With a grin on my face, I continued raking the coins closer. “Now, we’re cookin’.”

  “You mean you are. What are you going to do with your latest squeeze?” Chase leaned back in his chair, planting his arms behind his head.

  “I just don’t know. I thought about taking a drive to the Federal Coleman Complex.” The maximum security prison was about four hours away.

  “For what reason, obtaining a confession that Wells has been covering up for a ghost? You know he couldn’t have made the phone calls, but a single call of your own would confirm that.” Kendrick’s teasing continued.

  “I don’t know what I’m interested in hearing him say. If a single visitation is what it takes to move the needle on truth and justice, then he can believe in the tooth fairy for all I care. Those victims deserve true justice and if the real killer is still out there, manipulating the decoy while using alternative killing methods, then all efforts to discover the truth need to be exhausted.”

  As always occurred when we discussed potential missions we’d undertake, there was scrutiny all around. As there should be.

  “If that’s what you think you need to do.” Hudson wasn’t so certain I was doing the right thing.

  “Look, I know how these cases wear you down,” Chase threw in. “But you need to keep in mind that jumping with both feet into the backside of the case that still haunts you to this day isn’t going to soothe the demons who’ve been chomping at the bit to get to the actual truth. And don’t tell me that very issue hasn’t bugged you for years.”

  “Yeah, it has. So what the hell should I do? Just let her walk away?” Not a chance in hell. I’d already figured that out. I couldn’t allow her to leave. At least not so easily.

  “If even a single family member is listed on the lineage, then I say head to the prison and have a little chat.”

  Chase’s idea was a good one, full of common sense.

  “But don’t go shooting off your mouth to anyone in the court system. Judges get a little testy after a dozen years go by.” Hudson lifted an eyebrow, half laughing.

  “I hear you. I’ll wait.” Although I wasn’t known as a man of patience. “Deal the cards. Now, I need to make a phone call.”

  “Let me guess,” Chase said as he grabbed my arm. “A little protective custody?”

  “What could it hurt? Two phone calls that I’d say should be considered threats. She’s pigheaded and thinks carrying a weapon in her purse is all she needs.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Exactly.”

  Chase and I had gotten closer over the years. Enough so I knew when he was offering a warning. Not about the judicial system or pissing off a judge or a prosecutor, but about my psyche.

  Shit like this didn’t just change a man. It destroyed all aspects of goodness inside.

  CHAPTER 11

  Alexia

  “Do you dream in color?”

  The monster’s first question after following me into the bookstore. For anyone who’d overheard, the inquiry had likely seemed odd, especially to a stranger. But since I’d gone into the store searching for a book on dreams for a school project, I’d believed the man’s directness was nothing more than creative flirting.

  What I couldn’t remember was my answer. Knowing me, I would have come back with a snarky quip. Pushing the guy to see what he was made of. Not remembering had bugged me for all thirteen years. I did remember we’d spoken for maybe five minutes before he’d left.

  No pressure. No sense of being uncomfortable.

  He’d selected a book and headed to the cashier without so much as making a single pass. Yes, we’d talked, but it hadn’t seemed creepy that I could remember. That’s why when I’d noticed him again, I hadn’t felt an immediate sense of alarm. My first real mistake. Maybe my second. By then I’d been chosen.

  If I was right about the real killer, maybe his method of abducting and killing would change, but it was my belief that he’d always use creative methods for selecting the women he considered lucky enough to be tasked for his projects. They needed talent in some area. At the time, I’d been involved in the arts department at my high school. I’d learned later so had the few other girls I’d managed to talk to.

  That was the only similarity I’d discovered.

  The man hadn’t been particularly memorable, certainly not someone who would imprint even a single image in the back of my mind. Even today, I couldn’t form even a foggy picture of his face.

  However, there would be no way of forgetting his smile or the deep sound of his laugh. But now, as I tried to remember certain details, including his eyes, all I could see in the distinct fog of my brain was the wisp of dark hair sweeping into one eye. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t paid much attention to the color.

  I’d seen him again twice more. The first time hadn’t raised any red flags. He’d been on his phone, ready to catch a cab.

  The third time had been when every nerve had been on end. Rightfully so. I’d had a strange call the night before and an email received during school hours.

  Cut to thirteen years later. I was in my office, staring out the window at my bleak environment. My view was terrible. A parking lot and part of a dilapidated building under renovation, including the side facing an alley, the ugly street housing now both a commercial and a construction dumpster.

  That had been my luxurious view for a couple of months. Before that I’d been drawn to the dumpster used by several small businesses, using the imaginary side of my brain to create horrifying scenarios for thriller novels, including dead bodies found buried inside. I’d even thought about sending a couple of my more indulgent and very dark thoughts to the famous author.

  I hadn’t.

  Instead, I’d stalked him like the bastard from all those years ago had done to me. I hadn’t realized that’s what he’d done to all his victims until years later after I was in the business.

  I’d all but ravaged the police department where the records had been kept. That’s when I’d learned more about Maverick. However, I hadn’t lied to him. My best friend Sandra had turned me onto his books.

  That’s when the crazy idea of talking to him in person had been born. Along with a few nefarious thoughts after I’d made it happen.

