Beg for Mercy Page 7

  She would be his. And if anyone tried to stop him… it would be fun to send their world crashing down around them.

  He wanted nothing more than to go to Megan, right then, experience her purity, her light, have it wash away the darkness and filth that threatened to overtake him. But the squad cars began to arrive, his cue to go. The police would start canvassing the area soon, and there was no way for him to plausibly explain his presence anywhere near the trailer park.

  He had summoned every ounce of the iron-clad control that had allowed him to get this far without being caught and had torn himseway from the mesmerizing vision of Megan Flynn.

  He held her face in his mind as he drove. Elation poured through him, pure and clean, washing away the fervor of the kill.

  Patience. He just needed to be patient for a little while longer, and then they could be together forever. Like they were meant to be.

  But tonight, he still had business to attend to.

  He waited until he was more than six miles from the trailer park before he turned on his phone. Even though he’d had special security features installed, it didn’t hurt to be careful. He hit the first number of his speed dial and listened as it rang twice, as always.

  “Gino’s Pizza. Takeout or delivery?” a voice on the other end answered.

  He rolled his eyes at the hokey but necessary ruse.

  “Takeout.”

  “Please hold.”

  He waited several seconds before the line clicked over.

  “You’re calling to confirm?”

  “Yes. The order has been filled.”

  “Good. You’ll get your usual tip. After you finish cleaning up, get over here. We need to go over the logistics for this week’s deliveries.”

  He hung up and smiled. He’d gotten off. He’d gotten paid.

  And best of all, he’d gotten a live, close-up look at Megan.

  Not bad for a night’s work.

  Chapter 5

  Blood was everywhere. Covering the walls, the bed, the floor of the dumpy, abandoned trailer. As Megan approached the bed, she could feel the blood under the soles of her shoes, tacky and sticky. The salty, metallic smell of it saturated the air. She reached out a trembling hand to the woman lying facedown on the bed.

  She was naked and bound, like the others. But there was something about her, something strange and eerily familiar that Megan couldn’t put her finger on.

  “Megan!” The whisper came from the darkness behind her. She whirled around, heart in her throat.

  “Sean?” Her brother stood in the corner, his face in shadow, but she knew it was him. She took a step away from the bed, toward him.

  “Megan, you have to run. You have to get out of here.”

  “But I have to help her.” She turned back to the woman on the bed. The room had changed. It was no longer the trailer. It was her own bedroom, her own bed.

  “Megan!” Sean yelled again, t she ignored him, reaching toward the girl, placing her hand on the blood-smeared cheek and turning the girl’s face so she could see her in the blue glow that illuminated the room.

  Megan leaned closer to see.

  And realized she was staring into her own sightless eyes.

  She staggered back, screaming. But nothing came out except a high-pitched wheeze. She turned to run, but the blood on the floor had turned thick as tar, pulling at her feet until she was trapped.

  “Megan, run!” Sean’s voice again.

  I’m trying. But she couldn’t get the words out.

  From behind, a gloved hand covered her mouth. Cold metal kissed her throat.

  Megan sat up with a gasp, her hand clutched around her neck. Her breath sawed in and out of her chest as her heart pounded so hard she could actually see her T-shirt tremble with every thud.

  He’s here.

  Her eyes darted frantically around the room, searching for the figure in the shadows. Searching for Sean. Her throat still tingled from the feel of the knife. The sensation was so vivid she had her phone in her hand and dialed 9 and 1 before her brain finally kicked into gear.

  Just a dream.

  The realization didn’t dampen her panic right away, adrenaline pumping through her as the too-vivid images slowly faded.

  She sat up straighter and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands as if she could wipe her mind clean of the dream. Bits and pieces clung to her consciousness, and her stomach flipped over at the memory of looking at her own dead face.

  Oh, Sean… A wave of sadness swelled up to mingle with the shakiness. Sean, trying to protect her even in her dreams. She shook her head and sniffed back tears.

  She reached over to the bedside table and slipped her glasses on. Maybe if she brought the real world back into focus, the creepy dream hangover would loosen its hold. Most of the time she didn’t mind living alone, but nights like this she wished she had someone lying next to her. A muscular back to curl up against, someone warm and solid who would slip a strong arm around her and stroke her back until she calmed back down.

  An image of Cole’s solid chest, long corded arms, and big hands flashed in her brain. She shoved it away and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She reached for the bedside lamp, then froze as she realized what was weird about the room.

  She’d fallen asleep with the TV in her room on. Which in and of itself wasn’t unusual, but somehow the input selection had gotten messed up, so instead of late-night infomercials, her TV displayed a blank blue screen. She must have rolled over the remote in her sleep. The room was suffused by an eerie glow, casting her shabby chic furniture in ominous shadows.

  The TV.

  That was what had been bugging her all night, the little finger tapping at the back of her brain when Devany was telling first the patrol officer, then Cole, exactly what she’d seen in that trailer.

  The TV had been on.

  Just like when Sean found Evangeline Gordon next to him in that bed. He’d described the scene in grueling detail over and over, to the police, to his lawyer, and to Megan. She’d been over Sean’s case files so many times she could recite every statement from every witness word for word.

