The Intended Victim Read online

He slowly straightened, his expression bleak. “Yeah, there’s something else.”

  Anxiety feathered through her. A depressingly familiar sensation. “Tell me.”

  “Her throat was slit,” he admitted, his voice so low she could barely catch the words. “And there was a crescent-shaped wound on her breast.”

  Remi’s lips parted, but no air entered her lungs. Had someone wrapped steel bands around her chest? That’s what it felt like. At the same time, her brain was churning with a thousand thoughts, all of them so tangled they didn’t make any sense.

  Vivid images formed and then shattered, then formed again. A memory of her standing in the police station, laughing with her father. His gruff warning to be careful and a kiss on the cheek before she was turning to walk away. The paralyzing fear when she woke in the kitchen of her parents’ house to realize she’d been heavily drugged. The groggy night spent in the hospital, Ash pacing the floor with short, angry steps.

  “The Butcher,” she managed to croak.

  His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Or a copycat,” he suggested.

  She shuddered, not believing for a second that this was some copycat. Her father had told her that they specifically withheld the information that the killer left a mark on his victims. Besides, she’d always known it was just a matter of time.

  She had no idea why the Butcher had disappeared from Chicago. Or exactly when he’d be back. But his return had been as inevitable as the rising sun.

  Pressing a hand to her stomach, Remi battled back the urge to throw up. “Oh God.”

  Ash made a choked sound. Remi didn’t know if it was pity or frustration. Probably a combination of the two.

  “I didn’t want to scare you, but you need to be careful,” he said.

  “I’m always careful,” she assured him. And she was. She had moved into her grandparents’ house in a nice, quiet suburb. Plus, she never left home without a can of pepper spray tucked in her purse.

  “Do you have a gun?”

  She gave a sharp shake of her head. “No.”

  He didn’t try to press her. Remi had never hidden her dislike for guns, despite the fact that her father was a cop.

  His glance lowered to his feet, as if he didn’t want to look at her when he asked his next question. “I know it’s none of my business, but do you live alone?”

  Remi felt heat creep over her face at his unexpected question. Was she embarrassed to admit that she was still single? Quite likely.

  “I have Buddy,” she muttered.

  Ash seemed to flinch. “Buddy?”

  “My dog.”

  His gaze slowly lifted. “Is he big?”

  Her lips curved into a wry smile. Buddy was a rescue dog she’d chosen nearly two years ago. He was a mangy mix of breeds, with a goofy smile and mismatched eyes. He was also large and powerful and fiercely protective of her.

  “Big enough.”

  Ash frowned, seemingly not satisfied with her answer. “It would still be safer if you moved back home for a while.”

  Remi sucked in a sharp breath. She loved her mother. She truly did. But the two of them had never managed to forge a comfortable relationship. Just a few hours together and Liza Harding-Walsh would be driving her nuts.

  “I’d rather get a gun,” she told him.

  Regret darkened his glorious blue eyes. A regret that was etched on her own soul. “How is your mother?”

  Remi released a harsh sigh. “She acts like everything is the same. She stays busy with her charities and society events.” She gave a shake of her head. Her mother’s brittle smile couldn’t disguise the shadows that lurked just below the surface. “But I suspect she is still grieving for my father.”

  “We all miss him,” he breathed.

  “Yes.” With an abrupt movement, she rose to her feet and crossed the room to grab her coat. Ash’s unexpected arrival had stirred up a hornet’s nest of memories. Not to mention smashing her fragile sense of peace. She needed time to regroup and repair her shredded nerves. Something that would be impossible when Ash was in the same room. “I should get home.” She forced herself to send Ash a meaningless smile. “It was good to see you.”

  He grimaced, smart enough to realize she was done discussing the Chicago Butcher and whether or not she was capable of protecting herself.

  “Remi, it wasn’t a fluke that the killer chose a woman who looked just like you,” he said in harsh tones. “Be careful.”

  Her mouth went dry as she gave a jerky nod. “I will.”

