Cold Fury, page 6
part #1 of Cold Justice® - Most Wanted Series
“I can do better than boiled eggs.”
The man opened the fridge and pulled out green onions, cheese, milk. “How about an omelet?”
She stared at him, suddenly overwhelmed with the memories of another dark-haired man making her an omelet, taking care of her.
She’d taken it all for granted.
Every magical day. Every blissfully mundane moment.
“It’s a peace offering. An apology.” Nash misread her silent stare. “Go start whatever work you plan to do, and I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready.”
Yearning tightened in her chest. Pining for a man who was long dead. All because of her. Her and a sadistic serial killer she’d gotten out of jail.
She could have kept quiet about how the cops had planted evidence. She could have turned the other way. But she’d liked to win. Needed to prove she was the best and that the concept of legal justice was more important than people getting what they deserved, than keeping innocents safe.
She was no longer an idealist. That had died along with Danny. She didn’t care about legal games anymore. She only cared about putting killers where they belonged.
“You okay with onions?”
She nodded mutely. And because she could feel herself weakening in response to this man’s dark good looks and easy charm—even though he wasn’t Danny—she turned away and walked out of the kitchen.
The rest of the apartment was empty now, and it felt weird to be alone with this stranger. Intimate in a way she hadn’t felt in years. The blinds were pulled all the way down. They looked good, she conceded, despite herself. At least she’d gotten something out of the irritating situation.
She pulled out her notes on tomorrow’s case but found herself staring unseeingly at the papers.
Julius Leech was either dead or out of prison and free to enact his sick games on whoever was unlucky enough to cross his path. She hoped the former because the idea he might kill anyone else when he was supposed to have been dealt with, punished, was unbearable.
She didn’t allow herself to think about the man often—she considered it a win for him whenever she did. Instead, she concentrated on prosecuting the cases that came across her desk, or allowing her fictional detective to punish the fictional bad guys in ways that often crossed the line. She derived a lot of pleasure from her fictional brand of justice, so different from the letter of the law she strived to live by.
Was that wrong? Did that make her as sick as Leech?
No, because she’d never actually hurt anyone.
She wasn’t sure what she’d do if she ever saw Leech again. Blood drummed in her ears at the thought. The idea of killing him, the way he’d killed Danny and Paige—a stab to the abdomen followed by a pillow over his face as she held him down…the thought wasn’t abhorrent. The image didn’t scare her.
And that terrified her.
That she might be like him. That he’d made her just like he was…
Her teeth clenched, and the back of her eyes heated. Even now, seven years on, she relished the idea of a little hands-on justice.
And there was that win for him again.
She jerked out of her thoughts when Aaron Nash appeared with a tray of food and a glass of white wine from an open bottle she’d had in the fridge.
She put her work to one side as the guy slid the tray onto her lap.
It looked amazing. Smelled divine.
“Bon appétit.”
He was being kind.
God, she hated that.
“I don’t want you here.”
He paused, his dark, intelligent gaze steady on hers. “That message has been received loud and clear.”
“Not enough to make a difference.”
“We’re simply following orders, ADA Harper. None of this is personal.”
“I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.” She took a sip of wine. “The Attorney General is covering her ass, knowing the justice system will look weak if anything happens to a serving ADA—by a killer who is supposed to be incarcerated. Doesn’t exactly engender public trust.”
“Escaped convicts are never a good look. I realize this situation is not something you asked for or are comfortable with.” He straightened. Those ebony eyes were soft now. Soft enough that she noticed his full bottom lip. “I will do everything I can to make sure you have the space you need in your own home.”
She looked away and picked up her fork. “I prefer my own company.”
“So do I.” He caught her quick glance at the photograph on the cabinet. “You miss them.”
She drew in a ragged breath. “Every day. Every second of every day.” The words barely got past the rock in her throat.
“I’m sorry for what happened.”
“Most people think it’s my fault.” Tears built, and she couldn’t afford for anyone else to see, to witness, how utterly she’d been destroyed that day. The world saw what she wanted it to see. A strong, confident, powerful woman. A goddamned queen bitch of an attorney. Tonight, in the aftermath of learning Leech had escaped and her life had been invaded by strangers, her defenses had cracked, and emotions welled up through those tiny fissures like blood in a wound. She couldn’t afford that. She had other cases to try, other people to help and other killers to convict. She wouldn’t let them down the way she’d let down her own family.
This was her penance, her reason for going on.
She put the tray aside and stood, pulling that queen bitch cloak crookedly around her shoulders. “Prosecuting dangerous criminals is all I care about now. It’s the only thing that matters to me. Thank you for the omelet, but if you’re done, perhaps you’d like to give me that space you promised.”
His jaw firmed. He obviously didn’t like her rejecting his overtures of friendship or being on the other side of giving orders.
“Not a problem. An operator will be on your roof at all times until Leech is apprehended. I trust you don’t mind them using the bathroom on the third floor if they need to?”
Her hands started to tremble. She needed him to leave while she could still hold it together.