  I woke up and found her next to me in the bed. There was blood everywhere. On the sheets, on me, all over the rest of the house. I have no memory of how we got there. I left the room to find the phone and noticed that the television was on.

  Both Sean and the first responders reported the TV had been on, remarkable only because there was no display, only the blue screen. It had seemed strange to Megan, since Sean had just moved in and hadn’t had his cable installed yet. He’d bought a new TV, but he’d given Megan his old DVD and stereo and hadn’t replaced them.

  So why would Sean turn the TV on if there was nothing to watch?

  No one took the question seriously, and on some level even Megan had felt she was grasping at straws.

  But now the question sprang to life again. What if the man who killed Evangeline Gordon had a camera hooked up to Sean’s TV?

  Just like the man who killed the woman in the trailer. The serial killer the press had dubbed the Seattle Slasher.

  Something like optimism leaped in her chest.

  Do not get ahead of yourself.

  But her brain raced, wondering if this, of all the known facts and odd coincidences, could be the one shred of information she’d been looking for?

  Even she had to admit it was a long shot.

  But right now it could be the only shot Sean had.

  Megan tucked a stray curl behind her ear before she entered the building that housed the SPD south precinct. Her nerves were shot from adrenaline and caffeine. Her dream had woken her at a little past three-thirty in the morning, and she hadn’t gone back to bed. Instead, she’d pored over her copy of Sean’s case file for five hours and consumed a full pot of coffee in the meantime.

  She thought she managed to keep the quaver out of her voice as she told the desk sergeant her name and asked to see Cole. But she couldn’t stop the toe of her boot fro
m tap tap tapping at the linoleum floor, even when the desk sergeant flashed her an irritated look.

  She turned her back on him. The coffee churned in her stomach as she tried to figure out exactly what to say to Cole. The cardboard of the accordion file that held Sean’s case files grew soft and mealy in spots from her damp, clutching fingers, and she willed herself to calm down, stay focused.

  “Megan?”

  Her heart spasmed when Cole called her name. Purely from the caffeine overload, she told herself.

  He was dressed almost exactly as he’d been last night, in dark slacks and a white cotton shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders. The only difference was the tie. He’d swapped out yesterday’s navy for a maroon one. He stared at her, his brows knit.

  “I have something I need to talk to you about. About the woman Devany found last night.”

  “You know, you could have called. You didn’t have to come all the way down here. Not that I’m not happy to see you,” he said. He cleared his throat but regained his cool almost immediately.

  “It’s kind of complicated,” Megan replied. “I wanted to go over it in person.”

  He nodded and led her back to a small conference room that held a small round table and three padded chairs. “Do you want some coffee?”

  Her stomach lurched at the thought. “God, no.”

  He motioned for her to sit down. “Let me just get Detective Petersen—”

  She held up a staying hand. “I’d rather go over this with just you, if you don’t mind.”

  Cole frowned at her but took a seat in the chair across from her.

  Megan plunked the accordion folder down on the table.

  “What’s all this?” Cole said as he reached for the folder.

  “Sean’s case files. I think whoever killed that girl last night might have killed Evangeline Gordon too.” Oh crap, she hadn’t meant to blurt that out so quickly. She hadn’t exactly worked out what she was going to say, but she’d had some vague plan of leading with a question about the television and camera in the trailer, bringing up the similarity to the crime scene at Sean’s house. Hell, maybe even getting the lightbulb to go off in Cole’s head all by itself.

  Instead she could see him shutting down in front of her. His eyes glazing over, his mouth tightening, the subtle shake of his head as he looked at her with a combination of exasperation and pity.

  “No, just listen,” she said, feeling the muscles in her neck tighten like rubber bands. “There are similarities—the TV thing.” She opened the accordion file and pulled out the crime scene report. “The TV was left on at Sean’s house, just like in the trailer.”

  “Megan, you have got to let this go.”

  “But look.” She pointed to a paragraph in the report. “The evidence showed that Evangeline was killed in the living room, in front of the television, then moved to the bed.”

  “And you think that’s evidence that the Slasher killed Evangeline Gordon and framed your brother for it?”

  She fought not to shrink under his barrage. Cole thought she was batshit, and Megan wasn’t even sure she could blame him. Hearing herself say it out loud… her theory sounded crazy to her too. She shook off the doubt. Crazy, maybe. Far-fetched, definitely. But this was the one shred of hope she had, and she wasn’t letting go so easily.

  “Look, all I want is for you to look into it. What about the other victims? Was there this camera/TV thing going on with them? What about the wounds? Have you ever compared the autopsy reports side by side to see if there were any similarities?”

  Irritation sparked in his dark gaze. “Tell me something. Would I let Sean rot on death row if I thought there was a possibility he wasn’t guilty?”

  “But if you’d just—”

  Cole’s broad palm slammed down on the table with enough force to make his empty coffee mug jump. “I don’t want Sean to be guilty any more than you do, Megan. That’s why when the first vic was found, I looked at the reports. I compared the autopsy and crime scene information to Evangeline Gordon’s. And I can tell you that the only similarities are that they were both sexually assaulted and killed with a knife.”