  With a last, lingering glance, Ash slowly walked out of the room. Remi watched him go, her courage leaking out of her like a deflating balloon.

  She desperately wanted to call him back. The only time she ever felt safe was when Ash was holding her in his arms. But she kept her lips grimly pressed together.

  Her father had died trying to protect her from the Chicago Butcher. She wasn’t going to let Ash be the next man she loved to be sacrificed.

  Chapter Three

  Darkness pulses inside me. A heavy, malignant tumor that continues to grow. I’ve cut. And cut and cut and cut. I prune the cancer, but it returns. Why?

  I know, although I don’t want to see the truth.

  The evil is a part of me.

  It has lurked in the shadows, waiting for the opportunity to grow and fester, destroying me from the inside out. I should have ended it the moment it sparked in my soul. But I was weak . . .

  My attention is captured by the bloody knife lying on the counter. It needs to be cleaned. Or perhaps tossed in a fire so it can be purged of the contamination. But I hesitate. The tiny red droplets that stain the silver blade remind me of the sensation of sliding the knife through the soft flesh.

  It’d happened sooner than I wanted. I had intended to savor my creation for months and months, not just a few paltry weeks. It was meant to leach the pus from a festering wound. But it had been more difficult than I’d anticipated to create the perfect antidote for my illness. I had allowed it too much freedom. The cure was tainted and I had no choice but to destroy it. Even worse, I’d been sloppy. Something I’d been so very, very careful to avoid.

  Still, the deed was done. And in the end it had been . . . cathartic.

  I shiver as the memory sears through my mind. For those brief seconds, I felt in utter harmony with the world. As if a light had combusted inside me to drive away the darkness. Even now I can feel the lingering warmth. I want to cling to the peace for as long as possible.

  Reaching out, I run my hand along the edge of the blade. Crimson stains my skin and I open my lips to press my finger against the tip of my tongue. The taste of blood is sharp and oddly heavy.

  Another shiver races through me.

  The battle against the darkness continues.

  * * *

  Ash climbed into the passenger seat of his brother’s car and slammed shut the door.

  “How is she?” Jax demanded, putting the car in gear and pulling away from the curb.

  Gorgeous. Sexy. Heart-wrenchingly vulnerable . . .

  The words whispered through his mind, but he didn’t allow them to pass his lips. Later he would deal with his intense reaction to being near the woman who’d once held his heart in her hands.

  “Rattled,” he told his brother.

  “Yeah.” Jax gripped the steering wheel, zipping through the backstreets to avoid the worst of the Friday traffic. “So am I.”

  “Get in line,” Ash said dryly.

  They traveled in silence. Jax concentrating on his driving, while Ash tried to banish the panic that was a heartbeat away. Remi was safe. At least for now. And he’d soon be taking steps to ensure that she was properly protected.

  First, however, he needed to get started on his hunt for the Butcher. The sooner the bastard was dead, the sooner Remi could have a normal life.

  Almost as if capable of reading his mind, Jax sent him a quick glance. “Do you want me to take you to Mom’s house?”

  It was always “
Mom’s house.” Never their parents’ house. Or Dad’s. No doubt because it was June Marcel’s domain. She was the heart of the family, and wherever she was, that was home.

  Not that his dad had been a bad father. But he’d been consumed by his duties as a cop, happy to leave the primary caregiving to his wife.

  “No.” Ash motioned for his brother to take the next turn. “I need to get my old files.”

  Jax followed his directions. “What files?”

  “The ones on the Chicago Butcher.”

  “You still have them?”

  Ash frowned. Did Jax think he would have thrown them away?

  “Of course.”

  “Where?”

  Ash parted his lips, only to hesitate. His skills as an investigator were no doubt rusty, but he had faith they would quickly return. And without the rules and regulations that came with his job as a detective, he was free to use whatever means necessary to get information.

  Still, he needed to know what leads the police were following and if they found any forensic evidence that might offer a clue to the killer.

