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  “You forgot the timer for the lights. You know I hate coming home to a dark house—”

  “Huh? I checked the timer before I left—”

  “Mark, I don’t want to hear it. The damn lights are off, so that means you didn’t check it.”

  “Cindy, I’m sure I did—”

  “Whatever. I’m too tired to argue with you. I just want to take a nice hot bath and fall into bed.” Cindy sighed.

  “Late night? Or should I say early morning?”

  “Fuck off, Mark.”

  “Maybe I did forget. I just called to tell you…won’t be home, until the day after tomorrow—”

  “You told me tomorrow…why do you have to stay?” Cindy exited, slamming the car door behind her.

  “I have a meeting with the vice president of marketing tomorrow night.”

  Asshole. She pushed the button on the wall as the garage door started to close. “We have cruise tickets.”

  “I know, but what do you want me to do? He is the vice president.”

  “Mark, I told you about this. It’s important we spend time together…especially since, it’s damn close to Christmas. Don’t you care?” Cindy stopped at the back door, placing the key into the lock.

  “I care, but this is my job—”

  “That’s what I always hear. I gotta go.” She threw the door open. It bounced hard against the wall, causing a picture to crash onto the floor. “Fuck!” She flicked a switch as the overhead lights flickered on. Finally, some light.

  “Cindy, wait—”

  She flipped the phone on the table. “Serves you right. Now I have to clean up this mess,” Cindy mumbled to herself. She scrambled to locate a broom and dustpan. A few minutes later, she was emptying the remaining shards of glass into the trash when she heard the sound of something heavy landing on living room floor. Shit, gotta call the police. She reached for her phone, but it was no longer where she left it. Someone’s in the house. Another loud crash followed.

  “Hello? Is anyone here?” I need another plan. Cindy backed up to the block where the butcher knives were sheathed. Both of her hands trembled as she fumbled trying to remove one of the sharp objects. I wish Mark was here. Cindy placed both hands at the base of the weapon and started to inch her way towards the living room.

  “My husband is coming home, so you better leave.” Cindy stared into the darkness, grabbing the knife tighter. She reached the edge of the living room and raised her voice even louder. “I don’t want any trouble…just leave!”

  Cindy removed one hand from the blade, reaching out in search for the light switch. She ran her hand along the inside of the wall until her fingers felt the smooth surface of the panel. Thank God. Cindy didn’t hesitate flipping them all, which abruptly engulfed the room with light. She put the other hand back onto the knife, prepared to strike out at whoever came into her line of vision. After scanning the spacious area, she realized what was responsible for causing the unexplained sound. I really must have slammed the door hard.

  She loosened her grip on the knife, placing it down on the mantle above the fireplace. Cindy bent over and picked up a large wood carving resembling the body of a Saber-tooth Tiger. Satisfied there was no damage, she placed it back on the mantle. I’m just being paranoid.

  Cindy walked back into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine from the rack. This should calm my nerves. She poured herself a goblet full and headed up the stairs. Time for some relaxation. At her bedroom door, she began to shed her clothes. She stood in front of the mirrored closet for several minutes, obsessing about the usual physical imperfections as a woman in her late forties was known to do.

  Cindy finished off her drink, exiting in the direction of the master bath. After pulling open the ivory curtain, she turned on the water. Time for a little more wine. Cindy rushed down the stairs, grabbing the bottle from the table.

  On her way back up, she realized she couldn’t hear the water running. What the fuck? Cindy stopped at the top of the stairs. Was Mark here and playing games with her?

  “Mark, you asshole, is that you?” Bravery set in as she stormed the master bath. Nothing. What’s going on?

  “Hey, Mark, if you’re here, I’m going to kick your ass.”

  By entering the bathroom, Cindy cut out any opportunity for escape. The dark, masked figure slipped out from her bedroom and was just a few feet from the bathroom doorway, hidden in the shadows.

