The Intended Victim Page 20

  * * *

  The adrenaline is pumping through me. A glorious antidote to the poison that fills my veins. It excites and soothes me at the same time. An intoxicating sensation I clutch like a lifeline.

  But it wouldn’t last.

  I could already sense the euphoria slipping away.

  I sit in the dark, staring at the house down the street. I try to conjure the memories, needing to savor them to keep my sanity.

  Closing my eyes, I visualize the sight of my creation standing in the empty lot. Her fear had been a tangible force that seeped deep inside me. It was better than any hit of Xanax. I’d wanted to spend hours just watching her shiver in terror. I don’t know why the sight eases the gnawing hole in the center of my soul. I only know I can momentarily breathe.

  Then, all too quickly, the woman is gathering her courage and turning around. The sight reminds me that I am exposed. As much as I might desire to prolong the glorious culmination of my efforts, I can’t risk someone noticing our presence in the neighborhood.

  Commanding the creature to hold still, I move out of the shadows. One step. Then two. I come close enough to catch the scent of the familiar soap. My stomach unclenches at the sweet scent even as my hunger sharpens.

  I need more.

  The curse of my illness.

  More. More. More.

  I wrap my arms around her, tugging down the coat to offer me unimpeded access to the tender flesh of her throat.

  Only blood would truly ease my suffering.

  I force open my eyes.

  After purging my cancer, I cover my tracks and return home. I shower and intend to go to bed. My symptoms should be sated for at least a few weeks.

  But rather than crawling beneath the sheets, I find myself driving to the unassuming house in the quiet neighborhood.

  It’s dangerous. Even though I’ve eased my demons, I know I’m not impervious to temptation. I proved that once.

  Still, I linger.

  And the sickness begins to spread.

  * * *

  Ash sat in the passenger seat of his brother’s car and blindly stared out the window as they headed to the fancy hotel just north of the Loop.

  After his jog with Remi, Ash had taken a quick shower and changed into fresh slacks and a chunky silver sweater. Not quite up to the mayor’s standards, but he didn’t plan to attend the brunch as a guest.

  Now he tried to concentrate on the upcoming encounter with Robert Hutton even as he stewed on the thought that Remi would soon be heading to her mother’s estate. Logic told him that she would be perfectly safe. His heart, however, hated every second she was out of his sight.

  He had it bad.

  “You’re quiet.” Jax at last broke the silence, sending Ash a questioning glance. “Is anything wrong? Beyond the obvious?”

  “I feel . . .” Ash searched for the word that captured the prickling unease that plagued him. “Itchy.”

  “A premonition?” Jax demanded, perfectly serious. The older Marcel was a big believer in gut instinct.

  Ash shook his head. “More a knowledge that serial killers eventually spiral out of control,” he said. “Every minute that passes puts Remi in more danger.”

  Jax muttered a curse as he swerved his way through the thick traffic. In the morning sunlight, Ash could make out the shadows beneath his brother’s eyes and the tension in his unshaven jaw.

  “The only way to protect her is to find the Butcher,” Jax said.

  Ash sent his brother a sour glare. He didn’t need to be told what had to be done. What he needed were clues to lead him to the killer.

  Keeping his frustrated words to himself, Ash returned his gaze to the side window, watching as his brother pulled into the parking lot next to the hotel.

  “It doesn’t look like a very big crowd,” Ash murmured, taking in the nearly empty lot.

  “The event doesn’t start for another hour,” Jax explained.

  Ash felt a stab of impatience. He had a dozen things he could be doing. “Then why are we here?” he demanded.

  Jax drove toward the side entrance. “I want to catch Hutton before he goes inside.”

  Ash’s gaze skimmed over the handful of cars already parked at the back of the lot. He assumed they were employees at the hotel. Then he noticed the glossy black Mercedes pulled into a distant corner. That didn’t belong to a waiter. Or a maid.

  It was more instinct than true curiosity that drew his attention to the vanity plate of the Mercedes. RHUTTONIV.

