In a Heartbeat. Rita Herron

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      A cool darkness bathed the interior downstairs. Shadowy streaks of cobwebs dangled in the black corner. Rage seared through him as he spotted her lying on the floor, begging. Her blond hair spilled around her bare shoulders, her breasts lay waiting, supple and distended, her legs curled toward her belly to conceal her secrets.

      “Please let me go,” she whimpered.

      He staggered and flattened his hands on the wall, then watched her through the bars of her prison. Her face was milky-white, void of color, her eyes two red-rimmed, swollen cages holding small, listless green orbs. Perspiration coated her entire body.

      “Lisa?”

      “No… Please let me go.”

      Tiny black-and-white lights flashed intermittently like shadowy dots, frozen in front of his eyes. Remnants of memories exploded into his consciousness. Memories that seemed foreign. Memories of another woman coming toward him. Beating him nearly to death. The cries of a terrorized child following. The pain in his chest.

      A small dark room, so small he could barely move. Blood seeping down his arms. The smell of urine. A man’s voice echoed loud and threatening. “You don’t deserve to live.”

      Then he was someplace else. In the dirt, dying. No, a hospital.

      A nurse’s face rose above him from the grave.

      Angelic. Making promises. She was there to save him.

      The smile faded.

      Then she was gone. The pain returned. The lights dulling. The sound of the woman’s voice crying.

      “Please, please let me go. I’m not Lisa.”

      He reached out and unlocked the door, the key jangling against the metal as she shrank into the corner like a child. Simpering. Feeble. Weak. A coward.

      She’d done nothing but beg and try to bargain with him.

      No, she wasn’t Lisa. Lisa was innocent. Sweet. Caring. Even during the trial, she’d been perfect.

      Exactly the kind of woman he wanted.

      And in good time he would have her.

      For now, though, he’d have to satisfy himself with this woman. Mindy.

      “Come here, sweetheart.” He lowered his voice. Turned on the charm. “I won’t hurt you. Let me make it all better.”

      She whimpered, the sound clanging through the chamber of endless dark walls. Silky hair streamed around her shoulders in a tangled puddle as she lifted her head. Her eyes resembled two black pools of terror. Her naked body protested as his gaze raked over it. Nipples jutted out. Flesh quivered. Goose bumps skated up her veiny, overheated skin. Lithe long legs curled tighter to her chest to hide her treasure.

      His laugh tore through the putrid air. Then he curled his fingers around her bony arm and dragged her toward him.

      CHAPTER TWO

      HE WAS CHOKING HER. Dragging her across the floor. Embedding his hands in her hair, yanking it from the scalp.

      “You shouldn’t have told, Lisa. You should have kept quiet.”

      She gritted her teeth, refusing to beg for freedom. How could she have been such a fool? Four women had died because she’d worn blinders.

      Maybe it was her turn.

      He tossed her body against the cold concrete, and she spotted a wooden box. Dear God.

      A coffin. Just her size. He had planned this out. Had built it just for her.

      A protest died on her lips as his hand connected with her cheek. She flew backward, her head striking the cement wall. Stars danced and twirled in front of her eyes. The scent of blood assaulted her. Other fetid odors followed.

      Then she passed out.

      When she awakened, she was lying inside the box. Her limbs ached, felt heavy, as if they’d been weighted down. Heat clawed at her skin, robbing her of air. She looked into his eyes, begging, pleading for mercy. But he had the eyes of a devil, as if the fiery heat had eaten away his soul.

      Then he dropped the lid on top of her, shutting out the light. She sucked in air, felt sweat stream down her face into her hair.

      The hammer slammed against the wood. He was nailing it shut.

      She tried to scream, but her throat was so raw and dry that her voice died.

      A sob welled inside her. He couldn’t do this. She was only twenty-five. She had so much to live for.

      A job. Maybe another man and a child.

      She tried to turn, but the wooden walls scraped her sides.

      Then the song began. His grating voice whispered its eerie drone, “Just a rose will do….”

      LISA CRIED OUT, her heart pounding. The room spun as she jerked upright.

      Perspiration trickled down her forehead. She gripped the sheets with clammy hands, searching the darkness. The curtain fluttered in the sultry breeze from the window. The scent of honeysuckle drifted through the opening. The smell of grass followed, and heat lightning flashed across the sky.

      Had she left the window open?

      She normally locked everything securely at night.

      Panicked, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and listened for an intruder.

      The wind whistled. A tree limb scraped the glass pane. Shadows hung outside like bony hands, clawing at her in the pre-dawn light.

      She flipped on the light, but it flickered and went off. Her breath rattled out, tense in the night. Had she lost power, or had someone disconnected the electricity?

      She searched for the baseball bat she kept under the bed. Wished she’d gotten up enough nerve to buy a gun.

      A squeaking sound splintered the quiet, and her breath rushed out. She clenched the wooden bat and tiptoed toward the bedroom door. From the doorway, she could see the small bath, den and galley-style kitchen. She’d purposely chosen the open plan because there was no place for an intruder to hide. She hesitated at the door, peered through the black emptiness. The light she kept burning in the den had been extinguished, too.

      A shadow floated across the window.

      Someone was outside.

      BY 8:00 A.M., Brad stood in the midst of the stifling hot task force room the FBI had designated for the Grave Digger #2 case, and drew a line across the whiteboard to indicate the time the second victim, Mindy Faulkner, had been reported missing. So far, the task force consisted of himself and Ethan, two local Atlanta detectives, Anderson and Bentley, Captain Rosberg, and two Buford cops, Officers Gunther and Surges, who’d been on the scene when they’d found the first victim. They were expecting a profiler from Quantico at some point, but she hadn’t yet arrived.

      Outside, СКАЧАТЬ