

### Hunters

### By Heather Mace

### Copyright 2016 Heather Mace

### Smashwords Edition

### Licensing Notes

### Smashwords Edition

Thank you for downloading this ebook.

This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer.

Thank you for your support.

This is a work of fiction.

Characters, places, and events in this story are the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

### Acknowledgements

Thank you to Jeanette Flores Campbell for constant advice on grammar and apostrophes.

Any remaining mistakes are entirely my fault.

### Contents

About the Author

Other Titles by Heather Mace

Connect with Heather Mace

## 1

Every waking moment since the attack, Jen had been jumpy and nervous. And on the rare occasion that she slept, she was plagued by nightmares. Despite advice from her doctors, she refused medication to calm her nerves, or induce sleep. She had to stay sharp. He was still out there, out on bail, and she knew that she couldn't let her guard down until his trial was over.

As was now her ritual, she had walked the perimeter of her house, checking the lock on every window and door, and making sure that every room had at least one light burning. Just before retreating to her bedroom, she peered out the front window to verify that a patrol car was parked in front of her house. She locked her bedroom door, verified that her stun gun was fully charged, and then crawled into bed.

She was somewhere in the midst of those precious moments between drifting off to sleep and sliding into a nightmare when she was startled back to full consciousness by something... A noise! She sat up, listening intently, unable to place it or identify it. She blinked into every corner of the dimly lit room and visually checked the door lock. Everything _looked_ all right. She quietly drew in a breath and tried to calm her nerves. And there it was again.

This time she was almost certain of what and where it was. It sounded like a floorboard groaning at the end of the hallway. All of her senses were now fully alert. She slid out of bed as she reached for the stun gun, and smacked her forehead on the corner of the nightstand. She winced and stifled a cry as she thumbed the weapon on. She felt a trickle of blood running down the side of her face. She swiped it with her hand and looked at it to verify that she was, in fact, bleeding. She grabbed the edge of her bed sheet and used it to hold pressure on the wound while she listened as hard as she could.

For a time that seemed to border on eternity, there was not another sound. As she began to mentally relax, she could hear the blood pounding louder and louder in her head. She started to feel dizzy. She reached up behind her to the telephone on the nightstand and pulled it down to the floor. Even if there was no one in the house, she thought she might have to call for help because of her rapidly increasing blood pressure.

"Deep, calming breaths," she whispered to herself. She had already involved the police in too many false alarms. She was determined not to have them come charging into the house again to rescue her from yet another creaky floorboard. Jen forced herself to remove her thumb from the nine button on her phone and took another deep breath. She felt her pulse slowing down as she exhaled.

### ***

"Malcolm Cole, you are under arrest for the murder of Jennifer Golden."

"Whaaat?!?" Malcolm spun on Detective Glade, shaking loose from the attempt to handcuff him.

Detective Sherman slammed Malcolm against the hood of the police cruiser and twisted his right arm upward, behind his back. Detective Glade slapped a cuff onto Malcolm's wrist just a little tighter than was necessary, while his partner kept pressure against Malcolm's back.

Malcolm struggled, shouting over his shoulder, "I didn't kill that bitch."

"Of course not," Glade said, jerking him away from the hood of the car by his cuffed wrists. "Let's go." He pushed the suspect toward the back door of the car.

"I didn't kill that bitch," Malcolm screamed, his face growing a deeper shade of red with each word.

With his hand on Malcolm's head, Glade shoved him through the door. "And last time you were arrested you swore you didn't rape her or cut up her face. But we all know better than that, don't we?"

Sherman stepped up to the door and waited for Malcolm's string of expletives to subside. When the suspect was finally quiet, Sherman read him his rights.

"I did not kill her," he articulated every syllable. "And I have not been convicted of anything."

"No, Mac, you haven't been convicted yet, but we have a mountain of forensic evidence that will bury you at your trial."

Malcolm snorted, "sounds like your star witness won't be there to testify against me."

Sherman looked up at Glade. "That almost sounded like a confession to me. What do you think, Benjamin?"

"I didn't confess," Malcolm screamed, "because I didn't kill..."

Sherman slammed the door in his face.

### ***

Officer Monica Martinez tugged her gun belt upward as she threw her leg over the stool next to Detectives Glade and Sherman. "You two are such a cliché," she pulled the box of donuts closer to her and flipped the lid open.

Glade closed the lid and moved the box away from her. "Don't insult a man and then reach for his donuts, Officer Martinez."

She shrugged. "Alright boys, but I _did_ come here to invite you to a barbecue."

Smiling, Sherman slid the box back toward her.

She chose one of the filled donuts, knowing full well that they were Glade's favorites. As expected, he glared at her and moved the box back to the other side of the counter. "You can throw a hundred barbecues and it ain't gonna get you into homicide, Marti."

"Do _not_ call me _Marti_ , Benji!"

"Hey," Sherman snapped at her, "that's _Detective_ Benji to you, _Officer_." Sherman nudged his partner, "She isn't inviting us to her house to get into homicide. I think it's because she's sweet on me."

"Keep dreaming, dumb ass, Marti, here, doesn't like boys," Glade said almost under his breath

"Luckily, I'm a man and not a boy. And a rather handsome one at that."

Monica slid an invitation, containing a map to her house, across the counter to Detective Sherman. "You can bring him if you want to," she nodded toward Glade.

Sherman watched Martinez leave the donut shop, and then turned to his partner. "Why are you always such a jerk to her? She's young, ambitious, always eager to help, and damn nice to look at."

"Yeah, Doug, she's a little too gung-ho for my taste. Gonna get herself dead if she doesn't learn some patience. And for the record, you really aren't her type, so give it up."

"I don't care if she's a dyke, Detective Benji, I can still appreciate the view."

"You ever call me Benji again, I'm gonna bust your nuts."

"An honorable man would not do that to another man," Sherman grinned, "Benji."

Glade brought his fist down on the box in front of him, flattening almost half of it. "Your do-nuts, that is." He smirked and left the counter.

"That ain't right Benjamin," Sherman shook his head, picturing the mess inside the box.

### ***

Detective Glade pulled off his gun belt, re-fastened the buckle and hung it on a coat hook behind the bedroom door. He sat on the edge of his bed, kicked off his shoes and ran his hands through his thinning hair.

"I take it this wasn't one of the better days?" His wife asked.

"I'm not sure there's enough water to wash this one off of me."

She pushed up her sleeves. "I can scrub something."

Benjamin almost smiled. "My eyes? My heart? The part of my brain that can't stop seeing..."

"Oh? What did you see?" She sat next to him.

He was silent for a while, considering his answer. "I don't know that you need to hear this."

"Probably not, but I think you need to say it."

"Remember that piece of shit who stalked, battered, and raped his ex-girlfriend and then sliced her face up with a kitchen knife?"

"Don't tell me he walked?"

"No, Sherry, but _she_ has disappeared. There was blood on her sheets and her telephone. Even had a thumb print in her blood on the nine, like she was dialing nine-one-one and never got that far. Patrolman sitting right in front of her house the whole time. We picked Cole up for murder today. But without a body..."

"Isn't his trial about to start? That sounds like motive to me."

He clenched his teeth. "Yeah, the bastard mentioned that. And he cried all the way to, and through, his booking about how he was innocent. He's probably still whining about it. He said the same thing about the assault. He was framed. We got the wrong guy. He keeps saying her brother hated her and we should be looking at him. But we got a ton of evidence on the assault and absolutely nothing on the abduction and/or murder. So if he walks on the assault due to her not being there to testify, then he could walk on the murder for lack of evidence." He shook his head and clenched his fists. "Someone needs to kill that son of a bitch."

After digesting the horror, Sherry squeezed his hand. "You're right. I don't think you can wash this one off. But be patient, let it play out. I'm sure justice will be served one way or the other."

"She was such a pretty girl, so sweet, so scared." He cleared his throat. "I think I'll do my crying in the shower, if you don't mind."

"I'll get dinner."

He turned back when he reached the bathroom door. "By the way, we've been invited to a barbecue."

She smiled and turned to look at him.

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. You look disproportionately happy about it.

"Well," she laughed, "when you were a handsome, young soldier that was one of the things on your list of reasons why I should marry you and move to Texas. _Sherry_ ," she said, doing her best impression of her husband, " _somebody down there is having a barbecue every weekend_."

He laughed, shaking off just a little bit of his dark mood. "And I was right," he muttered as he headed for the shower.

## 2

"John Adam Derrick?"

John Derrick had been sitting on the hard plastic chair for so long that he almost didn't recognize his own name being called. His subconscious had him jumping to his feet before his conscious mind had even made the connection. His iphone slid from his right hand. He fumbled around and caught it with his left. He smiled, pleased at his quick reflexes. _Catlike_ reflexes? _Whoever came up with that crap_ , he wondered. Cats sucked. He was nothing like a cat. He was more like a wolf than a stupid cat, of _that_ he was certain.

"Last call for John Adam Derrick."

"I'm here." He waved and stepped quickly up to the line. He placed all of his paperwork on the counter and snickered. "I didn't recognize my name. I never use my middle name. The only people who use all three names are serial killers. Have you ever noticed that?"

"I haven't really given much thought to serial killers. All I think about all day is driver licenses."

"Well, that sounds like fun," John rolled his eyes.

"It pays the bills."

John Derrick strolled out of the DPS office as calmly as he could. A look at his cell phone told him that he'd been inside for just over three hours. He crossed the street and kept walking, making his way into the surrounding neighborhood. Three hours was a long time to leave someone waiting in the car. He pulled the rolled up baseball cap out of his back pocket and put it on his head, pulling the bill down over his eyes. He took the shades from his shirt collar and popped them on as well. No need to show his pretty face to all of the neighbors.

Two streets down and three streets over, he found the car right where he had left it. Nothing looked out of place. He approached casually, slowing as he neared the vehicle. He stopped and popped his foot onto the front bumper to re-tie his shoelace. He checked his surroundings as he cinched up the right boot. The only soul in sight was a man several houses down the block, walking his dog. Everything seemed just fine.

John unlocked the door, slid in behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb carefully. He would _never_ break a traffic law again. This was now a sacred and unbreakable rule to live by. And today would test his resolve. He wanted desperately to step on the gas and haul ass to his favorite secluded spot. More than anything, he wanted to know if the owner of the car was still alive. She'd been in the trunk for a long time.

John Adam Derrick had so much in store for her. And it would be more enjoyable if she were still alive to experience it with him.

### ***

Detective Sherman folded his hands together and looked with feigned kindness across the table at Malcolm Cole. "I am certain that the DA would toss out all the other charges and give you some consideration for telling us what you did with Jennifer's body."

"That sounds great, but I didn't kill the..."

"We've already heard this song," Glade cut him off. "You didn't kill the bitch. Got it." He turned to Sherman and huffed in disgust. "Quit trying to help this piece of garbage and let him fry for the whole thing."

"Glade, I'm just trying to do what's best for everyone," he said calmly. "If we can make a deal, it saves the taxpayers a few bucks, you and I don't have to go through a long drawn out trial and Cole gets out of this alive."

Glade slammed his hand down on the table so hard that both his partner and the suspect flinched. "He doesn't deserve to get out of this alive. Don't you see that?"

Cole leaned back in his chair and studied the two of them for a moment. "I see what's going on here. I'm not an idiot. You're playing stupid cop and stupider cop."

"Is stupider a word?" Sherman asked seemingly unfazed by his comment.

"I used to be a cop." Cole said. "I know how this bullshit works.

"A cop?" Glade was incensed. "You were a jail guard in some little podunk town. No real police department would take you."

"I was just about to get on with SAPD when that lying bitch started making false accusations and ruined my life," he spat back. "But I didn't kill the bitch."

Sherman sighed. "I guess I can't help you."

Glade stood up and leaned down over him. "Even after charges were filed for your previous assault on her, and a restraining order was in place, you were still stalking her. You were picked up in her neighborhood the day after she went missing."

"And what the fuck would I be doing stalking her if I had already killed her?"

Glade continued undeterred. "And you practically confessed to killing her right after we read you your rights. Truthfully, I don't want you to make a deal. I want you to go to prison and find out what happens to pathetic little cowards like you inside those walls." He slammed his hand on the table once more and said, "Let's get out of here."

Officer Martinez stood waiting outside of the interrogation room. She pushed herself off the wall she had been leaning on and hooked her thumbs on her gun belt. She nodded at Glade. He glared in return.

"Were you listening in?" Sherman asked her.

"Yep."

"What do you think?"

"I think he is a waste of oxygen- an abusive, violent piece of shit."

"Amazing powers of observation," Glade grumbled.

"But," she held up her hand, "he did pose one very good question right there at the end."

Glade stopped short and looked up sharply. He stared at Martinez for a long time and then looked back at the closed door of the interrogation room. "Why was he still stalking her if her if he already killed her?" He balled up his fists. "Shit!"

Sherman folded his arms. "What are you thinking, Benjamin? He's not good for the murder?"

"I don't know what I'm thinking. He doesn't seem that smart. But maybe he's playing us." He punched the door. "Without Jennifer here to testify he might walk on the rape charge. And without a body the D. A. won't want to touch a murder charge."

"Has he asked for a lawyer?" Martinez asked.

Sherman shook his head. "He says he's innocent and doesn't need some shark, bitch in his business."

Shark, bitch?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, his lawyer is a woman. Leslie Hunter, Shark, Bitch, Attorney at Law." He laughed.

Martinez laughed along with him. "I bet she'd love that printed on her business cards." She noticed that Glade, as usual, was not amused. "Okay, so he's gonna walk on all of this? What if they drop the pending murder charge in exchange for a confession on the rape?"

Glade considered the possibility. "Number one, if he takes that deal he'll get a reduced sentence. And number two, that murder charge is going away no matter what we do."

"Number one," Martinez held up her index finger, "some time is better than no time. And number two," she held up her middle finger and smiled at Glade, "without his shark, bitch here, he might not know that the murder charge is going to drop."

3

"Benjamin, this photocopied map is barely legible. You're going to have to navigate while I drive." Sherry handed him the map and slid her hand into his front pocket to retrieve his keys.

He grinned. "You search for those keys a little longer and we're gonna skip the barbecue altogether."

"You think so? I didn't make corn casserole and chocolate chip cookies for all of your cop friends just so that you could get laid." She dangled the keys from her index finger. "Get in the car Detective."

"Fine. But you drive really careful. I don't want Corn Casserole getting sloshed around in my floorboard."

Sherry was very careful to follow his directions to the letter- even when she knew there was a shorter route than the one he was navigating. After turning onto Monica's street, it was easy enough to locate her house, as it was the one at the center of the cluster of cars parked up and down the block. "Is this it?" Sherry paused in front of the house that she knew belonged to Monica Martinez and waited for her husband to verify the address.

"Yep. And there's a spot two houses down, across the street." He folded the map and slid it onto the dashboard. He glanced back at the house as Sherry turned off the car. "It's quite a turn out. That Martinez is a real brown-noser."

"And you are an ass, Ben. Be nice. We haven't been invited to a big barbecue in a while."

"Aren't I always charming once you get me out in public?"

Sherry let her eye roll answer his question. "You get the cookies. I wouldn't want the heat from the casserole burning your tender hands."

He followed her up the sidewalk, carrying the plate of cookies, as instructed. At the front door, they found a sign directing them to the gate at the side of the house. As they approached the gate he could see balloons tied to the fence and hear music playing in the backyard, but there wasn't much crowd noise. "Awfully quiet for so many people," he observed. A gust of wind blew, causing a balloon to swoop down and whack him on the side of the head. He stopped in his tracks and looked at the balloon. "Aw, crap." He said, shaking his head.

"Keep walking, Benjamin," Sherry warned.

He took three more steps and saw the crowd gathered in the yard.

"Surprise!" They all shouted- almost in unison.

"Almost," he said under his breath to his wife. He smiled and let them engulf him. Officer Martinez waited in the background for everyone else to greet the guest of honor. When the receiving line had run out of old age jokes, Benjamin nodded to her. "Martinez, I was just telling my wife on the way over here what a brown-noser you are."

His wife punched his shoulder.

