The Perfect Deceit (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Fourteen) Page 3

  But this was a different level of messed up. Jessie put her keys in a bowl on the kitchen counter and sat down at the breakfast table, wondering how next to proceed. She knew Ryan was in the bedroom, waiting for her. He might even be asleep already.

  She could see a dim light coming from under Hannah’s door. Fighting the urge to walk over and knock, she put her head in her hands and rubbed her temples. She’d been awake for almost forty hours straight and she was feeling it.

  Earlier this evening, she fought off a killer who’d nearly choked her to death and her throat still ached horribly. Then she’d learned that a friend and colleague had been murdered by the Night Hunter. Plus, her boyfriend, one of the most celebrated detectives in recent LAPD history, had confided that he froze when he had the chance to take down the killer. It was too much for any one brain to process.

  She knew she should just call it a night, get some sleep, and regroup for whatever tomorrow held in store. And yet she found herself mentally crafting the best way to propose that Hannah go see Dr. Lemmon, their shared therapist, tomorrow. But there was no way to suggest that without sounding condescending or controlling. With everything so volatile, it seemed particularly unwise.

  She considered mentioning the Night Hunter threat, so that Hannah would know exactly how risky running off was at this moment. But whatever good that might do, it would surely be subverted by giving a traumatized teenage girl more material for her nightmares. She already had enough for now.

  In the end, Jessie decided to do nothing, at least for tonight. She couldn’t think of a magic phrase that would make everything better. And as much as she might like, she couldn’t tie a monitor to Hannah’s ankle and put her on home confinement.

  Besides, Hannah had called her, eventually. She could have hopped a bus to Mexico and been halfway there by now if she really wanted. Instead, she apparently tried to save an elderly man who was having a heart attack and, belatedly, called her from the hospital to come get her. On a night without much hope, that was something to hold onto.

  Jessie decided to embrace it. She got up and trudged to bed. She was already mostly asleep by the time she got under the covers next to Ryan, whose soft snores served as the gentle metronome that finally gave her some peace.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Night Hunter was in a new car.

  He’d bought several, all clunkers from the last century, just in case. And it turned out to be a good move, because somehow Detective Hernandez had tracked his previous vehicle all the way to the hostel where he’d been sleeping. Of course, all that effort had only led to the death of the man’s partner and a moment of self-doubt that was delicious to watch in real time.

  Now he was parked a block down the street from Jessie’s house in an old station wagon that he could crawl into the back of if he needed a nap. But right now, he was wide awake, just as he had been when he watched young Hannah Dorsey assist the old man having the health crisis on the street.

  He could have taken her then if he wanted. Prior to the man’s heart attack interruption, he could have easily driven up next to the girl who was clearly running away, hit her with his dart gun, and with some effort, dragged her into the back of the wagon. Alternately, he could have driven by and tranqed Hunt while she was talking to the white-haired lady walking her dog.

  But it was too early for any of that. There was still work to be done. After all, he hadn’t come out of forced retirement after two decades to rush into anything. He’d come to Los Angeles to test the mettle of a young woman named Jessie Hunt. She was the protégé of his long-time nemesis, criminal profiler Garland Moses, the only person who’d ever come close to catching him.

  When he’d learned of Moses’s murder last summer at the hands of Hunt’s ex-husband, the juiciness of the scenario was just too wonderful to ignore. He had to come out west to learn about this woman who Moses thought was worthy of his tutelage. He wanted to watch her process the grief and guilt she surely felt at having her own former husband murder her mentor.

  And then to learn that Hunt’s detective boyfriend had nearly died in the attack and was now just a shell of his former strapping self—it made his mouth water. The coup de grace was discovering that Hunt was the guardian for her half-sister, a teenager who’d been through a funhouse of horrors herself. Part of him thought it would be entertaining enough to just settle back and watch this “family” self-immolate all on its own.