  The various employee vehicles dotted areas of the broken pavement, including an older SUV I hadn’t seen before. With a man sitting inside, where he’d been since I’d arrived at work. Somehow, I doubted he was a member of the Miami-Dade police force, even off duty. Why? Because I’d caught him using his phone to take a picture and there was nothing about the building where I worked that was of any interest, including the cheap architecture.

  The man also wasn’t the one I’d sworn I’d seen outside my house. Or maybe it was. Or maybe I was losing my mind since the same petrifying fear was started to become an issue.

  What I did know for certain was that my hero had decided to ignore my plea and his promise by having me followed. Perhaps my emotions were a little all over the place, but that irritated the hell out of me. At least I’d have a decent excuse to give him a piece of my mind.

  Laughing, I leaned against the wall, trying to rationalize what little I knew. A whole lot of nothing and Maverick was right. I certainly couldn’t go off half-cocked when all I had was a strange phone call that meant nothing.

  Except for the question the bastard had asked as soon as I answered the phone. “Do you dream in color?”

  Yes, I’d told Maverick about it all those years ago. And yes, it was possible the clue had leaked after the fact.

  However, hearing the question had driven the fear of God into me. Now, I just needed to keep fact from fear and fiction. I’d changed my number. If he contacted me again, I’d go to the police. That might keep me from losing all the strength I’d gained over the years.

  What happened when a person’s life began to unravel completely? I’d certainly feared the nasty discovery. I’d also been forced to admit that I’d been put back together with duct tape and hot glue after being saved. Those types of repairs didn’t last. The monster had acted as if he knew I was barely hanging onto reality with my fingernails digging into a decaying piece of wood. There I went again with my creative if not morbid mind spouting off shit.

  I noticed my boss’s reflection in the waning sunlight before she knocked. She’d stood just long enough staring at me to offer a hint of concern. I wasn’t a mind reader but I was damn good with my instincts. I’d ruffled one too many feathers with recent questions.

  The knock was light and as soon as I turned around, I acted as if I was clueless. She closed the door behind her, immediately heading to the other side of the window. Betty Landers was my mentor, a highly respected woman who took no shit from anyone.

  As soon as I’d interviewed with her for an internship, we’d hit it off. I’d been hired the next day, working with her and the team for two summers. The moment I’d passed the bar, I’d had a job offer. Since then, I’d worked my butt off, including long hours, holidays, and weekends for the cause. Which was protecting victims. As I’d told Maverick, she was one of a handful of people who knew about Maria Rivera’s involvement with Samuel Wells.

  “Word on the street is you’re asking questions about the upcoming execution as well as about the missing attorney.” Her voice was more comforting than I was used to. What I adored about her more than her uncanny ability to discover the truth was how she never minced words. Maybe that’s where I’d nurtured my ballsy personality.

  There was no way of lying to her.

  Nodding, I gave her the courtesy of turning to face her while we talked. “I believe it’s prudent to ask questions before a man loses his life. Especially if there’s even a tiny chance he’s not the killer. There’s a woman’s life on the line.” I was fearful there’d be more.

  Her eyes opened wide, searching mine just as I’d done with myself in the mirror.

  “Hold on. So you suddenly believe Ashley Boudreaux is the Python Killer’s new victim? He just came out of hiding?”

  “I don’t know what to think.” And I didn’t. A full day of mulling over her disappearance along with reading portions of my diary had done nothing but create shadows crawling from every corner of every room like monsters threatening to consume my very soul.

  “You do realize if you look up the word evil in the dictionary, you’ll see Samuel Wells’ picture. Right?” The twinkle in her eye never wavered. We’d had multiple discussions over the years regarding how evil a person would need to be to not only feel zero remorse about taking another human life but also overtly revel in the methods of what Samuel had called his creations of art.

  Including pictures of victims lined up like prized heifers, blue ribbons pinned to their chests. He’d done so after their deaths, requiring the remaining victims still alive to rate them on a scale of one to five. Even now, I shuddered and rubbed my arms, ribbons of ice crawling through my veins, dragging me into the darkest memories of the ordeal.

  Then he’d tossed them out into the swamp like trash.

  “I know. I’m just crossing t’s and dotting i’s. You know how I am.” My nerves were getting the better of me and she knew it.

  “Yes, I do, which is why I’m concerned for you. From what I heard, you weren’t asking to ensure Mr. Wells’ guilt, but offering a concept of his innocence. That seems very out of the ordinary to me. Do you want to tell me what’s going on? Is this survivor’s guilt? That I could completely understand, but if so, I’d tell you to take a few days off and regroup. If only to remind yourself how special your life has become. You know what I’m talking about. A quick trip to the Caribbean.”

  “No money.”

  At least she didn’t challenge me with the truth. I’d built a tidy sum in my bank account since I rarely spent any money on frivolous or shiny objects.

  Sighing, she rolled her eyes. “O-kay. Then binge watching Breaking Bad or maybe The Sopranos while feasting on an endless supply of ice cream and bonbons.”

  There was no doubt my facial features crumpled together, forming a mismatch of repulsion.