He winced.

Monica smiled and unfolded her arms. "So, did we pull it off?"

"I have to admit, you got me," he confirmed.

"Sherry called Sherman and he dragged me into it, thinking you'd never suspect this if we did it at my house. I guess he knows you pretty well."

"And don't think I won't pay for it," Sherman said from behind his partner.

"You got that right, son." Glade turned and clapped him on the shoulder. "I don't know how you let him sucker you into this, Martinez, but... thanks."

"I told you, she's sweet on me," Sherman said. "You don't think she did this for you, do you?"

Monica winked at Sherry, "Don't kid yourselves, you both know I did it for her."

Sherman looked at Sherry and smiled. "I see your point, Martinez. She is a _lot_ better looking than I am."

"Doug," Glade tightened his grip on his partner's shoulder, "Let's go get a beer and talk about all the reasons why you are _not_ allowed to flirt with my wife."

As they walked away, the ladies heard him ask, "Why does Martinez get to flirt with your wife?"

Sherry turned to Monica, "How on Earth do you put up with those two at work every day? I can barely handle them one at a time."

Monica laughed. "You're gonna to think this is strange, but I don't actually have to see them every day. I just make it a point to seek them out as often as I can."

Sherry opened her mouth to speak but when no words came out, she just shook her head.

"Your husband," Monica explained, "is constantly gruff with me, and his partner is always pretending to flirt with me. But I see right through them. Glade is protective and Sherman is always making sure that I don't let the job get to me. They're like brothers to me." She smiled. "But they're both jackasses so don't tell either one of them I said that."

"Your secret is safe with me." Sherry lowered her voice. "And speaking of secrets... If this is none of my business, please say so. But, Ben tells me that he thinks you're... gay?"

One corner of Monica's mouth turned upward. She had never confirmed nor denied the implication to anyone at work, though she felt it was fairly obvious. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Well, in that case," Sherry said, "I have a niece..."

### ***

"I recorded something for you," Nora said and picked up the remote to the DVR.

"The news?"

"Yes." Nora ran through the WOAI broadcast until a picture of Jennifer Golden appeared on the screen. She stopped the recording and rewound a few seconds to the beginning of the story.

The photo of Jennifer was quickly replaced by a brief video of Malcolm Cole's perp walk. The anchor stated that the trial of the former jail guard would begin in less than two weeks. "I do not know," a man's voice said, "that justice will be served." A graphic beneath his interview footage identified him as Jeremy Golden- victim's brother. "My sister is still missing. She needs to be legally declared dead so that Malcolm Cole can also face murder charges." The news feed returned to the studio where the anchor stated that there were currently no plans to change Jennifer's legal status from missing to dead or to charge Malcolm Cole with murder.

Nora stopped the video playback and erased the recording.

Jennifer Golden leaned forward and put her head in her hands and started to cry.

## 4

"Nora, how can you let her go?" Olivia asked a bit too loudly.

"No one is a prisoner here, Livi."

Olivia paced the kitchen floor between the island and the refrigerator. "You are taking far too many risks lately. You're putting us all in jeopardy."

"This is _my_ house, _my_ program and _my_ decision," Nora snapped.

"I would never have helped you take her if I had known you were just going to let her walk out the door a few weeks later. She knows where we are, and she knows _who_ we are. This compromises our safety, not to mention hers."

Jen stepped into the kitchen and looked back and forth between the two women. Olivia was seething. Nora was resolute. "I didn't ask to be brought here," she said calmly.

"You didn't ask?" Olivia exploded. "He was in your back yard. Do you think he came there to apologize for doing that," she pointed at Jennifer's scars, "to your face? We saved your life."

"I know and I am grateful. I didn't ask to be brought here, so I don't really know where _here_ is. I rode here lying down in the back of an Expedition. I haven't left the grounds. And I would be glad to ride home lying in the back of an Expedition with a bag over my head if it makes you feel better. But I want to go back to my life."

"A life that we gave you. And in return, you could jeopardize ours."

"But, I won't," Jen insisted.

Olivia huffed. "You don't even have a family to go back to. There's only your brother... and you hate him. Some of us have had to give up so much more. And what will you do when Cole gets out of prison? Do you think we're coming back to help you when he comes after you again?"

"We will," Nora said, "if you need us."

Jen nodded to her.

"What?" Olivia spun and looked at her. "It doesn't work like that."

"It works however I say it works, Livi."

"Well, then let's just call a press conference and announce that she's alive and well." She stalked out of the room, still complaining.

"I will drive you down to the bus station in Corpus tonight. I'll give you enough cash so that you can get a bus back to San Antonio from there." Nora said.

"Thank you," Jen breathed a sigh of relief.

"You don't have to leave. You don't have to stay. But you can't come and go. It really _doesn't_ work like that. And I will have to ask you to lie down in the back of the truck until we are in Corpus. You knowing exactly where we are isn't safe for us, or for you. Just stick to the story that we discussed."

"I understand."

### ***

When Detective Sherman reached his desk, he noticed that Glade was on the phone, frowning. Given that he was usually frowning the expression gave nothing away. Sherman sat down, swiveled his chair to just the right angle and propped his feet up on his desk. He pulled the top off of his fresh, steaming cup of coffee and took in the aroma. He raised the cup to his lips.

"Put a lid on it," Glade said as he hung up the phone. "We got a body near Olmos Park."

"Well, shit. I'm not awake enough to drive anywhere."

Glade shrugged. "I stayed up and watched the same basketball game you did last night and I'm ten years older than you, so you, my friend, are driving to the scene while I catch a nap."

"You're a jackass, Benjamin," he mumbled.

"You should use your dubious charms and get Martinez to drive us around. I'll bet you ten bucks she's gonna find a way to show up at our crime scene anyway."

Sherman chugged half of his hot coffee. "Why are you so hard on her all the time? She's a good person."

"Yep."

"And a good cop."

Glade stopped and turned to look at him. "Is she?"

"She's less stupid than I was at her age. And I'm still alive."

Glade shook his head. "A ringing endorsement." He continued walking. "You're alive because you got lucky."

"How so?" Sherman finished his coffee and tossed the cup in a trashcan near the door.

"You got me as a partner."

### ***

Martinez held the crime scene tape up high enough for Glade and Sherman to duck under it. "So, whatcha got there?" She nodded toward the body that was now being loaded into a body bag.

Glade raised an eyebrow and looked at Sherman. "You should think about giving me that ten dollar bill you owe me."

Sherman ignored him. "Ronnie Kelso, serial abuser of women. Took two in the chest. It looks like it happened right here, too."

"Does he live around here?" Martinez asked.

"His last known address puts him on the south side, outside the loop."

"Hmph," she responded, looking around. "Where's his car?"

"It's not anywhere in the park."

"Well, that's odd..." her voice trailed off.

Glade huffed. "There's no time to shoot the shit, Martinez. We've got to go notify our prime suspect, also known as his current common law wife. I can't believe I have to waste my time looking for _justice_ for this low life."

"You really think she did it?"

"If she did, I hope she can prove self-defense and get community service, and a letter of thanks from all of his other victims."

Martinez looked slowly around the park, shaking her head.

"Something else, Marti?" Glade asked.

"No," she said, not even reacting to the jab.

He motioned Sherman toward the car. "You drive. I'll navigate."

"You're gonna take another nap, aren't you?"

### ***

The door to the shabby mobile home swung open suddenly. The two detectives separated. Sherman froze directly in front of the door, with his hand on his gun. Glade kept moving toward the side of the mobile home. Seeing that the woman in the doorway has both hands on her hips, they both relaxed. She cocked her head, taking in the situation. "Well, son of a bitch, what's Ronnie done now?"

"Mrs. Kelso?" Sherman asked.

"We ain't married."

"May we come in and talk?"

Her eyes widened. She looked back and forth between them. Sherman covered the short distance to the wooden steps and had his arm around her waist as her knees started to give. She grabbed at his jacket and looked up at him through glassy eyes. "He's dead, isn't he?"

### ***

"So," Martinez appeared at Glade's desk the moment he sat down, "how did the notification go?"

"Geez, Martinez, are you working triple shifts these days? Go home."

Detective Sherman winked at her. "She's waiting for me. She's here to take me up on that dinner date I've been offering."

She rocked back on her heels. "Yep. Where are you taking me?" Sherman's startled look was priceless. "You can tell me all about the notification over cheeseburgers."

"Weird thing," Glade said, "I think this woman actually loved Kelso. She didn't do it."

"No kidding?"

"No kidding," Glade nodded. "They've been on again, off again for years. She's even filed charges on him a time or two for knocking her around. I guess he didn't hold it against her. So, we're back to square one. But I don't see the point in putting a lot of effort in to finding whoever performed this community service." He slammed his desk drawer.

"How about Chris Madrid's?" Sherman offered.

Martinez smiled. "Sounds good."

"Are you serious?" He asked.

"I've got nothing better to do."

Sherman rolled his eyes. "You sure know how to stroke a man's ego."

"That's all you're getting stroked, so enjoy it." She nodded to Glade, who was actually almost smiling, and then turned back to Sherman. "I'll meet you there... unless this wasn't a genuine offer."

"Give me forty-five minutes."

### ***

Martinez slid onto the bench opposite from Sherman and set her Corona in front of her.

He looked at her and smiled. "It will be good for my reputation to be seen having dinner with a beautiful woman, but I'm not too sure what it will do for yours."

"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself, Doug. You're a beautiful woman, too."

He laughed. "Okay, so what's this really about?"

"I like you. I even enjoy the fact that you never stop flirting with me even though we both know it isn't going to get you anywhere. It's good for my ego."

"Then, this isn't about, as Glade says, _brown-nosing your way into the good graces of everyone in homicide_?"

She grinned. "I'm a long way from homicide. I won't turn on my full force ass-kissing powers until the time is right." She took a sip of her beer. "But I do have a second ulterior motive."

"A second? What was the first?"

"That I actually like you." She raised her eyebrows. "Remember, we just covered that?"

"I thought you were just yanking my chain."

She shook her head. "Ronnie Kelso."

"What about him?"

"There are more like him."

"Unfortunately that's what keeps us in business."

"No," she said, "I mean, he isn't the only serial abuser who has taken a bullet recently."

Sherman furrowed his brow and tried to sort out what she meant. "Do you mean..." He paused and mulled it over some more.

"I can think of four more in San Antonio and surrounding areas who have taken a bullet or two to the chest, all of them in a public park, or a wooded area. Not shot and dumped, but killed right where they were standing, and then left there. At least two of them had no transportation nearby."

"You think someone is taking them out?"

She nodded. "I think we might have our very own vigilante at work."

"Vigilante?" Sherman scoffed. "If you're right, it sounds like the work of a serial killer."

"A serial killer?" She shrugged. "You say potato, I say vigilante. This has happened slowly over a number of years and not all of them have been inside the city limits. Add that to the fact that all of the victims are scumbags and no one has really taken any notice."

"But you've noticed."

"Yeah," she said sheepishly, "at first I just figured these guys got what they deserved."

He shook his head. "You sound like Glade."

"I know. And I don't exactly disagree with him on this issue. Kelso was a serial abuser. Last year, Jackson Riley was found in a dry creek bed out near UTSA. There's a park nearby."

"And what was on his sheet?"

"He'd been accused of sexual assault a few times. Did a little time for the last one, but nothing on the others. Took a bullet about six weeks after his release. Six months before that, Alejandro Ruiz was found dead in a park in Schertz. He had two restraining orders on him- one from his ex-girlfriend, one from his ex-wife. And there are at least three more like this."

"Hmph." Sherman rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "If you're right, and there is a connection, why do you care? You seem to think they all got what was coming to them."

"Yeah, when I see a woman fight back and maybe kill the man who has been terrorizing her, I do think she should get a pass. But this doesn't feel the same. I think that there is someone out there stalking and killing these guys. I know, as a cop, I should be immediately opposed to this idea, but I admit, I struggle with my feelings on the issue. Each time I read about one of these killings, I just thought that justice had been served, and it was less work for us. And then one day I realized that I was reading the same story I had read before. The victims are abusers of some variety, gunned down in or near public parks, and at least half the time their vehicles are nowhere nearby."

"You're right. It can't all be coincidence."

"Whether you call it vigilante justice or the work of a serial killer, someone is doing this on purpose.

## 5

Jennifer sat at the very back of the Greyhound bus clutching her phone in one hand, and a small bag that held the few meager possessions that she'd thrown together when Livi and Nora had taken her from her house. Nora had dropped her off on Shoreline, a few blocks from the bus station. Jennifer had turned on her phone and immediately called the detective handling her case to let him know that she was, in fact, not dead.

To her ears, he had seemed at once relieved and disappointed. He was almost certainly relieved to find out that Cole had not gotten to her, but likely disappointed that they wouldn't be able to put him away for life. Detective Jones told her that he would make arrangements to get Cole released, and then meet at the bus station to drive her home. He informed her that when he picked her up, he expected to hear how and why she had slipped past the officer watching her house, and where she had been for four days.

When she reached Greyhound, she had turned her phone back off. She knew that the moment her brother heard about her resurrection, he would call her, dripping with feigned concern. She was in no mood. She settled back and silently rehearsed the story that she would tell Detective Jones.

### ***

Martinez hitched up her gun belt and rested her left hip on Glade's desk.

He looked over the rim of his reading glasses and glared at her. "Well, who else would it be?"

"What happened with Cole?" She asked seriously.

"Can't charge a guy with murder if the vic ain't dead."

Her eyes widened with surprise.

Still seated in his office chair, Detective Sherman pushed away from his desk propelling himself toward Glade's desk. A foot from his destination the chair spun and started to tip toward Martinez. She jumped up and grabbed Sherman by the shoulders, righting him before he could fall over.

He stopped flailing his arms and started laughing.

"You're an idiot," Glade told him grumpily.

Sherman winked at Martinez and said, "yeah, but now I know she loves me."

Detective Glade dropped his glasses on his stack of paperwork and stalked away from two of them.

Martinez nodded toward the retreating figure, "shouldn't we all be happy that Golden is alive?" We don't get this kind of news too often in homicide."

"He's happy that she's alive," Sherman assured her. "That's him in a good mood."

"No, seriously," she said.

"Seriously," the smile dropped from his face and then dropped his voice, "I thought he was going to cry when we got word. He's pissed at himself for calling this one the other way. He thinks it diminishes his chances of making sergeant."

Martinez shook her head. She was sure that nothing would stop Glade from making sergeant. "What's the whole story?"

"According to Ms. Golden she got a call from a neighbor telling her that Cole was in her backyard. She panicked. She started to call for help and decided it would be faster just to get out of the house and run for the patrol car. When she got outside she couldn't even tell if there was anyone in the car so she started running and didn't stop."

"What about the blood?"

Sherman scratched his stubbly chin. "When the neighbor called she was startled. When she reached for the phone, she whacked her forehead and bled everywhere."

"Has any of this been confirmed?"

He shrugged. "Like what? Why would she make this up? Why would she leave and hang him halfway for her murder and then come back in time to save him from being charged?"

"Which neighbor called? Which phone did they call?"

Sherman shrugged again.

"Where did she go?"

"Corpus."

Martinez rubbed her head. Something about it didn't make sense.

"She was scared out of her wits and just wanted to get away where that scumbag couldn't find her. When she heard that he'd been arrested for her murder she came back to clear things up." He stared at her furrowed brow for a few seconds. "You don't seem satisfied with the story."

"It just doesn't add up." She put her hands in the air, "maybe it's just because I'm hearing it second or third hand. My shift's over and I'm too tired to think about it."

Sherman started slowly propelling his chair back toward his own desk. "She's not dead, so it's not our case anymore. That's for someone else to sort out."

"I guess they can't use the murder charge to leverage a guilty plea on the rape."

"The other bad news," Sherman paused the roll toward his desk, "he's back out on the streets. And now he thinks she tried to set him up. I'm not so sure it was a good idea for her to come out of hiding."

### ***

Jen's hand was shaking so violently she was afraid if she had to fire the Taser, she would somehow end up embedding the probes in her own body. She glanced through the peephole in her door and could see no one on her front step. She knew better than to open the door.

