Addicted In Cold Blood (21 page)

He hissed but quickly took hold of the situation, catching the flying object in midflight before it bounced back once more—this time in his direction, narrowly missing him. She was fast losing herself, coming undone. She balled her fist and like a blur, raced past him. Within seconds, she was at the lofty bedroom door, pulling at the knob in a complete frenzy, screaming, clawing and losing her mind.

He turned away and hung his head, giving her a moment to pull herself together. After a while, he called to her, casually waving her over, his back still to her.

“Officer Knight, please have a seat here next to me.” He patted a spot beside him on the bed as he took a seat. He sounded as if nothing had happened, and that was his intention. He expected nothing less from the woman. She didn’t want to be there, and how else to show her displeasure than to do all that she was attempting to do, from the moment she’d regained consciousness, to right then and there—at this pivotal moment in time.

He knew she was fighting the urge to attack him as well. He’d trapped her, disarmed her and told her that the last few months of her life had been a sham, a cruel joke...and she was left alone to process it all. What a cruel delivery, but it was never his intention to give her anything but the gift of truth, regardless of the edges of it being razor sharp as it slid down.

She was fighting her own demons—dare he say, he felt it. The poor woman was becoming emotionally fragile. Weakness sickened him, but seeing it created within her and growing by the millisecond, manifesting in a vessel not so easily shaken, well, he simply felt pity.

Breathing heavily, she slowly made her way toward him. She sat on the opposite end of the bed, holding her knees protectively to her chest, her expression grave. A long, wispy strand of hair dangled along the side of her face, while a slight sheen of sweat made the tip of her nose shine...yet he couldn’t take his eyes off of the goosebumps running up and down her arms.

“Are you cold?”

She nodded, then turned away, no doubt tired and famished by this point.

“I will make it more comfortable in here for you then. For now, I’d like to show you something.”

He opened his laptop and slid closer to her, causing her to suck in air. His arm brushed against hers as he typed in several numerals and letters—things that would look like gibberish to a commoner.

“Is ... that some sort of code?” she asked as she crossed her arms, watching each keystroke intensely.

“No more questions right now, please.” He continued to type until a few minutes later, the computer screen went black, then a series of numbers raced across it until finally, he was prompted to put in a number. He typed: 567-1.0-44521.Bx, then hit, ‘enter’.

“That number changes every forty-two seconds.” She looked astounded because he had broken into the FBI security system and there, plain as day, was a section that she’d been accustomed to as of late—the prompting for an agent name and passcode.

“I know you said no more questions, but that is amazing.” She looked at him earnestly.

I know what you’re doing, Knight...

“How did you know how to do that?” she asked quietly. He could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. She was trying to keep him engaged, pretending to be impressed; well, he suspected she actually partially was, but it was all a game—a game of survival...

“Well, I’m not a professional hacker if that is what you’re thinking. Hacking into mainframes is not my ideal of a good time. It is simply a necessary part of my job, on occasion. It is however, very easy for me to do. I can get into any system. Computers are not multifarious, only...people
are
.” He looked her up and down, drifting into thoughts that were far from on track. Clearing his throat, he looked back at the computer. “Once you truly understand how electronic security systems are created, down to the infinitesimal details, then you will be able to access private information for your own use. It seems complex, but, it isn’t...” He looked at her again—their eyes met and neither turned away until she awkwardly broke the mutual gaze. He gently reached for her, taking her chin into his hand and making her face him.

“Watch this,” he whispered, and within a flick of a finger stroke, the screen grew bright, flashing, as email records appeared.

“Now, I’m going to disable your ability to go to any other pages and websites. You will only be able to read this and I’m also going to take a little nap here. I’m quite exhausted.” He punched in a few keys then slid the computer over to her, placing it on her lap before lying back, positioning his hands behind his head and leisurely crossing his ankles.

“I’ve pulled up all the emails from Agent Stephenson and Agent Bryant. I haven’t filtered anything—you’ll see that. You can check your own emails with them as well, re-read them, you know, but you won’t be able to compose any new ones to anyone, for obvious reasons. All you have to do is search for your name and then you can proceed forward, reading what they
really
think of you, Officer Knight.”

And with that, he drifted into a light sleep while her fingers moved across the keyboard at rapid speed...

Jayme begun to type, then stopped. She glanced at him from over her shoulder. He looked rather peaceful as his facial muscles relaxed and she wasn’t sure if her eyes deceived her, but he seemed to be slightly smiling. His stomach rose and fell, highlighting his tight six pack and thin, dark trail of hair going from his navel to his groin. If she hadn’t known of his sick affiliations and deeds, she’d never in a million years take him for a murderer, a psychopathic killer. She hated that she was reviewing him, sizing him up as if he were some blind date that arrived at her door with roses and two tickets to the cinema. She fought her confusion regarding the psychopath. He was nothing like what she’d learned about at the academy, nothing like she imagined he’d be at all.

In fact, nothing about him was textbook in the least. For God’s sake, he was taking care of her, though she had seen his ability to become angry loud and clear. She grimaced as she recalled her fear when the man lunged at her but stopped himself after she’d kicked the shit out of his chest—his face so close to hers, she’d felt the heat from his breath. Albeit frightening, she still somehow felt safe after the episode. As long as she didn’t push too far, she sensed he wouldn’t harm her. It was unnerving. Where was this line in the sand? How far could she test, go and push—and still remain alive? And here he lay...rugged and beautiful, his skin an odd, buttery complexion with a sunset glow. She interrupted her own uncomfortable thoughts, forcing herself back into the moment at hand.

He is an arrogant son of a bitch. Taking a damn nap, trusting me to not slit his throat with one of those millions of fucking pieces of ice he has lying around all over the place... like he is the King of Iced Tea...What the hell?!