  Robert Hutton the Fourth.

  He reached out to grasp his brother’s upper arm. “Pull behind the dumpster,” he commanded in sharp tones.

  Jax swerved toward the large trash receptacle, bringing the car to a halt before glancing toward Ash in confusion. “What’s going on?”

  Ash pointed toward the Mercedes they could see around the edge of the dumpster.

  “It looks like Hutton decided to get here even earlier.”

  Jax frowned, his lips parting as if to demand how Ash knew that was Robert Hutton’s car only to snap shut when he noticed the plates. “Why would he arrive an hour before the event starts?” he demanded instead.

  A good question. Ash ran through a mental list of possibilities, only to come up blank.

  “Either he’s moonlighting as a member of the waitstaff or he’s hoping to impress the mayor by showing up before anyone else,” he finally concluded.

  Jax dismissed his theory with a shake of his head. “The mayor won’t even be here, so there’s no one to impress with his punctuality. It’s one of those PR events they set up to get the district attorney’s staff and the chief of police on the front page of the papers.”

  Ash didn’t miss the edge of disdain in his brother’s voice. “You don’t sound very impressed.”

  “I understand the politics of it,” Jax said, glancing toward the hotel that no doubt was charging a fortune to host the fancy brunch. “We need the publicity the mayor can offer us to get the funding, but I wish we made more of an effort to reach out to the people we’re supposed to be serving.” He gave a frustrated shake of his head. “They need to be reassured that we’re listening to their concerns, and that’s not happening when we’re having fancy brunches where only the most elite of Chicago are invited.”

  Ash shrugged. “You can make the change when you become chief.”

  Jax sent him a horrified glance. “Christ, don’t even suggest that.”

  “Why?” Ash had been only half-teasing. He couldn’t imagine anyone better than Jax Marcel to be chief of the CPD. He would be hard but fair, and he would demand the very best of his employees. “The only way to have the future you want is to take charge,” he pointed out.

  “I could say the same to you,” Jax said in dry tones.

  The vision of Remi filled Ash’s mind. That was the future he wanted. The woman he loved, and a return to the job that had once filled him with a sense of purpose.

  The Butcher had stripped that away from him. Perhaps capturing the killer could give it back.

  “I’m trying,” he said with a sigh.

  Jax turned off the engine and unhooked his safety belt before turning in his seat. “Remi looks at you like she did five years ago,” he abruptly told Ash.

  “How’s that?”

  “Like she found her treasure at the end of the rainbow.”

  Ash’s breath caught in his throat, aching to believe his brother’s claim before he told himself that he was being ridiculous. “Right,” he said with a snort.

  “It’s true,” Jax insisted. “I envy you for that.”

  Not entirely convinced that his brother hadn’t mistaken Remi’s gratitude for his presence with something more intimate, Ash distracted himself with his brother’s love life.

  It wasn’t nearly so complicated.

  “You’ve had your opportunities,” Ash reminded Jax.

  Although all the Marcel men had been raised to treat females with the respect they would offer their own mother, Jax
had spent his early years dating any number of beautiful, talented, and intelligent women. Including an FBI agent Ash had thought might be “the one.”

  “I . . .” Jax allowed his words to trail away as a car drove past the dumpster and headed toward the back of the lot. “Looks like the security team has arrived,” he muttered.

  Ash made a sound of shock. He recognized the man behind the wheel of the sedan.

  “Isn’t that O’Reilly?” he demanded.

  Jax leaned forward, his attention focused on the car as it parked next to the Mercedes. “Yes.”

  “Why would he work security?” Ash demanded in confusion. He assumed there would be some uniforms on duty, but why would you have a detective?

  “He wouldn’t,” Jax muttered, his hands curling into fists on his lap as O’Reilly crawled out of his car and glanced around the parking lot before hurrying to enter the passenger seat of the Mercedes. “I guess we know why Hutton was here so early. He had a meeting set up.”

  Ash shook his head in confusion. “Why would he meet with O’Reilly?”

