Dead Wrong. Susan Sleeman
ONE
Something was wrong. Seriously wrong.
Kat Justice flipped the light switch again. Once. Twice. Three times. Click, click, click.
Nothing.
She held her breath and listened. No hum from the refrigerator on the other side of the wall, no bubbling of the aquarium. She couldn’t even hear the heater that should be running on this unusually cold Oregon day. Just silence, pulsing in the dark.
Someone had cut the power to Nancy’s house. Were they still here, hiding in the murky shadows? Should she continue going forward or back out of the house?
A fresh wave of concern sent a shiver down her back.
“Easy, Kat,” she whispered as she often had when she’d served on the Portland police force. But calming her nerves wasn’t so easy anymore. Not since she’d left the force to work as a private investigator in the family agency. Now she rarely faced danger.
But this new case was different. A man had followed her friend Nancy home. Nancy feared it had to do with her brother Nathan’s recent death. She believed he’d been murdered.
Kat had told Nancy to call 911, but the police weren’t here. Had Nancy been unable to make the call? After finding the house dark, Kat phoned 911 herself, but she couldn’t stand outside and wait for them to rescue Nancy. She had to protect her friend at all costs.
Gun in hand, she slowly set off, putting one foot in front of the other and hugging the dining room wall to make herself less of a target. Her heart thumped wildly as she felt her way to the kitchen doorway.
“Nancy?” she whispered.
No response. She took another step, sliding her foot along the floor. It thudded into something soft yet solid. She knelt down and felt along the floor. A leg. A jean-clad female leg.
Her breath hitched in her lungs as she moved toward the spicy scent of her friend’s signature perfume.
“Nancy?” she whispered again, fear ripping open her heart.
She located her friend’s neck and checked her pulse.
None.
For a moment she could only sit in horror. Nancy was dead. Her old college friend, the woman she’d just reconnected with after seven years, was gone. Kat had failed her.
No, God, no. Not this. Not Nancy.
A sound drifted through the darkness. The barest of sounds like a whisper. Kat held her breath and listened. Soft footfalls. One then another, moving on carpet in the next room. Step after slow step. Heading her way.
He’s still here.
Hands trembling, she jerked back against the wall.
Think, Kat. Think.
She couldn’t help Nancy now. She needed to retreat to safety and then apprehend the killer if she could do so safely.
She searched the shadows, straining her eyes. Darkness and more darkness, split only with a slice of light from the open doorway. She heard the sound again. Slow yet stealthy. He was closer now. She had to move. If she sat here, she’d die.
She stayed low, crossed the room and followed the wall retracing her steps toward the door. She glanced around the corner.
A hulking male stood in a shadow cast from a streetlight. Dressed all in black with a ski mask covering his face, he closed the door behind his back, plunging them into complete darkness.
“So glad you could join our little party.” His voice was low and gravelly, yet oddly excited.
Her mouth went dry, and her throat tightened, cutting off her air. She had to get out of there.
The back door.
She rose and backed away, tripping over Nancy. Her arms flailed in the air, searching for anything to break her fall. Her fingernails scratched down a wall, but she couldn’t grab hold. She landed with an oomph next to her friend. Her gun slipped out of her hand and skittered across the wood floor.
She turned over. The moon broke free of heavy cloud cover. Silvery light filtered through the window making her assailant look otherworldly. Large, muscular, he took slow measured steps as if he had all the time in the world.
Father, please. Don’t let me die. The prayer filled her mind, but panic dragged it away in a flash.
Rolling over, she scrambled toward the kitchen.
His heavy footsteps followed, faster now. Clunk, clunk, clunk. Swift and sure. She felt him near her. Heard him breathing, raspy and harsh.
She risked a peek behind. He was close, standing over her. She gave one more lunge into the kitchen, the back door only a few feet away now. She clasped the cool doorknob, but a hand shot out and grabbed her by the ponytail, jerking her head back and dragging her toward Nancy.
“No!” she yelled and kicked, hair ripping from her head.
He slammed a knee in her back, forcing her facedown onto the ice-cold tile. Air rushed from her lungs and she struggled to gain a breath as he caught both of her hands behind her back.
“No,” she wheezed out and freed a hand. She grabbed for anything she could touch, connecting with latex gloves, then reaching higher and clawing with her fingernails. Digging deep and hard.
He swore and yanked her hand away, wrenching her arm and pinning it next to the other one. She bucked, but he was too strong. He bound her wrists. The slash of thick tape pulling from a roll the only sound besides the thudding of her heart echoing in her ears.
Please, God! Please don’t let this happen!
Hard fingers dug into her arms as he flipped her to her side then straddled her hips, holding her in place with iron muscles. “You’ll pay for that scratch, Kat.”
How did he know her name?
“Do I know you?” she asked, though she was certain she’d never heard his voice before.
“Nancy told me all about you and your little part in this. So glad I can clean up all of her messes in one night.”
He thought she’d discovered something about Nathan’s death, and he was going to kill her before she could act on it.
“I don’t know anything,” she said, filling her tone with as much conviction as she could, but it came out breathless and wispy.
“You think I believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
He bent low. Got in her face and laughed. Rumbling. Horrible. Sadistic. His breath was stale with cigarette smoke and mixed with cloying aftershave. For some reason, that made it all abruptly real, and she realized she was about to die.
Terror took hold. Terror beyond her wildest imagination. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest.
“No.” She bucked harder, upsetting him for a moment.
He had to grab the wall to steady himself. “Just like your friend. Fighting when you have no chance.”
He drew back and sent his fist barreling into her face. She felt her nose give. Blood poured freely down her cheek and into her mouth, tasting metallic and thick. He laughed as he wedged a small flashlight under his arm then pulled an elastic cord from his jacket.
“Nancy had no business talking with a private investigator. Your death is on her hands, not mine.” He aimed the light at her arm and secured the cord just above her elbow.
He pulled something else from his pocket and held it up. The beam from his flashlight shone through it.
A syringe!
A sob rose in her throat, wild and desperate.
“This is more fun that I thought it’d be,” he said, thumping the vein at the bend of