The Broken (The Apostles) (6 page)

I hate that you’re never wrong. Hate that you’re practically perfect, and you damn well know it.

Not now, Marissa
, he told the voice.

Had Jason attacked Katrina and the six other broadcasters? Had Hayden been wrong?

“Are you saying the coppers called you a liar?” Smokey asked.

“The technical term was
unreliable witness
,” Kate said with a harsh laugh. “At one point, the detective and medical personnel had me believing I’d imagined the whole thing. I
imagined
seeing Jason’s scar during the initial attack. I
imagined
the voice whispering in my ear and threatening to kill me. In the end, I figured my time and energy would be better spent fighting to get healthy and my career back on track. So, I worked my butt off in rehab. Meanwhile, the police searched for clues, hunted for witnesses, looked for suspects…”

“…and found nothing,” Smokey Joe said when she trailed off.

“Yes, Smokey, they found
nothing
.” For the first time, Katrina’s voice faltered, a quick hitch in her breath. “But Jason found me again, right after I left rehab.”

Katrina turned to Hayden, her green eyes as sharp as shards of glass. With jerky hands, she yanked her chambray shirt from her shoulders, standing before him with tumbled hair and wearing a tight white tank top.

An unexpected warmth spread down his torso as his gaze slid over the small swells of her half-exposed breasts, at their tight, stiff centers, the shadowed valley, the creamy curve of—

The clock above the sink stopped ticking. The shadows filtering through the window stilled. And his hot awareness of a beautiful woman’s half-naked chest chilled.

“What the hell’s going on?” Smokey Joe banged a fist on the table. “A man’s got a right to know what’s happening in his own kitchen.”

Hayden closed the distance between him and Katrina, who was once again a victim. His fingers slid along the upper curve of her breast, where he slipped away the fabric just short of exposing her right nipple.

She sucked in a breath but didn’t flinch.

Smokey Joe jumped to his feet. “What’s going on, Katy-lady? You okay?”

“No.” Hayden’s lips barely moved as his finger slid along a pale red line etched in her breast. “This scar, it isn’t supposed to be here. It wasn’t in your medical records. It wasn’t in the official police report. All reports indicated twenty-four stab wounds. Breasts and groin area noticeably untouched.” On the surface, he kept his voice calm, but underneath, words and questions and scenarios started to hiss and bubble. “Were those reports wrong?”

She pushed away his hand. “No.”

His jaw tensed as he pointed to the scar on her breast. “So this…”

“…is number twenty-
five
. From the second attack.”

“What second attack?” Hayden asked. “There was no official report about a second attack. None of the investigators in Reno mentioned a second attack.”

A harsh laugh fell from her twisted lips. “Trust me, Agent Reed, there was definitely a second attack.” Once again, she turned toward Smokey Joe, directing her words at him. “Before I left rehab, I had a new security system installed in my condo, and Reno PD escorted me home. They assured me they were still on the hunt for my attacker and that they wouldn’t stop until they found him. They promised to put an extra patrol in my neighborhood those first few days. They told me they were doing their job. They were doing everything possible to keep me safe. But that night Jason, dressed in the same dark clothes and mask, got into my condo. He stood over my bed. He stuck a knife into my chest.” Her chest heaved and shoulders jerked.

Smokey Joe fumbled through the air and took her hand in his.

Hayden took a breath and processed this new information. It was logical that the Butcher attacked a second time. His MO had always been to kill. What surprised him was her reaction. He’d studied Katrina Erickson, he knew her type. She was strong and smart. “Why didn’t you go to Reno PD? Why didn’t you report the second attack?”

“What would the police say? ‘Ooops! Sorry we screwed up. We’ll do better next time’?” Katrina patted Smokey Joe’s hand and guided him back into the chair. “I didn’t report the attack, Agent Reed, because it wouldn’t make a difference.” This final statement had no force, no fire. The absence of anger spoke volumes.

“I see,” Hayden said.

A flare fired in Katrina’s eyes as she yanked her shirt over her breast. “What the hell do you
see
?”

“I see a woman who doesn’t trust authorities, who was let down by those meant to protect her.” His head dipped in a sober nod. “I see a woman who no longer believes in justice.”