For a few moments, she rested her forehead against the back of the door, closed her eyes and tried to calm her nerves. She decided that her best bet was to wait by the front window and watch for the patrol car that would be slowly rolling past her house sometime in the next half hour. When she saw the car, she would open the front door and wave to get the officer's attention.

Having decided on a course of action, she turned toward the window, and nearly jumped out of her skin. Malcolm was standing in the passageway between her kitchen and living area with his hands behind his back. He had a malevolent smile plastered across his face.

With her hand shaking even harder than before, she pointed the Taser at him. "Get the fuck out of my house, Mac." Though she articulated every syllable, her voice still sounded weak and wobbly to her own ears.

"Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer," he shook his head, "if you fire that thing and miss... I will kill you right now. If you hit me, I will kill you later. There is no way this ends where you get to live."

"Why are you doing this to me?" She knew she sounded whiny.

"You ruined my life. And now you tried, and failed, to set me up for your murder."

Instead of fear, rage surged through her body. "No, you pathetic asshole, I came back to clear you of my supposed murder."

He took a step toward her.

"Do it, you son of a bitch." She locked her arm and aimed the Taser at his center mass just like Nora had showed her. "I'll fry you with this thing until you shit your pants, and then I'll stab you to death while you're wallowing in your own filth."

Malcolm froze. For just a split second, Jennifer saw fear in his eyes. But the fear was quickly wiped away by the return of the malevolent smile. "I'm going to enjoy killing you even more than I imagined." He turned and walked through the kitchen and out her back door.

After a few moments her legs gave way and she slid to the floor with her back still against the front door. She knew that if Malcolm walked back in at that moment, she would be powerless to stop him.

## 6

Glade sighed heavily as he walked into the room. "We got a body in a city park..."

Sherman looked down at his steaming hot cup of coffee and shrugged. "Another one bites the dust," he muttered under his breath. He left the coffee on his desk, not even bothering to try and finish it this time. He stood up and shrugged into his suit jacket. "Another repeat offender?"

"No. Young female. Found just off the path..."

"Shit! Sherman froze for a second. "It's not Jennifer Golden, is it?"

"No clothing, no purse, and no ID on the vic so far," Glade said through clenched teeth.

"Shit."

### ***

Martinez knew better. She was not involved in the case in any official capacity. She was out of her jurisdiction. She was out of her depth. She was most certainly out of her mind. And still, she kept on driving.

She had known when she was poking around on the computer that this was none of her business. She had known that if she found anything Glade would absolutely forbid her to stick her nose into their case. And she was well aware that if she came up with anything, he would probably ignore it anyway. But she had found it. She found this one little thing that almost certainly wasn't connected in any way. And she was even more certain that no one else was going to check this out.

Only one person in the entire world knew where she would be on her day off. She had asked her friend, Judy, to send out the cavalry if she didn't come back. But Judy was otherwise sworn to secrecy.

Once she had passed through Poteet, she turned up the volume on her GPS and let it guide her to the middle of Atascosa County, which looked a whole lot like the middle of nowhere. Monica Martinez was a city girl. The middle of nowhere made her edgy under the best of circumstances.

This was not the best of circumstances.

She followed the GPS guidance to the bottom of a mostly gravel driveway, and pulled over to look at the number on the mailbox. It was a match. She surveyed her quiet surroundings. The perimeter of the property was lined with dense Red Tipped Photinia that had grown to nearly six feet in height. Martinez estimated that the house was set back from the road approximately forty yards.

She had no desire to drive her personal vehicle up the long drive and find herself boxed in. But she wasn't entirely sure that it would be safer to walk to the front door. She backed the car up parallel to the shrubbery, away from the mailbox and the driveway entrance, and turned off her the engine. She took the alarm fob off of her key ring and stashed the keys in the center console, slipping the fob into her jacket pocket. She sent Judy a text that said, _making approach now_.

Martinez got out of the car and yanked at the lapels of her sueded cotton jacket and tried to make herself at least feel, if not look, more professional. She clipped her badge to her belt, checked her sidearm, and grabbed her notebook.

She had memorized the plate number of the car she was looking for. But neither of the two cars visible in the driveway matched the make and model, much less the plates. She kept walking toward the front door, constantly scanning the area for any movement. When she got to the front door she took a deep breath and remembered that she could not be tentative. She had to knock like a cop. She had to speak with authority.

The door opened on creaky, old hinges. The face of a young woman appeared through the screen. Martinez noticed that she kept the bulk of her body behind the door. "Yes?" She asked with a furrowed brow.

Martinez flipped open the cover of her steno pad and pretended to read the name she had already committed to memory. "I'm looking for Nora Carrasco."

The girl shook her head. "Hold on." She shut the door.

Martinez took a step back and rested the heel of her hand on the butt of her gun. While she waited she scanned the windows and checked her peripheral vision for any movement. She was about to turn and look toward the street when the door groaned its way back open.

The woman opened the door fully, lacking the caution that the previous girl had displayed. "Nora's out of town. What can I do for you?"

"And you are?"

"You first."

Martinez pulled her jacket aside briefly so that the woman could see her badge. "I'm with SAPD. A car registered to Ms. Carrasco was ticketed several nights ago, and I just have a couple of questions for her regarding her activities that evening."

The woman reached out and unlatched the screen. She pushed open the door, but instead of inviting Monica inside, she stepped outside onto the porch. "Nora has been out of town for a couple of weeks. I'm her sister in law, Olivia Carrasco, and it was me that got the ticket."

Martinez nodded and scribbled her name in the notebook. "So, you're married to Nora's brother?"

She nodded, "widowed, actually."

Martinez looked up. "I'm sorry," she said and closed the notebook.

Olivia smiled. "Just how badly did I park that SAPD had to send someone all the way out here to talk to me about it?"

Martinez laughed and shook her head. "Your parking isn't at issue as long as you pay the ticket. Unfortunately, there was a homicide near the park, about two blocks from where you parked."

Olivia paled.

Martinez pressed on. "We had to include you in our canvass of the area, in the case that you may have witnessed anything."

"I-I wasn't even in the park. I would have told someone if..."

Martinez motioned to the chairs in front of the picture window. "Perhaps we should sit."

Olivia nodded.

"You may have seen something, or someone, and not even realized at the time that it was significant."

Olivia nodded again.

"Since you got a parking ticket, it should be a night that stands out in your memory more than the average night. I'd like to ask you to think through the events of the evening. Focus on the time you spent in or around the neighborhood. Did you see anyone walking, jogging, driving...?"

Olivia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. After a few moments she said, "I was having dinner with friends that night." She stopped and drew in what sounded like a shaky breath. "I'm sorry. I'm a little shaken up. I can't really focus." She stood up. "Why don't you give me your card. After I calm down, I can try again, and see if I recall anything useful. I'll call you so you don't have to drive all the way back out here."

Martinez stood up and slid a business card out of her jacket pocket. "This is my mobile number," she pointed, "call me day or night when you're ready to talk about this."

Olivia took the card and shook her hand.

Even though she heard the door close as she had stepped off the porch, Martinez could feel the eyes on her, watching her from somewhere inside the house, as she made her way down the drive back to her car.

When she got back to Highway 16, she pressed the button on her ear piece and instructed the phone to call Judy.

"You're alive. How did it go?"

"Everything about my visit seemed perfectly normal and unrelated to the crime. But the way she gave me the brush off... It was so smooth that it unsettled me."

"Are you sure this isn't just your overly suspicious cop nature?"

"Maybe," she conceded. "I'm shaking." She held up her free hand and watched it tremble. "Can we meet for dinner and drinks? I really need a little of one and a lot of the other."

"Go home," Judy said, "I'll come and get you and you can tell me all about it."

### ***

Martinez hitched up her gun belt and sat on the edge of Sherman's desk. "So how's the latest case going?"

"It's a strange one," Glade growled from behind his own desk.

Martinez looked over at him with surprise. She never imagined he'd be the one to fill her in on the details. "How so?"

He smirked. "You didn't show up at our crime scene."

"It was my day off," she protested.

"Never stopped you before."

"That's true," Sherman said.

"Doug?" She elbowed him. "Since when do you take his side?"

He feigned a pout. "You didn't show up yesterday. I got lonely. Seriously, where were you? It had to be a hot date to keep you from our crime scene."

"Just catching up with a friend."

"A _girl_ friend?" He raised his eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't you have any women in your life that you're just friends with?"

"Martinez, you're the _only_ woman in my life."

"That's just sad, Doug. Just sad."

The two of them were spared Glade's retort when his phone rang.

Martinez leaned toward Sherman. "My shift's about to start. I have to hit the streets pretty soon, so I don't have much time. What's the story on this latest body in the park?"

"It's not a story for the faint of heart. When I found out it wasn't one of our serial abusers, and that it was a young woman, I immediately feared it was Jennifer Golden. Thankfully, it's not her. But whoever killed this girl is a sick fuck."

Glade hung up and rose to his feet in one swift, angry motion. "You two wrap up your weird, pointless flirtation." He motioned to Sherman. "We have a notification to make."

"We have an ID?"

"College student. Let's go. I'll fill you in on the way." He stalked toward the doorway with Sherman hustling to catch up to him. Glade stopped so abruptly that his partner nearly crashed into him. "You," he pointed at Martinez, "be careful out there."

### ***

Livi greeted Nora in the driveway. "We might have a problem."

Nora slung her duffel bag over her shoulder. "So much for getting away for a few days. One of our charges causing trouble?"

"Nope. I screwed up. Remember the parking ticket in Olmos Park?"

"Yeah. It's not like you to make that kind of mistake."

Livi sighed deeply. "I know. And yesterday there was a San Antonio cop on our doorstep wanting to know if I had seen anything suspicious since I had been in the neighborhood."

Nora rubbed the back of her neck and thought about this unfortunate development. "It might be nothing. What did you tell him?"

"Her," she corrected. "I said the news had me shaken up and I couldn't think about it right then. I bought myself a little time so I could talk to you about it first."

"First things, first," Nora said, "you need to curtail your activities for the time being. And second," she started toward the house, "tell me about this cop. What's she like?"

"Cute little dyke. Taller than me. Fit. A few years younger than us. Very alert. She's a patrolman, not a detective. But I bet she has ambitions. And I'm pretty sure she's the type that will have total recall of our conversation. That's part of the reason I wanted to talk to you before I talk to her again. I made a mistake when I didn't pay attention to where I parked. I don't want to compound that by saying the wrong thing to a cop."

Nora stopped. "She's not coming back out here, is she?"

"No, I'm supposed to call to let her know if I remember something."

"Good," Nora nodded, "call her from San Antonio. The fact that they sent a patrolman and not a detective means they've probably already written you off as a potential witness. But just in case... See if you can get her to meet you somewhere. You and I can think of something for you to pretend to remember from that night. Maybe if you tell her what you supposedly know, she will reciprocate, and tell you something about the case. It wouldn't hurt to flirt. You know how we dykes like attention." Nora smiled and resumed walking toward the house.

## 7

Martinez didn't recognize the number that popped up on her phone and almost sent the caller to voice mail. At the last second, she chose to answer it instead. "Martinez."

"Officer Martinez?"

"Speaking."

"Hey, hi. It's Olivia Carrasco. We met at my sister in laws' house a few days ago... about the parking ticket."

"Yes," Martinez stopped walking, "Ms. Carrasco, I remember. How are you?"

"I'm doing a little better now that I've had time to process what you told me. And I did remember something, although it might not be anything important."

Martinez felt her heart rate accelerate. She took a deep breath. "You never know. It might be nothing, and it might be the break in the case that the detectives need." She knew she had to play this role very carefully.

"I'm scared. I don't want it to be anything important. I don't want to be a witness to a crime like that. I almost didn't call you back."

"I'm glad you did. It was the right thing to do. And I will do everything I can to keep your name out of this." Monica knew that it would also be in her own best interest to keep Olivia's name out of the investigation. Monica knew that she had let her curiosity get the better of her and had crossed a line. Now she was running scenarios in her head about how to convince Glade that any potentially useful information, had come from an anonymous tip. "Would you like me to take a drive back down to Atascosa to talk to you in person?"

"Oh, no, my sister in law is home from her trip. I'm not house sitting anymore. I'm back at my apartment in town. Is it... possible..." Livi exhaled audibly and finished her sentence, "could we meet somewhere for dinner? Maybe?"

Martinez was momentarily speechless. She was uncertain if Olivia was just a nervous witness, or if this had turned into something else. Was Olivia, for some reason, fearful of having a cop show up at her home? Was Olivia asking her out? It had never occurred to her that Olivia might be gay. In fact, Olivia had mentioned her deceased husband. She wondered if maybe Olivia was just a _blue groupie_ and gender wasn't a factor. Martinez realized that she had let the silence stretch on a little longer than was comfortable. And in the same instant, she also realized that meeting Olivia as a civilian would be much better than appearing at her door in uniform. "That would be fine," she said in what she hoped was a friendly tone. "I have some time this evening." After making dinner arrangements with Olivia, Martinez disconnected and immediately called her friend, Judy.

"Hey, twice in one week?" Judy answered.

"I must need a favor."

"Anything for you, Monica. Is this about the case we talked about?"

Martinez sighed. "Yeah. I am all kinds of confused. Now I have dinner plans with," she looked around, not wanting to say Olivia's name out loud in the wrong company, "that person we talked about."

"Carrasco?"

"Yep."

"Like a date?"

"I really, really don't know."

Judy laughed. "You need to get back out there. It's obviously been too long."

"I am well aware. Anyway this is a professional favor, not personal. Well, kind of personal, but..."

"You need a PI?"

"Yes. I don't want to get info through any official channels."

"It's going to cost you."

Martinez laughed. "Will this be an hourly rate, or a semi expensive meal?"

"Another meal with a good friend. Drinks on you, and you're my double D when dinner is over." Judy told her.

"Sold."

### ***

Sherry sat down on the sofa next to her husband. She put her hand on his knee and squeezed it.

He looked down at her hand and then back up at her. "That feels like trouble. I just can't tell if it's the good kind or the bad kind."

"I want to ask you something about Sara."

He raised an eyebrow. "My niece?"

"Our niece," she corrected him. "I think I'd like to arrange..."

He cut her off. "I know where you're going with this."

"And?"

"And. Since when did you start a lesbian matchmaking service?"

Sherry shook her head. "I think Sara's ready to get back out in the dating world."

"And because Martinez is the only other lesbian that you know, you thought you'd introduce them?"

"No. It's because I love Sara, and I really like Monica. Why don't you?"

"You know I love Sara. I cried tears of joy the day she was born."

"You know full well I was talking about Monica."

"Sherry," he said more softly, "it's not that I don't like the kid. I just think she's headed for trouble. And I don't have the time or the energy to spend my days making sure that she doesn't get herself killed."

"What kind of trouble? She's smart. She's kind. She's obviously patient. She has a good sense of humor..."

"She's curious. She's ambitious. She's driven," he countered.

"Ben, I'm not seeing the downside."

He grunted. "When I look at her, I can see that those wheels in her head are constantly turning. And I'm afraid that one of these days, her curiosity could lead her somewhere that she isn't ready to go."

Sherry rubbed his back. "Doesn't this describe all of the good cops out there?"

"It also describes a lot of the dead cops out there. You think it's not gonna break Sara's heart again if you introduce her to some great girl and then that great girl goes and gets herself killed?"

"You just said Monica was a great girl."

He glared at his wife. "That's not the point. I don't want Martinez all up in my family. It's bad enough she figures a way into every crime scene whether she's on duty or not. I can't imagine her at every family dinner..."

"What if I wanted to introduce Doug to Sharon?"

"That would be different," he said immediately.

"Why," she sounded incensed, "because Doug's male? Because he's a detective?"

"No," he shrugged, "because I don't like Sharon as much as I like Sara."

She smacked him on the arm. "You are an ass," she couldn't keep herself from laughing. "Come on, Ben, I have a good feeling about Monica."

His tone turned somber. "And I have a bad one, Sherry."

### ***

"Hey, Boss, you been watching the news?"

