Deadly Games Read online

  Liam’s face scrunched up. “I suppose that’s possible.”

  “I think anything is possible at this point,” I pressed. “I wonder if he saw my interview on the news. He might try to change up his routine just to throw us off.”

  Marisol tilted her head and cocked a brow at me. “But that would make him unorganized, and the profile you gave is of an organized killer, which I agree with.”

  I had a gut feeling, and it was difficult to explain. “I just think he’s going to do whatever he can to outsmart us. It’s essential to his ego. He is playing a game, and he has to win.”

  Liam stood and scooted his chair in. “Then it’s time we capture his pawn. Check with other counties if that’s what you feel we should do. I’m going to go update the captain.”

  We went to our desks and printed out county maps. Then we split them up and began calling the DMV in each. The thing nagging me in the back of my mind was he could illegally have tinted windows too. He was breaking the big laws, so why not?

  I called Maria and told her to keep a lookout and write down the plate number if she saw anything. She, in turn, told me to keep a lookout because the Bloods weren’t done yet. With the holiday coming up and all the people that would be enjoying the outdoor festivities, I was worried to the core.

  By the time 5:00 rolled around, we didn’t have any workable leads on the Suburban, but, on a good note, we didn’t have any more dead bodies either. At least we were done with our work on the mass murder case. It was open and shut as far as we were concerned. We had the killers and their confessions, so it was a slam dunk for the district attorney. It freed up our time to focus on this madman while keeping an eye on the Bloods.

  I was exhausted when I made it to my dad’s birthday supper with Duke in tow. I picked up a gift card to the Apple store on my way home from work. I figured he was due for a new phone.

  They all questioned me about the case, but I didn’t have much I could share with them. “All I can tell you is, he doesn’t have a type, so watch yourselves. He isn’t discriminating. We think he’s driving a Suburban. That’s about it. We don’t have much to go on yet,” I told them.

  “Okay, now what about you and the ADA? Denise said he was there the other night, so are you getting back together?” my mother asked.

  I glared at my little sister. “Denise has a big mouth, and no, we aren’t getting back together. We’re just friends, and he was over because I was freaked out about the case.”

  After I helped her with the dinner dishes, while Denise and my dad played with Duke, we all sat down for cake and a game of pinochle. Then I had to say goodnight. I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open.

  I invited Denise to stay with me since Marcus wasn’t back from his trip yet, and after a scolding from our mother, she agreed. On the way home, we had an incident that neither of us would ever forget.

  We were stopped at a red light on North Twentieth Street and Dr. Martin Luther King Drive when a white SUV full of thugs came at us. I recognized their colors—they were, of course, Bloods. I’m too tired for this bullshit.

  They jumped out of the vehicle, and I grabbed my Glock and taser, but I tossed the Mace to Denise. “Keep the doors locked and call nine-one-one!” I barked at her.

  I exited the car, with Duke on my heels, and trained my gun on the hoodlum in the forefront. “Stop where you are!”

  “Whoa, mamacita. There’s no need to go all Rambo on us. We just want to say hey to you and your girl,” he drawled with a slur. “Plus, it looks like you’re outnumbered.”

  Duke let out a low, vicious growl to let them know I had plenty of backup.

  “You boys took a wrong turn,” I threatened with a snarl. “I suggest you get out of here right now.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the leader’s homie reaching for his gun, so I shot the taser, bringing him down to the ground in a shuddering heap. One of the others thought he’d catch me off guard, too, but he was also wrong. I shot him in the kneecap with my Glock when he drew his weapon, and he crumpled in a groaning pile on top of the other. Duke tackled the third man to pull a gun and clamped down on his throat. That just left the big talker and one more. Sirens closing in made those two run for the SUV.

  “This ain’t over, bitch! We’ve got your number,” the pack leader yelled over his shoulder while I cuffed his buddies. Luckily, I had zip ties on me at all times. They were easier to carry than metal cuffs, and I could carry several.

  “And my dog has yours,” I hollered back with amusement.

  “Ouch! You shot my fucking knee,” the one yelped while I yanked him to his feet.

  “Yes, and I’ll shoot the other one if you don’t shut up!” I growled, kicking their guns toward my car.

  Three patrol cars showed up and called for an ambulance while giving me a questioning glance. They knew me, but I flashed my badge for any onlookers.

  “You kneecapped him?” one of the young officers asked with a grin.

  I shrugged. “He drew first.”

  “Okay. I get that. Can you call your dog off this one, though?” he asked, pointing to the perp in Duke’s snarling grasp.

  I whistled for my new partner, and they took the scum away. I told them I’d fill out paperwork on the incident in the morning. I was too tired to do it tonight.

  “That’s fine. These asshats aren’t going anywhere but lockup tonight,” the senior officer told me.

  When Duke and I climbed back inside my car, Denise gaped at me. “That was like…wow. I didn’t know you could be such a badass,” she stated in awe. “I knew Duke could, but not you. Respect.”