  Cindy restarted her bath and turned to walk out, but the man made his presence known as his large frame filled the doorway. His sudden appearance startled Cindy as she back peddled, losing her balance and falling. A scream erupted from the woman when her shoulder caught the edge of the porcelain toilet. Instantly, the man was on top of her. She tried to fend him off, but his gloved hand clasped around her throat and quickly closed her airway. Although she was losing consciousness, she was still able to see the silver-edged blade as it flashed high above her.

  Cindy tried to lift herself off the ground, but it was all in vain. The next thing she felt was the sharpness of the steel as it penetrated her naked flesh.

  “Ah!” she screamed, trying to push the intruder off.

  Her feet lifted off the ground in an attempt to kick, but before she could get enough strength to deliver a blow, another throbbing sensation coursed through her. This time, she saw the blood flow from her. Cindy tried to bring her hands up but was too weak, and her arms just flailed aimlessly.

  The last sensation Cindy Palentine felt was the knife as it left a deep trail along her jugular, ending all of her future hopes or dreams.

  Chapter Nine

  Patrick Morgan was sitting in the living room, detangling Christmas lights with five-year-old Kelsey when his wife entered the room. The disappointed look on Coral Morgan’s face said it all. She held the cordless out to him. Shit, family time over, he thought.

  “Pat, it’s your boss.”

  Patrick shook his head, taking it from her. “Yes, sir.”

  “Morgan, cancel your day off. We got another dead woman. South side, 2111 Cedar Street. Meet me there in twenty.”

  Patrick walked to the kitchen, rubbing his forehead. “Is it Jamie Brooks?”

  “No, some woman named Tamara Bowers…seems she’s been missing from work for a few days. One of the other employees stopped by to check on her and discovered the body.”

  “Same method?”

  “Let’s put it this way…the girl who found her had to be given a sedative.”

  Fuck. “I’m on the way.” Patrick put the phone back in the cradle.

  Coral intercepted him in the kitchen as he was leaving. “Not tonight, Pat. Kelsey really needs you. She has been sleeping all day, just hoping to stay up and do the tree together. She’s getting worse—”

  “What do you mean worse?”

  “Twice today she told me it was hard to breathe.”

  Patrick shook his head. “Did you call Dr. Simons?”

  Coral touched him on the arm. “He wants us to bring her to the Children’s Hospital early next week.”

  Patrick clipped his badge onto his belt. “For surgery?”

  “He mentioned a few tests need to be done, but it sounds like it.”

  “I thought they wanted to wait until she was six.”

  Coral leaned her head on his chest. “I’m sorry…this is my fault—”

  He wrapped his arms around her. “No, I won’t let you do that. We knew the risk, and we decided to try again.”

  “If I was healthier, maybe the miscarriages wouldn’t have happened, and Kelsey wouldn’t have to pay for my selfishness.”

  Not your fault. God did this to us. Patrick felt the anger seep into his face, so he closed his eyes. “I need to go…let’s talk about this tomorrow. It’s probably going to be a long night…don’t wait up.” Patrick kissed her on the cheek.

  Coral smiled. “Please be careful. We need you around here. Kelsey needs you now…more than ever.”

  Patrick peeked into the next room. H
is daughter sat on the floor, piecing together a nativity set. I’ll never understand how people can have confidence in something they can’t see.

  “Coral, I gotta go.” He then walked over and kissed his daughter on the head before he hurried out the door.

  * * *

  Patrick stopped at the yellow crime scene tape. The patrol officer manning the area recognized him and allowed him to pass through the front door. The smell of vanilla incense hit him with full force, and he followed it, leading him to a set of double doors. They appeared to be held open by thick bands of the familiar barbwire used on the first victim. Definitely same guy.

  Patrick’s view into the room was limited as several uniformed officers were amassed directly in the center. Cromartie was the focal point of the crowd, barking orders at one of the young evidence techs. Patrick was almost blinded by the onslaught of white flashes coming from the various cameras.

  Cromartie noticed Patrick had arrived and motioned towards him. “Morgan, take a look at this,” he bellowed.

