A Killer's Mind (Zoe Bentley Mystery #1)(104)

“And then you can do what you need to do for this to last. For us to last. That’s what you really want, isn’t it? Someone to lie against you at night? To sit by your side when you eat breakfast in the morning?”

She took a step toward Tatum. And another.

“Someone to love you unconditionally? Can you really do better than me? Is she better than me?”

The knife hand wavered.

“Can you see it, Jeffrey? This mouth, frozen forever, my skin cold, my arms and legs posed however you want them to? Can you picture it in your mind?”

Another step—and another. Always facing him, her eyes locked with him, her movements slow and calculated. She hoped fervently that Jeffrey would keep still. And that the Glock tucked into the waistband of her underwear behind her back wouldn’t tumble down to the floor.

“Every day together. Dressing me. Caressing me. Kissing me. There will finally be someone in your life. Someone who’ll never leave.”

She took another step, and the gun shifted, lowering slightly. Her heart skipped a beat, but it didn’t fall; the underwear band held. She took another step. And another.

“The rest of them were mistakes. I am the real deal.”

She reached Tatum and the kids.

Jeffrey swallowed. “You!” he barked at Tatum. “Handcuff her hands. Slowly.”

Zoe waited, hearing Tatum move behind her. She felt the cold touch of one of the handcuffs tightening around her left wrist. Then she felt the shift of the gun in her underwear. The second cuff tightened around her right wrist.

She took one step forward, carefully hiding Tatum with her body.

“Finally we’ll both have someone to love. Come on, Jeffrey. Let’s leave before the cops get here.”

There was a slight nod, the blade lowering. She took another step forward.

And then she dove to the floor.

There were three consecutive blasts as she hit the hard floor tiles with her shoulder, her cuffed hands unable to stop her fall. There was a jolt of pain, and she felt the coppery taste of blood in her mouth. She had bitten her tongue.

She felt someone grab her hands, and there was a click. The pressure of the cuffs was removed from her right hand, and she pulled it out, turning around.

Tatum handed her the key, and she tried to unlock the second cuff. It was hard. Her fingers were trembling.

Sirens screamed close by, and she wanted to sob. Instead, she finally unlocked the cuff, removed it, got up, and hurried to the woman, removing the gag from her mouth in one fast rip. The woman took in a wheezing breath and a sob.

“My children,” she said.

“They’re fine,” Zoe said. “Don’t worry. They’re fine.” She inspected Laura’s throat. It was bleeding, but it was a shallow scratch, no more.

Tatum was crouching by Jeffrey’s body. For a moment Zoe was about to shout at him angrily. They had to untie the family. Then she saw that Jeffrey was coughing blood. He was still alive. Tatum tore the killer’s shirt open. He found a bit of cloth and shoved it against Jeffrey’s bleeding belly.

Zoe blinked and looked at Tatum. He focused on Jeffrey, not looking at her. “You should get dressed. Half the Chicago PD is about to barge in.”

“I can’t,” Zoe said, her voice tight, covering her chest with one arm. “You just turned my blouse into a bandage.”

Tatum blinked at the shirt pressed against the blood. “Oh. Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “It was a nice blouse.”





CHAPTER 76

Quantico, Virginia, Monday, August 1, 2016

Zoe frowned, tapping her capped pen on her desk as she read her notes from Clifford Sorenson’s interview for the third time. It was a shoddy job, and she was disappointed with herself. The interview had transpired only two days after Jeffrey had been arrested. Clifford was still in shock, the truth acidic and destructive. His own brother had killed his fiancée. Had kept her body in his home and molested it over and over while Clifford had been looking for her. Then he had used Clifford’s business to find other victims. Used the van Clifford had provided to assist him in those murders.

He had been unfocused during the interview. Zoe wasn’t sure if he had been drunk, stoned, or just overwhelmed. Her own questions had been basic, shallow.

She’d had an amazing opportunity here. Two men, sharing the same childhood. One had grown up to be a functioning member of society, with his own business and a meaningful relationship with a woman. The other, a serial killer. This could answer so many conundrums and questions about serial killers.

But Jeffrey was refusing to talk at the moment, and the only reason Clifford had talked to her was because he was still struggling to get a grip on reality.

This was about to slip from her fingers. She’d have to talk to Mancuso, get her to approve an extended trip back to Chicago. Or maybe they could transfer Jeffrey closer and interview Clifford on the phone? Would she be able to promise Jeffrey something in return for his cooperation? He seemed to have no interest in fame, unlike many other serial killers. What would make him talk?

She sighed, put her pen down, and leaned back. It probably wasn’t a good time to ask Mancuso for anything, really.

There was a knock on the door to her office.

“Yeah?” she said.

The door opened, and Tatum stood in the doorway. “Hey,” he said, smiling. “How are you feeling?”