Mac laughed. "Who is this?" He asked the anonymous caller.

"It'll come to you." He paused and blew the smoke out of his lungs. "I wish you could see my work up close, and in person. It's a thing of beauty. Turn on the news."

"Fine, buddy, whatever." Mac grabbed the remote and changed the channel to the local news. The first story that he saw was an apartment building on fire. "Did you set something on fire? That's not cool, man. You should turn yourself in."

"That ain't my style, Boss. You'll know my work when you see it. We'll talk about it later." He disconnected.

Mac looked at his cell phone and shook his head. He left his easy chair and went to the kitchen. As he returned with his bag of chips, he caught the end of a story about the mutilated body of an unidentified female that had been found in a city park. He dropped the chips and grabbed for the remote to rewind the story.

### ***

Martinez stood with her back to the wall just inside the door of _Rosario's_. She was hungry, and the tantalizing scent of the food was pulling at her. She decided that if Olivia didn't show up, she was getting some fajitas to go. She glanced at her cell phone to check the time, and when she looked back up, Olivia was swinging the door open.

Olivia grasped the lapels of her tan trench coat and shook a few drops of rain water from a rare summer shower, off of her shoulders. She spotted Martinez as she was unknotting the belt around her waist. "I had to park more than a block away." She stepped closer. "Everything near the building was a no parking zone. And I have learned my lesson." She smiled.

"I am glad to hear that you are reformed." Martinez extended her hand. "Thanks for meeting me."

"Of course," Olivia shook her hand and held on just a little too long.

Martinez tried to put the gesture aside for further processing at a later time. "Shall we?" She used her extricated hand to motion toward the hostess.

"I haven't eaten here in years." Olivia's gaze roamed the changes in décor that had occurred since her last visit. "I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed this place."

"I ate here two days ago," Martinez confessed.

Olivia placed her fingertips on Martinez' shoulder and stopped her walking toward the waiting hostess. "You should have said something. We can go somewhere else."

Martinez shook her head. "I chose, remember. I had a hard time making up my mind last time I was here. This was a good excuse to eat the item I didn't order last time."

Once seated, Olivia ordered a frozen margarita, and then turned to Martinez. "Just one, I promise. Even though I may park illegally once in a while, I do not ever drive drunk."

"I'll have water and a cup of black coffee," Martinez said to the waiter. She slid her menu aside, already knowing what she intended to eat for dinner. "Would you like to talk about what you remembered before, after, or during the meal?"

"Which would be better?"

"That's up to you Olivia. I just want you to be comfortable talking about it."

She nodded. "Feel free to call me Livi. And I think I will wait until the margarita serves its purpose and relaxes me a little. I'm still nervous about the whole thing."

"That's fine. Try not to be nervous. What, or who, you saw probably has nothing to do with the case. We just need to check out every possible lead. After we clear this information, and you stop parking illegally, you probably won't ever to need to see another cop at your door again."

Livi held her gaze. "Seeing you at the door wasn't the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

To Martinez, the statement sounded like a come on. But it was just vague enough to leave her wondering. And on top of it all, even combined with the lingering handshake, she still didn't get a lesbian _vibe_ from Olivia Carrasco. She hoped that her face was displaying a neutral smile while she pondered everything. Fortunately, the waiter arrived in time for a change of subject.

Before the food arrived, and halfway through her frozen cocktail, Livi took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "Okay," she looked around and leaned toward Martinez, "I had gone to the ice house to get some beer and wine. My best guess is that it was around eight. It could've been nine. I can't swear to the time. When I got back to my friend's house, I saw what I am pretty sure was a man hurrying around the corner. He wasn't running, so I just assumed he was jogging. He got into a smaller, older pickup truck, and drove away."

"Did you notice the make and model?"

She shook her head. "I'm not good with car types. It was dark metallic blue, though. I had seen the color in my headlights when I pulled up to the curb. I guess he was parked illegally, too."

"Was he white, black, tall, short?"

Livi shrugged. He wasn't that close to me. I couldn't pick him out of a line up, or anything like that. He was wearing a hoodie, maybe grey or dark green, with the hood up. I didn't give it any thought at the time, but I guess it was a little strange that he jogged to a truck and then drove away so quickly. I probably wouldn't have remembered him at all if I hadn't admired the color of the truck a few minutes earlier."

Martinez nodded, not wanting to interrupt Livi's train of thought.

"He might live there. I started to call and ask the friend whose house we were at, whether or not she knows the guy. But I thought you might rather I tell you what I remembered before I talked to anyone else about it."

"You were right."

Livi clasped her hands together. "I really hope he's not the killer."

"It most likely has nothing to do with the case. I promise to let you know the minute we identify him. In the meantime, try not to worry."

Martinez was relieved as the conversation turned away from the homicide and ventured into more generic topics: The Spurs, the weather, the food. Halfway through her fajitas, her phone rang. Judy's picture popped up. "I'm sorry," she said to Livi, "I have to take this call."

"Never off duty," Livi smiled as Martinez rose from the table.

She nodded at her dinner companion as she headed back toward the front door. "Martinez," she said in her most professional voice, just in case she was still within earshot of Olivia.

"Are you still at dinner?" Judy asked.

"Yes."

"How is it? Have you figured anything out yet?"

"She's an enigma to me," Monica sighed.

"I may be able to shed some light on her for you," Judy told her. "Are you sitting next to her?"

"No, I got up from the table when you called. Illuminate me."

"She killed her husband."

A chill ran up the back of Monica's neck and then crept through her entire body.

## 8

When Judy opened the door to her townhouse, Monica thrust a to go box forward. "As long as Olivia didn't poison her husband, these fajitas should be safe for you to eat."

Judy smiled. "I'll risk it." She took the proffered leftovers. "I take it you left in the middle of dinner."

"I was a little too freaked out to stay after your news. I told her that I had to help a stranded friend." Monica made her way to the couch and dropped onto it somewhat shakily. "As we parted ways, she said she hoped she wasn't being too forward and suggested that I might give her a rain check."

"What did you say?" Judy limped over to the couch, set the box of food on the coffee table and started assembling a taco.

"I smiled nervously and left it at that."

"Smooth move, Martinez."

"Should I have said yes and started dating a killer that I'm not even convinced is gay?"

"Everybody's gotta start somewhere." Judy smiled and had a big bite of her taco. "Seriously, though," she said with her mouth full, "what better way to keep an eye on her. Maybe you could pick up a little more information if you saw her again socially."

Monica furrowed her brow and considered the possibilities. "I don't know. No matter how meek and well-mannered she appears, there's something cold in her eyes. She makes me edgy. Shit, I make me edgy. I should never have gotten myself into this mess. You know that thing about curiosity and how it ends for the cat?"

Judy slid a file folder across the table. "It's not straight up murder. Husband used to beat the crap out of her on a regular basis. It was self-defense."

Monica opened the folder and scanned the headlines of the articles that Judy had printed out for her. "How did she kill him?"

Having just had another bite of her taco, Judy held up her hand in the shape of a gun. She pulled the imaginary trigger, swallowed, and said, "two in center mass."

It all fell into place. Monica fell back on the couch and let out a heavy breath. If she was right, there was no way for her _not_ to tell Glade and Sherman what she had done, and what she may have uncovered. Her career in law enforcement might be over, but weighed against taking a vigilante serial killer off the streets... "Oh crap. I think I'm in way too deep here, Judy. And you may be right, the only way to find out for sure is to see Olivia again."

"If you really think she's taking people out, you have to be extremely cautious. Never go anywhere with her unless I, or someone else, knows about it."

"I'd like to say that I'm not an idiot, but I think my actions have already proved me wrong." Monica shook her head. "I hate to say this out loud, but if she really is killing off abusive scumbags, there's one guy I kind of wish she'd take out before we take her down."

"Who's that?"

"Malcolm Cole."

### ***

Malcolm Cole muted the television and answered his phone. He was hoping for a call from his lawyer who was seeking a continuance on his behalf.

"Hey, Boss."

"Well, well, well," Mac settled back into his recliner, "I was wondering how long it would take you to call me back."

"So, you approve?"

"What did that girl ever do to you?"

The caller laughed. "What didn't she do? What they all do. You know what I'm talkin' about, man. Look what yours did to you. Breaking your heart wasn't bad enough. She took a dump on your entire life."

"She sure as fuck did," Mac said.

"You didn't answer me, though. Were you impressed?"

"You did a thorough job on her."

The caller paused to take a long drag on his cigarette. "Thanks, Boss. That means a lot. I'm sorry you didn't get to see her up close. I cut her face to honor you. I did it just like you did."

"I should have had the courage to do more than I did."

"You will, man. You will. Hey," the caller said, "if you don't, I would be honored to take care of your bitch for you. I've got another one on the hook right now, but I could drop her if you need my services. I owe you for what you did for me in the joint."

"No," Malcolm said, "I have to do it. I _need_ to do it myself."

"I understand. Good luck, Boss."

"Derrick?"

"Yeah?'

"Don't get sloppy," Malcolm said.

"Yeah. Roger that."

### ***

Martinez was hoping that Livi would answer her phone. There was no way she was going to leave a message. In all honesty, a larger part of her was hoping that Livi would not answer the phone.

"Hello?"

_No turning back now_ , she thought. "Livi, this is Monica Martinez."

"Hello," her voice warmed. "Did you find something out about the jogger?"

"Not yet. I was calling because," she paused, "Because I thought about you suggesting that we," she paused again struggling for the words that were not coming naturally to her.

"Have dinner again?" Livi supplied.

"Exactly."

"That sounds great. I look forward to getting to know you better. Let me check my schedule and I will call you this evening to set something up," Livi said cheerfully.

"Sounds good."

Livi disconnected the call and turned to Nora. "You were right," she said flatly. "A little attention goes a long way."

Nora nodded. "Let's figure out how to pump her for information and get you out of this as quickly as possible."

## 9

"Hey, Jones. It's Glade from homicide."

"Hey, Ben, how are you?"

"Same old shit, Jones. And yourself?"

"I'm good. Great, really. I'm getting married again," Detective Jones told him.

Glade chuckled. "Is this number three or four? I can't keep up."

"It's complicated."

"Isn't it always."

"No," Jones told him, "I mean it's wedding number four but this is the second go 'round for me and wife number two."

Glade paused, squinted and considered the information. "So, four weddings, three wives. Number two's the repeat?

"You got it."

"Well, I am a detective, after all. You gonna stop with this one?"

"Y'know, here's the thing, Ben- me and number one were too young to be married, and too young to have kids. We did both. The pressure, the immaturity, the police academy... It all just took its toll. Number two was the love of my life. I fell hard for her. But that break up was all on me. I let the pressures of the job get to me and I turned into a real asshole. Number three was a rebound. I treated her just fine, kept my job out of our lives, but I never loved her like she deserved to be loved, and she knew it. So, I'm taking everything I've learned and I'm going to get it right this time."

"Good luck. I mean that. But I ain't getting you a wedding gift until your five-year anniversary."

Jones laughed. "Sherry's okay?"

"Absolutely. Perfect."

"Good to hear it, but I know you didn't call to hear my life story."

"Too late," Glade teased him. "But yeah I called about your missing girl."

"Oh shit. Not good if homicide's calling."

Glade said, "don't get ahead of yourself. You heard about our vic in the park?"

"Yep."

"College girl just like your case. Same general description as your missing. I was hoping you'd keep me in the loop in case it's the same dirt bag. I'd like to compare notes and see if there is any connection between the two girls. I'd like to catch this bastard, but honestly, I hope it's not the same guy."

"Me, too, Ben. I heard he messed her up pretty bad. Sexual assault, and sliced up her face."

"Let me tell you something that we kept off the news. It was all post mortem. Coroner thinks she died from heat stroke, and he did the rest after."

"What?!" Jones growled out a noise of disgust. "Better for her, I guess, but..."

"He's a sick little fucker, that's for sure."

Jones snapped his fingers several times. "Hey. Hey! Malcolm Cole is both a rapist and a cutter. I wonder..."

"Get me the forensic report on Cole. I'll take a look while you look for the girl. And one more thing."

"What's that?" Jones asked.

"Which college did your girl go to?"

"UTSA."

Glade shook his head. "Our girl was from St Mary's so that's one possible connection to cross off the list."

Glade could hear Jones shuffling papers for a few moments. "Yes and no. Jennifer Golden was a St. Mary's drop out. Don't cross it off just yet. Thanks, Ben."

### ***

"I'm going to be honest with you," Livi said, "I haven't been out with very many women. I got kind of a late start at this in my life. I don't know what to say or do half the time."

Martinez needed to find a way to encourage her to stay without encouraging anything more. She patted Livi's arm. "Just let yourself relax. We can just be friends, get to know each other, see where it goes." She smiled. "I may seem irresistible in my police uniform, but once you get to know me as a person, you'll probably lose interest."

"Okay," Olivia laughed. "That sounds like a plan."

"Do you meet a lot of women because of your job?"

Martinez nodded. "I do get a fair amount of attention, again, when I'm in uniform. But it's not an ideal situation if you want something serious. People may think they want to be involved with someone in law enforcement, but the realities of this job are a lot different than the fantasies."

"Is _serious_ what you're looking for?"

"I'm not looking."

Livi frowned. "Does that mean I really have assumed too much and been too forward?"

"No, I mean, I'm not actively looking. Love will find me when it finds me."

"That's a nice way to look at it."

"May I ask a personal question?" Martinez inquired.

Livi shrugged.

"You mentioned that you'd been married to a man, so your attraction to women..." She didn't really know how to continue. She still doubted that this supposed attraction to women was real, but she didn't want to seem defensive or shut down. She knew she had to seem somewhat open if she expected Livi to do the same.

"It's not new. It's just newly acknowledged. My marriage was..." Livi pursed her lips for a few moments... "not good. It's really still too painful to talk about. But it isn't the reason... I guess I'm not against having another relationship with a man, the right man... or the right woman."

Martinez was surprised to see actual sadness in Olivia's eyes, and maybe even a little bit of tears. Perhaps she was not the person Martinez had come to fear that she was. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry open any wounds."

She laughed quietly. "I must be making a great impression." She dabbed at her eyes. "Some wounds never really close."

While Martinez wanted to push her further, and wanted to hear Olivia's take on what went down with her husband the night she had killed him, she had no reasonable way to take the conversation any further in that direction.

"Argh," Livi said and grabbed her margarita. "Tell me about your job. If the realities are as bad as you say, maybe we can end this," she waved her hand around in a circle, "whatever _this_ is, here. Tonight. At _Taco Cabana_."

Martinez smiled at her. This was what she had expected from Livi; gentle, careful prodding for information. She jumped in with both feet. "I'm a patrol officer. But I spend a lot of time with homicide, so I see the worst of the worst. Right now we have two open cases. One is the guy in the park that I came to see you about. Not a particularly nice guy, so that leaves us with a large pool of suspects. And the other is a college girl who seems to have been abducted and killed. I'm sure you've heard about both cases on the news."

"I hadn't heard about the guy until you showed up at the door, but I must confess, I searched the internet and read all about him after I spoke to you. That girl in the park, though is the stuff nightmares are made of."

"I know. That's part of the reality I was talking about. It's not always easy to see the good in people when you deal with stuff like this every day. I'm always suspicious, always on guard. In fact, I have to force myself to sit out here on the patio, in the open. You'll notice," she pointed over her shoulder with her thumb, "that my back is to the wall."

"I'm sorry. We can eat inside," Olivia was wide eyed.

"No, no, I have to make myself do things like this. I don't want to be wary of everyone every day." Martinez paused, wanting to get her phrasing just right. "It's bad enough that when I think about that poor girl in the park, I just want to go out and find the bastard that did it, and take him out myself." She noticed that Olivia had flinched slightly when she had heard that statement. "So, you see, I have to keep doing normal things so I can stay normal."

Olivia nodded and sipped her margarita. For several moments she said nothing. Finally, she quietly asked, "when someone like him gets killed, how hard do y'all look for whoever killed him?"