  But that wasn’t his style. He liked to give a little push now and then, but not too hard and not too early. One thing about being older was that, unlike some of the younger gentlemen into the old ultra-violence, he could control his urges, at least for a while. Once he’d even come up with a joke about it: he considered himself to be the Sting of tantric murder. Of course, there was no one to tell the joke to, but he thought it was a good one.

  He’d be sending Moses’s protégé another message soon, one he hoped she’d understand. It was so much more fun when the opponent knew the game being played. Otherwise it was just too easy. So he would wait just a little longer. But the time would soon come when he’d explode Jessie Hunt’s world, if she didn’t beat him to it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “What do you mean you’re going in?” Jessie demanded.

  “I told you—I have to,” Ryan replied emphatically as he sat across the breakfast table from her.

  “I get that you don’t want to take a break, but you can still work from here.”

  “No,” he insisted, clearly struggling to keep his frustration in check. “This is on me. Trembley is dead because of me. The Night Hunter got away because of me. Can’t you see? I need to be in the office, working with Jamil, sending resources where they’re most useful. If I’m not in the mix, I’ll go crazy.”

  Jessie was quiet. More than anyone, she understood what he was feeling, and she didn’t want to upset him more. But she was concerned at how much blame he was piling on himself. She saw that he seemed to get that he’d come on too strong and backtracked slightly.

  “Hell, I’m still on desk duty, remember,” he said. “I’m not allowed to leave the station. I won’t go in the field.”

  “You promise?” Jessie demanded more than asked, as she slid a couple of pancakes onto Ryan’s plate.

  “I promise,” he assured her as took another sip of coffee.

  Jessie wasn’t totally convinced but she didn’t want to push any harder. After a decent night’s sleep, they’d had a relaxed Monday morning breakfast up until two minutes ago. She didn’t want to mess up the vibe any further by revisiting it all again. She’d just have to trust that Ryan would only work from the police station today, no matter what leads might make him want to go in the field.

  “Good,” she said, glad the matter was settled. “With the Catalina case resolved and school not starting up again for me until Wednesday, I can help out some on this Night Hunter thing. Now that we know this guy has been killing people with my initials as a message to me, at least we can start to develop a profile for him.”

  “How sick must the man be to kill people just because they share your initials?” Ryan wondered, shaking his head.

  “No kidding,” Jessie agreed. “After all, there are other forms of communication. What happened to just sending a threatening letter?”

  After such a long, painful day and night, Jessie thought a little gallows humor was in order. But Ryan didn’t seem to appreciate it and simply shook his head.

  “I’m not really in the mood,” he muttered.

  “Fair enough,” she replied. “But let’s not wallow in the man’s madness, Ryan.” She was still concerned about how much guilt he was taking on.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I think the days of us being repulsed by this man’s level of sickness are in the past,” she said as she flipped through the file Ryan had assembled on the murders, “In the last thirty-five some years, the Night Hunter killed at least eighty people that we know of, and probably multiple times that. H
e’s used machetes and exacto knives. He’s come at his victims head-on, chopping their bodies up. He’s also used subterfuge to wheedle his way into their homes, where he’s incapacitated them with paralyzing injections while he skins them alive. And in all that time, only one law enforcement official—Garland Moses—ever got close enough to bring him down. That was twenty years ago, and it nearly ended in Garland’s death.”

  “Two law enforcement officials,” Ryan reminded her quietly, his shoulders sagging.

  Jessie nodded, ashamed that she’d forgotten. Eager, goofy Detective Alan Trembley, who had joined the force around the same time as Jessie, had also gotten close—too close. Trembley had bled out last night, alone in a hostel bedroom, after taking an exacto blade to the carotid. The circumstances of the murder were still muddy, though it seemed he may have inadvertently stumbled on the Night Hunter, not realizing the threat right in front of him until it was too late.

  “We’ll get this guy,” Jessie said with as much reassurance as she could offer under the situation. But Ryan clearly wasn’t convinced.

