Texas Bodyguard--Luke, page 19
By the time he got there, he saw the door to her unit close. After making sure there were no prying eyes around, he walked up to the condo. Using his instincts that told him she was all by her lonesome, he rang the bell, calculating that she would at the very least be curious as to who he was. Hadn’t that proven to be true time and time again? Gullibility was always their downfall. Why should it be any different on this occasion?
She did not fail, opening the door like clockwork and smiling at him as though greeting an old friend. “Can I help you?” she asked politely.
He grinned innocently and replied in a deceptive tone of voice, “Yes, I believe you can.”
Using a stun gun, he placed it to her skin and she reacted accordingly with the electrical shocks doing a number to her body and brain, giving him complete control of his latest victim as he entered the condominium to finish what he’d so cleverly and joyously started.
Chapter One
At 10:00 a.m., Daphne Dockery sat on an uncomfortable wooden chair in the Aloha Land Bookstore on Front Street in Lahaina, pasting a perfect smile on her heart-shaped face as she signed copies of her latest bestselling book, The Accident Killer. As an award-winning true crime writer, Maui, Hawaii, was the last stop on a late summer book tour to push the unsettling real-life story of serial killer Oscar Preston, who made the deaths of his fifteen victims appear to be accidents till the frightening truth emerged and he was made to pay for his heinous crimes. Daphne planned to take full advantage of the idyllic setting in paradise for some much-needed rest and relaxation away from her hometown of Tuscaloosa, Alabama, after a difficult year that included a bad breakup with her ex-boyfriend, Nelson Holloway, and a scary encounter with an obsessed fan, Marissa Sheffield. Thankfully, Marissa was now in jail and Nelson probably should have been, given his unfaithfulness and questionable practices as a hedge-fund manager.
But Daphne hoped to put them behind her and focus on where she went from here as a newly single—but not necessarily looking for love and companionship—woman, thirty-two years of age, who had landed on Maui on a new mission. Apart from some fun in the sun and on the sand, along with taking a dip in the warm waters of the Pacific Ocean, she’d come to research her next book, tentatively titled A Maui Mass Murder. It was about a workplace love triangle on the island that resulted in a murder-suicide, taking the lives of five people last year, including a pregnant woman. The subject matter hit home for Daphne painfully. As an only child, her own father had snapped when her mother threatened to leave him and his abusive ways, resulting in him shooting her mother to death before turning the gun on himself.
Her own tragedy, when Daphne was only seven years old, set her on a course in which, as an adult, she wanted to delve into the backstory of violent criminals, criminality and victims to help others better understand the dynamics involved and learn to cope with it. After earning her Master of Arts degree in journalism and media studies from the University of Alabama and landing a job with a local news station as an investigative journalist, she needed greater autonomy to investigate hard-hitting stories and share them with the public on a larger scale. Hence, she turned to writing true crime books and found success there with seven bestsellers to date and had contracted for three more books with her publisher. This included the next crime topic Daphne had chosen to write about and had been approved by her supportive editor, Gordon Yung, at Lefevre and Weigel Publishing.
But first, there’s still the matter of wrapping up one more book signing for my current title, she thought, as Daphne glanced down at the fresh flower lei that hung over a scarlet-and-black-printed faux-wrap dress on her five-seven slender frame, worn with comfortable-to-walk-in moccasin flats. She again put on her best face and twinkled big blue-green eyes at the tall thirtysomething man with a medium build and dark hair in a mushroom cut. He was wearing a red shirt adorned with sunsets and palm trees and loose-fitting black jeans. Slightly crooked but intense brown eyes with flecks of gold were locked on hers as he held the hardcover book in big hands to his chest.
“Aloha.” She spoke in a friendly voice, wanting to break the intensity of their staring game, as if to see who would blink first.
“Aloha.” He kept his own voice level. “Welcome to Maui.”
