell. What could he do to a perpetually healing Indebted?

Ruth scrambled to her feet and turned to face her boss. Jerahmeel was unpredictable, not to mention disgusting, and she wanted her faculties about her every time he appeared. She fought the perverse urge to scratch the hell out of her head beneath the damned ridiculous wig.

He licked his lips, shaded dark in the poor streetlight, but she knew them to be an unnatural ruby red. When he raked his ember-glowing leer over her body, she wanted to cover herself, but kept her hands at her sides. Another whiff of sulfur and rotting meat taunted her nose, but she didn’t flinch. She’d learned years ago that giving any reaction only fanned the flame of his desire.

“You picked a savory feast for me tonight. He’s quite evil.” With a pointy-toed shoe, he poked at the body crumpled at her feet. “Thank you.”

She never said he was welcome. Ever. “Of course.”

He adjusted the pouf of lace erupting from his jacket’s velvet neckline. “You’re looking delectable as usual,
mademoiselle
. I haven’t seen a woman so grand since Empress Josephine. She was dedicated to her Napoleon, you know. They called her the power behind the throne. Ah, I do so love it when a strong woman supports a strong man.”

The sensation of his gaze roving over her body made her almost physically ill, but she stood there and absorbed his interest without moving. The less response, the better. Maybe he’d grow bored of the sick seduction game and move on to someone else.

“But what is that unjust confection hiding your luscious hair, which I so adore?”

Acid churned in her belly. “Identification technology has improved in the modern times. I need to adjust my appearance so I can remain hidden, but still perform my work duties.”

“I don’t care. Take it off now,
mademoiselle
.” His tone hit somewhere between a hoarse lover and a desperate psychopath.

Even though rules restricted him from physically forcing an Indebted to do anything, one never refused a command. He’d find another way to gain control, and it typically involved tormenting humans to force Indebted to his will.

The steaming organic material on the pavement attested to the power he could bring to bear without ever making contact with anyone. She unpinned the blonde wig with shaking hands.

“Drop it,” he commanded.

She let it fall to the pavement. With a flick of his finger, the mass of hair incinerated in a flash of greenish light. The scent of burnt hair blended with the smell of fried humans in a noxious, sharp mixture.

“Take down the rest of it,” he said.