Red Widow (Vivian Xu, Book 1) (24 page)

She looked down at her
wrist.

“
Syllax,” she breathed. The
killer hadn’t injected her with any mere sedative or hallucinogen.
He had exposed her to a hazardous pharmaceutical. Vivian
hyperventilated as her thoughts turned to Eileen, the woman in the
video who suffered a post-traumatic episode.

Is that what she experienced in the
hospital? A terrible event buried in her past? Her head buzzed just
thinking about the man bleeding in the alley. His face was a blur,
an indistinguishable fleshy mass without characteristics. She shook
her head, trying to dislodge the vision from her brain.

There was no time to ponder that
dilemma now. How should she react to this new development in the
case? So many questions swirled in her head after watching the
tape.

While the killer scrawled his
trademark message at every crime scene, he never referenced his
mother before. How did she fit into this grisly puzzle?

If only Vivian could find this woman
and unearth the truth. But how? Vivian gazed at the static growling
on the screen. Suddenly, she pressed rewind. The morbid suicide
unfolded in a backward sequence; the drug draining back into the
syringe, the hypodermic needle retreating from his wrist, his voice
zigzagging at odd pitches. At last, she hit play.

“
I never intended for this
outcome. I thought I was helping others. I sincerely do not expect
understanding or forgiveness.” She pressed pause and squinted at
the mortgage papers and subpoenas. Vincent… Viktor…

She leaped off the couch and leaned
toward the screen, trying to decipher the name until pixels swam
before her eyes.

“
Come on.”

Viktor Rezník.

Vivian popped out her cell
phone.

“
Camilla? I need you to
find someone for me.”

* * *

Nikolai slumbered tranquilly next to
Tatiana in his bed, their naked bodies finally pried apart. The
hours of lovemaking physically drained Nikolai until oblivion
beckoned him to its alluring doorstep. Still warm from the frenzy
of their tangled bodies, Tatiana crawled out from under the
sheets.

She sensuously stretched and swept the
dark hair out of her eyes. Who would have thought she could tame
the beast residing in Nikolai?

Tatiana studied his prominent features
as she donned her bra and shirt; his dark eyebrows, firm lower jaw,
and beautiful, full-bodied lips. Those lips were especially
unaccustomed to wearing a smile.

When she was certain he
wouldn’t wake, she abandoned the bedroom. Her feet carried her to
his study. On Nikolai’s desk rested the briefcase he always toted
in hand. There wasn’t a moment it didn’t leave his sight, cradled
close to him like an infant child. Tatiana had a pretty good
feeling about what it contained, although there was only one way to
confirm her suspicions. She suspected the combination was either
Emily’s birthday or the date of his divorce.
Divorce it is
, she thought as the
locks crisply opened. She congratulated herself for asking all the
right personal questions.

Reaching inside, her manicured
fingertips flitted through files associated with the investigation.
She held up a photo of an Asian girl with scarlet hair. Her red
eyes glistened hungrily, and blood was spattered on her jacket. But
whose ruptured arteries did that blood belong to?

“
Vivian Xu?” she murmured.
She flipped the photo over and scanned the description. “Arrested
for attempted murder and engaging in sexual acts for compensation.”
So this was the girl she followed to the basilica. Bits and pieces
began to fall in place into a mental jig-saw puzzle. A coy smile
creased Tatiana’s perfectly ample lips. “So you’re just a little
bird in Nikolai’s cage.”

She longed to question this Vivian Xu
and learn what arrangement she had forged with Nikolai.

Perhaps Vivian would prove more
forthcoming about the investigation than the surly homicide
detective. Tucking the photo back into the briefcase, she neatly
arranged the contents with obsessive detail. Not even Nikolai would
notice that someone defiled his privacy. Hell, he wouldn’t even
realize she defiled his body, in addition to his trust.

Men were so absurdly weak in the face
of a naked woman.

She tiptoed into the bedroom where
Nikolai remained encased in a comatose sleep. She quietly slid into
her pants. Suddenly, the nightstand caught her attention. Just one
peek and she would be on her way…

She delicately opened the drawer and
scanned the baubles Nikolai had collected over a lifetime of
sorrow.

“
What is this?” she said,
running her fingers along the inside of the drawer. Careful not to
disturb Nikolai, she lifted the false bottom.

A gasp whooshed out her
lungs.

A few minutes later, she slipped on
her shoes. Her earthly delights were once more veiled under her
white shirt and pants. She cast a final look over her shoulder at
the forlorn man sleeping in bed. She almost reached for the door
when she remembered something. Her hand plunged into her pocket.
Tatiana fished out a wedding band encrusted with diamonds and slid
it snugly over her finger.

FOURTEEN

The Neurology Zikmund Institute was
every inch the facility Jezebel remembered from her days as an
intern. Of course, it had been upgraded since with vast layers of
security and top-notch equipment. Herds of excited students
fluttered down the halls, gushing about how far they had advanced
since their clinicals.

How would they fare when they were
holding live specimens moments away from experimentation? Would
they still gush with enthusiasm?

Jezebel understood the gravity of
dealing with life and death. After all, she was well acquainted
with life’s end product when it made the final journey to her
autopsy table. In some ways, she believed it was easier dealing
with humans than animal specimens. Animals were completely
innocent. A man or woman, on the other hand, could be guilty of all
manner of atrocities committed throughout a lifetime of
debauchery.

She could be slicing open a sex
offender on her table or sealing an adulteress in the freezer. With
that thought in mind, she tried to view everything from a clinical
aspect in the morgue. A little morbid humor helped melt the tension
as well, although it often pushed Nikolai over the edge—but that
was a reward in and of itself.

