Harlequin Intrigue April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Carol Ericson (short books to read TXT) 📖

the door of the safe open, she backed out of the closet, clutching the packet to her chest. She swung by the kitchen table on her way back to the couch and grabbed her wine.

Tucking one leg beneath her, she slipped the paper clip, which had taken the place of the clasp, from the top of the envelope and plunged a slightly shaky hand inside.

The sheaf of papers waiting for her fit comfortably in her grip, and she brought them into the light. These weren’t official documents, but they told the whole story of The Player’s killing spree twenty years ago.

Six women. Six severed fingers. No connection between the victims, except for an age range in their twenties and a general appearance of long blond hair. Nothing unusual in that, hardly a pattern. Young women were more apt to be the target of serial killers, and most young women, then and now, wore their hair long.

The two current women didn’t even match The Player’s victims, as Marissa was a dark-haired Latina.

Kyra flipped over the stack of papers and slapped them down on the coffee table. She didn’t need to look at the pictures again.

She rolled her wineglass between her hands and raised it to her lips. She’d better slow down and get some food in her stomach if she hoped to carry out her plan tonight.

She pushed up from the couch, poured the wine into the sink and grabbed a container of leftover pasta from the fridge. She ate it cold, standing up, one bare foot on top of the other.

Then she changed from the slacks and blouse she’d worn to work and pulled on some jeans, a T-shirt and a hoodie. When she finished tying her running shoes, she reached into her satchel and grabbed her .22. It wasn’t easy to get a conceal-carry permit these days, but she had connections.

She slung the strap of her purse across her body and secured her gun in the outside pouch. She closed the safe in the closet and locked up the apartment, its location on the first floor making it vulnerable to break-ins by petty thieves and junkies, but they didn’t scare her. She’d faced the devil himself—more than once. Then she hopped in her car, which was parked in the carport in the alley, and drove back the way she’d come earlier.

It didn’t take two hours this time. Rush-hour traffic had thinned out, but the freeway still boasted enough cars to keep her speed below fifty most of the way.

She took the turnoff for Griffith Park, leaving the other cars behind. She crawled down a road toward the trailhead where there’d been a mass of vehicles and people this morning. Now she had the place to herself—she hoped.

This morning, she’d headed to the crime scene as soon as she’d heard a hiker had found a body, the second in two weeks, dumped in the rugged area that nestled in the heart of LA. She’d seen McAllister there, large and in charge, and he’d seen her. He’d been taking pictures of the onlookers, hoping to catch a killer with his camera.

She’d been surveying the crowd herself, but nobody stuck out to her. McAllister’s pictures could be valuable further into the investigation once they tracked the movements and acquaintances of these women.

It would’ve been easier for her if Verona had been tagged to lead the task force, but McAllister was the hotshot, despite certain issues with the department. She could wrap Verona around her little finger, and she could handle McAllister, too. She’d had lots of practice getting the jump on men who thought they ruled the world.

She held her breath as she neared the trailhead. She didn’t need some patrol officer assigned to protect the crime scene asking her questions. Her late-night visit would surely get back to McAllister, and she didn’t need that, either.

As the car slowed to a stop, she huffed out a breath. She had free rein without an audience. The cops and CSI had been working the crime scene since this morning. They must’ve squeezed it dry. No need to keep anyone away now.

Darkness met her as she scrambled from her car, her hand firmly on the zippered pouch concealing her weapon. She didn’t expect the killer to be active two nights in a row or choose the same dump site, but this guy wasn’t the only evil that lurked in the shadows. She had plenty of experience with evil, and the only way to stop it in its tracks was with a well-placed bullet.

The soles of her running shoes crunched the dried-out discards from the foliage that bordered the trail. A slight warm breeze feathered through the trees, sending another few leaves floating to the ground and lifting the ends of her hair. As summer wound down, it ushered in wildfire season and the debris beneath her feet would be its hapless fuel.

She took several steps down the trail, her breathing shallow, her heart hammering in her chest. He must’ve parked in just about the same place as she did, his feet treading the same path as hers.

The police had noted drag marks on the trail. Of course, he hadn’t killed Kelsey here. He’d brought her to this place, left her, dumped her. Kyra’s hands curled at her sides as a hot rage thrummed through her veins.

The wind picked up and whispered down the trail. She whispered a response. “Is it you? Have you come back? If you have, I’m not going to let you get away this time. I’ll kill you myself.”

A twig snapped behind her and she spun around, her hand plunging into her purse for her gun. A hulking figure took shape under the crescent moon, and she aimed her weapon at it—center mass.

“Take one more step, and I’ll drop you where you stand.”

CHAPTER THREE

He’d recognize that voice anywhere, even though he’d heard it live and in person just a few times and never so...forceful. He believed her, but he had no