  “And why here?” Jax added. “Hutton has a fancy office just a few blocks away.”

  “Both good questions.”

  “Yeah. So how do we get them answered?”

  “First, we wait,” Ash told his brother, knowing Jax must be feeling the same urgent need to rush across the parking lot and confront the two men that was searing through him. Only the knowledge that they were more likely to get information by dividing and conquering kept his ass in the car.

  Ten minutes later, O’Reilly was back in his sedan and driving out of the lot.

  “I’m done waiting,” Jax announced.

  Ash unbuckled his seat belt and pushed open the passenger door. “Fine. You take care of O’Reilly. I’ll deal with Hutton.”

  His brother scowled. “Ash.”

  “You can’t risk confronting Hutton,” Ash told him. “Not when he could get you fired with one phone call.”

  Jax muttered a curse as he glared toward the Mercedes. “He’s involved. I don’t know how, but he’s involved.”

  “I’ll take care of it. You go after O’Reilly.” Ash slipped out of the car. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”

  Jax leaned across the console, his expression worried. “Ash, Hutton might be a spoiled rich boy, but he’s cunning and ambitious. I don’t doubt he would go to any lengths to protect his pampered ass.”

  Ash nodded. He knew his brother was right. Any man could be dangerous if he was backed into a corner.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  Jax heaved a sigh. “I wish I believed that.”

  “You worry about yourself.” Ash turned the tables on his brother. “O’Reilly will be carrying. Probably more than one gun.”

  Jax offered a wry smile. “Let’s just both agree not to get shot today.”

  “Deal.”

  “Call me,” Jax demanded as Ash slammed shut the door and turned to head across the parking lot.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ash ignored the icy wind that cut through his coat as he took a wide route toward the Mercedes. He preferred that his prey didn’t realize he was being hunted. Especially when Hutton was in a car and Ash was now on foot.

  For once, however, his timing was perfect. He was just approaching the car when the driver’s door was shoved open and Robert Hutton stepped out.

  The man was two inches shorter than Ash, around five ten, and slender, with black hair he kept brushed from his lean face. His eyes were dark, and his skin had a faint olive tint even in winter, as if he had some Italian heritage in his background. Currently, he was wearing an expensive trench coat and silk gloves that covered a suit that was no doubt hand-tailored.

  Ash smirked as he stepped directly behind Robert. All he was missing was a cane and a monocle to be the image of a cartoon rich dude.

  “Hello, Hutton,” he said.

  The assistant district attorney gave a small jump as he whirled around to discover who’d managed to sneak up on him. His brows drew together, confusion clouding his expression before he managed to recognize who was standing in front of him. “Ash Marcel?”

  Ash offered a twisted smile. “The one and only.”

  The man’s gaze moved over Ash, taking in his clothing, which wasn’t designer but cost more than most cops were able to spend.

  “I thought you moved away from Chicago?” he finally said, clearly deciding that Ash hadn’t reached a position that meant he had to be more than vaguely polite.

  Ash’s smile remained firmly pinned in place. “I’m visiting for the holidays.”

  “Ah.” Hutton took a step back, no doubt intending to turn away. “Enjoy your time with your family.”

  “Actually, I was hoping we could have a chat,” Ash said, subtly shifting to block the man’s path.

  Hutton looked predictably confused. “A chat about what?”

  Another blast of wind swirled through the parking lot, feeling like a solid wall of ice.

  “Let’s get in your car,” Ash suggested. “It’s too cold to stand out here.”

  Clearly impatient, Hutton reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a gilt-edged business card. “Call my secretary and make an appointment,” he commanded. “I’m having brunch with the mayor. So if you’ll excuse me . . .”

  Ash ignored the card, allowing his smile to fade.

  “We can chat in your car or we can chat inside, but I don’t think you want anyone to overhear what I have to say,” he said, his words a blatant threat.

  Hutton frowned, glancing around as if ensuring that Ash was there alone. “What the hell is going on?”

