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Grant sighed. “Police. We just want to talk with you.”
Montana knocked again then tried the door handle. “All right, let’s go. Doubt there’s a super living in the building.” Breaking the lock took little effort, the wooden casing splitting with a single shove. He held his gun in both hands and took a cautious step inside, scanning the perimeter.
“Guy needs a decorator. Early Salvation Army in tweed isn’t today’s look,” Grant mused and took several steps inside.
“Yeah, well we all have burdens.” He eased further into the middle of the room, turning in a full circle as he listened for any telltale signs of any presence. The room was sparse, a single couch, chair and television complete with a stand that had seen better days. A blanket and pillow was dumped on the end of the couch. A kitchen was nothing more than a gallery. Every surface was covered with dishes and take out cartons. Hearing nothing, he moved toward the two doors. The bathroom was small and no indication of a recent visit. “Sink’s dry.”
“This has to be the bedroom.” Grant nodded toward the closed door. He tried the handle, opening slowly and kicking the door with his foot. “Holy shit. Winner, winner, chicken dinner.”
Montana followed his partner, narrowing his eyes as he walked into the room. There was no bed and no dresser. Instead, the two six-foot tables were covered in computers, stacks of paper and photographs. Four bulletin boards were covered in newspaper articles as well as additional vivid photos. He didn’t need to read the headlines to know what had been highlighted. “The murders.”
“Would you look at these? What is this guy?” He slipped his gun into his holster and closed the distance, studying the splash of information pinned to the cork boards.
“Very organized. Methodical.” Every picture had a date and time. The articles seemed to be in chronological order. Every image depicted a crime scene, as if a killer had taken the pictures.
“I think we have our murderer.”
“Not so fast,” Montana whispered. He glanced down at the workspace, registering the materials. Michael had captured every detail of the recent murders. There were files with names, some he recognized easily. Others were new. Then he noticed an old newspaper article from the year before. “Shit. Look at this.”
“The weatherman from last year. A bit telling. Don’t you think, partner?”
Montana could only nod as his darted back and forth across the array of photographs and newspaper clippings.
“Looks like a methodology of murder to me. Shit. Take a look at this. Is this a list of people he’s gonna kill?” His tone incredulous, Grant lifted the notepad. “Mark Ramos, Candace Williams, Maria Sanchez, Jenna Gammons, Donna Walker and…” His voice trailed off.
“What?” He hit the space bar on a laptop. There were no files open. Clicking on the Internet, he immediately went to the browser. Strangulation Deaths. Breath Play. Knife Play. He shuddered and glanced back toward the bulletin boards.
“I think this is a kill list. Guess who’s on the list.”
Montana shot him a look, hearing the odd tone in his partner’s voice. “Who?”
He looked up, swallowing hard. “Dr. Destiny Blade.”
Exhaling, he looked around the room. “Call it in. I think we need to make certain we pick Michael up. If there are other names, find them. I have a bad feeling about this.” He glanced from one photo to the next. No one but the killer could know the details of the murders. Jerking out his phone he groaned.
“Dr. Blade?”
Montana nodded. “She was right all along.”
“You’ve reached Dr. Destiny Blade. I’m away from my phone. If you’d like to leave a message…”
“Damn it,” he hissed, ending the call. As he studied the various photographs, the majority shot from close range, a cold chill trickled down his spine. The end game was near and he had no doubt who the next victim would be.
CHAPTER 19
“You have an admirer,” Mistress Jade stated.
The words were crisp, sharp and without any emotion. Perhaps the concept was unwanted. Destiny shut down her office computer and glared at her watch. Her last appointment had run long – too long. She was exhausted and cranky, her nerves on edge. “Meaning?”
“Oh come now. Seems Master Sampson is extremely interested in you.”
“Master Sampson?” She narrowed her eyes and grabbed her purse from her desk drawer. Of course, Christopher Worth’s club name.
“You are well aware of who I’m talking about. He’s offered ten thousand dollars for a night with you.”
Destiny heart the chuckle in the Mistress’ voice. Why would any Dom find her intriguing? “Ten thousand dollars?”
“One night. Nothing held back. I tried to tell him that you weren’t ready, however he insisted.”