“Happy to be here.” She wondered if he could say the same, judging by his anxious demeanor. Better get this over with, she thought, and move on to someone less intimidating. “Would you like me to sign your book?” Daphne assumed that to be the case, as he had waited in line rather than simply taking the book to the cashier to purchase.
“Yeah,” he responded tersely, and handed it to her. “Make it out to Tommy.”
“Okay.” She used the pen the store provided and scribbled his name on the blank first page, followed by her usual words: Thanks for taking the time to show up. Hope you find the read to your liking and pass it on to others interested in true crime. Daphne Dockery.
She handed the book back to him and, in keeping up with Hawaiian lingo said lyrically, “Mahalo.”
“Back at you,” he said stiffly, and walked away.
Wouldn’t want to get on his bad side, Daphne half joked to herself as the next person in line, a frail elderly woman with ash-colored hair worn in stacked layers approached. “Aloha.”
“Aloha.” Her face creased with a smile. “I’m a big fan of your books. In fact, I’ve read every single one of them.”
Daphne blushed. “That’s so nice to hear,” she told her genuinely, never taking such comments for granted with so many books for readers to choose from out there.
“It’s obvious that you put your heart and soul into each book.”
“I try to,” Daphne agreed, knowing this was what separated true crime narrative nonfiction books from criminology books, in essence. Being herself and freely prefacing each book with her own experience as a victim was what made her books popular and kept Daphne going as well in a cathartic sort of way. She took the book from her.
“You can make that out to Olivia Righetti.”
“Will do.” Daphne happily signed her book, feeling more confident that she wanted it for all the right reasons, as opposed to the last person perhaps.
“Hope you enjoy your stay on the island,” Olivia said. “There’s a lot more to do than being cooped up in a bookstore signing books, you know.”
Daphne chuckled. “I promise to take some time to explore the sights, sounds and spirit of Maui.”
The woman crinkled her eyes and took Daphne at her word, and Olivia gave a little wave as she walked off. Daphne took a sip of her bottled water on the table, which included stacks of books spread out strategically, as her throat felt dry from talking. Never mind that her hand was sore from signing books. But she would never complain about something that was part of the process for success as a top-selling author and remaining high on the bestseller lists for nonfiction.
“Nice to know you’re up for taking in what the island has to offer,” said a resonant voice that drew Daphne’s attention. She looked up into the very deep brown-gray eyes of a chiseled face that belonged to a most handsome Hawaiian man. His curly black hair was in a textured fringe cut that went agreeably with the rest of him, which included at least a six-foot, three-inch sturdy frame and long legs. He was dressed in casual attire apropos of Hawaiian living, consisting of a tropical print shirt, dark straight-fit chino pants and brown Venetian loafers.
When she could get her mouth to move, Daphne chuckled and responded wryly, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He grinned easily. “Good to hear.”
As she tended to do when nervousness got the better of her, Daphne flipped her long and layered raven hair that was styled in a U-shaped cut. She managed to look past his good-looking face to the copy of her book he was holding. “Who do I make that out to?” she asked, if only to get back to the business at hand and not the man himself.
He slid the book across the table up to her. “Ken should be fine and whatever else you’d like to say that I can brag to my buddies about.”
Daphne laughed, trying to imagine him bragging about having a signed copy of The Accident Killer to anyone. Somehow, he didn’t seem the type to take such a thing too seriously. “You have yourself a deal,” she quipped. “Ken and a bit more to say mahalo for coming in today.”
“Wouldn’t have missed the chance to pick up a signed copy of your latest true crime book as a serious fan of narrative nonfiction of this kind,” he insisted.
“I see.” Guess my reach truly is far and wide, with a readership that apparently knows no bounds, she told herself as she signed the book and handed it back to him, realizing there were others waiting in line before she could call it quits and move on to the rest of her important agenda while on Maui. “Hope it lives up to your expectations.”
Ken grinned from one side of his wide mouth that appealed to her all on its own as perfectly kissable were the circumstances different and amenable. “I’m sure it will. Have a safe trip back to the mainland whenever you return.”
