Dead Burn Page 11

  As hard as they tried, the judge’s daughter and husband couldn’t escape the foul smell, and then everyone knew what horror was about to happen.

  The only thing that the judge could think was NO, NO, NO, repeatedly in his mind. He continued to watch in horror, unable to pry his eyes away. His thoughts scrambled. Not his baby… not the little girl that he had taught to ride a bike… and the young woman who graduated from Harvard.

  It’s not happening.

  The unknown assailant calmly left the room, and returned, wiping his gloves with a white hand towel. He took painstaking care to wipe each finger, palm, and then the back of his hand. After he was satisfied, he neatly folded the towel, and gently laid it on the edge of the bed.

  For the first time, he turned to the mirror and stared into the judge. Even though he couldn’t see him, he knew exactly where the judge sat. The killer’s gaze bore into the judge’s direction. He walked purposely to the mirror, stood for several seconds, only inches from the barrier, and lifted his left hand with a small object tucked between his thumb and forefinger. He moved gracefully, like a professionally trained dancer as he wrote three large letters: S I N

  That one word hit the judge with an unprecedented power, which jolted his entire body and shocked his spirit.

  The man that stood at the mirror, stared, never blinking, never moving, as if to telepathically express all of the sins of the world onto him.

  The judge saw him clearly and could identify him, but the killer’s face wasn’t one he had seen before. Expressionless, dark, and average was the best description of attacker through the window. Racking his brain, the judge tried to dig deep into his file of defendants, but nothing surfaced through the hundreds, if not thousands, of criminal faces.

  Who was this young man?

  Turning with grace and perfect timing, the intruder effortlessly dropped a lighter while he exited the room.

  Flames burst into full force within seconds.

  The fire flipped and dove in unison as it gained more momentum, burning hotter with light and dark orange colors. The two victims scorched, bouncing and writhing in the chairs, before the intensity toppled them. The skin curled from their bones in charred pieces.

  A dull buzz accompanied by a fading view distorted the judge’s perspective. Not willing to acknowledge the horror, he stared straight ahead.

  The gruesome display took minutes, but time stalled for the performance of terror to end, and allowed the carnage to take center stage. Bones of the contorted limbs remained as the fire danced from the carpet to the drapes, walls, and everywhere around the room. It fed on the available oxygen, craving it, and easily igniting available cotton, paper, and wood to keep up its incredible strength.

  Judge Christensen sat slumped in his chair, dead from a massive heart attack. He never felt the heat of the explosion as the mirrored window splintered into millions of pieces, or that his body shredded upon impact. His house continued to burn with a magnum force, everything he had worked for melted, burned, exploded, and soon transformed into ashes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Friday 1945 Hours

  High on a hill in between a dense area of trees, Jordan peered through his digital binoculars at the darkened estate belonging to Mr. Bishop. He had taken a roundabout route to make sure that he wasn’t seen, or recorded on well-hidden surveillance cameras. He hated feeling completely out of the loop and deep into the unknown factor of mysterious disappearances. It left him without an appetite with his nerves tattered.

  It didn’t make any sense to him that the huge estate was dark and vacated. He continued to look for any sign of life or someone residing inside the house – but no one appeared. It looked as if no one had been in the house for months, but he was there only a few days ago.

  Retrieving his cell phone, Jordan watched the pendant icon blink and travel past the Los Angeles area. So many questions flooded his mind of why the necklace was first at Bishop’s estate, and how and why it travelled to southern California.

  For as long as he had known Emily, it was the first time he felt that this might be a situation where they couldn’t get out of before something really bad happened. Jordan’s stomach took another low dip as he steadied his body against a tall Pine tree. He closed his eyes for a moment to take in the fresh air and clear his mind.

  Something cold and wet touched his left hand. With a start, Jordan took a defensive stance only to see a curious dog face staring at him. The brown, almost black, eyes of the most loyal animal on earth, waited for a command from him.

  “Sarge…you are such… a bad dog… for scaring me…”

  The faithful canine sat, stared at him, and patiently waited.

  “How did you…?”

  Jordan realized that the dog was out of the car and he quickly walked back to the vehicle. He looked at his ride after an extensive detailing and saw the dog slobber all over the driver’s window and headrest. The back window remained halfway down and judging by the streaks of saliva, scratch marks, and some black tufts of fur; it was the escape route.

  “See, this is why I don’t have pets. Oh man…”

  Opening the back door, Jordan grabbed a grey sweatshirt and wiped the slobber off the window and seat. “Get in, and quit nosing around and licking things.” The dog obeyed and easily jumped in. He leaped up to the front passenger seat, sitting straight, and readied himself for the ride.

  “Uh, I don’t think so… C’mon, get in the back seat.” Jordan lamely gestured to the back of the car.

  Sarge glanced at him and then turned his head back to peer through the front windshield.

  “Fine…” Jordan got behind the wheel. “You’re just as difficult as your owner is, you know that?”

  Inside the car, his remote police scanner kept a background noise, which sometimes proved useful. It also offered him some company in addition to his new canine friend. He heard an address reported for a request of fire trucks and ambulance.