"The two detectives on the case are split on the issue. One thinks whoever did it, did the city a favor. The other one thinks that vigilantes are dangerous and should be stopped at all costs. But both of them, all of us, have to put everything we have into finding everyone who commits a crime. It's our duty. We are sworn to do it."

"Which detective do you agree with?"

"Both."

Olivia appeared surprised. "Both?"

"The world in general isn't going to miss a guy like that. But our process is designed to keep us from arresting and imprisoning the wrong person. When untrained citizens take the law into their own hands, an innocent person could be mistaken for a guilty person, and..." Martinez held her hands up and left it at that. "Which one do you agree with?"

"I guess I can see both sides, but I'd feel safer if all the bad guys in the world were gone."

Martinez came to the realization that they had both talked, and both revealed nothing of any real substance. She came to the conclusion that Olivia was either completely innocent, or very cagey. Sadly, it was the same opinion she had arrived at the restaurant with. She was getting nowhere. She needed to end the date and try and figure out if there was a way to get Sherman to look into Olivia Carrasco without giving away what she had done.

### ***

Olivia awoke late in the night yelling and crying. Nora was at her side very quickly, reassuring and comforting her. They were the same age, but at times she felt that Nora was like a mother to her- the mother she'd never really had.

"What was it this time, Livi?"

"Guns and blood. So much blood." She buried her face in Nora's shoulder and cried. "I don't even know who was bleeding."

Nora pushed her back and smoothed the damp strands of hair away from her eyes. "Livi, I think it's time you stopped doing what you've been doing. I know you believe you're working for the greater good, but what about what's good for you? Keeping this up is only making your nightmares worse."

"I can't stop."

"How many have there been now?"

Olivia clenched her jaw. "I don't count."

"I know you do." Nora said softly. "I've only taken one life and I still have nightmares about it."

"I'm sorry, you had to kill your own brother. I wish I'd had the strength and the courage to stand up to him back then so you didn't have to do it for me."

"You know what he put me through when we were growing up. I did it as much for me as for you," Nora said quietly.

"And I know that's not true. He would have killed me that night if you hadn't intervened. I can never repay you." Olivia squeezed Nora's hand.

Nora shook her head. "You confessed to protect me. We're even."

"Never."

Nora started to rise from the bed. "Are you going to be able to get back to sleep?"

"Eventually."

"Consider, if not stopping, at least extending this hiatus that you are currently on."

Olivia nodded. But she knew full well that she wasn't on hiatus. "Go tell the others I'm sorry I woke them."

"They'll understand, Livi. Everyone here has nightmares."

### ***

Jen had gotten a call from the prosecutor to let her know that Cole had been granted a continuance. His trial was delayed for yet another week. She hadn't heard anything he said after that. The reasons hardly mattered.

She was despondent, and quite frankly, terrified. She had told Detective Jones about Malcolm's recent visit and the threats he had made. Malcolm, had, of course, denied it. Without proof that he had violated the restraining order, there were no further steps to take. Jen didn't have the money for a security camera to catch him in the act next time he came around. But she knew he was coming for her.

She sat on the floor, in the corner of her bedroom with her back against the wall. She had her cell phone, her Taser, her brand new handgun, and a glass of iced tea on the floor with her. She had turned on the television on her dresser and set the volume low enough that she should be able to hear any movement in the hallway. All she could do was wait. She knew she wouldn't be able to survive another week like this. She wanted Malcolm out of her life. Furthermore, she wanted all of his crap out of her garage. Having it there was just one more daily reminder of his presence in her life- as if she could forget his presence for even a second.

But for tonight, she had a plan. She would wait and watch until the sun came up. At daylight she would barricade herself in the walk-in closet and get a few hours of sleep. When she had rested she would try and figure out what to do with the remainder of the week. And if Malcolm showed up before then, she would kill him.

The only flaw in her plan was that the sweet tea wasn't keeping her from feeling groggy. She decided that she needed to finish the glass of tea and put on a pot of coffee. Coffee was not exactly her favorite thing, but drastic measures had to be taken. She drank a few more big gulps of the sweet liquid and sat listening for any noises in her house that were out of the ordinary.

Jen decided that it sounded like she would have a clear path to the kitchen, but she was definitely taking the gun with her. The problem was that she felt so exhausted she didn't even want to walk to the kitchen, much less carry a loaded firearm that she was unfamiliar with. She had hardly been able to sleep for weeks on end. She thought it was unfortunate timing that it would all catch up with her now, when she needed to be most vigilant.

She yawned. She felt her eyes getting heavier. This was not normal. Somewhere deep inside her mind, an alarm started to sound. She held up her glass of tea and looked at it. And she knew.

## 10

Nora looked at Livi and quietly told her, "I need help in the barn."

Livi clenched her jaw. The barn was where Nora took her when she wanted a private conversation. The barn was a place where Livi was more likely to hear bad news than good. The barn was a place where Livi could react to whatever Nora had to tell her without upsetting any of their temporary lodgers. She stood up and followed Nora without a word.

"Sit," Nora ordered.

_Even worse than I imagined_ , Livi thought. She sat on a bale of hay.

"Jennifer Golden has disappeared... again."

Livi leapt to her feet.

"Sit," Nora said even more sternly.

She sat. "Shit," she said almost inaudibly. "Are the cops going to take this seriously after last time?"

"I don't know, but, I hope so."

"I knew he'd go after her again."

"Before you go off half-cocked," Nora sat down next to her, "consider that she may have disappeared on her own."

"How did you find out about it?"

"The news. They were speculating as to whether she had gone into hiding until Cole's trial. The anchor said that Cole couldn't be reached for comment." Nora shook her head. "And that's the part that makes me nervous."

"Yeah," Livi agreed, "he has never passed up an opportunity to put his face on the news and proclaim his innocence."

"There is also another girl missing. A college girl, named Terry Smith. It sounds like similar circumstances to the victim from that park out near the arena, "Nora said. "I know better than to think you're going to stay idle with all of this going on. But Livi, you have to stay smart. You have to be calm and methodical. You have gotten less and less adept at that. Don't get yourself caught, or killed."

"Killed is fine, Nora."

"No. It's not."

"I've been living on borrowed time since the day you saved me. All I've tried to do since then is better the world around me before the grim reaper catches up to me again. Dead is fine. Caught is unacceptable."

" _Neither_ is preferable."

"I have a lot of work to do." Livi stood up.

Nora looked at the ground and nodded.

### ***

Detectives Glade, and Sherman stood against the wall at the back of the room that the task force meeting was being held in. There were two missing girls in the city. One of them was the victim, and the key witness at an upcoming trial. The other bore similarities to another girl who had gone missing and not come back alive.

The two homicide detectives had an interest in both.

Detective Jones worked his way to the back of the room and shook their hands. "Thanks for coming. We'll take all the help we can get. I'd especially like your take on Golden since you were called in the last time she went missing."

"We took a walk through her apartment earlier," Glade told him. "It was different than last time. By all accounts, last time she got spooked and took off- went into hiding because she feared for her life."

"And this time," Jones said, "there was nothing out of place."

"Exactly." Glade rubbed his chin. "The place almost seemed tidied up. The glass in the sink had been washed..."

"But then it was left in the sink next to a pitcher that also appeared to have been washed," Sherman added. "Who goes to the trouble of washing something and then leaving it in the sink?"

"Right," Jones said, "it seemed odd to me, too." He cocked his head as an idea occurred to him, "...unless she got spooked in the middle of doing the dishes. At any rate, both items are being tested for any trace of...well, anything out of the ordinary."

"So," Glade said, "do you think she took off on her own this time?"

"I don't know," Jones said. "But I can't leave anything to chance. Meanwhile I've got this other girl..."

"I think Cole took Jennifer," Sherman said. He stopped talking when he felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket.

Glade picked up where Sherman had left off. "Listen," he said to Jones, "even though Cole's MO with Jennifer is similar to our homicide victim, I don't think he did both. I don't think he has your currently missing college girl either. Right now he is focused completely on his ex. I think in spite of all of his lies and denials, he knows he's going down for what he did to her."

"And he wants to finish what he started before he goes to prison," Jones interjected. "Alright, so, we've got two girls missing, and possibly two separate perps. Lucky us."

### ***

There was a persistent noise playing at the edge of Jennifer's consciousness. It was not entirely rhythmic, so it refused to work itself into her dream. She tried to adjust, to get more comfortable, and felt a pull at her shoulder. Her eyes opened as the fear came flooding back to her. She was lying on a wooden floor, her arms were stretched behind her back and bound at the wrists. She was wearing one of Mac's T-shirts. It was the only thing she had on, and it was damp with perspiration.

_Drip_... _drip, drip_ , the sound that had roused her.

Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton, as did her brain. She turned her head upward to find Malcolm sitting in a torn up, old recliner, calmly eating a sandwich, and watching her.

"Mac," she croaked out.

He kept chewing, staring at her with no emotion, as if he were looking right through her.

She felt like she was going to choke on the dryness in her throat. "Water," she pleaded. The stifling heat wasn't making it any easier to breathe.

He didn't move, didn't react at all to her plea.

She looked around the small room. It was completely unfamiliar to her. It appeared to be an, old, small, dilapidated, one-room house. Along the far wall, there was an ancient refrigerator next to a sagging counter top. Inset in the counter was a sink with water dripping from the faucet. The sound that had awakened her was now taunting her. She wanted to get to that water. She was so thirsty she would willingly drink it out of whatever filthy container it was dripping into. Her whole body ached. It wasn't just the position she had been lying in for who knew how long, she felt like she'd been beaten. She turned her head sharply and looked back at Mac. She suddenly found herself wondering how long she had been here and what he had done to her while she was unconscious.

At the look of fear on her face, he smiled maliciously, and put his sandwich down on a wooden stool that was serving as an end table. She instinctively tried to push herself away from him as he rose from the creaky chair. He reached down and grabbed her by the shoulders and jerked her almost to her feet. She kicked and struggled with what little strength she had, but he simply shoved her backward onto a dirty mattress.

He unsheathed a knife that he had clipped to his waist and leaned down toward her. She shook her head violently, and tried to protest verbally. But no sound came from her dry throat. He rolled her over and sliced through the zip ties binding her wrists together.

It was such a relief to have her arms free that she didn't want to fight him for fear of being bound again. He stood over her and looked back and forth between the knife and her face. She wanted to cry but she doubted she could produce any tears. "Water, please," she whispered.

He snapped out of his trance and re-sheathed the blade. "If only you'd had such nice manners when we were together."

She didn't take the bait. While he went to the sink she propped herself up on the small daybed and took in more of her surroundings. She had no idea where they were. The place obviously had running water, but judging from the handful of battery operated lanterns in the room, there wasn't any electricity. That also explained the stifling heat. It wasn't _officially_ summer yet, but in South Texas that didn't make a difference.

Malcolm returned with water in an old, tin measuring cup.

She drank it all in one gulp and considered asking for more.

"I'm going to kill you," he said calmly.

"I know," she replied.

"It's a shame," he walked back to his chair and sat down, leaving her with the empty measuring cup, "we have so much in common. This really should have worked out differently." He reached into a small duffel bag and withdrew her .38 Special. "I want to kill you. You want to kill me..." He set the gun on the stool, and reached back into the bag. This time he came up with her Taser. "We were made for each other. Too bad you are such a dumb fucking bitch." He still spoke with eerie calmness.

She stayed silent.

"I learned something new about you this morning while the sun was coming up." When she didn't respond, he exploded, shouting at her angrily, "don't you want to know what I learned?" He started to get out of the chair.

"What," she said shakily, "what did you learn?"

He sunk back into the chair. "You're a better lay when you're unconscious than when you're awake."

She whimpered involuntarily.

Malcolm laughed. "I tried to wake you up. I'm sure you can feel the bruises. But I guess you drank a little more iced tea than you should have."

Jennifer glanced down at the empty measuring cup.

"No, sweetheart," he spat out, "I don't have any more Rohypnol. I want you wide awake when I kill you. I want you to feel everything. I want to hear you scream when I cut your face back open."

"Why, Mac? Why?"

He stood up, "because, to quote a friend of mine, you took a dump on my entire life." He was on her instantly. He grabbed her right arm and handcuffed it to the metal bed frame. He stood upright and looked down at her. "I might have let you live, but I can't go to prison. Do you know what happens to cops in there?"

"You were a jail guard," she said reflexively.

He backhanded her across the face. "Don't belittle me, you stupid bitch." He raised his hand again, clenched his fist, and then held it in the air. "No. I won't let you control me." He lowered his hand. "I talked to my friend, Derrick, while you were still sleeping it off. He reminded me that I am the one in control. He told me to do this my way, not your way. I have plans for you, and you're not going to fuck it up this time." He shoved the weapons back into the duffel bag, and left the house through what she assumed was the front door.

She heard the sound of a lock clicking into place, and noticed that there was a fairly new, key out deadbolt on the inside of the door. She surveyed the small windows, all of which were covered by thick, half-rotted curtains. The curtains over the window directly across the room were parted slightly. Her heart sunk when she was able to determine that there were bars crisscrossing the glass.

## 11

Olivia stepped into the living room where Nora was in deep conversation with her two current refugees. Nora stopped mid-sentence and looked up. Livi nodded for her to follow. She excused herself and followed her sister in law to the outbuilding that served as their office. She waited while Livi unlocked the two deadbolts, and then turned a third key in the doorknob.

Inside, Livi had a regional map laid out on the desk. She motioned for Nora to take a look. "These are all of the places that Cole went when I was following him." She indicated the small red stars at several points on the map. "Most of these are in well populated areas, friends' houses, that kind of thing. He stopped here at one point," she tapped her finger on the map, "and bought some weed. It's a sketchy area but there are too many people in the shadows watching the comings and goings, so I don't think he'd take her anywhere near this place."

Nora nodded her agreement. "What about this?" She pointed to an area south of Loop 1604.

"I'm not sure what that was about. He drove around there aimlessly one night. I actually had to back off because his path was so circuitous that he would have caught on if I'd stayed with him." She uncapped a blue pen. "While I was on him he more or less circled this area." She circled it on the map. "I didn't see where he ended up. But I waited at this outlet here. He went past me less than thirty minutes later and drove straight home. This could be the place."

Nora sensed her uncertainty. "But?"

"But," she pulled the map across the table so that the northern end was closer to them, "my gut tells me that this is more likely where he has her." She tapped an area about halfway between New Braunfels and Canyon Lake. "I followed him until he turned off onto this crappy little road right here. I kept going, pulled over a little way down the road and checked the GPS. I could see on the map that there was no other outlet, so I walked back to the road and waited. He came back out two hours later and went back the way he came."

"What did you find down that road?"

Livi almost smiled. "This road leads to a long dirt driveway. I took the truck up the drive and found an old, seemingly abandoned house, a rusting RV up on blocks, and a couple of junkers. I haven't been able to connect him to the property, but there wasn't anyone else there."

"Did you find out who owns it?"

"Guy by the name of Wade Jansen. From what I can discern, he's about ninety-two years old."

Nora shook her head. "I'd bet good money that Wade's dead."

"Me, too. I need to get out there and look around sooner rather than later."

"And you want me to check out the area in the circle," Nora slid the map back up and put her finger on the area. "You know I can't do what you do. If I find them, all I can do is call the cops and hope to God they get there in time."

"Take a burner with you, and leave your mobile in the desk drawer."

Nora slipped her cell phone out of her pocket. She grabbed a set of keys off the key rack and thrust them at Livi. "Take the truck since he's already seen that vehicle in the area. But get gas in town before you go." She dropped her phone in the drawer and watched as Livi locked it and unlocked the second drawer. Nora grabbed an unopened, pay as you go, flip phone.

Livi looked out the window toward the house. "Are the girls going to be okay here alone?"

"They have each other and a shotgun. It's the best we can do for them right now."

### ***

Detective Sherman answered his partner's phone. "Detective Glade's phone. Detective Sherman speaking."

"Sherman, it's Luther Jones. Wanted to let you boys know that Terry Smith is alive and well. We're on our way to talk to her right now. It appears that this was nothing more than a dispute with her ex-boyfriend."

"He didn't hurt her?"