The last word hung between them, a fragile thread. For years, her career in broadcast news revolved around justice. Her reports had uncovered wrongs done to ordinary people, crimes against society, and heinous acts against the human spirit. Like him, she’d thrown her heart into the pursuit of justice.

“Well, you’re blind, because what you see standing before you right now, right here”—she stabbed a finger at her chest—“is a stronger, smarter woman who refuses to be anyone’s victim. All those months of rehab, of physical and mental strengthening, made me strong. So had being used as a sharpening stone for a knife blade.” She squatted in front of Smokey Joe, taking his hands in hers. “After the second attack, I emptied my savings, hopped on my bike, and became Kate Johnson. For two years I rode all over the country, just me and my bike and lots of winding roads. I stayed in small, out-of-the-way places where people didn’t ask questions. I paid cash for everything and went months without talking to other human beings. Six months ago my savings ran out. I was in Durango at the time, and I needed a job.”

“And you found me.” Smokey lowered his gaze to their clasped hands.

“I found you.” She brought their intertwined fingers to her lips. She’d been the pro and told the tale. For Smokey. When she turned from Smokey Joe to him, her face lost all tenderness.
There, are you happy? Are you happy I hurt Smokey? Are you happy you made me relive that hell?

Hayden knew this story hadn’t been easy, but they were chasing evil, which invariably meant a walk through hell. “Katrina, I’m sorry you—”

“You’re
sorry
?” She dropped Smokey’s hand and bolted upright. “For what? For the scars that disfigure my face and body? For the ineptitude of your law enforcement brothers? For believing in a system that doesn’t work?”

“It works.”

“Like hell it does! It’s a broken system, a broken world, Agent Reed, shattered and ugly and full of evil.”

The force of her words, the power of her emotion slammed him like a heat wave rolling across the desert.

Hayden worked with enough victims to know that no matter how loud he talked and how long he offered valid, substantiated arguments, Katrina wouldn’t hear him, not at that moment. She wouldn’t hear that the scars had faded, that law enforcement had not failed because he was still working the case, and that she was safe. Full of anger and fear, she was as deaf as Smokey Joe was blind.

Smokey scratched a spring of hair at the back of his head. “So this slasher fella, your brother, he has something to do with the Barbie murders?”

Katrina tilted her chin toward Hayden in a dare. “Absolutely.”

Smokey pounded his fist on the table, the Las Vegas candy dish rattling. “Then stop your yammering at Kate, G-man, and git on that damn government-issued phone of yours and call someone to nab this guy.”

“That’s my intent, Mr. Bernard,” Hayden said. He reached into his pocket and took out a set of handcuffs. Before anyone could blink, he slipped one circle of silver around Katrina’s wrist.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she cried, trying to pull away.

He clicked shut the cuff. “I’ve been chasing you too long to let you out of my sight now.”

She yanked her arm, the metal digging into her flesh. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The second cuff locked around the rung of a kitchen chair. “I know.”

He pulled out his phone, made his way to the living room, and dialed Parker Lord’s direct line, his heart beating triple-time. Was this it? Was he finally closing in on the Butcher?

As he waited for his boss to answer, he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye, and he ducked just in time to see a candy dish with a picture of a donkey go flying past his ear. It slammed into the wall, where it shattered into hundreds of jagged tiny pieces. He turned and looked at the kitchen table where Katrina glared at him and Smokey Joe grinned.

*  *  *

Wednesday, May 10, 2:30 p.m.
Colorado Springs, Colorado

“It’s like fucking Cinderella without the glass slipper, only shoeprints.”

Lottie stared at the terraced set of planters that made up the slope of Shayna Thomas’s backyard and shook her head. CSD already made a cast of the print found below Thomas’s bedroom window, and now they were making a few more.

Detective Traynor pointed to the disturbed earth next to the red flag. “We found these large prints throughout the backyard. Looks like some kind of work boot.”

“Check Thomas’s bills. Find out if she has a lawn man and what size shoe he wears.”

Detective Traynor brushed aside a leafy fern with brown, brittle tips. “But this one has us stumped. You’re the shoe queen. What do you think?”