  Patrick forced his way through the crowd, finally reaching his boss. He looked down in horror. The crime scene was almost an exact replica of the previous murder, including the table in front of the victim. The surface was streaked with blood, and a butcher knife was again left in the center of the table.

  Cromartie stared at him. “Tamara Bowers, thirty-six years old and recently divorced. Her ex lives in Des Moines. The local PD there will be keeping an eye out for us.”

  He didn’t do this, Patrick thought. “Uh, huh. Doesn’t hurt to look at him.”

  Cromartie ignored him. “This sicko followed the pattern…like the first one. Even down to the candles. However, the barbwire holding that door open is different.”

  Patrick kneeled down next to the bloodied woman. “Looks like he wanted to show off.”

  “Yeah, the wounds are in the same place.” Cromartie pointed at the woman’s feet and the steel protruding from them.

  “But take a look right here.”

  Cromartie leaned in. “What?”

  Patrick slipped on latex gloves and picked up the black candles, one at a time. “All of these are almost down to the wick. The others at the first crime scene were practically new.”

  Cromartie picked one up. “So, we can establish some time pattern on when the murders occurred…good thinking.”

  “Just an observation…I could be wrong.” Not really. This guy seemed to be a creature of habit.

  Cromartie clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good observation.”

  Patrick shifted his position, inspecting the barbwire handcuffs. “See where her hands are tied and how the barbwire is wrapped? This would take time…lots of time.”

  Cromartie nodded. “The door was left unlocked, but no signs of forced entry besides that.”

  “She may have known her killer.” Patrick stared into the woman’s lifeless eyes.

  Cromartie pointed to a middle-aged patrol officer. “Simpson, go check with your officers, and see if they found any other people who may have known this woman.”

  “Roger that, sir. I will canvass the area and let you know.”

  Patrick stood up, reaching for the butcher knife. “Just threw it on the table…not even worried about taking it with him.”

  “Maybe he left a print on this one.” Cromartie handed him a paper bag.

  I don’t think so…not gonna be that easy. Patrick closed the bag. “Who found her?”

  Cromartie pulled a notebook from his jacket. He thumbed through until he found the page he wanted. “Melanie Oliver. She and Bowers worked at the chain bookstore…Pinkerton’s.”

  “Pretty upscale bookstore,” Patrick noted.

  Cromartie shook his head. “Never been. Well, Oliver told officers that the victim hasn’t been at work for three days.”

  “Hmm. Is Ms. Oliver around here somewhere?”

  “Actually, she is. We called an ambulance for her…appeared to be in shock at what she found. EMTs gave her something to calm her down.”

  Who wouldn’t need something after that? “I think the quicker we talk to her, the better.”

  “If she isn’t totally drugged out.” Cromartie unclipped his portable radio. He pushed down on the transmitter. “Officer Alexander, how is our witness doing?”

  The radio squelched. “Commander, she appears to be doing a lot better. Do you need her up there?”

  Cromartie clicked the button. “No, we will be there in a while.”

  “10-4, sir,” Officer Alexander responded.

  A few minutes later, Patrick and Cromartie went to meet the witness at the back of the building. Officer Alexander stood at the back steps. Melanie Oliver, a young woman, maybe all of twenty, was clutching the officer’s coat. She was not overly attractive, and her jet black hair appeared to have flecks of glitter in it.

  Patrick smiled. “Hi, I’m Detective Morgan, and this is Commander Cromartie. I know you answered some questions for the other officer here, but I just have a few—”

  Tears started to stream down her face. “Tamara’s feet were nailed to the fucking floor. I’ve never seen anything that bloody.”

  Neither have I, until last week. “Melanie, how did Tamara get along with other people at work?”

  “I guess ok…she was pretty cool to hang out with.” She wrung her hands. “I was just coming here to check on her. Don’t understand it, though…”

  “What do you mean?

  “Well, her Durango is parked at the bookstore. Weird she left it there.”