  I laughed, “Do you feel safer staying at my place then?”

  “Oh hells yeah,” she replied.

  We drove to my house, and I went straight to bed. I sure had an interesting story for the watercooler tomorrow.

  HE TOOK HIS art collection back to the City Museum and met with the acting curator, Randy Michaels, after work. The man seemed snooty at first, but then he warmed up and practically drooled all over the paintings.

  “I think these will make a fine addition to the art show,” he raved. “For a new artist, you have plenty of talent with room to grow. Are you attending school?”

  “No,” he grunted. “I’m teaching myself, but I have had classes in the past.”

  Mr. Michaels looked at the paintings again. “Well, raw talent should always be honed into fine skills, by whatever means you choose, but these will certainly do for now.” He squinted his eyes. “That’s a lovely shade of red; it’s kind of crimson but not quite.”

  He smiled and wondered what the man would do if only he knew the truth. “It’s a special blend I made by mixing a few mediums.”

  “It works. I like the way it pops in contrast to everything else. Let me print out an agreement between you and the museum for us to display your artwork in the gala this holiday weekend. We shall split the sales seventy-thirty. It’s a great way to get discovered and to be permanently featured in the museum.” He was already busy typing something into his laptop. “Now, spell your name exactly how you want it to appear.”

  “My first name is S-E-A-N, and my last name is spelled P-E-I-R-I-C-K,” he told the curator.

  “Terrific. Now, you’ll want to be here for the gala to network with the other artists and the buyers of course. It starts at 9:00 tomorrow and runs until we close at 7:00. We are closed Sunday and Monday for the holiday. Anything that isn’t sold can be claimed by you to take home, or you can leave it with me to consider it for placement among our collections. If I don’t place it, I’ll return it to you.” He held out some papers. “Please sign these if you agree.”

  He s
igned his pen name with a steady hand. He had no doubts about anything the curator said. He was certain his work would be sold or placed. They shook hands, and he accepted a copy of the signed documents. His paintings remained there, so the staff could set them up with the others on display for tomorrow’s gala.

  When he left the museum, he picked up takeout for dinner and went to the house in Town and Country to check up on the mousy woman. According to her license, her name was Margie Moore, which perfectly suited her librarian appearance.

  “You know, taking the bus can be very dangerous,” he taunted her as he approached with his butcher knife. “And didn’t your mother tell you not to talk to strangers? Mine did, but strangers weren’t the ones I needed to fear. However, I won’t bore you with the details of my abusive childhood that probably turned me into the stand-up man I am today. No, I believe in showing rather than telling.”

  He used the tip of the knife to cut off the top buttons of her blouse. It was just enough to expose the tops of her small breasts.

  “Please,” she begged. “Please don’t do this. You don’t want to do this.”

  He tilted his head and grinned. “Oh, but I do. You see, I don’t want to die alone.”

  He raked the knife across her collarbone, spilling her essence into her B-cups. He picked up the empty canister he had nearby and collected enough of it to mix up another batch of blood-red paint. Then, because his head was still pounding, he covered her mouth with duct tape, stifling her screams.

  “Sorry, love, but I’ve got a headache from hell. You understand, don’t you?” He tapped her on the chin in an almost sweet gesture. “I’ll check on you in the morning. Sleep well.”

  He left her chained to the chair because he didn’t have the strength to struggle with chaining her to the wall. He stopped walking up the stairs and turned back to look at her and the vacant wall chains, forming a brilliant idea. He decided to leave her there and take on another guest, and he knew just whom he wanted. He wanted the detective’s fine-looking sister. He’d done his homework, so he knew where she lived and where she worked. Taking her would definitely lure Sasha Delossa to him. He laughed to himself. I’ve never done sisters before.

  I WOKE UP early Saturday morning and took Duke for a run while Denise slept in. I had my Glock on me, but no one was causing trouble in the neighborhood. I’d have to go into the station later to fill out the paperwork for last night, and I was going to take Denise with me since she was my eyewitness. I figured it couldn’t hurt to have her backup my story for the defense attorneys.

  When I got home, Denise had breakfast on the stove, so I took my shower. Then, after we ate, we went to give our statements because she had to work later. It didn’t take long to provide our testimonials and sign the necessary forms.

  “It looks like a pretty cut and dry case, but you never know what the defense attorney is going to say about it,” Officer Davis told me. “He might say you fired your weapon unnecessarily, and then there’s the dog to consider.”

  I smiled and replied, “Well, I’m sure ADA Sinclair will get this case, and he knows me. It will all be fine. Also, there’s a traffic cam at that intersection, so pull the footage. They ran a red light to cut us off.”

  “Will do,” Officer Davis replied. “If there’s anything, I’ll find it and let you know.”

  I waved my hand at him. “Just let me know if there’s a problem; otherwise, you don’t have to worry about it. I don’t expect there to be any issues.”

  “Fair enough. Enjoy your day,” he chirped and waved goodbye as we left. I could tell he was checking out my sister, so I teased her about it on the way to her place.