“Just keep everyone away from this floor and the second floor.” Her voice came out sharp, and she saw his expression flicker to dislike for a split second.
Good.
She didn’t want homemade omelets and sympathy. She didn’t want anyone taking care of her. She didn’t want to like him.
“I’d like a spare set of keys to the building.” He lifted his chin as if she might argue.
As she liked her antique doors with their hinges intact, she strode over to the cupboard by the stairs and reached inside. Pulled out her spare set that included a car key, but she didn’t think he was going to abscond with her BMW.
He caught the fob she tossed. “There will be a guard outside your door. If you hear someone moving around tonight, please scream for assistance before pulling the trigger on that gun of yours or kicking one of my team in the balls. We’ll mount motion sensing lighting and cameras in the outer hallways, garden, roof, and on the fire escape, and it’s possible we’ll need to come inside briefly to wire something. You can always call me directly if you have any concerns, but you should be safe enough with eleven highly trained operators at your disposal.”
He pressed a business card into her trembling hand and then paused. She pulled away, embarrassed that he’d spotted the shakiness that defied her strong words.
“Do you need my cell number?” Her voice cracked.
He shook his head.
Of course not. He already knew everything there was to know about her. God knew there were books dedicated to her and Leech’s deadly entanglement.
“Goodnight, ADA Harper.”
She couldn’t speak.
“See you in the morning.”
She forced out a dry laugh that almost choked her. “Unfortunately.”
As soon as the door closed, she sank to the floor and wrapped her arms around her bent knees as sobs threatened to rip out of her throat. She didn’t let them. She cried silently. She grieved mutely.
Lucifer rushed over and butted his head against her rigid arm, and she gathered him up, one of the last living connections she had to her dead daughter and husband. Paige’s kitten. Their only family pet.
Tears rushed in hot torrents down her cheeks, dripping from her face, wetting Lucifer’s fur, making her hand catch as she stroked him.
She hated this. Hated the vacuum of sadness her life had become. The pall of misery she carried with her. She wished Leech had killed her on that terrible day. That would have been fairer, surely, than taking a good man and an innocent child?
The tears finally stopped, and the cat ran away as he always did when it suited him.
She smiled sadly.
She and the cat were a lot alike.
Spent and exhausted, she climbed awkwardly to her feet. She went over, picked up her dinner plate, covered it, and put it in the fridge. Grabbed the stack of files she needed for tomorrow’s trial. Then she turned off most of the lights except for an under cabinet one in the kitchen and dragged herself to her bedroom. All the blinds in the house had been drawn and she stripped off, pulling on familiar flannel pajamas before sliding under the covers, hugging Paige’s favorite teddy bear to her chest in an effort to fill the aching void that was now her life.
6
Julius ate his breakfast with the black woolen cap pulled low over his forehead. He was so hungry he’d had to stop for food. He’d needed gas anyway, so he’d risked it.
The cap disguised his features and the color of his hair, not to mention his disastrous prison haircut. The wool was itchy against his scalp, but warm, and that was pretty much all he cared about right now. Luxuries like cashmere could wait. With this snowstorm, no one noticed that he wore a hat inside. He stared out the window at the gas station across the road but also watched the TV screen and other people inside the diner via the reflection in the glass, to make sure no one was paying him undue attention.
They weren’t.
It was predawn early. News of the prisoner escape hadn’t hit the airwaves yet, but the US Marshals would be searching for any sign he was alive.
Sweat made his new T-shirt cling to his back, but he sipped his drink slowly, determined to enjoy every second of freedom, every minute of independence.
The food here might not be the finest cuisine, but it tasted wonderful. Crispy bacon. Buttery scrambled eggs. Homemade waffles and hot, freshly brewed coffee.
He raised his hand to indicate he was ready for the bill. He kept a pleasant smile on his face, which defied his naturally downturned features and changed his appearance considerably. He’d spent a lot of time practicing in front of what passed for a mirror in his cell. Seven years smiling at his blurred reflection, wishing he was anywhere but incarcerated in that godforsaken place.
And now he was free.
He took out enough cash from his newly acquired wallet to cover the bill and provide a decent tip, but not enough to be memorable. He drew the borrowed leather jacket together and zipped it up against the chill.
Over the years, he’d thought a lot about what he’d do if he ever got out of prison, how he’d blend in and not put a glowing sign on his forehead that screamed “helpless billionaire.” He hoped he’d grasped how not to stand out—definitely a plus inside the big house. How not to be the freak everyone called him. He’d dreamed of escape, planned for it a little, but he’d never truly expected it. He wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.
He slid out of the booth. “Thanks.”
He’d always been good with his manners. His nanny had taught him that. He headed out the door. He’d parked around the side of the diner. Out of sight.
He climbed into the small sedan, moving stiffly in the aftermath of the accident. The blue jeans felt rough against his skin. It was the first time in his life he’d worn cheap denim, and he wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not. However, the jeans were a massive improvement on his terrible orange jumpsuit that was still in the trunk of the sedan along with the prison guard’s uniform. He’d get rid of them at the first opportunity.
