Shaken (49 page)

I began to see spots, and darkness crept into my peripheral vision. But I wasn’t afraid. In fact, in a way, I’d won. My plan had worked. Instead of my death being dragged out for hours, he was going to kill me immediately. In just a few words, I’d picked apart his psyche and reduced him to the animal he really was.

I could die now.

Die knowing Phin and Harry and Herb would avenge me. Die with the knowledge of having lived the life I wanted to live.

Die the way I chose to, with dignity and bravery and victory.

The door to the storage locker burst open, and a tall, pale man with long, black hair rushed up to Dalton and pressed a stun gun into his neck.

Mr. K’s eyes bugged out, and he collapsed into a pile. My rescuer jolted him again, making him dance and twitch.

Then again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Dalton convulsed, spitting foam, his body contorting and twisting into odd positions. Eventually his eyes rolled up into his head, and he was still, save for the steady rise and fall of his chest.

The pale man looked at me. He wore a black turtleneck sweater and blue work pants. His gaze was relaxed, but focused. Like I was being studied.

“You’re Lieutenant Jack Daniels of the Chicago Police Department, responsible for catching more serial killers than any other law enforcement officer in history.”

I coughed. Blinked. Nodded.

“Do you know who I am, Jack?”

I didn’t. And then I did. I remembered the case. The crimes. The photograph the Wal-Mart security camera had captured of him seven years ago during his killing spree across North Carolina—the only photograph in any law enforcement database of this monster.

“You’re Luther Kite,” I said.

He leaned in, close enough to kiss. I forced myself not to flinch, meeting his stare while also knowing the situation hadn’t changed. I’d simply swapped one maniac for another. But there was something different about this one. All my life, I’d wondered about true evil. I didn’t wonder anymore, because I was staring into its black, soulless eyes.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time, Jack.”

Luther’s breath was sour. His skin smelled like Windex.

“Why have you been watching me, Luther?”

“Because I find you—” Luther stuck out a tongue the color of rotten liver, and licked my cheek “—interesting.”

I tried not to gag and said, “What is it you want from me, Luther?”

“You’re hurt.” He glanced down at the floor, bent over, lifted something Dalton had dropped. The pregnancy test. “Hurt, and…with child. How far along are you?”

“A month,” I said. A moment ago, I thought I’d conquered my fear. But it was coming back, with bells on.

“A month,” Luther said, nodding. “It must be indescribably beautiful to have a life growing inside you.”

“It is,” I said. I managed to keep my voice even, but I could feel the tears coming.

Luther reached out, touching my thigh. His hand lingered, ice cold, then trailed upward. When he reached my belly, he rested his palm there and stared into my eyes.

“I couldn’t let this man kill you, Jack. He isn’t worthy. Didn’t even notice I was watching him. Such an amateur. Do you know him?”

“He’s Mr. K.”

Luther’s black eyes sparkled, and he took his horrible hand away from me. “
The
Mr. K?”

I nodded. Luther disappeared, walking behind me. A moment later, the Catherine Wheel was being lowered to the ground, and I was on my back. Luther crawled over, kneeling between my legs. Again, he brought his face within kissing distance. But instead of licking me again, he sniffed me. My nose. My lips. My neck. Every time he moved in, my skin shrank away from him.

Then he was down by my feet, unbuckling my ankle restraints.

“It’s a bad break,” he said. “But this should help.”

I felt a pinch on my thigh, like a bee sting.

A moment later, the world became a warm, loving blanket. Pain free and fuzzy and euphoric.

I watched Luther put the syringe back into his pocket. Then he freed the strap around my waist, around my wrists. I threw a punch at him, but my swing was so slow, so weak. He easily dodged it, and then he had my wrists in his hands and I heard a
ZZZZZZZ
sound. I looked down, saw a plastic zip tie securing my wrists.

“Don’t try to run away,” Luther said. “You’ll make your leg worse.”

He gave my broken bone a pat, which caused a bolt of agony to shoot through me and quickly vanish. I looked down, saw my foot bent in an odd direction. It looked really painful. I felt bad for whoever had such a terrible injury.

Luther dragged me by my armpits over to the concrete block. I sat there, watching, as he pulled Mr. K onto the Catherine Wheel and began buckling him on. Then he frisked him.

“What did you give me?” I asked, feeling so light I was worried I’d float away.

“Heroin. Good, isn’t it?”

It was good. But it was also scary. I needed to get away from there. I tried to get up, but my leg bent a funny way and I fell over.

“You really need to sit still, Jack,” Luther said. He was standing above me, holding Mr. K’s sledgehammer.

Then there was screaming. A lot of screaming. Begging and screaming and more screaming until I had to put my hands over my ears, but I couldn’t because someone had tied them up.

“Would you like a turn?” Luther asked, holding out the hammer for me.