  She was mute for a moment, struck dumb with shock by what he’d just revealed. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “Well we weren’t exactly on speaking terms. And I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” he snapped.

  He pushed back from the table, and she knew her time was running out. “Please, just let me see for myself,” she said, wincing at the pleading tone in her voice.

  “You know I can’t give you that information with the investigation still ongoing.”

  “Please, Cole. No one has to know.” Her hands balled into tight fists, fingernails biting into her palms. She hated him. Hated—being in a position where she had to grovel and beg him for help.

  But she sensed a crack in his hard surface. He wasn’t completely immune to her—she’d seen that last night. He still had some feelings for her, still cared a little, even though he’d dropped her like she was on fire after Sean’s arrest.

  “I would know,” he said simply.

  She swallowed hard, feeling like she’d had a hole blown through her chest. “And you can never bend the rules, even if it might lead to a break in your investigation.” She restacked the papers she’d pulled from the folder, careful to put them back in precise order.

  “Actually, technically it’s not my investigation,” he said.

  She froze in the act of paper clipping the stack together. “Not because of me?”

  He gave her a puzzled look that quickly morphed into understanding. “The feds opened a file after the third victim, and a team fl in from D.C. this morning. My role now is to support their ongoing investigation,” he said with a humorless smile.

  Great. A dead weight settled in her stomach along with the knowledge that the feds would be even less willing to investigate her theory. She packed the files back in the folder and stood. Cole rose too. “Is the agent in charge available?” she asked briskly.

  “Don’t do this, Megan. You’re just going to drive yourself crazy, and you’re not going to find what you’re looking for.”

  “How can I not, Cole? How can you stand there and tell me I shouldn’t do everything I possibly can to help my brother?” She tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowing. “Then again, I guess that’s the difference between you and me. You have no problem turning your back on the people who need you.”

  Cole watched as Megan exited the conference room and brushed past Petersen with a nod. The front of her hair was pulled back in a clip, leaving the rest to tumble down her back, bouncing and shifting as she moved through the office at a sharp clip.

  Every male eye was glued to the bounce of her round ass. While Cole couldn’t blame them, that didn’t stop him from wanting to punch every single one in the face.

  “What was that about?” Petersen asked. Cole noticed she, too, was admiring the last glimpse of Megan before she disappeared from view. Though she and her partner had recently celebrated their anniversary, Cole supposed Petersen couldn’t be faulted for looking. She turned to face Cole.

  “She thought she had some information that might be relevant. Turned out to be nothing.”

  Petersen stared at him like she knew he was hiding something. “What was all that about giving up on people you care about?”

  He shook his head. “Just bullshit. Nothing important.” He wasn’t about to let Petersen see how hard Megan’s parting words had hit their mark. He and Petersen were friendly and worked well together, but they didn’t go around sharing painful experiences from their pasts.

  So unless she’d done some digging on her own, Petersen wouldn’t know that Megan had scored a direct hit with her reference to another woman he’d failed—his high school girlfriend, his first love who had been murdered while Cole was out of town on a college scouting trip. Kelly had wanted to join him, but Cole had wanted to hang out with the basketball coach who was recruiting him
and the other team members without having to make sure she was having a good time. So he’d left her behind in their hometown of Billings, Montana.

  He’d revealed all of this one night over dinner with Megan, when she’d asked him why he’d become a cop. He’d never told anyone the truth before—that the unsolved murder of his girlfriend ate at him, drove him, until he abandoned his original plan to study civil engineering and studied criminal justice instead. Obtaining justice for other victims had helped him make peace with the fact that Kelly’s murder was still unsolved.

  Tghtpeace had allowed him to move on, even though Kelly’s death had left permanent scars. At the time, Megan had taken his hand in hers as her eyes gleamed with sympathetic tears.

  “Whatever,” Petersen said, jolting him back to the present. “I just wanted to tell you Agent Whitmore called. He had a couple questions about your report.”

  Cole nodded and went back to his desk to return the call from the FBI. As he filled in the gaps and clarified a few points, Cole couldn’t ignore the gnawing sensation in his chest where Megan’s comment hit its mark. He tried to brush it off, knowing she was lashing out. It was nothing he should take so seriously.

  But her dig picked away at the scar tissue, exposed the festering guilt over the fact that it had been nearly twenty years, and the guy who did it was still out there.

  Guilt ate at him now, and not just over his inability to find Kelly’s killer.

  He’d let Megan down too. No matter how he justified it in his head, no matter how certain he was that he’d done the right thing arresting Sean, the way he’d treated Megan in the aftermath still didn’t sit right. Convincing himself it was best not to talk to her, refusing to return her calls because it could only get uglier between them. And when she’d leaked details of their relationship to the press, he’d told the world there was no way his feelings for Megan were strong enough to influence his treatment of the suspect.

  The way they’d quoted him made it sound like he hadn’t cared for her at all, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. But he’d told himself it was better to let her think that, better to let her hate him if that’s what she needed to do.