Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(28)
But the funny thing was this: He didn’t just want to seduce her and leave—to hit it and run, so to speak—he wanted to possess her heart, devour her soul, take control over her life, her thoughts, and her choices.
He wanted to dictate her very musings.
He wanted Macy Wilson on her knees before him, eager to do his bidding, in every way imaginable; and honestly, that just wasn’t like him. He wasn’t the obsessive-stalker type.
He rubbed his forehead to relieve some tension, and then he powered up his PC. For reasons he couldn’t possibly articulate, he might be a canine in heat, but he wasn’t anyone’s fool. Whether he was handsome, rich, or not, Macy Wilson was not going to respond kindly to one of the top surgeons at Denver Exploratory Medical Center successfully managing her surgery, then humping her leg in the bed while she recovered.
He entered his administrative password in the white rectangular box, brought up his browser to search the web, and then typed in the name of the nearest local flower shop, where he perused the most expensive, extravagant bouquets they sold: pale green and violet lilies, purple and white roses, all dotted with baby’s breath; the entire arrangement housed in an exquisite crystal vase—two hundred ninety-five dollars.
Son of a bitch, what a racket!
He made his selection and entered his credit card information, choosing midday on Monday as the delivery date and time, and then he entered the hospital’s address and Macy’s first and last names, since he didn’t know the number of her recovery room.
It was undeniably inappropriate, indisputably unethical, and risky as hell, at best. If someone turned him in for pursuing—let alone, harassing—a female patient, he could lose his freakin’ job, but he couldn’t think about that now.
The urge was too strong.
The need was too great.
Besides, no one on the surgical floor—and certainly, no one employed in his private practice—would dare defy Dr. Kyle Parker. He was too up and coming in his field.
At least he hoped.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
His head hurt, and he felt like he was losing his mind.
Why take such a foolish chance, and for such a plain, average woman?
Especially when he could have anyone he wanted?
He printed out the receipt, tucked it into his wallet, and shut down his desktop, prepared to go home.
What the hell.
It was what it was.
“I’ll see you on Monday, Macy.”
f
Assistant District Attorney Dan Summers ducked beneath the yellow crime-scene tape and made a beeline to Detective Michael Jacobs’ side. He had come to the Two Forks Mall garage for two very different reasons: the first, because he had to see the gruesome scene for himself: a local, low-level gangster mutilated and left for dead in a way that didn’t make any sense. His thoracic vertebrae, his lungs, and a chunk of his liver had been eviscerated, as if someone, or something, had tunneled through his back, tried to yank out his heart, and punctured the entire cavity in the process; but the wounds were inconsistent with any weapon they could identify, and the aorta was still intact.
Furthermore, next to the corpse, on the deck of the garage, were the remnants of a very thick chain, probably eighteen-karat gold, but the entire area was scorched, as in blackened and burnt to a crisp. Who the hell would burn four thousand dollars’ worth of gold, instead of taking it, hawking it, or giving it away? And who the hell strolled through a parking garage in the middle of the night, with a blowtorch in one hand and god-knows-what in the other, something large enough and heavy enough to eviscerate a grown man’s entire upper back in one targeted thrust? And why leave the body for the cops to find, unless you wanted to send a message to a rival gang, strike fear in the hearts of one’s enemies. Either way one turned it, this was too brutal, too gruesome—too exact—for some low-level victim, some unknown gangster. This was a Mafia-style hit. It was meant to instill terror; and it was carried out to send a message—
To someone important…
But the homicide was just an excuse: The real reason Dan had come to the garage was all about Jordan Anderson, his ex-lover.
Late last night, around 10:45, Dan had received a surprising email from Jordan, completely out of the blue: something about meeting a real creepy guy in the Two Forks Mall parking garage, being cornered by her car for a time, and giving the guy Dan’s address instead of her own when he had insisted on knowing where she lived. She didn’t go into a lot of detail—the message was simply meant as a heads-up. In fact, she had insisted that everything was all right; she had managed to get away; and she did not want to reopen any lines of communication with Dan—please don’t respond to this message. She had just wanted to make him aware. It had taken all his self-control not to reply.
Then again, earlier that morning, Dan had received a text from a gal he knew at dispatch, informing him about a call that had come over the radio later that same night, just after midnight: Apparently, Alonzo Diaz, a lowlife ex-con who was gunning for Jordan, had threatened her at work on Friday, and the threat had been material enough for Jordan to take action. She had met with Michael Jacobs early Friday evening, and the detective had dispatched a patrol car to watch her house. Clearly, the threat was substantial, and while Dan knew Detective Jacobs would keep an eye out for Alonzo, Dan’s inside source had told him about a follow-up report, some kind of dust-up at Jordan’s condo.