The Coldest Fear. Debra Webb

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СКАЧАТЬ former was true. Randolph should be well on his way to Morocco. Lawrence had purchased the small desert palace for him years ago. Randolph had always planned to slip away one day. He’d cultivated the perfect pawns to facilitate the move. His son’s obsession with Detective Bobbie Gentry had provided the classic opportunity. Randolph had dreamed of rich, mahogany-skinned men and delicious domestic maids catering to his every whim, including serving as inspiration for his beloved art.

      But then a loose end he should have clipped long ago unraveled his well-laid plans and, unfortunately, Lawrence was wrong about the latter of his claims. Someone did know something and now Randolph had no choice but to tidy up that annoying thread before disappearing. If there was anything in this world he wanted as much as the freedom to create his art, it was revenge. It was a rather base instinct but, despite popular belief, Randolph was only human. Where Nicholas was concerned, the absolute best revenge was to ensure he remained steadfast on his current path. Nothing would make Randolph happier than knowing his son would forever remain alone and in the shadows, afraid of who and what he might become. The quintessential tragedy.

      “There are two people who know my deepest, darkest secret, Lawrence.” Randolph stood. He unbuttoned the light wool suit jacket. He had to give his old friend credit—he’d had everything Randolph needed waiting for him in that Huntsville, Alabama, storage locker, including transportation. He removed the jacket and placed it carefully on the back of the chair he’d vacated.

      “I made a mistake,” Lawrence urged. “I can take care of it. Now. This minute. Let me...let me help you, Randolph.” His words had begun to slur.

      Ah, the timing was flawless. The high-powered muscle relaxer would render Lawrence quite helpless. Randolph crossed the room and opened the liquor cabinet. He’d stored the items he would need there, including the half-empty bottle of Scotch he’d laced. The moment was, admittedly, gratifying. Randolph had been in prison for fourteen years, three months and six days, and he still hadn’t lost his touch.

      “Dear God,” Lawrence muttered thickly.

      Randolph chuckled. “God can’t help you now, Lawrence.” He removed the carefully folded white sheet from the shelf below the whiskey tumblers and spread it on the floor. “You see—” he walked toward his old friend “—God holds no dominion over me.”

      Randolph released the knot and unwound the rope. Lawrence slumped forward, tried to move but his body failed him. Still, he grunted and gnashed his teeth.

      “Now, now, Lawrence, you know there’s nothing you can do. Why put on this pathetic display?”

      Randolph reached under the drugged man’s shoulders and lifted him, then dragged him to the middle of the room. He arranged him, arms stretched out to his sides, legs spread eagle.

      “It’s such a shame I won’t have time to capture this momentous occasion on canvas.” He smiled down at his old friend. “You know I’ve always fancied myself quite the artist.” He sighed. “Before Nicholas turned against me I had my own studio. I miss those days.”

      A wet spot appeared on the crotch of Lawrence’s trousers.

      “Really,” Randolph chastised, “I would have thought you far braver than this.”

      The man on the floor groaned pitifully.

      Randolph returned to the liquor cabinet and retrieved the final tool he’d stashed behind it.

      He approached his old friend once more. “I will miss you, Lawrence.”

      Tears poured from the other man’s eyes. The pulse at the base of his throat fluttered wildly.

      How very sad and yet intensely titillating.

      “See you in hell, old friend.” Randolph hefted the ax. The first blow shattered the elbow as the blade cut through bone and tendon, leaving the forearm detached and hemorrhaging on the floor. The second swing sent blood splattering across Randolph’s face. Muscles and ligaments splayed open at the shoulder like the freshly severed parts of a hog. The humerus easily popped out of the glenoid socket and Lawrence’s body twitched and shuddered. A feeble scream croaked out of his sagging jowls.

      Randolph sighed with pleasure as the hot blood slid down his skin. His own blood pulsing with sheer bliss, he raised the ax again.

      Thumping and grunting echoed from the other room. Randolph hesitated and glanced toward the wall that separated the two men who would die this day.

      He smiled. “Don’t worry, dear boy, you’re next.”

       Four

      Bobbie had barely reached the end of the block when she spotted the cruiser in her rearview mirror. The Atlanta PD official vehicle rocked to a stop in the spot she’d vacated mere seconds before. Unable to help herself she’d sat a moment at the intersection and watched the two uniformed officers rush up the steps toward the house. LeDoux hadn’t said a word but she’d felt the tension vibrating from him.

      Eighteen minutes later she pulled into the parking lot of the Country Inn and Suites where LeDoux had a room. Definitely a step down from the luxurious four-and five-star hotels the agent typically called home when on assignment. Just another indication of how much LeDoux had changed over the past year. He didn’t wear his scars on his skin the way she did, but they were there nonetheless.

      “You’ll need a jacket or something,” he said. “Unless you’re planning to leave your weapon in the trunk.”

      Maybe it was the sleep deprivation or the burden of so many murders so close together but her mind felt as if her head were under water. Every thought, every reaction was far slower than it should be. Agreeing to come to this hotel with LeDoux was likely another sleep-deprived decision she would regret.

      He works for the FBI, Bobbie. He used you once...

      Considering she didn’t have a better plan, she popped the trunk and climbed from the driver’s seat. She glanced at LeDoux as she grabbed her overnight duffel bag from the back seat. There were a lot of people she’d let down. Her son, her husband, her partner, her friend, the chief. Special Agent LeDoux was guilty of that egregious sin the same as she was—all the more reason she shouldn’t trust him, except he had certain connections she didn’t.

      She moved around to the trunk and dug out the windbreaker she kept there for emergencies. Dragging on the jacket, she reluctantly admitted to herself that whatever LeDoux had or hadn’t done, she owed him. He had protected her that once when there was no one else—when it counted. He had allowed the monster to take him instead. His screams echoed deep in her soul. Bobbie shook off the haunting memories.

      “We have to go through the lobby to get to the room,” LeDoux explained as if the silence or her lack of a response had gotten to him and he needed to speak just to make sure they were both still alive.

      The two of them were like the walking dead—ghosts. Mere shadows of their former selves moving among the living. The breeze she’d noticed earlier felt colder now. She zipped the jacket and secured the car. “How long have you been in Atlanta?”

      She hadn’t seen LeDoux since late Tuesday night, some fifty hours ago, when they’d met at a crime scene in Athens, Alabama. Weller’s latest victim had been chopped into pieces and then displayed like СКАЧАТЬ