I saw Mr. K, upside down on the Catherine Wheel. He was in bad shape. His legs and arms didn’t even look like legs and arms anymore. Luther gave the wheel a spin, and the screaming went on and on.

“No,” I said, shrinking away. I didn’t like any of this. I just wanted to go home.

“He hurt you. This is your chance to hurt him back.” Luther pressed the sledgehammer handle into my bound hands. I swung at Luther, but again I was too slow, missing by a mile. Luther shook his head, taking the hammer away.

“Your loss.”

Then he went to Mr. K again. He was doing something to him with a knife.

Oh God.

The Guinea Worm.

Luther managed to get it going, and set them both so they turned by themselves. He had to stand right next to Mr. K and keep waving smelling salts in front of him, because Dalton kept passing out.

After a long time, the smelling salts stopped working.

Luther sat down next to me, throwing the ammonia vial across the floor.

“For a legend, he was a real disappointment,” Luther said. Then he turned to me. “I hope you don’t turn out to be a disappointment, Jack.”

Then I was on my back, Luther over me, pressing his lips to my forehead.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he whispered. “Soon.”

He pushed something into my hand. Dalton’s phone.

A moment later, he was gone.

Epilogue

He has waited for a while now.

Waited for the right moment.

The perfect time.

While he waited, he watched. And planned.

There was much planning.

Broken bones take time to heal. He wants Jack to be at her best.

It was actually a good thing to wait, because now Jack is having a baby.

The baby excites Luther. Jack has always been a fighter. Now she’ll have even more to fight for. Even more to live for.

He’s waited a long time.

He can wait a little longer.

Seven months, two weeks, and four days longer.

That’s two days before Jack’s due date.

Luther knows, because he found a nurse who worked for Jack’s ob-gyn. He took the nurse to a nice, quiet spot, and she told him everything he wanted to know.

So he’ll wait a bit longer.

Wait, and watch, and plan.

Wait until Jack’s leg heals.

Wait until she’s ready to have her baby.

That’s when he will begin their game.

Acknowledgments

I
wish to thank everyone at D&G, especially Jane Dystel, Miriam Goderich, and Lauren Abramo.

The Amazon crew for their exceptional work, including Alex Carr, Stephanie Derouin, Terry Goodman, Victoria Griffith, Nader Kabbani, Jason Kuykendall, Brian Mitchell, Jeff Tollefson, Phil Finch, and Sarah Tomashek.

Blake Crouch, for too many things to mention.

Carl Graves, my brother from another mother.

My friends in high places, Barry Eisler, Tess Gerritsen, Heather Graham, Henry Perez, Kayla Perrin, Ann Voss Peterson, James Rollins, Marcus Sakey, Jeff Strand, Rob Walker, and F. Paul Wilson.

Talon Konrath, for tip-toeing around Dad when he was writing.

Maria Konrath, my everything. This book is for you, babe. But you wanna know a secret? They’re all for you. I love you today.

And especially the fans, for the kind words, the email, the reviews, the support, and the boundless enthusiasm for this series. You’re the reason I keep writing.

Author Biography

Photo credit: Maria Konrath

J.A. Konrath is the author of seven novels in the Lt. Jacqueline “Jack” Daniels thriller series, including
Whiskey Sour
,
Bloody Mary
,
Rusty Nai
l,
Dirty Martini
,
Fuzzy Navel
,
Cherry Bomb
, and now
Shaken
. Writing under the name Jack Kilborn, he is the author of the horror novels
Afraid
,
Trapped
, and
Endurance
. He also writes sci-fi under the name Joe Kimball, whose novels are set in 2054 Chicago and feature Jack Daniels’s grandson as the hero. To date, Konrath has sold over 100,000 e-books and has been featured in
Forbes
, the
Wall Street Journal
, and
Newsweek
. The author of more than seventy published short stories, he is the recipient of numerous writing awards and has seen his books published in eleven languages. He is currently at work on the final Jack Daniels novel,
Stirred
, co-written with Blake Crouch. You can visit him at
JAKonrath.com
.

J.A. Konrath’s
Works Available on Kindle

Whiskey Sour

Bloody Mary

Rusty Nail

Dirty Martini

Fuzzy Navel

Cherry Bomb

Afraid

Origin

The List

Disturb

Shot of Tequila

55 Proof
(Short Story Omnibus)

Jack Daniels Stories
(Collected Stories)

Crime Stories
(Collected Stories)

Horror Stories
(Collected Stories)

Truck Stop

Suckers
by J.A. Konrath and Jeff Strand

Planter’s Punch
by J.A. Konrath and Tom Schreck

Serial Uncut
by Blake Crouch and Jack Kilborn

Floaters
by J.A. Konrath and Henry Perez

Dumb Jokes & Vulgar Poems

Endurance

Trapped

Shaken

Draculas
by J.A. Konrath, Blake Crouch, Jeff Strand, and F. Paul Wilson

Banana Hammock