He turned the key in the ignition and listened to the engine fire up. Smiled. Open-top sports cars on the French Riviera had been more his style than this nondescript gray sedan. But the sedan might help hide him, whereas a fancy sports car would definitely get him caught.
Again.
He had to blend in. His life depended on it because he wasn’t going back to that hellhole.
He looked at the full fuel gauge and felt a surge of pride that he’d managed to fill the car without looking like a total buffoon. He’d paid for gas with some of the little cash he had on his person, but it was worth it. He’d get more. It was already being organized. He’d used the previous owner’s phone to make a few calls—ones that he hoped wouldn’t get him thrown back in his cell.
The windshield was coated in a thin layer of frozen condensation, so he waited patiently for the engine to warm and the heater to defrost the glass. Cops could stop people if their windows weren’t clear, and he didn’t want to give them an excuse.
Failure to think things through had often been written on his report cards at school, but as Julius was the only person to read them after his mother and father had murdered one another, he hadn’t worried too much. He was filthy rich. Rich people got away with crazy shit every damned day. However, he’d never planned to become a killer. The first time had been almost by accident. The rush had been unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It had been better than drugs. Better than getting drunk on the most expensive Champagne.
So, he’d done it again, only better next time. Planned. Executed. To people who’d deserved it.
Oh, the euphoria as he’d taken their lives. The power… The supremacy… He could still feel echoes of it in his blood.
Killing the guy whose car he’d taken hadn’t given him that rush. That death hadn’t been punishment. It had been a logistical necessity, and the guy hadn’t deserved it.
There were plenty of others who did deserve payback. Three in particular.
He thought about the people who’d written to him over the years. Women mostly, but some men. Several had visited which had provided a nice break from the endless monotony, but could he trust them?
What drove a person to visit a stranger, a convicted murderer, within the walls of a maximum-security prison? It wasn’t something he’d ever considered doing…he certainly had never expected to be an inmate of such a place.
Some of his visitors were lonely individuals whom Julius almost pitied. Many were fascinated by his crimes—reporters, authors, podcasters. Others felt the same kind of urges as he did though neither he nor they admitted to them out loud—he’d seen the excitement lighting their eyes when they asked him questions. Those were his favorite visitors. When they realized that he saw them. They were either terrified or excited. Or both.
For the occasional daring would-be swindler, it was about his money—after all he had no living family and billions in the bank. Most of them only visited once, the effort outweighing the reward when it became obvious Julius was no fool where his fortune was concerned and more than capable of freaking them out for fun.
He’d willed some of his assets to various charities, including the Boston PD’s retirement fund—more out of a twisted sense of humor than anything else. He’d wanted to start a scholarship at Yale or Harvard or MIT, but each institution had insisted no one could know where the money came from.
Bah.
Julius wanted people to know he was capable of good as well as bad. He didn’t expect his philanthropy to affect his chances of release, but he wasn’t a cardboard cutout of a scary monster. He was complex and interesting. He was a killer, but he wasn’t indiscriminate or a bully. He could be kind too. He could be a friend.
He actually had friends.
He covered a yawn. The heater was taking forever to warm up, but the glass was slowly clearing of ice crystals.
How would those same visitors feel when they learned he was free of that cage? Would they smile as openly without the protection of armed guards if he turned up on their doorstep? Would they trust him? Could he trust them?
Probably not.
The desire to unleash his base appetites was growing in the back of his mind. Rearing up like a black cloud from a volcano in a prelude to an eruption.
Which made his current freedom so utterly divine.
He hadn’t figured out quite what he wanted to do with this opportunity yet. Escape, definitely. Live in luxury and enjoy his money—that would be nice. Buy a new face or simply find a place that had everything he needed so he never had to leave, and the authorities couldn’t touch him. Some island somewhere… That sounded a lot like another prison, albeit a prettier one.
He and his personal assistant, Blake Delaware, who managed his affairs, had spent time discussing the idea over the years, during their biweekly visits. Not discussing breaking out, but…imagining what he’d need to disappear if he was magically “released.”
Contingencies had been made.
The smartest plan right now was for Julius to lie low and slip quietly away when the furor died down.
Why then was he headed toward Boston?
Stupidity most likely, but he had his pride. People had said things during his trial and afterward. Things Julius didn’t like. Things that weren’t true. And now there were debts to pay—Hope Harper’s chief amongst them.
She owed him.
The heater finally finished clearing the windshield, so he pulled onto the road, grateful that the man he’d borrowed the car from had been so well prepared for winter. Added bonus, the guy was about Julius’s size and traveled with a whole suitcase full of clothing and personal hygiene products. Fate was truly looking out for him.
About damned time.
Julius tried to relax his grip on the wheel. It was a long time since he’d driven in snow, and he couldn’t risk hitting anyone or going off the road. The car had sturdy snow tires and was an automatic, but it was nerve-racking especially so soon after the accident that had set him free. As long as Julius didn’t slam on the brakes, he should get where he needed to go. Not that far now. Another thirty minutes or so at most.