  “I’ll tell you as soon as we’re in your car.”

  Hutton narrowed his dark eyes. “You’ve always been an annoying ass.”

  “True.” Ash shrugged. It was hard to argue with the truth. Then he moved to pull open the door of the Mercedes. “Shall we?”

  There was a tense silence as Hutton glanced toward the nearby hotel. Was he debating the notion of walking away and daring Ash to follow? Probably. At least until the news van pulled in and parked smack in front of the door.

  The media had arrived.

  “Fine.”

  With a petulant expression, the man crawled back into his car and slammed the door. Ash hurried to the passenger side and slid inside before Hutton could lock him out. He sank into the supple seat, his knees barely fitting beneath the glove compartment.

  It was a great car, but not made for a man his size.

  Hutton turned to send him a sour glare. “What do you want?”

  Ash leaned his back against the door, pretending to make himself comfortable. He had years of experience interviewing the toughest criminals in the city. This pretty boy wasn’t going to know what hit him.

  “Have you heard the rumors that the Butcher has returned to Chicago?”

  Surprisingly, the man flinched. Had Ash hit a nerve?

  Before he could pinpoint the source of the man’s unease, Hutton had smoothed his expression into a bland mask. No doubt it was a trick he’d learned in law school.

  “I don’t have time to listen to gossip,” he scoffed. “My office deals with provable facts. Until there is an arrest and I have the proof I need on my desk, I don’t have time to worry about a mythical serial killer who might or might not have returned to Chicago.”

  Ash studied his companion with open suspicion. Most district attorneys would be salivating to be handed a high-profile serial killer to take to trial. It was a straight shot up the career ladder.

  So why was Hutton pretending he couldn’t be bothered with the animal who was stalking the streets of his city?

  “Mythical?” Ash snorted. “You make him sound like a unicorn, not an evil, cold-blooded killer.”

  “I have actual criminals waiting to be prosecuted,” Hutton said in smooth tones. Too smooth. “That’s what I focus on. Investigating is your job. Wait—” The aggravating idiot paused, then, lifting his hand
, gave a snap of his fingers. “You’re not a cop anymore, are you? You’re some sort of teacher.”

  “Some sort,” Ash agreed in a dry tone.

  “If you want to discuss the Butcher, I suggest you go talk to your brother,” Hutton continued. “It’s his job to track him down.”

  Ash hid his flare of satisfaction. Hutton had known that Jax had caught the case. Which meant he was paying closer attention than he wanted to admit.

  But why not just confess his interest?

  Unless there was something he had to hide.

  “I’m talking to a lot of people,” Ash said, keeping a close watch on Hutton’s face. “Including Remi Walsh.”

  Hutton looked more bemused than worried at Ash’s explanation. “Sweet Remi. I really should give her a call. We’re old friends, you know.”

  “So she told me.” Ash was proud he didn’t drive his fist into Hutton’s face. It was very mature of him. “Along with another interesting fact.”

  “The reason she dumped you?” Hutton mocked.

  Ash just smiled. He’d grown up with brothers who’d specialized in tormenting him. He wasn’t going to be provoked by an amateur.

  “We happened to be discussing old times and she mentioned an evening when she was supposed to go to a study group, but she felt ill and had to return home,” he said.

  Hutton looked genuinely puzzled. “Seriously? This is why you’re wasting my time?”

  Ash held up his hand. “I’m not done.”

  Hutton peered down at the watch strapped around his wrist. Rolex, of course. The man was nothing if not predictable.

  “You have one minute to finish.”

  Ash ignored the warning. “The night she returned home coincidentally happened to be the same night that you told me you were at her house having dinner with her mother.”

  Something flickered in the dark eyes, even as Hutton kept his expression carefully bland. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you do.” Ash leaned forward, using his height advantage to gaze down at his companion. “I interviewed you along with Detective Walsh after Tiffany Holloway was discovered murdered in her home.”

  Hutton leaned back, nearly smacking his head on the window. “That was a long time ago.”