“Thanks.” Daphne smiled back and watched briefly as he headed to the cashier while wondering about his life story as, she assumed, an island resident. Was he single and available? Judging by his laidback clothing, trying to figure out what he did for a living was almost impossible, as in this tropical environment it could be anything from a business owner to a lecturer. Or maybe he was a resort worker or involved with technology. She supposed some things were best left to the imagination as Daphne welcomed the next book buyer before her, happy to see the line was starting to thin. Which meant she would soon be able to get the most out of her stay on the island, including her investigation into the mass shooting at the workplace.
* * *
HOMICIDE DETECTIVE KENNETH KEALOHA, a member of the Maui Police Department’s Criminal Investigation Division branch of the Investigative Services Bureau, couldn’t seem to get his mind off Daphne Dockery, the stunning true crime writer he met earlier in the day at her book signing. In fact, if the truth be told, she looked even better in person than the photograph on the back of her book, The Accident Killer, which he fully intended to read with interest. But he couldn’t actually relay that to her in front of other book buyers, lest she get the impression he was trying to hit on her. Another place, another time, that might not have been too far from Kenneth’s mind, as she was definitely his type with the luscious and long dark hair, enticing aquamarine eyes and streamlined physique. But in this instance, he thought it was probably best that he kept this view of the gorgeous author to himself.
As for her true crime book, given the subject matter involving a serial killer named Oscar Preston, who murdered fifteen people ten years ago in Mobile, Alabama, and was suspected of killing ten others, Kenneth was admittedly curious about her take on the ruthless killer who was given the moniker the “Accident Killer” and his ultimate capture and conviction. It was that same year that another serial killer, Trevor Henshall, operating out of Honolulu, Hawaii, and dubbed the “Paradise Foot Killer” strangled to death ten women in some twisted foot fetish and fixation on their beach walks. One of those women, Cynthia Suehisa, was a close friend of Kenneth’s. Like him, Cynthia was a native Hawaiian who’d had her whole life ahead of her before it was snuffed out like a candle’s bright flame. At the time, he was a detective for the Honolulu Police Department’s Criminal Investigation Division, investigating crimes of violence. In spite of killing Henshall when he refused to surrender, Kenneth had been unable to prevent his friend from becoming a murder victim, dying in his arms.
Two years later, Kenneth transferred to the Maui PD, as much for a fresh start as to put the darkness of Cynthia’s untimely death behind him to the extent possible. He had learned the hard way that crime would follow him wherever he went as a police detective tasked with going after bad people. At thirty-three, with no love life to distract him, his sole focus these days was pretty much solving serious crimes to the best of his ability. With homicides topping the list.
That included his current investigation. A serial killer was terrorizing attractive women with long dark hair on the island of Maui. Nicknamed by the local press the “Maui Suffocation Killer,” the unsub suffocated his victims to death by putting a plastic bag over their heads and faces. Thus far, nine unlucky women had been murdered due to asphyxia over the past eight months. The last one, Jena Sutcliffe, met her fate a week ago. Another woman, Ruth Paquin, was nearly killed around the time of the third fatality but managed to survive the attack. Unfortunately, due to the brain injury she suffered, all she could tell them was that the killer was a dark-haired male, maybe of medium build, with only a vague description beyond that. Using what they had in trying to piece it together, a task force had zeroed in on a suspect.
Zack Lawrence was a thirty-eight-year-old fitness instructor and self-described ladies’ man. He also happened to have been present at all the bars the victims had been seen at the night they were killed. Though there was no solid evidence to make an arrest, there was reason to believe Lawrence could be the man they were after. Starting with a prior conviction for attempting to smother to death an ex-girlfriend. Then there was the fact that he had been trying to date at least one of the victims, but was apparently rebuffed by her.