  “Are you going to include me on this case?” he abruptly demanded.

  Jax’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “You realize you no longer carry a badge?”

  Ash shrugged. “You can keep me in the loop or I’ll find someone else who will,” he said.

  Jax’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t bother to claim that Ash couldn’t find the information he wanted. Even after five years, he still had friends on the force. Most of them would be happy to share whatever was necessary to help him catch the bastard who’d killed one of their own.

  Jax released a low hiss. “You compromise this case and—”

  “I have no intention of doing anything that will compromise the case,” Ash interrupted.

  “But you’re going to investigate it,” Jax said, his words a statement, not a question.

  “Don’t bother to try to stop me,” Ash warned.

  Jax sent him a frustrated glare. “Then you have to give me the same promise you demanded of me. You’ll tell me what you discover.” His eyes narrowed. “Everything you discover.”

  “Agreed,” Ash said without hesitation.

  “Shit,” Jax muttered. “This is a bad idea.”

  Ash ignored his brother’s grumbling. It wasn’t the first time and it most certainly wasn’t going to be the last that Jax was annoyed with him.

  “We need to go to the storage unit that’s down the street from my old apartment.”

  “That’s where you have the files?”

  “Yep.”

  Jax turned onto a main road that would lead to the neighborhood where he’d lived during his time as a detective. It wasn’t fancy, but it had been close to the precinct and it had been cheap enough that he didn’t have to live on ramen noodles.

  It was nearly dark by the time they were pulling into a fenced parking lot, and Ash hurried into the office. He hadn’t brought his key, which meant he needed the manager. Ten minutes later, they were pushing up the roller door and stepping into the long, narrow space.

  Ash flipped the switch, blinking as the harsh fluorescent glow seared away the darkness. Beside him, Jax drew in a sharp breath.

  “Christ, Ash. I wondered why your new place seemed so empty when I went to pack you a bag. You haven’t moved in,” he said.

  Ash allowed his gaze to skim over the piles of boxes that lined the walls and the heavy furniture that he had stacked at the back. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Or maybe it’s not home,” Jax suggested, moving forward to pull open one of the boxes.

  Ash refused to consider his brother’s words. “I’ve been there five years.”

  “And all you have is a few clothes, three plates, two glasses, and a roll of toilet paper. That should tell you something.”

  “That you’re a nosy bastard,” Ash groused even as he silently admitted his brother had a point. He clearly needed to rent a moving van and haul his belongings to his house. It was no wonder he’d never felt comfortable there.

  “True,” Jax agreed without shame, pulling out the bottle of champagne and engraved glass that Ash had bought as a graduation present for Remi. He’d moved away before he could give it to her. “If you want me to get rid of some of this stuff—”

  “No,” he growled, moving toward the back of the unit with jerky steps.

  “Sorry.” Jax replaced the items and closed the box before he hurried to join Ash.

  “I’ll deal with my personal stuff later,” Ash promised, a hint of apology in his voice. He hadn’t meant to snap at his brother. Then he bent down to grab a plastic bin from the floor. “These are my private notes on the Butcher, as well as Gage’s.”

  Jax arched his brows. “You didn’t give them to the department after he died?”

  Ash shook his head. “They have our official reports. These are mostly filled with our investigations that turned out to be dead ends and interviews with witnesses who we didn’t really trust to tell us the truth.”

  There were also the more sensitive inquiries they’d kept on the down low. They didn’t want anyone to know that they’d interviewed a lawyer who worked in the district attorney’s office, as well as the son of a prominent businessman. Not when the evidence had been sketchy at best. No need to ruin any reputations.

  “Why keep them?” Jax demanded.

  “At the time I just wanted to hide them away and forget. Now . . .” Ash allowed his words to trail away.

  “Now what?”

  Ash grimaced, a shiver of disgust spreading through his body. Just holding the container with the files made him feel tainted. As if a portion of the killer’s evil had managed to seep into the files inside.