  “It’s not just Trembley,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper so that Hannah, who was still asleep in the other bedroom, couldn’t possibly hear. “It’s also us. Jamil said the guy had been surveilling this house. He knows where we live. He’s been tracking our movements. What’s to stop him from just walking up to the front door?”

  Jessie understood his concerns. She felt them too. This was far from the first time that she felt like a prisoner in her own home. She had more experience than she liked to admit supervising the set-up of advanced security systems. And even in this house, gifted to her by Garland Moses and equipped with the most state-of-the-art system of protection she’d ever encountered in a residence, she was apprehensive. But she also knew that giving in to those worries was a recipe for dysfunction.

  “Walking up to the front door wouldn’t do him much good,” she noted, “considering that you saw him last night and can identify him. The description you gave the sketch artist has already been provided to every law enforcement agency in Southern California. If someone sees anyone who looks even remotely like him, they’re bringing the guy in.”

  “You know what I mean, Jessie,” Ryan said, his warm, brown eyes locking in on hers. “We’re vulnerable.”

  She understood what he was saying, as well as what he wasn’t. He feared that they were vulnerable because he was vulnerable. Before the attack, he’d been a six-foot tall, 200 pound muscular specimen. But that man was a distant memory. Still unable to walk more than a step or two without a cane, about twenty pounds below his normal weight, and quick to tire, he considered himself a liability. And based on what he’d ashamedly told her about last night’s events when he froze during a near-confrontation with the Night Hunter, he seemed to judge himself a coward too.

  “We’ll up the safeguards,” she said, not wanting to let him simmer in his self-disgust. “Jamil has promised to run a diagnostic on all our security systems and recommend any upgrades, though I think we’re already top of the line on everything. I’m looking into some additional measures that always struck my fancy but that I never pulled the trigger on. We’re talking heat sensors, an external laser grid, and a second panic room.”

  That at least made him crack a smile.

  “You just love the idea of panic rooms. I think all this is just an excuse to build another one. How many do we actually need?”

  “By my count, two,” she answered, kissing him on the forehead. “The bigger issue is that none of those measures do much good if Hannah is wandering about the neighborhood, oblivious to, or potentially even courting a threat she doesn’t take seriously.”

  “So what do you want to do?” Ryan asked. “Should we tell her everything?”

  Jessie sat down across from him and took a big bite of pancake, chewing slowly to allow herself time to think.

  “I’d like to avoid it for the moment if we can,” she finally said. “As frustrated as I am with her right now, I’m trying to remember that she’s going through a lot. Even setting aside all the terrible things she’s been through lately, she’s on eggshells now that her secret is out.”

  “Good point,” Ryan said.

  “Plus,” Jessie went on, “she only has a few more months of school left. Worrying about her future has to be weighing on her. We need to remember that she’s not just a survivor of unspeakable violence; she’s a teenager just trying to get by. I kind of want to give her a day where she doesn’t have to think about any of that. With winter break, school doesn’t start back up until tomorrow. Maybe we just give her a free day.”

  “But then how do we make sure she’s free while still staying safe?” Ryan wanted to know.

  “I don’t know how we handle that, long-term,” Jessie admitted. “But at least for today, with neither of us having school, I can keep an eye on her. Maybe I’ll suggest she talk to Dr. Lemmon, although I worry that my mentioning it will make it unappealing to her. Hell, she can spend the whole day pouting in her room if she wants. At least I’ll know where she is.”

  Jessie’s phone rang before they came to any final resolution. She looked at it and felt her shoulders slump involuntarily.

  “What?” Ryan asked, seeing that she wasn’t excited.

  “It’s Captain Decker,” she said. “It’s getting to the point where my blood pressure rises just seeing his name on the screen.”

  “Do you want me to answer it?” Ryan offered.

  She shook her head.

  “No. Whatever it is, I’d rather just face it head on,” she said, picking up. “Hello, Captain.”