"No," Jones said. "The boyfriend demanded that she go with him so they could hash some things out. Terry didn't tell anyone where she was going, and when she didn't come home for a couple of days her roommate panicked 'cause of our girl in the park."

Sherman breathed a sigh of relief. He saw Glade walk through the door and motioned him over. "She filing charges?"

"I'll give you two guesses. Hey, something else I need to tell you."

"Hang on, Glade's back." He handed the phone to his partner. He was relieved that their missing person was found alive and well. That's the way it went down most of the time. But he didn't think Jennifer Golden would be so fortunate.

"Yeah," he heard Glade say, "I don't care what time it is. You call me the second you get that warrant. Thanks, Jones." He hung up and turned to Sherman. "Waiting on a warrant to track Cole's cell phone. When they go looking for him, I'm going with them."

"I'm in. Did he tell you the good news?"

Glade stopped in the middle of what he was doing. "There's good news?"

"The missing college student was found holed up, and hashing it out with her ex. She is unharmed."

Glade let out a sigh of relief.

"I'm going to try and get dinner before they call about Cole's whereabouts. You coming?"

"That's the first good idea you've had all day, Doug."

### ***

"Honeyyy, I'm hooome," Malcolm said as he swung the door open. A split second before it him hit, he saw the motion of a wooden stool swinging toward him. He dropped the grocery bag, and turned so that his shoulder took the blow. The well-worn stool broke into several pieces. He felt a flash of pain in his shoulder and another on the side of his skull when the seat broke off and flew into his head. He reached out and grasped at Jennifer with his injured left arm, dropping the duffel bag full of weapons. He caught her by her blouse and yanked her toward him, wrapping his right hand around her throat as soon as she was in range.

She slapped and clawed at him. She pried at his arm as he was forcefully walking her backward toward the bed. His grip on her neck tightened with each step. Her lungs were burning for fresh air. She was already starting to feel lightheaded.

The pain from her clawing at his arm made Malcolm tighten his grip as he shoved her into the room. He got his left arm free and punched her in the face with a weak roundhouse. She started to drop toward the floor and he threw her back toward the mattress, releasing his grasp on her neck as he did so. He reached for the handcuffs that were still attached to the bed frame.

Jennifer hit the bed and gasped for air just as she was about to lose consciousness. She knew that she was going to pay dearly for her attempted escape, but she had known that it was her only chance to get out alive. She slumped on the bed, almost completely resigned to her fate. She felt him grab the wrist that she'd wrenched out of the handcuffs. He clamped the cold metal on her wrist and closed the cuff until it was painfully tight. At this point, she knew she'd have to cut her hand off in order to get free of him again. Before she had time to contemplate the idea, he punched her in the side of the head.

Mac felt a great deal of satisfaction with the blow that he had landed. The first one was weak. This one had let her know who was in charge. He went across the room to the kitchen counter and retrieved a zip tie. "You see what I get for being nice to you? I wanted you to be more comfortable while I was gone." He backhanded her across the face again. He loved the look and feel of a good backhand to her stupid bitch of a face. He forced her free hand up next to her cuffed hand and zip tied them together.

Having both of her arms stretched above her head at an odd angle was not only painful, but was constricting her breathing. She wanted to move. She desperately wanted to find a position that eased the pressure on her neck and throat. But Jennifer was terrified that if she so much as twitched, it would only get worse.

Without a word, Mac went and picked up the fallen bag of groceries. He unloaded the items onto the counter. He walked back out the front door, kicking aside pieces of the demolished stool as he went. After a few minutes he returned with a small Styrofoam cooler full of ice. He set the cooler down, opened the lid and pulled out a can of beer. He sat down in his recliner and pressed the unopened, cold beverage to the lump forming on the side of his head.

He stared at her for several minutes. He suddenly sat forward and looked at her. "I preferred what you were wearing earlier." He set the beer down, reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife. He flipped the blade open and stood up. He looked down at her, taking her in from head to toe. He grasped her blouse, pulled it upward and sliced it from the neck down. He yanked it off of her body and tore it into strips. He then went for her bra, sawing at the straps until they gave way.

Jennifer cringed at his touch, and turned her head.

He grabbed her face and forced her to look at him. "You brought this all on yourself. It didn't have to be this way." Without letting go of her face, he climbed onto the bed and straddled her. He touched the tip of the blade to the top of the scar that he had given her. Mac was immeasurably pleased to see that it hadn't healed well. He dug the tip of the blade into her cheek right next to the scar tissue. She gasped and pressed her body down into the bed. He watched the blood pool at the tip of his knife and then roll down her cheek.

For a moment, Jennifer considered begging him to kill her and get it over with. She didn't think she had any fight left in her, or any hope of surviving after he tortured her. So, why wait? "You're right," she whispered, her survival instinct kicking in after all. "I was terrible to you."

He reared his head back in surprise, pulling the tip of the knife blade out of her flesh. He had expected her to beg. He had hoped that she might still fight a little. But this was not what he anticipated.

"I know I tore your life apart, Mac," she continued. She was relieved to have the knife out of her flesh. "I didn't mean to."

"You didn't mean to?" He roared, smacked her, and then squeezed her face.

She tried to shake her head. She felt tears rolling from her eyes. "I," she choked a little. He let go of her face and squinted at her. She continued before he started cutting again. "I'm sick, Mac. I've got problems, mental problems. I don't know how to have a healthy relationship."

He shook his head slightly. One part of his brain screamed that this was all bullshit. Another part thought he'd finally made her see that she had been the problem all along.

"The more I..." she started sobbing, "the more I care about someone, the more of a train wreck I become."

"You ruined my life."

"I know."

"I was just about to get on with Comal County Jail."

"I know. And you would have had a straight shot at being a deputy from there," she repeated what he'd spat at her so many times. "I know what I cost you. I hate myself for it."

He slapped her. "It seems more like you hated me."

"It was easier to blame you than face what I had done."

He abruptly got off of her, and off of the bed. He paced the short width of the house a couple of times and went back to sit in the old chair. "I think you're bullshitting me, Jen. I'm not a moron. I'm still going to kill you."

"I know. I understand."

_No begging_? He thought. He allowed himself to wonder if she was telling the truth. She accepted what she had done to him, taken responsibility, and was willing to pay for her crime.

"No," he said.

"No?"

"Derrick said you'd try and trick me."

She turned her head as much as she could and looked at him. "Who's Derrick?"

"John Derrick. He's a buddy of mine from the prison. Women have done him just like you've done me. You hear about that dead girl in the park? That was his work. He knows what women are capable of. He learned the hard way. And he warned me that you would say anything, and do anything to get out of being punished."

She looked away. "I'm not trying to get out of it anymore."

Malcolm stared at her for a long time. He jabbed the tip of the knife into the top of the cooler and left it standing at an angle. He stood up and took his shirt off, dropping it on the chair behind him. He kicked off his shoes, and took a step toward the daybed.

Jennifer could see him in her peripheral vision. She knew that if she resisted, or cried, or did anything to make him doubt her sincerity, he would slice her up and then kill her. She forced herself to turn and look at him again. She tried to project guilt and acceptance, while choking down the bile creeping up the back of her throat.

He stepped over to the bed and unbuttoned the jeans that she had hastily put back on in his earlier absence. He pulled the pants down over her ankles and dropped them on the floor. Malcolm unbuckled his belt, watching, waiting for any sign that she was lying to him.

She watched him with horror churning in her gut and serenity plastered on her face. She looked at the bulge growing beneath the denim. She watched him slide out of his jeans. He took one last step toward her and then dropped to the floor in an unconscious heap.

## 12

Though it was her day off, Monica had been monitoring her radio all day. She had been waiting for any word or movement on both the missing college girl, and Jennifer Golden. She had been relieved to find out that Terry Smith was located unharmed. She had grave doubts that the same would be true for Jennifer.

She turned down the volume to answer her phone. "Hey, Judy," she said seeing her friend's name on caller ID. "What's up." She turned the volume down on her police radio.

"You know I'm curious by nature."

"Once a cop, always a cop."

"Something like that," Judy said. "So I did a little digging on Malcolm Cole after you brought up his name the other day. My ex is his attorney. I didn't bother to call Leslie, because she takes client privilege very seriously. But..."

Monica sat up a little straighter and switched her radio off. "Yes?"

"Even with my resources it's taken me a few days to come up with anything that seemed useful. I found a thin connection between Cole and a guy named Wade Jansen. Cole listed him as next of kin on a form he filled out. I haven't been able to figure out yet if he is, or isn't, a legitimate relative to Cole. But the interesting part, is that Jansen owns a piece of property out in Comal County. From my view on Google maps, it looks like it's right smack in the middle of nowhere."

Monica was already up, grabbing her wallet, keys, badge, gun, and blue tooth. "Text me the location, Judy. I have to check this out"

"You keep in touch. It should take you around forty-five minutes to get there. If I don't hear from you in fifty minutes, I'm calling Comal County."

"I'll let Detective Sherman know where I'm headed. You didn't come by this information by any illegal means did you?"

"No. It's all legit. Stay safe."

### ***

Jennifer looked over the side of the bed at Mac's unconscious form. For a split second, she was elated, at the thought that he had dropped dead. Almost immediately she realized that if he were dead, she would likely starve to death cuffed to the filthy daybed.

She grasped the bed frame with both hands and pulled herself into a reclining position. She pulled her knees up and used her legs to turn herself over so that her hands were on the frame and her knees on the bed.

She looked more closely at Malcolm and realized that he was still breathing. She slid the cuff attached to the frame, down toward the mattress as far as it would go and slipped her feet to the floor. She stretched out with her left leg and got her big toe on her discarded jeans. She carefully slid the jeans toward her until they were right under her. She sat back on the bed with her arms positioned awkwardly to the side of her body. After several attempts, she was able to use her feet to pull the pants up far enough to catch a belt loop with her right hand.

Jen took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. Getting her legs into the jeans was going to be tricky. Her heart was pounding, her breathing was labored, her right eye was almost swollen shut, and to make matters worse, for the first time since she had awakened, she had to pee.

On her first try, she got her left leg into the right leg of the pants. She held tightly onto the belt loop, slid her leg out, and tried again. She got the left leg in and changed positions to try for the right.

Malcolm stirred.

She froze and stared at him until he seemed to lapse back into unconsciousness. She hurriedly got the jeans on, stood as best she could, and pulled them up to her waist. She slid the handcuffs upward along the rail and moved her body closer to her hands so she could get the zipper pulled up. While she worked the zipper, she was eyeing his blue jeans, hoping she could reach them and pull them to her. With any luck, the keys to the handcuffs, the house, and his truck would be in the pocket.

Malcolm groaned at her feet and started to move his arms.

She sat quickly back on the bed and nudged him with her toes. "Mac," she said. "Mac, wake up." He settled for a second. Jen sat very still, watching him. When she was just about convinced that he wasn't going to wake up, he reached out and grabbed her ankle. Startled, she gasped, and then tried to cover her reaction. "Mac," wake up.

He pulled himself to a sitting position and rubbed at his head. "What the fuck did you do to me," he slurred.

"I didn't do anything. You just collapsed."

He squinted up at her. "What are you doing?" He started to climb unsteadily to his feet. "You did this," he said more clearly. He grabbed her thigh roughly and pulled himself up onto the bed. Still hanging onto her, he leaned his face in close to hers and spat out, "you, did this to me." He pinched her thigh, and yanked at the leg of her blue jeans. "Going somewhere?"

"I was trying to get dressed so I could figure out how to get you to a hospital."

"Bullshit," he shouted into her face. "You want me dead." With his free hand he smacked her in the face again.

She felt the cheek under her swollen eye split open. "No, Mac. No," she pulled back from him. She started to cry. "After everything else I've taken from you, I can't take your life, too. Please, I don't know what's wrong with you. We need to get you some help."

"You think I'm that stupid?"

"No. We can go to the hospital. You can leave me tied up in the truck. Nobody has to know I'm there. I can't have your death on my conscience along with everything else I've done."

He blinked and his head listed to the side. "I don't," he moved away, falling into a sitting position on the bed next to her, "feel very good. What the fuck?" He put his hand over the lump on his head. "Shit, Jen, am I dying?"

She kept her mouth shut, hoping he'd drop dead and that his keys would be in reach when he did. If not, she would roll his corpse out of the way and drag the bed all over the house to figure out where the keys were.

"You know what? I believe you, maybe I'm a fool, but I believe you're sorry for what you did to me."

The surge of hope that she might get out of this alive made Jen's heart skip a beat.

"And I want to forgive you. I need to forgive you." He struggled to his feet and swayed when he leaned down to pick up his jeans.

As he pulled up and fastened his pants, she eyed the pockets, looking for a sign that they were laden with a ring full of keys.

"This is going to be a fitting end for us, Jen."

"Me saving your life? You forgiving me?"

He looked at her, puzzled as to how she could come up with such a ludicrous idea. "No," he caressed her cheek, "us dying together." He pulled the keys out of his pocket and staggered, barefoot and shirtless out the front door.

## 13

Martinez reached the turnoff to Jansen's property just as dusk was settling in. She punched the button on her blue tooth and sent a voice text to Judy letting her know she was going in search of the dirt road. She turned onto what was left of a potholed, badly paved road that was thick with cedar trees on either side. It was passable by two cars in most places, but the depths of the holes that pockmarked the asphalt would make a fast getaway impossible after night completely blanketed the landscape. She wove toward to the end of the road, passing only one unpaved property entrance along the way. She did a U-turn at the end of the street and cut the headlights.

She pulled out her cell phone and took a dim photo of the property entrance that was roughly fifteen yards in front of her vehicle. She prepared a text for Sherman with the location, the property owner's name and the photo. She used her thumbs to type in her message: _Came into some info on acquaintance of Malcolm Cole. Possible location for Jen G? Going in on foot to check for activity. Will report back if it appears inhabited_. She silenced the ringer on her phone and slipped it into her back pocket.

### ***

The call came in as Glade was chewing the last bite of his dinner. "Glade," he answered with his mouth full.

"The warrant came through," Jones informed him. "If Cole's phone is turned on, we should have his location shortly. I'll text you as soon as we know where he is. Saddle up, Glade, and pray that we get to her in time."

"We'll be ready, Jones. I hope you don't need our services when we get there."

### ***

With the one eye that she could still see out of, Jen watched in horror as Malcolm carried in a bottle of charcoal starter fluid and set it down on the counter. She couldn't help but thinking that she'd rather be beaten her to death, than to be burned alive. She was pretty sure she'd run out of options.

She had somehow convinced him that she cared about him, and that she was sorry for everything she had done. Yet, in the end, she was to die at his hands anyway. Both escape and rescue now seemed equally impossible. Her only hope was that he'd pass out again. Unfortunately, he seemed to have grown stronger since his earlier episode. He was searching through cabinets, no doubt looking for matches.

Stalling him was all she had left. Maybe if she could slow him down, she could still find a way to talk him out of his plan. Failing that, maybe she could just convince him to shoot her instead. "Mac, what are you doing?"

"I'm looking for matches."

As she suspected. "For?"

"We're gonna burn together, Jen."

"Do I get a last request?"

He paused and looked at her quizzically.

"I saw you bring in food earlier. Can't we have one last meal together?"

His hands dropped to his sides. "It's not much," he said, "just sandwiches."

"It doesn't matter what we eat. I just want to spend a little more time with you before we go."

"Okay." He opened another drawer. "But I need to find some matches first."

"Mac," she said sharply.

He looked up, clearly irked by her tone.

"If you don't have any matches can't you just use the gun?"

He stared at her for a long time. He closed the drawer and nodded. "What do you want on your sandwich?"

"Anything. Hey, I don't suppose I could pee before we eat?"

He stared at her again. It seemed it was taking longer, and longer for him to process each new concept. "I'll get you a bucket." He rounded the corner of the counter and stopped, grabbing at the counter with one hand, and his head with the other. "It's getting worse," he said. "You're gonna have to hold it. I have to make dinner." Keeping his hand on the counter, he went back around and dug into the grocery bag.