As she stared down at him, her anger grew richer, deeper, stronger...

I could’ve sharpened one into a damn shank. How does he know I won’t do him in? It’s too risky right now. He hasn’t gotten away with all that he has by being messy. This could be a test, yeah...it probably is. I won’t give him an excuse to off me. As soon as I move the wrong way, he’d know, and then...yeah, I know what this is about...a damn test...I’m not falling for it.

And then it happened again, her thoughts returned to him as he cleared his throat,turning ever so slightly, shifting his weight further toward her, and giving her a better view of his magnificence.

He was in stellar physical condition, almost
too
perfect. He appeared intelligent and was, for lack of a better word coming to her mind, a bit charismatic. He had a strange way about him—grinning slyly at things that could be construed as a joke in normal circumstances. No wonder he’d floated under the radar so long, no one would think that someone like
that
was tearing peoples’ bodies into bits, branding flesh in sadistic ways and slicing appendages clean off the bone—then leaving the corpses there for the early morning light to sink her radiant, golden teeth into.  Jayme shook the grotesque crime scene images out of her head. She’d seen her share of gore, been face to face with stone cold killers and their ‘afterthoughts’, but never one like this.

Gotta keep my cool. Yeah, he did that...but he is still just a man. He is human; he can be taken down just like anyone else...

She bit down her fear, swallowing it whole, forging ahead. Finally, she calmed enough to start combing through the emails.

One hour turned to two, then three. Her ass was sore, but she wouldn’t move from that spot, seized as she was with extreme anxiety. She occasionally glanced down at the slumbering man, glad he couldn’t see her eyes glaze with hot, angry tears. Everything the fiend had said was correct. The proof was now right in front of her face and she never ran from the truth, no matter how ghastly it may have been. She read countless attached documents, emails, correspondence and notes. Those suited, lying bastards studied her intensely, ecstatic they’d found a new patsy, one that could make a difference this time. Captain Jasper thought he’d given them his best—they realized he’d given them prime pickings.

In written form, they laughed about her awards, her stellar academics, her promotions and glowing record as if they were merely ‘blue ribbons’ for having the largest pumpkin at the harvest festival. They’d finally found what they coined, ‘the one’. The ‘XXX’ murderer would never suspect her—she didn’t fit the normal guys they sent. They usually went after the sneaky ones, the elusive cerebral ones, but even they’d get busted, capped or run scared. It didn’t matter, they never turned up again to tell their side of the story, but their bloated corpses would wash up to shore. The other patsies never realized they were onto the guy—they’d just come up missing...

This time, the FBI agreed to not go for strictly for brawn or brains. They went for beauty...or so they thought.

According to the latest email that afternoon, they were certain she was kidnapped and more than likely deceased if the ‘XXX’ killer truly had her in his grip. They alerted her comrades, her boss included, who responded that they’d make her family and friends aware, and declare her missing until further notice. Ironically, the FBI was suspicious of her—believing she somehow knew his whereabouts. They weren’t sure though, and Jayme was certain they’d scour the area to try to find out. They sure as hell didn’t give a damn about
her
...it was
him
they wanted.

At least her precinct was on the hunt, while the FBI went on ‘business as usual’. On one hand, she was glad that at least her police department would be out scouring the streets for her, searching, but on the other, she knew in the pit of her stomach she wouldn’t be found any time soon. She had to get out of this all on her own. By the way that chair hit the damn window, the devil sleeping next to her wasn’t lying. The house was a huge mouse trap and she was caught in its ugly maze, with no cheese, no way out, and emotionally winded. Wedged in his strange world, at this point she needed to simply play his games to stay alive, but that was just it—she felt a bit less in danger as each hour passed, though she remained in a cloud of confusion of just
what
game they were truly playing.

He wants more
...the looks they exchanged, the way he moved around her.

None of it made any sense.

She wrestled with that notion, over and over deep within herself, knowing better, her mind and gut reaction tumbling back and forth as if they were fighting inside of a demonically possessed, rouge washing machine. He’d been gentle—such as not striking back when she kicked him with her feet. She’d almost knocked the wind out of him, yet, he kept his cool. Same when she threw the glass of juice. He even turned away when she used the restroom, affording her privacy, allowing her to lash out at him verbally and physically, with no physical consequences—though his teeth cut into his bottom lip as he suppressed the urge to grab her. She checked the bathroom all around, no square inch unnoticed, no cameras.

Jayme delved deeper in her thoughts, relishing the peace. How could he sleep after what he’d done?  He didn’t seem to have a care in the world. This was all wrong. This didn’t add up, and nor did he. She had walked into the ‘worst case scenario’ and was forced to sit in the front row, watching her entire world come undone, and she didn’t have a clue as to how to lasso this person’s mind. He had no obvious weaknesses, none that she could see, to play upon. He was strong, smart, and deadly. Yet, there was more to him, more behind that gentleness and care he’d shown with her. She saw it in his eyes, even the one that glowed strangely, the one where a slight red glimmer would sheen over the iris, making her think she was seeing things...the glass one, maybe onyx, maybe black pearl...possibly deep terrain diamonds? Regardless, he could see clearly enough to pull all of this shit off. His killing sprees were definitely 20/20.

The only way she’d make it out of this alive was to pick apart the pieces, the few she had, and dissect them to death. He captured her imagination. These were not the typical reactions of someone who enjoyed causing others physical pain. Why would she be any different? It couldn’t be because she was a woman. She’d already read that the ‘XXX’ killer had murdered at least seven women, all of them affiliated with the narcotics trade. It’s not like female drug dealers didn’t exist; they most certainly did and from what she recalled, he didn’t give a damn that they were standing there in six inch stilettos. What was it then? Was it that strange look in his eye?