  “Can I borrow Duke until Marcus gets back?” she asked and batted her lashes.

  I laughed, “That doesn’t work on me, darling sister. However, you can come over tonight if you want. Here’s a key for you and my alarm code.” I handed her a spare key and a piece of paper with my security code written on it.

  “Uh-oh…I see a dognapping in the near future,” she teased.

  I reached to the back seat and petted Duke. “He’d never leave me willingly. He loves me too much.”

  “Well, I’ll just have to keep coming over for my visitation rights then,” she giggled as she climbed out of my car. “Thanks for the ride home. See you later.”

  I waited until she was safely inside before I pulled away from the curb and headed back home, making sure no one was following me. Justin called as soon as I walked through the door.

  “I heard you were involved in a brawl of sorts last night, and now I have to work over the weekend. I really should spank you,” he razzed me.

  I laughed at the image. “Well, I had to work, so why not you? Besides, they started it.” I made myself sound like a rebellious teenager.

  “Hmm…well, you’ll just have to make this up to me then. How about having dinner with me one night this week? I’ll even cook,” he suggested.

  I looked at my wall calendar and saw that I didn’t have anything going on. “If I have to make it up to you, why would you do the cooking?”

  “I want to show off my skills. Besides, you’d be making it up to me just by being here,” he responded.

  “And is that all?” I questioned.

  “Well, you can help me with dessert.” His voice was full of innuendo, and I felt my cheeks flush.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think we should behave and stay friends,” I sighed.

  “We could be friends with benefits then,” he purred suggestively.

  I rolled my eyes. “So, strings attached? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

  He laughed, “No, not strings, benefits. I’m your friend regardless, but why not have some fun with it? Not to mention it’s a form of exercise.”

  The fact that he was trying to talk me into bed was borderline hysterical, and I had to fight to hold back my giggles. He sounded so much like a lawyer with his closing arguments.

  “Counselor, I’ll have to get back to you on that,” I teased.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll change the subject. What are you wearing?” he joked.

  “Oh, I’m wearing a skimpy pair of shorts and a filmy tank top,” I lied. “And while it’s hot outside, I think I could still cut glass.”

  He blew out a deep sigh into the phone. “You’re just being mean. Want to do something tonight? No strings attached.”

  I considered his proposal, but I wasn’t up for company. “I think I just want to be alone. If I change my mind, though, I’ll call you.”

  “Okay. Talk to you later then. Bye.” He quickly hung up, but I heard the disappointment in his tone.

  I just can’t be whom you need me to be. I’m too tangled up inside, especially now.

  I cleaned up the breakfast dishes and made my grocery list out. It was time for this little piggy to go to the market.

  HE ANXIOUSLY PACED the gallery as several pairs of scrutinizing eyes looked over his work, assessing every minute detail. Buyers knew what they wanted to purchase when they walked through the door, and if they didn’t see some semblance of it in a piece, they quickly moved on. His work was no exception to the rule, and he felt his temper rise each time someone turned their nose up at his art. One bitch had commented to her escort that he hadn’t “used enough color,” while another said they “didn’t make sense.” If he had the time, he’d follow those cows out to their cars later and teach them a thing or two. Instead, though, he chose to develop thicker skin.

  A pretty brunette stared at his portrait of the curator. “I love this piece,” she exclaimed. “I can feel how sad the subject is. It’s so real.” She was talking to the middle-aged woman next to her, but he was the one
who bothered to reply.

  “Thank you. I appreciate the compliment,” he gushed, causing her to spin around.

  “Oh my goodness! Are you the artist?” she inquired with a big smile.

  “Yes, I’m Sean Peirick. Thank you for admiring my work.” He reached out and shook her hand.

  “I was just thinking about how real it feels. How do you capture so much emotion?” Her curiosity was endearing.

  “I study people and their expressions, habits, and what have you,” he explained. “It helps me to capture the human psyche.”

  She looked back up at the painting. “Well, you’re doing a good job of it.” Her eyes fell to the price tag, which read one-hundred-fifty dollars. “I want it for my collection. Will you sign the back?”

  He nodded with a large grin. “I’d be honored to.”

  She waved over one of the museum employees to take it down for her. “I want this one,” she announced and pointed to the painting.

  “You have an excellent eye for art, ma’am,” the employee mumbled and handed her the piece. “You can pay over there.” He pointed toward the exit where staff members were taking payments and security was standing guard.

  He knew the compliment about her eye for art was said at every sale because he’d already heard it numerous times regarding other artists. However, in this case, it was true. He accepted the piece from her and scrawled his autograph on the back with the pen she handed him.

  She looked at it with a smile and exuberantly told him, “Thank you! This is so great, and I have the perfect spot for it in my living room.”

  “You’re most welcome. Please check out my other pieces while you’re here,” he replied and pointed to his other works.

  “I certainly will,” she chirped and wandered off to examine them just as another group of people came through the door. Things were looking up for him.