### ***

Halfway up the dirt drive, Martinez spotted a late model pickup parked just off the side of the road. She stood still at the edge of the trees that lined the driveway and watched the truck for a few minutes. When she was satisfied that there was no movement, she drew her weapon, pointed it at the ground and crept toward the vehicle. She was surprised to find the hood warm when she laid her hand against it.

### ***

"We got a location," Glade said, tapping on the screen of his cell phone. "Crap. It's all the way up in Comal County. Jones has already called the department up there and gotten them mobilized."

"Are we still going?" Sherman asked.

"Well, I am. Are you coming?"

"Of course."

"Good," Glade said, "I'll send the location to your phone so you can navigate."

Detective Sherman pulled out his phone on the way to the car and found that he had received a text from Martinez several minutes ago. He opened her text while he waited for Glade's to come through. "Shit," he said when he read it. He switched to Glade's text and compared the locations. "Shit, Glade. Martinez is already out there."

"What the fuck?"

"She got a tip."

"Son of a bitch!" Glade pounded on the steering wheel and pulled out of the parking lot.

Sherman's phone signaled that a new text had come in. It was an update from Martinez that she had found a recently driven vehicle on the property and was now certain that someone was there. He relayed the information to Glade.

"Tell her to get out of sight. Tell her we're on our way, but we're at least thirty minutes out. Tell her Comal County is on the way, too. Then call Comal and let them know we have an idiot officer on the scene already. Then tell her if she survives this, I am going to kill her myself."

Sherman was typing as fast as his fingers could move.

## 14

Malcolm had switched on all of the battery-operated lanterns, and distributed them around the daybed and the recliner. He carried two halves of a sandwich over and handed one piece to Jennifer. He cut the zip tie with his pocketknife, freeing her left hand. Keeping his half of the sandwich he dropped onto the recliner and stared at her. His movements were clumsy and his thought processes were obviously getting slower.

"Thank you," she held up the sandwich.

"Our last meal," he said flatly. The hand with which he held his sandwich was resting on his leg. "I feel..." his shook his head slowly, as if trying to clear the cobwebs. He closed his eyes for several seconds.

Jennifer watched him, hoping he'd lost consciousness again. When his eyes fluttered open she spoke with feigned concern, "Mac, are you alright?"

"I don' know wha' the hell is wrong with me."

Jennifer knew it was because of the blow to the head. But if Malcolm hadn't worked it out on his own, she wasn't about to tell him she was the cause of yet another problem for him.

"Eat fast. I'm gonna get the gun." He laid his sandwich on the torn up arm of the chair and pulled himself to his feet. He swayed a bit.

They were both startled by a knock at the door.

After a beat, Malcolm yelled, "what?" with surprising volume and clarity.

"Wade? Is that you?" A woman's voice asked from the other side of the door.

"Wade's not here," Malcolm answered.

"I got a package for him by mistake. Can I leave it with you?"

Malcolm looked at Jennifer with concern.

"Who's Wade," she asked quietly.

"My great uncle. He's dead, though." He looked back at the door and shouted, "just leave it. I'll get it later."

"The Fed-Ex guy said it was some kind of government paperwork. I don't just want to leave it outside."

"For fuck's sake," Malcolm said under his breath. He looked around and spotted his shirt on the floor. He bent to pick it up and had to grab the bed frame to steady himself. He tossed the shirt at Jennifer. "Put this on and keep your mouth shut." He waited for her to work the shirt over her head and get her left arm through the sleeve. He nodded his approval and went to the door, fishing his keys out of his pocket on the way. He turned the key in the deadbolt and pulled the door open just wide enough to look out.

The woman on the front stoop looked at him and then tried to glance around him.

He leaned to try and block her view into the house. "Gimme the package," he opened the door a little more and held out his hand.

She tried to peer around him again. "Is Wade okay?"

"He's in the hospital, but he'll be home soon. That's probably what the paperwork is about."

The woman held up a Fed-Ex envelope in front of her.

Malcolm reached for it.

Jennifer nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the gunshot echoing around the small room. She looked wide-eyed toward the door, fearing for a split second that Malcolm had killed the woman at the door.

"What?" Malcolm staggered back. His hand went to his abdomen and came up covered in blood. "What the..." he said weakly. He dropped to his knees.

The woman stepped inside the door, dropped the cardboard envelope with a gaping hole in it, and shot him in the chest.

Malcolm slumped to the floor.

Jennifer gasped. "Olivia?"

Livi reached down and took the keys from Malcolm Cole's hand. She walked over to the daybed and dropped the key ring next to Jennifer.

Jen opened her mouth to speak.

Livi held her finger to her lips and whispered, "shhhh." She turned and walked back out the door.

### ***

Martinez flinched at the sound of the first gunshot. Her heart went into her throat. She was certain that the cavalry would be too late for Jennifer Golden. All she could do now was prevent Malcolm Cole from escaping. She fumbled for her mobile phone and dialed Sherman's number. Before the call connected, a second shot was fired.

"What's going on," Sherman asked frantically.

"Two shot's fired from inside the house. Please advise Comal County."

Sherman relayed the information to Glade who immediately got on his phone to call in the update. "Get the out of there," Sherman demanded to Martinez.

"If Cole tries to escape, I can stop him."

"Or he might just kill you, too."

"I can hear sirens now," she said, "all I have to do is delay him." She saw movement and realized that someone was walking toward her. "Someone's coming." She shoved the phone into her pocket, stepped in front of the truck, and steadied her gun. "Police. Don't move," she said just as the figure stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight.

Livi froze, keeping her gun down at her side.

Martinez stepped forward cautiously with her gun pointed at Olivia Carrasco.

"Officer Martinez," she said, clearly not expecting her to be there.

"Drop the weapon, Livi."

"I can't." He shoulders slumped. "You hear those sirens? They'll be here any minute now. I can't go to prison."

"Livi," Martinez shook her head, "what have you done?"

"I killed Malcolm Cole."

"Was he alone?"

Livi took a step toward her.

Martinez shouted, "not another step." As the sirens grew louder, she was silently praying that she could stall Olivia long enough for the deputies to arrive. She said another prayer for herself, that she wouldn't get shot in the chaos.

"The girl's alright. I saved her."

"Okay," Martinez tried to sound calm, "you did what you had to do. Now, drop the gun."

"I spent most of my life feeling trapped by one thing or another. I'd rather die than go to prison and be trapped again."

"Livi, please don't make me do this," she pleaded.

"Suicide by cop? I would never do that to you Officer Martinez. I would never put that burden on anyone." In one swift moved, she jerked the gun upward and shot herself in the head.

"Noooo," Martinez screamed. She started to move forward and heard shouting behind her.

"On your knees!"

"Drop your weapon!"

"Down, now!"

Martinez tossed the gun away from her body, dropped to her knees and laced her fingers behind her head.

The cavalry had arrived. A moment too late.

## 15

Martinez sat in the interview room with her head in her hands. She didn't know how long she had been sitting there, but she was still shaking. She had replayed the scene countless times in her head. It never ended any differently. The sight of Olivia lying dead just a few feet in front of her was burned permanently into her brain.

The door opened and Sherman walked into the room. He placed a paper cup full of coffee on the table next to her, and sat down across from her with his own cup. "Comal County makes much better coffee than we do."

"It's probably not that hard to do," she said.

"They're going to want to talk to you." He fished into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He shook it back and forth. "But I already told them everything I heard."

She shook her head, confused.

"You never turned off your phone. The conversation was a little muffled from inside your pocket, but I was able to make out most of it."

She had a flash of memory. She had slid the phone into her pocket when Livi had come into view. While the conversation had been muffled for Sherman, the memory was a little muddled in her head.

"When I heard the gunshot, I didn't know if you were dead or alive. Then there was a lot of shouting and everything went silent."

"I'm sorry."

"By the way, a friend named Judy Collier has been calling frantically. I let her know you were alright."

Another wave of guilt flowed through her. "Thank you."

He nodded. "They read you your rights?"

She nodded and said, "yes."

"Do you want me to get a rep for you?"

"I don't think I'm guilty of anything but stupidity. I'll tell them whatever they want to know."

"Tell me," he said. "From what I got, it seemed you knew Olivia Carrasco. Care to shed some light on that?"

She sighed, looked straight into her friend's eyes, and lied. "She approached me, I guess a few weeks back, said she'd seen me at the Olmos crime scene. She said she had been at a friend's house near the park and might have seen something, and could we talk sometime."

Sherman nodded, encouraging her to continue.

"I suggested she come down to the station. She said unless her info was useful, she'd rather not make it official. She asked if I could meet her for dinner. At that point it seemed to me like it was a nothing more than a ruse to get a cop to go out with her. It happens, y'know."

"I do," he agreed.

"So, I almost didn't go. But, I decided I had to do it on the outside chance that she had seen something useful."

"What did you get from her?"

Martinez rolled her eyes. "Nondescript man, in nondescript hoodie, getting into an almost nondescript blue truck."

"So, it was all bullshit?"

"That's what I assumed." She took the lid off of the coffee cup and had a long, soothing swallow. "Judy Collier is a PI. Used to be a cop. I asked her to look into Carrasco for me. Turns out she killed her husband."

He nodded, not giving away whether this was news to him or not.

Martinez continued. "He abused her regularly. It was ruled as self-defense. But it got me wondering: A string of dead serial abusers, plus Carrasco's history. Combine that with her admitted proximity to one of the crime scenes... So, when I had the chance to have dinner with her again, I went. But she was so vague, and came off as so timid, that I really had no idea if I was onto something or not. I figured I would discuss it with you the next time we talked. But then Jennifer Golden disappeared and all chaos broke loose."

He nodded and sipped some more of his coffee. "How did you come to be at the crime scene tonight?"

"Judy had been poking around, looking into Malcolm Cole, just out of curiosity, I guess. She called and told me that she had found a link between Cole and the guy that owned that property. I thought it might be something. It was my day off, so I drove out to take a look. As soon as I knew there was something going on there, I texted you and backed off. I think you know the rest."

After a few moments of silence there was a knock at the door of the interview room. The door swung open and an older man, unfamiliar to Martinez leaned in and looked at Sherman. "That's enough," he told him. "We have what we need. You can take her to her car." He closed the door.

Martinez looked up at the two-way mirror on the wall behind Detective Sherman. She looked sharply back at him. "You were questioning me?"

"I asked if you wanted representation, verified that you'd been read your rights."

"I thought we were just having a conversation."

"They thought they were more likely to hear the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, if you were talking to a friendly face."

The repeated mention of the word _truth_ jabbed at her gut. She decided it was best to let it go. Instead she asked, "Is Jennifer Golden really alright?"

"She's pretty messed up, but she's going to live. Detective Jones is waiting for clearance from the doctors, and the sheriff's department, to talk to her. Come on, I'll drive you home."

### ***

For Jennifer, life had become a haze of questions from both law enforcement and medical personnel alike. They had all begun to blend into one long, painful interview. _Can you feel this? Does this hurt? What do you remember?_ At times she felt dead inside. Other times she found herself crying hysterically and she had no idea what particular incident had triggered it.

After she had been examined from head to toe, and was wheeled to a waiting area for a CT scan, she heard Detective Jones outside speaking to one of the doctors. The doctor was insistent that it would be several hours before she could be questioned.

"Detective," she croaked. She cleared her throat and was going to call out again, but he appeared in the doorway with the doctor hot on his heels. She motioned him to her.

"Miss Golden," the doctor said, "it would be in your best interest to rest."

"I'll stay calm," she assured him.

"Miss Golden..."

Jennifer cut him off. "Doctor, after what I've been through, it is in my best interest to see a familiar and trusted face." She reached out for the detective.

The doctor shot a warning glance at Detective Jones.

Jones nodded. He took Jen's hand.

She teared up and squeezed his big, warm hand gratefully. "I thought I was going to die tonight."

"You're a survivor, Jen."

She nodded toward the door. "We'll see. I still have the CAT scan."

"It will be okay," he assured her. "No matter the results they're going to keep you here for a few days at the very least."

Her lip quivered. "Is he..."

"They pronounced him dead at the scene. He can't ever hurt you, or anyone else, ever again."

"How did you find me," Jen asked him.

"We got a warrant to track his phone."

She dropped her chin and looked away. "Is it good or bad that I'm glad Mac's dead?" She had spoken the question very quietly.

Jones gently cupped her chin and urged her to look at him. "I'm glad he's dead, too." After she nodded slightly he asked her, "Did you know the lady that shot him?"

Without breaking eye contact she said, "I don't think so. It was dark, and I can only see out of my left eye, but she didn't seem familiar." She looked away for a few seconds, carefully choosing what to tell him. "She took the keys out of Mac's pocket and brought them to me and then left. She didn't say a word. Who is she?"

Detective Jones considered telling Jen that the lady who had rescued her had shot herself immediately after. But he knew that this was the kind of news that the doctor would not want her to hear before she'd been cleared. "When the swelling goes down, we'll see if we can get a photo for you to look at."

"Okay," Jen was confused.

"I, um,' Jones raised his eyebrows, "called your brother."

Jennifer closed her eyes and shook her head. "Well unless you were offering to interview him on the news, I'm sure he could care less about what has happened. He's an insecure, vile, attention whore."

After talking to the guy, Jones was not entirely shocked to hear Jen's perspective. "He's a real piece of work, I'll give you that. Is there someone else you'd like me to call?"

"Our parents are dead. And Mac alienated all of my friends as soon as we got together. I don't suppose you'd want to give me a ride home from the hospital when they let me out," she joked.

"I'd be pleased if you would allow me to do so."

After getting a clear CT scan, and given pain medication, Jen slept the rest of the night. She was vaguely aware of various people in scrubs stopping by to check her vitals from time to time, but the pain medicine did its job.

In the morning, she felt somewhat less exhausted, but knew that she would need several more doses of pain medication and a few more nights of sleep to feel truly rested. She spent most of her day talking to Comal County deputies about her ordeal. They didn't answer any of her questions. They simply asked, and asked, and asked.

Hours later, she asked them to give her a break. She had a nap after what passed for lunch. And when she awoke, Detective Jones was sitting quietly in a chair next to her hospital bed. There was another man in the chair next to him.

"Good afternoon, Jen," Jones said.

She painfully pulled herself into a more upright position. She noticed that Jones winced as he watched her struggle. "More questions, I guess."

"This," he motioned to his associate, "is Detective Benjamin Glade."

The name seemed familiar, but his face was new to her.

Jones stood up and pulled a piece of paper out of his breast pocket. "Here's the photo we talked about yesterday." He handed it to her.

She tried to take a steadying breath and looked at what must have been Livi's license photo. She held it up to her left side and studied it with her less injured eye. "That's definitely the woman that saved my life." While she'd sworn to keep Nora and Olivia's secret, she knew that there was no point in denying she had seen her. There had been so much noise and commotion after Livi left the house that Jen knew the cops had been outside waiting for her.

"She isn't familiar to you at all?"

Jen stared at the picture for a few seconds longer and shook her head. "No," she handed the photo back to Jones. "Who is she?" She asked what seemed like the next logical question.

Jones looked at Glade who nodded almost imperceptibly. "Olivia Carrasco. We're looking into a connection between her and Cole. So far we haven't found one."

"She's not a cop?"

"No, Jen." He took a deep breath. "Immediately after shooting Cole, she walked into the yard, confessed what she had done to an off duty SAPD officer," he paused to make sure he used the right words, "and then took her own life."

"What?" Jennifer sat straight up. Her eyes teared immediately.

Glade raised an eyebrow at her reaction. Jones looked at him and shrugged.

"Why?" She asked at an even greater volume.

Jones placed a hand on her shoulder. "You didn't know her?"

Jen realized that her reaction must be confusing them. It was confusing her as well. She'd hardly known Livi. They had agreed on almost nothing. But the woman had absolutely saved her life. "Why would a stranger rescue me and then kill herself?"

A nurse rushed into the room. "Everything okay in here?"

The three of them turned to look at her. Glade spoke up. "Ms. Golden just got some upsetting news."

"Your blood pressure shot up." The nurse shouldered her way past Detective Jones and looked at the read out on the machine. She took a moment to glare at the detectives. "Take nice, slow, easy breaths," she said to Jennifer.