At the moment, they hoped to catch him in the act. Or at least an attempted act of abduction and murder. Which was why they were currently conducting an evening stakeout of the suspect at Popi’s Tavern on Lower Main Street in the town of Wailuku, the county seat and commercial hub of Maui County. Kenneth was undercover at a table across from Detective Tad Newsome. At thirty, between his perpetual tan, lean frame, blue eyes, and short blondish-brown hair in an undercut style, he could easily have passed for a surfer instead of a cop, Kenneth believed. They pretended to be sipping Mai Tais, which was actually only orange juice.
At another table were FBI agents Kirk Guilfoyle and Noelle Kaniho, giving the guise of being a loving couple. In reality, at forty-five with a shaven bald head and landing strip goatee, Guilfoyle, African American with coal black eyes, was ten years older and happily married to his high school sweetheart; while Noelle had a longtime boyfriend and looked younger than her age with short and cropped blond hair and brown eyes behind fake vintage glasses. Kenneth nodded to them, making sure everyone was on the same page, before directing his attention to the bar, where working undercover as the decoy was Detective Vanessa Ringwald. The twenty-five-year-old green-eyed, single mother fit the prototype of the Maui Suffocation Killer’s victims. She was slender and attractive with long and layered dark curly hair and baby bangs, that would normally have been worn in a high ponytail while on duty. She had on a sexy multicolored flare dress and strap sandals in doing her part to get the suspect to make his move.
Kenneth peered at Zack Lawrence, who was sitting beside Vanessa. The suspect was about his own height of just under six-three and every bit as in shape, with blue eyes, an oval face, and dark brown hair worn in a skin fade comb-over style. I suppose I could see why women might be attracted to the man, Kenneth mused, taking a sip of the orange juice. The only question was whether, like the Pied Piper, he led them down a road from which there was no coming back.
When Vanessa gave the signal that Lawrence appeared to swallow the bait and that they were leaving together, Kenneth acknowledged this. Stressed, he made sure that the other undercover law enforcement personnel knew what was about to go down. That included texting the detectives who were hanging around outside in case they were needed as backup.
“Get ready to head out,” Kenneth informed Newsome.
“Ready when you are,” he responded eagerly.
As Vanessa and Lawrence walked past them, with the suspect having a territorial hand on the small of her back, Kenneth waited till the last possible moment to follow and set things in motion. Outside, they allowed the suspect to lead Vanessa across the fairly well-lit parking lot to his car, a silver Porsche 718 Boxster Convertible, where they hoped to find the tools of his trade for smothering his victims before swinging into action, and Lawrence appeared to try to kiss the detective on the passenger side. She turned her face at the last moment, with the kiss hitting Vanessa’s chin.
Law enforcement converged on the two before Lawrence could get Vanessa into the car. Kenneth had his department issued Glock 17 semi-automatic pistol out and aimed at the suspect’s shocked face. Just as he was about to come to Vanessa’s rescue, she had turned Lawrence around, twisted his arm and handcuffed him roughly while announcing in a confident and harsh tone, “Detective Ringwald, Maui PD. You’re under arrest.”
Lawrence, who looked flustered, was defiant. “For what? Wanting to get together with what I believed to be a like-minded pretty woman who came on to me only to try to entrap me?”
“You did that all on your own,” she insisted with a snap. “Did you really think you could charm me with your empty words?”
“Not a chance,” Kenneth quipped, approaching her. “She’s not nearly that easy.”
“You’ve got that right.” Vanessa made a comical face at him. “What took you so long, Kealoha? For a moment there, I thought I was going to have to take a ride with this creep.”
Kenneth chuckled, knowing it would never have come to that. He placed his firearm back in its leather holster. “Since you seemed to have things well under control, we took our own sweet time.” He turned the suspect around to face him and stuck a search warrant in the pocket of his blazer. “This gives us the right to take a look inside your car.”
Lawrence scowled. “Go ahead. Look all you want. As I’ve said all along, I’ve got nothing to hide.”