  “I think I knew this day would come,” he said, lifting his head to meet his brother’s somber gaze. “None of us truly thought the Butcher would just stop killing. It was only a matter of time before he returned to Chicago.”

  “I never worked the case. Did you believe that the Butcher left the area after Gage died?”

  That period in his life was a blur in Ash’s mind. He’d been consumed with grief and guilt, and at the same time he was terrified by the thought the killer was still out there, just waiting for his opportunity to strike again.

  “Either that or he was incarcerated for some other crime. Serial killers rarely start and stop on a whim,” he said.

  Jax furrowed his brow, as if Ash’s words had struck a sudden inspiration. “You know, it’s possible that the Butcher changed his MO.” He slowly spoke his thoughts out loud. “He had to know that killing a cop would have put him on the radar of every law enforcement agent in the country. I might pull a few of our unsolved cases and give them a second glance.”

  Ash blinked. He’d never considered the idea that the Butcher had remained but changed his method of killing. Sadly, there were enough unsolved murders in Chicago that his victims might have been labeled as random deaths. “A good idea.”

  Jax smiled with wry amusement at the surprise in Ash’s tone. “I might not have a fancy degree, but I’m a kick-ass cop,” he boasted.

  Ash snorted. “I’ll agree to the ass part.”

  Jax rolled his eyes. “It’s colder than crap in here. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Remi pulled into the garage of her bi-level home with its green siding and a large bay window. It’d belonged to her grandparents for forty years. When they’d decided to move to Florida, Remi had purchased the house and moved in. The neighborhood had once been an upscale area for solid, middle-class workers like her grandfather, but over the past few years it’d started to edge toward shabby. Remi didn’t mind. It was a nice, peaceful area where she felt isolated from the hectic bustle of the city.

  Entering through the side door that led into the kitchen, Remi was braced when her dog came pounding forward. Buddy possessed an unshakable belief that she wanted to be mauled by a seventy-pound dog as soon as she entered the house.

  With a
laugh, she bent down to give the mutt a good back scratch, allowing the beast to slobber over her face before she grabbed the leash off a nearby hook.

  “Come on, boy,” she said.

  Buddy responded with an excited bark, barely allowing her to clip the leash to his collar before he was dragging her through the house to the front door. Remi jogged to keep up, her dark thoughts shattered by the enthusiastic dog.

  Not that she could completely turn off her fear that the Butcher had returned to Chicago. Or the lingering shock at seeing Ash. But no matter what happened during her day, Buddy could always lift her mood.

  Opening the door, she was careful to ensure she had her pepper spray in her pocket before heading out for their evening walk. The icy night air added a speed to their trip through their neighborhood as they were both anxious to return to the warmth of the house. Once back home, Remi closed and locked the door before leading Buddy into the kitchen. Expecting the dog to rush to his food bowl, Remi’s heart slammed against her chest as he instead barked toward the glass sliding door that led to the back porch.

  Trying to tell herself it was a squirrel, or maybe a stray dog, Remi flipped on the outside light. Still, she paused to grab a large knife from a drawer before she slid open the door. Better safe than sorry, right?

  She also waited for Buddy to join her before stepping onto the porch and glancing around. Buddy growled and Remi froze. She strained to see through the darkness. Had there been a shadow moving at the edge of her property?

  “Hello?” she called out. “Who’s there?”

  There was a loud rustle from the side of her house before a man strolled into the light that pooled around her back porch.

  “Trouble, Remi?”

  She managed to swallow her primitive scream, feeling like a fool. Doug Gates was a short man with thinning blond hair and a round face. Six months ago, he’d moved into the ranch-style house next door. Since then, he’d made a habit of appearing whenever she was outside. Like the Jack-in-the-box she had when she was young. She hated how it would suddenly pop up and make her scream.

  She pasted a smile on her face, feeling guilty for her less-than-neighborly thoughts. Doug was a perfectly respectable banker with a couple of kids who lived with his ex-wife. He’d been nothing but nice to her.