Lottie squatted, her old knees creaking as she stared at the boxy footprint comprised of wavy lines and the letters O and K. “I ain’t ready to bet the grandkids’ college education fund, but I think it may be some kind of orthotic. Line of ugly shoes called Ortho King. My doc keeps nagging me to get a pair.” She’d hurt her back two years ago playing ball with one of the grandsons, and her doctor told her to get shoes with more support, but she couldn’t give up her flashy heels. For the first twenty-two years of her life, she wore hand-me down shoes, walking through this world in threadbare soles, scuffed toes, and other people’s sweat. Her old hoofers deserved better. She gave her foot with its four-inch cheetah-print slingback a little jiggle.

Traynor squatted next to her. “Didn’t Agent Reed say that the killer may have some kind of handicap or disfiguration?”

“Yeah, he did. Said it could be something unseen, like a stutter, or visible, like a limp.” Lottie pointed to the odd shoeprint. “Get a cast made.”

*  *  *

Wednesday, June 10, 8:30 p.m.
Mancos, Colorado

Agent Reed walked into Smokey’s kitchen, a key dangling from his finger. “If I take off the cuffs, are you going to run?”

Kate eyed the key, debating if she should grab for it first or knock him off balance with a shoulder to his midsection and
then
snatch her ticket to freedom. “No.”

He rubbed his swollen lip. “Are you going to head-butt me again?”

Only rookies would use the same offense twice. She would lunge for his legs. That would bring him down fast and hard. “No.”

He laughed and dropped the key in his pocket. Kate stiffened in the chair. She hadn’t expected the laugh. It was a low and rusty sound, as if he didn’t do it often.

“If you’re going to lie,” he said when the chuckle tapered off, “you can at least try to be a little more convincing. You may want to work on the blinks. Two quick ones before each lie was a dead giveaway.”

Pompous know-it-all. But he was right. She was a horrible liar, which is probably why she ended up in investigative journalism. She’d spent her on-air days in pursuit of truth. Now she just wanted to pursue any long and winding road that would take her far away from Agent Organized and Efficient.

Agent Reed had spent the past nine hours in Smokey’s living room on the phone, issuing orders, mounting the cavalry, and trying to close in on a butchering madman. Early on he’d offered to take off her cuffs if she agreed to go to the local police station so he could work without worrying about her safety, but she’d made it clear she’d rather be shackled to one of Smokey Joe’s kitchen chairs. From what she could tell from Agent’s Reed’s phone conversations and teleconferences, her brother, Jason, was missing from his home in Dorado Bay, a small resort town on the Nevada shores of Lake Tahoe. Police had found a week’s worth of mail crammed in the mailbox, and neighbors hadn’t seen him for days. Their mother, who lived in the same house, was also AWOL. No one at Jason’s work had seen him for two weeks. With each dead end, she found herself one step closer to the edge of terror. Jason could be outside Smokey’s cabin at this very moment.

Hayden didn’t seem fazed. He made calls, took notes, and, when he reached a dead end, headed off in another direction without losing speed. On his last phone call she heard him make arrangements for him and his team, an elite FBI group out of Maine, to descend on Dorado Bay tomorrow. She should feel relieved. The power, the efficiency, the might of the U.S. government manifested in one Special Agent Hayden Reed was on the case, but all she felt was the need to run fast and far. She yanked at the cuff around her red wrist.

She’d sworn at age sixteen she would be in charge of where she went and what she did, but from the moment the FBI agent pinned her beneath him, she’d felt powerless, and in her world, there was nothing worse.

“I’m not the enemy,” Agent Reed said softly as he sat in the chair next to hers.

She hadn’t expected that either, the softness. Everything about Agent Reed was hard, the razor-sharp creases in his suit pants, the square jaw, the gunmetal eyes.

He reached for her face, as if to smooth back the curl hanging over her eye, but she jerked her head away. “I’m not either.” She meant for her words to come out as a barb, but they landed in the air between them on a sigh. Today had been exhausting. Telling Smokey about her attack and reliving her past had been an emotional roller-coaster.

But she’d get through this, past Agent Reed, and back on the road, and sooner rather than later.

A feather-light set of fingers slid along her wrist.

“If you try to run, I’ll catch you,” Agent Reed said as if he could he read her mind. “You realize that, don’t you? I’ll find you and keep you safe until the Butcher is behind bars. Don’t fight me on this.”