  “Hello Hunt,” Decker said, his voice raspy and even more tired sounding than usual. “How are you feeling after your extracurricular activities last night? I hear your neck got a rough going over.”

  “Yes, sir, it’s quite sore. But I’ve been through worse. And considering the other guy’s cheek looks like ground beef, I think I got the better of it.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re doing okay,” Decker replied with an unusual hint of nervousness. “Is Detective Hernandez with you?”

  “Yes, he’s right here,” she told him. “Shall I put you on speaker?”

  “Yes please.”

  “Go ahead,” she said after hitting the button.

  “I just wanted to let you both know that I’ve been helping coordinate Alan Trembley’s funeral plans. The service will be on Saturday. I’m hoping both of you can make it.”

  “Of course, Captain,” Ryan assured him, his voice choked with emotion.

  “We’ll be there,” Jessie agreed quickly, hoping Decker hadn’t picked up on how hard this was hitting him.

  “Thank you. He admired both of you greatly, but I think he’d be happy knowing he was the main attraction for once.”

  The clumsy attempt to lighten the mood felt hollow. Jessie had a feeling she knew why: there was another reason Decker had called. She waited patiently for him to get around to it.

  “Anyway,” he continued after an awkward pause. “As much as I would like for the whole week to be about Trembley, crime doesn’t stop. I was hoping to discuss developments with both of you.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Ryan said. “Jessie and I have actually been discussing the Night Hunter case already this morning. We figured that with her not back teaching at UCLA until Wednesday, if we put out heads together today and tomorrow, we could make some real progress, especially since it’s obvious the killer has been trying to get her attention.”

  “I appreciate your shared commitment to resolving this,” Decker replied. “And under normal circumstances, I’d love to take advantage of Hunt’s help, even on a consulting basis. But I anticipate that the Night Hunter will want to keep a low profile for a little bit after killing a police detective. Hernandez, I think that you, with Jamil Winslow’s assistance, can keep on top of developments from the office. Besides, after what happened to Trembley, we’ll have all the human resources we need at our disposal.”


  Unlike Jessie, Ryan hadn’t yet picked up on Decker’s real motivation for the call. Before she could stop him, he launched into a counter argument with the captain.

  “With all due respect sir,” he said, “I’m not sure I agree. This guy isn’t a normal killer. Yes, he might go underground for another month, but he might hit again tonight. Plus, he’s focused on Jessie. I can’t think of anyone more equipped to get into his head than her.”

  “I suspect that you’re probably right, Hernandez, at least about the second part. Hunt would be a tremendous asset. But I need to hope this man holds off at least few days, because I need her for something else.”

  “What?” Jessie asked with trepidation.

  “I have another case I was hoping you’d take, Hunt,” Decker said, addressing her directly now.

  “But why?” she wanted to know. “Surely the Night Hunter case is high profile enough for Headquarters to let us focus on it exclusively. If we can solve it, that should secure the future of Homicide Special Section. I know you’ve been concerned that they’re going to shut it down.”

  It was true. The last few months had been bad for HSS, which specialized in cases that had high profiles or intense media scrutiny, often involving multiple victims or serial killers. First, celebrated profiler Garland Moses had been murdered. Then Ryan, the unit’s lead detective, was stabbed in the chest. After nearly dying, he still wasn’t ready to resume full, active duty over six months later. Jessie, the only other profiler dedicated to HSS, had left to take care of Ryan and teach at UCLA, where her life wasn’t in constant danger. And just last night, the youngest detective in the unit, Trembley, had been murdered too.

  “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple,” Decker said. “Because we lost one of our own during the Night Hunter investigation, the heat on the unit is even worse. If we solve the case, it’s a big win. But right now, it’s a black eye. And the folks at HQ only think in the ‘right now,’ so I have to also. And right now, a case fell into our lap that could help keep the wolves at bay. If we solve it, we could get the undying support of millions of social media fanatics, all of whom would go ballistic if the unit that got justice for one of their own was shut down.”