  “Come on. You work too hard, Alexia. Being overworked leads to added stress, which can lead to mistakes or in certain cases, a break with reality. The cops are handling Ms. Boudreaux’s disappearance. Let them do their jobs. Unless you decided to make a career change.”

  While she was smiling, I could easily tell she was concerned. “I assure you I haven’t experienced a break with reality. Just a moment of reliving the past.”

  “Which is completely understandable, but you are one of the hardest working people I know. There is nothing to feel guilty about. You did the right thing in naming him.”

  Yes, I was a hard worker, but for a reason. To keep my soul from being lost to the swirling darkness I’d experienced before. While the bastard had wondered if I dreamed in color, his last words to me had been about dying. They’d remained with me, a constant reminder of the level of control he’d had over my psyche.

  Leaning my head against the wall, I realized Betty wore the same expression as Maverick. Cautiously concerned with more than a dash of anxiety. “Survivor’s guilt? Maybe, but the questions burning a hole in my mind don’t require binge watching overzealous television series and does anyone actually eat bonbons any longer?”

  “They do if they need instant comfort away from monsters.” We both laughed. “I’ve looked at Wells’ file. He’s a guilty man. You do not need to lose sleep at night worrying about whether the FBI captured the wrong man. They didn’t.”

  My thoughts drifted for the umpteenth time to Maverick.

  My never-wrong instincts told me he was having me followed. While he was a talented author, he sucked at certain investigative skills. I certainly know the difference between private investigators and monsters. The shoddy dressers typically drove shitty vehicles and were terrible at keeping out of sight.

  In my mind, they’d always been spy wannabes.

  With monsters, you only developed a feeling of being watched, the creepy-crawlies that almost never left, even if there was no one lurking in the shadows.

  In fact, it was beginning to be a tiny bit annoying, although I did appreciate his continued interest in my safety.

  “Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside while we live.” I’d never forgotten the phrase.

  Betty’s silence was rare. She had an odd look in her eyes, which almost immediately she blinked away.

  “Where did that come from?” she managed a full minute later, obviously shaken by my tone as well as the phrase itself. I wasn’t known for being a poet. Far from it. I was direct, always to the point, which had garnered me a ruthless reputation.

  Or as opposing counsel of the male persuasion would say, I was a bitch. A compliment in every book owned and sworn to by a female in any profession.

  “That’s the last thing Samuel said to me before he left that infamous evening less than an hour before the FBI agent discovered my location. The bastard’s favorite quote from Norman Cousins. Whoever the hell that is. The Python Killer thought he was being so intelligent by quoting famous authors and even politicians.”

  A lump formed in my throat.

  “Don’t do that to yourself, Alexia. Samuels was and still is a twisted man. I don’t need to tell you that. Why don’t you take a couple days off? Regroup. Allow the news of his execution to settle in your mind.”

  The tone of my laughter was laced with bitterness while I glanced at my watch. “The execution isn’t scheduled for a couple weeks. Are you suggesting I stay behind locked doors until then? As you told me, he’s locked away behind thick bars of iron and can’t hurt me any longer.”

  As she did when she was mildly chastising behavior, she offered one of her infamous looks. “I’m merely telling you that confronting the past, especially after surviving something so horrible is never easy. It’s perfectly acceptable to need a couple days.”

  “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, I have a lot of work to do.” I moved away from my window toward my desk. “Do you have any idea why the execution was pushed up a couple years?”

  “No, but why does it matter?”

  “Because it would seem someone wants him executed and out of the way.” The odd look in her eyes surprised me. Had I hit on something that no one wanted to talk about?

  “What else are you going through? You don’t need to sugarcoat your feelings for me. I’ve been your friend for a long time as well as your boss. I know when something is bothering you. Whatever is going on in your brain is much more complicated than the typical anxiety about ensuring the correct person is on death row.”

  Sighing, I stared at the picture taken with my mother and stepfather the day I’d graduated from law school. They’d been behind me every step of the way. “There are a few missing pieces in my brain.” As if to accentuate, I pressed the tip of my index finger to my temple. “Time elements that don’t exactly fit together. That troubles both the victim and the professional.”

  “It’s time to let it go. Take it from someone who’s been through enough evil of her own. You’re the person in charge of freeing your mind. The real prison. Now, at least take the rest of the day off. Go shopping and I don’t mean by surfing on your computer. Have a long lunch with a friend. You do have friends at least. Right? I’d say a hot man, but I’d know better. I don’t want to see you back here again until mid-morning tomorrow. You got that?” While Betty’s expression was subtle, it was also powerful and clearly said crossing her wasn’t a very good idea.

  “Fine. Shopping it is.” Even if I hadn’t been to an actual store in God knows how long.

  “Oh, you will be attending the company’s anniversary party this Friday. Yes?”

  Ugh. I’d forgotten all about it. Fifteen years in the industry was a very long time.

  “This is a big deal for us. Everyone who is anyone in the field of law will be in attendance. Or they better be for the money we’re spending on caterers. From what I understand, there are going to be some announcements. Because of how special the occasion, the company’s board of directors is flying in from all over the country to join the celebration.”