  Very weird, Patrick thought. He jotted it down in his notebook.

  “Did you guys hang out at all?” Patrick asked.

  Melanie bit her fingernails. “Sort of. We got drunk…if that’s what you mean about hanging out.”

  “That’s what I mean. A lot of people get drunk with you two?”

  “Nah, some of the guys thought she was too flirty for being old, you know?”

  If thirty-six is old, I’m in trouble. Patrick grinned. “So, none of the guys liked her flirting with them?”

  She looked down. “Don’t think so. She did have a guy who stared at her a lot, though.”

  Patrick cocked his head. “A boyfriend?”

  “No, not a boyfriend…you know she was married once?”

  “Yes, old people sometimes get married.” Patrick chuckled. “So, no boyfriend, but someone came to visit her?”

  Melanie scratched her head. “I’m not sure, but there was a guy who would watch her when she was in the store.”

  Maybe something here. “Did she ever talk to this gentleman?”

  “I don’t know for sure.” Melanie shrugged. “There was one thing about him I’ll never forget.”

  Patrick exchanged looks with Cromartie. “What was that?”

  “He was sort of strange looking.”

  “Strange?”

  “Yeah, this dude, his skin was the color of snow…maybe not that white but weird.”

  That can’t be a coincidence. “Do you mean albino?”

  “Is that what they call it? Yes, albino sounds right.”

  Serena Owens had first mentioned the man she saw had the strange color of skin; now, it was Melanie Brooks who saw possibly the same person. “Melanie, this is very important. Have you seen this man since Tamara’s been gone?”

  “No…not that I remember.”

  “You’re pretty sure he hasn’t been around?”

  “Detective, I would remember his face anywhere. I haven’t seen him around at all.”

  She would remember that face, I’m sure of it. Patrick stood up. “Melanie, would you be able to sit down with a sketch artist and give him a description?”

  She bit more fiercely on her nails. “I can try…not promising anything, but I’ll try for you.”

  Patrick touched her shoulder. “Great. Anything you can do is appreciated. I’ll get it set up.” Patrick stood up and waved for Cromartie to follow.

  “I think we may have something.” Patrick showed
him the notes from the interview with Serena.

  “Sounds like more than a fucking coincidence.” Cromartie handed him back the green notebook.

  Patrick pocketed it. “I’ll check with Pinkerton’s other staff and see if the store caught him on video.”

  “Good idea; keep me updated. I’ll drive her down to the station so we can get the sketch guy on it.” Cromartie started to walk away but turned around. “One more thing she said that’s giving me the fucking willies. The woman’s Durango is parked at the bookstore. My question is why?”

  No goddamn way. Patrick’s face turned white. “Someone gave her a ride home.”

  “And that someone sounds like it might be the albino.” Comartie pointed at him.

  Makes sense, Patrick thought. “You think he did something to the car?”

  “Would it surprise you?”

  Patrick shook his head. “At this point, nothing would surprise me…nothing at all.”

  Chapter Ten

  Brandon Thornley stared out the window, admiring the falling snow as it blanketed his backyard. This was his favorite time of year, not because of the holidays, as one would think. No, it was something else. The arrival of winter, to him, was a cleansing of the entire year, as it completed a mysterious cycle. Mysterious…like me. Raising the window, he was immediately accosted by the frigid air.

  He stood there for quite some time until he was interrupted by the chiming sound of his computer, knowing it was an alert from Konnect2u. Excellent…more people to choose from. Brandon sat down in front of the monitor in anticipation of finding someone new to satisfy his surging hunger. The screen popped up, showing several profile pictures. He tapped the mouse and scrolled through the information, deleting several of the requests without giving them fair consideration. Not interesting enough for me. When he was done, only two names remained for contention in his deadly game.

  Melody Slavine was a dark-haired nineteen-year-old gothic artist, and for her age, she was actually quite famous. Brandon recognized several of the designs on her profile, as they corresponded with some of the wall prints hanging in the hallways of Langston Security Solutions. Very fitting.