Jezebel swiped the security card at
the door. A pleasant chime told her the credentials passed
flawlessly. A different kind of noise might have summoned an
entourage of belligerent guards.

She quickly donned a gown, goggles,
and gloves before entering the laboratory. Amber light shimmered
across cages, surgical steel tables, and cryogenic freezers filled
with liquid nitrogen. Those sights brought a fountain of nostalgia
surging to the forefront of her mind. She approached the cages
stacked against the wall, housing well over eighty rats.

Many years ago when she attended
medical school, she faced the unpleasant task of destroying neural
tissue in a rodent to study impaired behavior. After the
experiment, she managed to smuggle her test subject home and care
for him as a pet. She couldn’t repair the damage her instructors
forced her to carry out, but she could at least tend to the
innocent creature.

Now she was thrust into the same role
where she would tamper with life in unnatural ways. Despite the
guilt simmering in her chest, Jezebel convinced herself of the
necessity of the task before her. She owed as much to the victims
silenced by the serial killer.

Jezebel uncapped the
needle, its razor-sharp tip sweating a thus far unidentified
substance. The thought of medical knowledge eluding her was
inconceivable. She would be damned if she didn’t
find out what the serial killer was injecting into
his victims—and more importantly, how it worked.

Reaching inside one of the cages, she
picked up an albino lab rat.

“
Sorry,” she said, peeking
into its red eyes. “This will only take a second.” The rat didn’t
even flinch as the needle poked its belly. She depressed the
plunger and watched ten milliliters of fluid hiss into its
bloodstream. Fortunately, this strain of rats was known for its
extremely docile behavior, making it more than suitable for the
task. Jezebel kissed the rat on the head and returned it to the
plastic cage.

Scooping up another rat, she injected
five milliliters. Finally, three milliliters streamed through the
syringe into the third specimen.

“
There you go,” she
chirped. “Get some rest, my babies. I’ll be back tomorrow to check
up on you.” Their beady eyes silently followed her.

Jezebel punched the glowing numbers on
the wall panel, restricting access to all but her.

* * *

Nikolai jolted awake as something
rapped against the door. At once, he realized he had fallen asleep
in his office again, his head propped against the ever accumulating
pile of homicide reports. He barely got any sleep last night
because of Tatiana.

“
Detective Nikolai Koslov?”
He looked up from his desk to see a woman standing outside his
office. Rich, blonde hair curled around her face. He fought down
the impulse to banish her when he saw her expression.

She looked lost and dejected, not the
typical defense attorney hounding his every move.

“
How can I help
you?”

“
My name is Alyssa LaCroix.
I was told you could help me. My daughter Krista disappeared
several weeks ago.”

What is she doing
here?
Nikolai couldn’t fathom why the
department allowed her to see him. Didn’t the secretary know he
couldn’t spill the details of the investigation? Maybe they had
grown tired of shielding him from the constant barrage of questions
and let this woman slip through the cracks.

“
Yes. We’ve been searching
rigorously for any sign of your daughter’s whereabouts. We’ve
already set up a hotline for the public in case anyone spots a
woman fitting her description. We’re following up on every reliable
lead that comes our way.”

“
Thank you, it means a lot
to me. I wish there was something more I could do for the
investigation. I’ve offered all the information I have about my
daughter, but it doesn’t seem to be good enough.”

Nikolai recognized his own grief in
her eyes.

How many times had he kicked the chief
of police’s door off the hinges while conducting his own inquiry of
his daughter’s disappearance? The torment of not knowing her fate
or whereabouts kept him awake for nights on end, taunting him with
the possibility that he could have done something more to save her.
Maybe he was looking in the wrong place. Maybe there was a detail
he overlooked in her bedroom before the forensics team tramped
in.

Maybe he could have saved
her.

“
Don’t saddle yourself with
all the blame, Alyssa. As parents, we often feel we could have done
more to protect our child at one time or another.” His gaze strayed
from hers, letting defeat slip through his armor. “The truth is we
cannot shield them every waking moment, no matter how hard we
try.”

“
I know, but… I’ve been so
lonely without her.” Nikolai almost felt the urge to reach out and
squeeze her hand. How he longed to share that bond with another
person who so intimately understood the loss that ravaged his
heart. They were like two pages torn from the same book, life’s
screenplay for tortured souls.

“
Have you learned anything
yet? Have you found her?” she spouted. Nikolai bit his lip. How
could he address such an explicit question?

“
Perhaps you should sit
down, Alyssa.”

Tears began to swell in the corners of
her crystalline eyes. Nikolai folded his hands and lowered his
gaze.

“
I’m sorry, Alyssa,” he
said, preparing himself for the storm that would inevitably follow.
“Your daughter is dead. She died of a heroin overdose.”

Her eyes glazed over.

“
No!” she screamed. “You’re
a liar! A fucking liar!” Nikolai fell back in his chair from the
force of her verbal assault. He reached out to console her but
Alyssa recoiled from his touch. “My daughter would never abuse
drugs!” Tears streamed from her eyes as she choked. “I won’t
believe you… I won’t…”

“
Alyssa,
please…”

With a strangled sob, she fled his
office, slamming the door behind her. She tripped over her heels
and crashed to her knees. Alyssa buried her face in her hands,
convulsing with grief.

Nikolai bowed his head over the pile
of autopsy sheets, Krista LaCroix among them. Guilt began to burn a
hole in his chest, and he slid her autopsy sheet into his desk to
absolve himself of wrongdoing. He couldn’t say a word in his
defense when Alyssa tore into him. He simply accepted the brunt of
her attacks, perhaps because he knew he deserved it. He fell back
in his chair as another headache tore across his scalp.