  Immediately turning up the volume, Jordan recognized the address in a very exclusive neighborhood, and from his recent search of court personnel. The location belonged to the judge that preceded over the case where both the lawyer and defendant ended up dead, and on Emily’s radar of victims.

  Now the judge’s house burned to the ground.

  Jordan knew that the serial arson cases and Bishop had something to do with what happened to Emily and Rick. Unfortunately, now he had more questions than ever, and no solid answers – yet. He started the engine and drove back to his apartment to dig deeper into the situation and to call in some favors from old colleagues at the bureau.

  The beginning of a long night set in for Jordan.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Friday 2020 Hours

  It was the longest ride of Emily’s life aboard the train to San Diego. At least she had hydrated her body with water and two different juices, and tried to eat a cold chicken sandwich, but only managed a few bites. In between waves of nausea of the drugs still floating in her system and the constant dread that inundated her mind about Rick, she willed herself to move forward with the assassin’s plan.

  Every move she made became Red’s top priority. She had received a reprieve for Rick’s life, but paid the price on anything she did and every wrong gesture she made. If the perfect time came up and she found out where Rick’s location was, Emily would make her move and hope that it proved to be the right decision for his survival.

  She tried not to look directly at Red. He seemed to have three specific locations where his attention focused with practiced expertise, on Emily, the window, and mostly the door. As the speed of the train changed every so often, it caused the door to rattle and gave the notion that someone would burst inside. Emily wondered if the hit man would quietly take out the person with a snap of the neck. Or, if he would open fire blasting out the windows, taking a few bystanders down as he escaped with Emily by jumping out of a moving train.

  Emily sighed as she stared at Red. He didn’t se
em to care, but kept his obsessive attention on all three areas of the cramped room. She waited for him to look at her again and tried to find something in his demeanor or behind his eyes that would show some insight into his weaknesses.

  * * * * *

  There were many other contracts and killing assignments that Red found appealing and even soothing, one bullet through the brain from a high-powered rifle, or up close and personal with a hunting knife through the solar plexus.

  However, sitting with a wildcard of a woman who impressed the government as a serial killer hunter wasn’t one of them. It aggravated him that she could stare right into his eyes and didn’t flinch, and he knew that she would fight to the death if the situation called for it.

  Sedentary in a cramped room on a train for several hours, unable to move around freely, caused his joints to pain and seize up. At least his stomach maintained control and didn’t burn a path up to his mouth.

  The door rattled as the train down shifted nearing the station.

  Red’s eyes darted to the door, not expecting to see anyone, but again nothing proved ordinary in his work. He glanced at his watch, appeasing his displeasure that the train arrived in San Diego on time.

  Emily stood up.

  Red followed her lead and met her strong gaze, hooking his hand around her arm. “Stay put.” He guided her to sit down.

  It would be fifteen minutes before the train completely stopped and allowed passengers to disembark.

  Imagining the quick end to Emily Stone by twisting her neck and leaving her to gaze aimlessly out the window, Red almost broke into a smile. Her body left in the compartment for some sorry-ass Amtrak employee to discover.

  He looked at her, trim, petite, and attractive. It amazed him that she could locate all of the serial killers under extreme hostile situations. Apparently, she prided herself on criminal profiling and crime scene techniques. It seemed impractical.

  Forensics is a bullshit manipulation by law enforcement to close cases.

  Red fought the urge to end the growing farce of the babysitting job as his arms tensed. It wouldn’t take much to press his fingers around Emily’s pretty neck. From years of exercised breathing, he could accomplish anything, which included restraint no matter how long it took.

  Emily slowly turned her head and looked directly at Red, eyes steady, jaw relaxed and secure in her position. It intimidated him to a certain degree, it was as if she could read his thoughts – or at least try.

  * * * * *

  Emily stepped from the taxi followed closely by Red carrying the two small suitcases. She was extremely surprised as they headed into a ritzy downtown hotel lobby. The assassin casually approached the front desk where a polite young woman greeted him that sported a short bob hairstyle and oversized eyes accented by blue eye shadow.

  “Hello, welcome. How may I help you?” She smiled.

  “Checking in. Mr. Townsend.” Red stated, neither with contempt nor with warmth.

  With her fingernails clicking on the computer keyboard, she quickly found the reservation. “Yes, your suite is ready Mr. Townsend.” She continued typing in information and asked a few amenity questions.

  Emily casually surveyed the lobby, suddenly felt a little conspicuous in her jeans and rumpled t-shirt. She desperately needed a change of clothing as she pulled her jacket tighter in front of her.

  Turning her head to observe the large palm, she noticed her reflection in a huge mirror. Drawn and pale, Emily tried to smooth her shoulder length hair in a more flattering manner, and tugged at her leather jacket’s collar.

  A woman carrying a fluffy Pomeranian headed toward the registration desk with a bellhop tailing her. Business executives as well as couples moved freely through the lobby and into elevators. Noise resonated from the bar and restaurant area, laughter and clapping ensued. The sound of clinking of glasses made Emily remember a wonderful evening and a night out with Rick.