Jennifer did as she was told. Her stomach was doing flips. Her mind was churning. But somehow she got her blood pressure to settle down. _Why_ was the only word she could focus on.

"Don't let this happen again, gentlemen." The nurse stared at each of the men for a full second. Both of the well-trained, armed men shrunk under her gaze.

"I'm sorry to upset you, Jen," Jones said. "We're as confused as you are."

"Why would somebody do that?" She leaned back on her pillows and stared into the distance.

## 16

Detective Jones and his fiancée showed up at the hospital in New Braunfels the day that Jennifer was released from the hospital. She was taken to their car in a wheel chair. One of her nurses had gotten a set of scrubs for her to wear home because her clothing had either been largely destroyed, or taken into evidence.

She was sent home with instructions to make arrangements to see an eye doctor, a neurologist, a physical therapist, and a psychiatrist. All Jennifer wanted to see was her bed. As they had weaned her medication levels down, she had gotten less and less sleep in the hospital.

Recovery was exhausting.

Detective, and soon to be Mrs. Jones, helped her settle in. They offered to run to the grocery store for her since Jen hadn't been cleared to drive. As pathetic as she felt, she was about to take them up on their offer when her doorbell rang. Her neighbor from across the street had made her a casserole and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

Prior to that moment, their deepest connection had been pleasant greetings at the mailboxes. At that moment, Jennifer realized just how thoroughly Malcolm had been able to isolate her. Tears flowed freely out of her good eye as she thanked the lady.

The neighbor pressed a piece of paper into her hand. "I'm Graciela. Call me if you need anything."

"That's so kind," Jen clasped her hand.

"It's a little selfish," Graciela told her. "I just retired and I'm a little bit bored." She smiled sweetly.

Jennifer laughed and thanked her again. She also thanked the detective and promised to call them if she needed anything. But in truth she never expected, or planned, to see him again.

### ***

Sherry sat down next to her husband on the sofa and put her hand on his knee.

He looked down, and then back up at her. "Uh oh." He said. "What now?"

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "How long are you going to stay angry with Monica?"

"As long as it takes," he said. "Do you see why I don't want you fixing her up with Sara? She could have gotten herself killed."

"I understand, Ben. I'll table the idea for a while."

He grunted. "That was too easy," he said suspiciously.

"What kind of trouble is she in?"

"Nothing official. Nothing she did was technically illegal, just very, very ill advised. Even unofficially, though, it's going to negatively affect her career for a while. She's got to toe the line. She's going to have to be ten times better than anyone else just to be seen as an equal."

"Are her fellow officers making her life difficult?"

"Pfft," he waved his hand in the air, "some of 'em think what she did was heroic."

Sherry leaned away and looked at him. "And you don't?"

Ben was quiet for a long time. He finally sighed. "The way she handled herself after she got embroiled in the situation was... okay. But getting herself into that mess to begin with was unacceptable."

"Is she alright?"

"She's having a hard time after seeing that Carrasco woman blow her brains out right in front of her." He shrugged, "to be honest, Sherry, I don't know what's going to happen to her."

"A little support from you might go a long way, Ben."

"I'll think about it."

"There's something else I want you to think about while you're at it."

He shook his head vigorously. "I knew it! I knew it wasn't going to be that easy."

"Remember when I asked you how you'd feel if I introduced Sharon to Doug?"

"Aw, shit, Sherry," he put his head in his hands.

She laughed at her husband. "She's coming for dinner on Friday evening."

### ***

At the suggestion of her captain, Monica Martinez had opted to use some of her leave time. At the stringent suggestion of the department, she had opted to seek counseling for her involvement in the suicide of Olivia Carrasco.

Judy's best friend was a therapist who had agreed to arrange her schedule to see Monica for five sessions during her two-week vacation. Monica wasn't sure what a therapist could do to help erase the images of Livi's suicide from her mind, but she was grateful that everyone was going to such lengths to accommodate her.

Without her job, she had little to occupy her brain, and had spent a great deal of time dwelling on the night that Livi had died. She had played the scene over and over, seeking an answer as to what she should have done differently. It disrupted her ability to think. It disrupted her ability to focus. And it disrupted her ability to sleep. In the end, Monica had concluded that with the deputies only seconds behind her, Livi would have most likely chosen to take her own life whether Monica was present at the scene or not.

Reaching that conclusion, however, did not stop the scene from playing again. Nor did it help Monica sleep any better at night. She wondered if driving down to Atascosa County and talking to Nora Carrasco would make her feel better. Monica thought it might be of some comfort to Nora to know that when she died, Livi was neither afraid, nor uncertain of her decision.

Monica had also thought that paying a visit to the rescued Jennifer Golden might lift her spirits. Seeing something tangible that Olivia had accomplished, and seeing a once terrified hostage, alive and well, sounded like more than any counseling session could ever promise. For the sake of whatever career she had left, she decided that staying in her apartment, and out of trouble, until it was time to go spill her guts to Dr. Ivy, was not just the best choice, but the only choice she could make.

Detective Sherman called to check up on her every few days. Though she couldn't be completely honest with him about the jumble of emotions that ran through her every five minutes, it was a wonderful feeling to be connected to someone in the department. It was even better to get occasional updates as information came in.

It turned out that the owner of the property, Wade Jansen was Malcolm Cole's great uncle. He was the brother of Cole's maternal grandmother. It was a wonder that Judy had been able to connect the two of them at all, and no surprise that she hadn't been able to get any further than she had.

Remains, presumably Jansen, had been found in a shallow grave under one of the derelict vehicles that sat rusting behind the house. There were no overt signs of foul play in Jansen's demise. No notification of Jansen's death had ever been made, thus Jansen's social security, and retirement pay were still being direct deposited into his checking account every month. Someone, presumably Cole, had been regularly spending the money via a debit card in Jansen's name. Had he survived, the list of charges against Cole would have put him away for a long time.

The list of charges against Livi would have put her away for life. Ballistics from the slugs retrieved from Cole's body were a match in the deaths of at least two other serial abusers. Monica had been right all along. There was a vigilante. And it was Olivia Carrasco.

Monica knew she had good instincts. She thought that she might make a good detective someday... if she ever got out of patrol division.

## 17

At her first appointment, the ophthalmologist had cleared Jennifer to drive. On her drive home, it made her feel less guilty for having driven herself to his office. When she arrived home that afternoon, she returned a call to Detective Jones who had called to let her know that she could retrieve her .38 Special from the department at her convenience. She called and told him that with Malcolm no longer a threat, she no longer had need of a weapon. She asked if the police department would please dispose of the gun for her.

She hadn't yet been cleared to return to work, nor had she the desire to do so. She spent most hours of the day and night, wandering through her house, alternately checking locks, and peering out of windows. She barely ate, and when she slept, she had nightmares. While she was awake, she was plagued with visions and memories of Malcolm Cole. Though he was dead, he was alive and well inside her head.

When her pain level had become manageable without narcotics, she had considered switching to wine, or over-the-counter sleep aides to help her get through the night. Both the alcohol and the pills made her feel groggy. And feeling groggy reminded her of the night that she had succumbed to the drug in her pitcher of tea, the night Malcolm had come for her. The sleep aides had gone into the trash, and the wine had been corked for future consideration.

In the end, the only thing Jen derived any comfort from was the memory of Olivia blasting a hole in Mac's body. When she could not sleep, she ran through the scenario of Olivia's arrival, and Mac's subsequent death, over and over again. She tried not to embellish the scene, as she wanted to remember it exactly the way it happened. It was the moment that Jennifer had been truly liberated. It was the first moment of the rest of her life. She knew that she would get past her anxieties and live a full, productive life. It was the best way that she could think of to honor Livi's sacrifice.

Using that vision to comfort herself, she started progressing. She checked the locks less often, she slept a couple of hours a night, she started taking stock of her life and thinking about her future. She decided that it was time to sort through and clear Malcolm's crap out of her garage.

She pulled the heavy door up just enough that air could get in, but not enough that anyone larger than a cat could enter the garage. She shoved the handful of boxes that had belonged to him to one side and began going through them. She had the lids of her garbage can and recycling bin open and was chucking items into each can as she went. Occasionally she found something that might be useful to someone, and set it aside to donate. At the bottom of the second to the last box, she found a medium-sized, hard-sided travel case.

Inside the case, she found the essence of Malcolm Cole, or, rather the essence of who Malcolm Cole had wanted to be. The case contained a tactical knife, a pair of handcuffs, two hand guns, a variety of holsters, several boxes of ammunition, and a very neatly folded jail guard uniform and cap.

Jennifer sat staring into the open case for a long time while memories of Livi battled with memories of Malcolm. When she'd had enough, she closed the case, picked it up by the handle and took it inside. After forcing herself to eat a protein bar she went back to her living room, lifted the case onto her coffee table and reopened it.

She withdrew the light blue guard shirt and let it unfold in front of her. There was a round patch on each sleeve, and a shield shaped patch on the left front chest, identifying him as a guard. A nameplate was pinned above the shield shaped patch. It said M. Cole. She stood up and put the shirt on. It was a size too large for her.

Jennifer removed the nameplate and took it to the kitchen trash. She rummaged through her catch all drawer and found a pair of scissors. Back in the living room she carefully removed all of the identifying patches from the shirt. She put it back on, buttoned it and pulled it back at the sides to see how far it would need to be taken in to be wearable. She hadn't used her sewing machine in over a year. There would be some trial and error involved.

She pulled the dark blue pants from the case and held them up to see if anything needed to be removed from the pants. Satisfied that they were unmarked she turned her attention to the cap, which boasted the same shield shaped patch she had just removed from the shirt. She picked up the scissors and went to work on the patch.

That night, Jen slept almost four hours.

In the morning she went to a store that sold used and refurbished computers. She paid cash for a small laptop that was no more than two years old. She drove to a strip center and carried her laptop into Starbucks. She ordered a large coffee, tucked herself into a corner, connected to the free wifi and started researching a variety of topics. When she had accomplished what she needed, she turned the computer off, dropped it into the trunk of her car and drove home. She repeated the ritual daily, each time in a different coffee shop. A week later, Jennifer felt that she had learned what she needed to know in order to take the next step in her new life.

### ***

In the middle of a warm summer afternoon, Jen left the house in her altered uniform and a dark blue, unlined windbreaker. She was wearing light tan gloves and sunglasses with yellow lenses. At a distance, the gloves would look like bare hands, and the lenses helped conceal the remainder of the bruising around her right eye and cheek. She was carrying a cardboard shipping box, and a hand drawn map. Her mobile phone was turned off and stored in the center console of her car.

Without even having to consult her map, she made her way to, and through a less than savory side of town, to the dead-end street she was looking for. The street ended at the bank of a small creek bed, and was blocked by a metal guardrail.

She made a U-turn at the end of the short street and pulled up in front of a small, dirty, white house. Even in a neighborhood where the houses were poorly cared for, this one stood out as being the worst of the bunch. The house next door had been demolished, the debris left where it had fallen. The yard between the two properties was filled with so much refuse that it looked like a landfill dumpsite. The yard on the other side was overgrown with brush and weeds.

Jennifer scanned the area. Satisfied that no one was around, she tucked the shipping box under her right arm and stepped out of her car. She pulled the blue cap down over her forehead and headed for the front door.

The man who answered her knock, looked her up and down upon opening the door. "What can I do for you," he leered.

"I have a delivery for John Derrick."

"That's me," he patted his chest. "Who's it from?' He asked with a little suspicion in his voice.

"It's from Malcolm Cole."

Derrick narrowed his eyes at her. "Cole's dead."

"This was found among his possessions. It was clearly meant for you."

Intrigued, Derrick swung the door open.

Jen reached into the left pocket of her windbreaker and quickly withdrew a small .38 semi-automatic. She pointed it at his chest. "Hands behind your head, Derrick."

"What the fuck?"

"Hands behind your head," she barked.

He complied. "What is this?"

"Back up," she said, waving the pistol at him.

He took two steps back. "Are you a cop?"

"No. I'm a delivery girl." She smirked and stepped inside the disarrayed house. Cole wanted you to have this, but he also told me all about you, how you tend to treat women. So, I'm not taking any chances." She closed the front door behind her. "Keep moving backwards."

There was a mismatched grouping of furniture in the center of the small living room. A sofa and two chairs surrounded a coffee table that was covered in ashtrays, beer cans, and porn magazines. Derrick backed up until his legs bumped one of the chairs. "If you really are here on Cole's behalf, I would never hurt you," he said with what sounded like sincerity. He started to lower his hands.

She stepped closer to him. "Hands behind your head. This is your last warning." Using the delivery box, she shoved some of the debris on the table aside and set down the package. She bent slightly and opened the flaps of the box.

He was watching her with rapt attention.

She reached into the box and pulled out a larger gun than the one she held in her left hand. She held the revolver up with the barrel pointed at the ceiling. "This is for you."

His eyes grew wide. "A gun? For me?" In his excitement, he started to lower his hands again.

"Hands," Jen said.

He put his hands back behind his head. "Unregistered?"

She nodded.

"Awesome. Why does it have a plastic soda bottle taped to the barrel?"

"That's a homemade silencer," she said.

His glowing eyes met hers. "Even more awesome. Does it work?"

Jen pointed the gun at his chest and pulled the trigger.

Derrick dropped to his knees.

Jennifer was pleasantly surprised by how little noise the gun had emitted. "Yep," she said, "it works."

Derrick slumped to the floor. A pool of blood blossomed beneath him while his lifeless eyes stared up at her.

Jen placed both the semi-automatic and the revolver with the blown apart soda bottle stuck to it back into the delivery box. She reached into the pocket of her pants and pulled out a tiny digital camera. She leaned down and snapped a photo of the late John Derrick. She tucked the camera back into her pocket and the package back under her arm. She turned the thumb lock on the doorknob, and closed the front door.

That night she slept like a baby.

## 18

In the morning, Jen made herself scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast. It was the most she had eaten in months. It felt good. She felt nourished and rested. She felt at peace.

She grabbed an overnight bag and stuffed a change of clothes into it. She went to the bathroom and grabbed a toothbrush, and all of the medications she'd been taking, both over the counter and prescriptions. She locked her door and got in the car. With the help of a little research and her GPS enabled smart phone she made her way through the city and into Atascosa County.

Nora answered the door and stared at Jennifer through the screen door. She folded her arms over her chest.

"Is there anyone else here?" Jen asked.

"No. I moved everyone along when I heard the news about my sister in law.

"Olivia saved my life," Jen said.

"I'm aware of that," Nora's voice was flat, but even through the screen Jennifer could see the grief in her eyes. "Is that all you needed to say?"

"I'm sorry that she took her life. I don't understand the decision but I respect that it was her choice. I just don't think her work was finished."

"As far as Livi was concerned," Nora conceded, "it was never going to be finished. It was always going to end this way."

"I came up with a way to honor her sacrifice." When Nora failed to respond, Jen continued. "Did you hear about that dead girl in the park? The one who was tortured and all cut up?"

Nora nodded slowly.

"Before Livi shot him, Malcolm told me who killed that girl." She reached into the outer pocket of her overnight bag and pulled out her little digital camera. She pushed the button to turn it on. "His name was John Derrick." She held the screen of the camera up so Nora could see the photo.

"Was?" She opened the screen and took the camera. After seeing the picture clearly, her head jerked up, her eyes searching Jen's eyes. "You?"

"I'm not trying to take Olivia's place. I just want to help complete her work."

Nora stepped aside and held open the door to her home.

### ###

Thank you for reading this story!

I hope that you enjoyed it, and will leave me a review at the retailer of your choice.

If you noticed any typos or other errors, please notify me by email. It would help if you would provide the nature of the error, as well as the chapter and paragraph in which it is located. My email address and all other contact information can be found below.

Thanks!

Heather Mace

About the Author

Heather Mace lives happily in San Antonio, Texas with her wife, and a crazy cat lady starter kit. When she's not writing, she is working on one of her many home improvement projects, playing video games, or building space ships out of Lego.

Other Titles by Heather Mace

### Mortal Coil

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