  “Let’s go.” Red said and interrupted her fleeting lapse into a fond memory. He guided her toward the elevators.

  He picked up the two suitcases and exited the lobby through a large area where a waterfall cascaded; several people laughed, dressed in upscale clothes, and hurried into the restaurant almost colliding into them.

  Red hit the call button for the elevator.

  Emily saw the room number on the keycard in his hand: 1821

  No one was in the elevator car; Emily pushed herself to the back corner and felt her time running out like an hourglass. Her energy zapped and dwindled with every passing minute.

  What hoop did she have to jump through now?

  Her mind melted into a blur of past events, and nothing gave the impression of what was right and wrong anymore.

  The elevator chimed as the doors opened to the eighteenth floor.

  They stepped out and paused. Red quickly oriented himself to the room numbers. They headed to the right.

  Emily curiously watched each room number count down to their room. Surprised by how narrow the hallway appeared. She took special notice of the small security cameras at each end. Most people wouldn’t notice the technology, but it made her wonder why Red chose this hotel if they were recorded on those devices.

  Without a second to lose, Red inserted the card key and opened the door. He ushered Emily inside and shut the door behind them.

  Incredible views from the spacious seating in a living room, along with a kitchen, and a large bedroom made Emily, for a brief moment, marvel at the plush surroundings. As fast as she became impressed, doom set in at what she must endure in Bishop’s plan. Red wasn’t giving any clue to her assignment until the absolute last moment.

  Red put one small case on the desk, shed his leather jacket, and then walked to the bedroom with the other overnight bag. Opening it, he said. “Get dressed.”

  “What?” Emily wasn’t sure if she heard him correctly.

  “Get dressed. Red dress, brown wig. You have half an hour.”

  Emily stared at the contents inside the suitcase neatly folded and organized in sections.

  Red didn’t wait for an answer or even a question. He swiftly left the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

  Weak and fighting defeat, Emily sat on the bed rubbing her forehead and hoped a fantastic idea would emerge. Nothing came. Planning, searching, discovering, and even fighting at times was the usual comfort zone for Emily’s work, but tonight her outlook mirrored that of a wounded victim.

  One question tormented her mind.

  Would she be able to save a stranger and Rick?

  She stared at the closed bedroom door, not because she was afraid that Red would enter, but because it shut out everything that she didn’t want to process at the moment.

  Pain and self-pity only proved ineffective under the circumstances.

  From inside the suitcase, Emily pulled out a beautiful cocktail dress, simple and tailored from a high-end couture designer along with a bra and panties. The dress and lingerie were her size as well as the three-inch, strappy heels. She shuddered at the thought of someone measuring her body as she lay in a deep, drug-induced sleep. Everything about Bishop and Red made her shudder, but she had to move forward.

  Rick counted on her.

  Her fingers touched the brunette wig with long wavy hair, the strands felt like real human hair against her hand. Several smaller zippered pouches contained makeup and various toiletries, everything needed for an evening out.

  She remembered the pendant that Jordan gave her and quickly retrieved it from her jacket pocket. Squeezing is tightly in her hand, she sat for a moment, wondering if it worked at all. Almost willing it like a magical talisman where he could hear her thoughts.

  Emily stood up and studied the room for anything that resembled a weapon. The room contained nothing except the basics, and the absent of a phone.

  It bothered Emily that the murder fit a perfect plan with exact timing and precision. There would be little room for error or surprises. It concerned her as she quickly took a s
hower, hoping that the steam and water gave her a solution.

  * * * * *

  Red set up the laptop. He readied the camera and microphone for Emily. Two small caliber handguns lay on the desk, one fitted with a silence suppressor. He knew that she could prove to be quite useful, but never a willing participant. What a shame, he thought. The agency could always use a woman to get to certain targets with much more ease than a man. Most people hardly ever suspected a woman to effortlessly take their life.

  Glancing at his watch, two minutes before he checked on Emily. Red was not worried that she’d escape because they were eighteen stories up, but she could have assembled something to catch him by surprise. No discussion or pleas this time for anyone, he would kill her.

  The bedroom door opened.

  Emily crossed the living room as Red blinked in surprise. A half hour revealed a stunning brown-haired woman that looked more like a celebrity attending a cocktail party, rather than someone who stalked killers.

  She demanded, “Are you going to clue me in on the plan?” Her dark eyes dared him, and even stirred some buried emotions.

  “Sit down.”

  Emily pulled up a chair and sat down across from Red. He knew she eyed the guns, and casually took inventory of everything he had on the table.

  Red kept control of his usual conduct, but internally it angered him that he liked Emily’s intelligence and demonstrated abilities.

  It would soon end.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Friday 2100 Hours

  The strong canine snoring with intermittent whines from a deep doggie slumber didn’t interrupt Jordan’s quick pounding of the keyboard as he searched for more information on the Internet.

  Two state-of-the-art laptops and one older, diehard clunky desktop computer surrounded him, like a techie command center. His eyes darted from one screen to the other. One computer could crash or take too long loading a file; three computers were the workhorses to his business.