Hope's Peak (Harper and Lane #1)(52)

“Jesus,” Harper says. “We’ll catch a break. Mark my words.”

“Right you are, boss,” Albie says, ending the call.

Ida lights a cigarette. “The woman that Detective Raley got called to . . . it’s the same killer isn’t it?”

“Looks that way, yes,” Harper tells her. “DNA is a match.”

Ida’s hand goes to her neck. She watches as Harper rounds up her things, shoving them hastily into her bag. “How about meeting us in the parking lot next to the Buy N Save later?”

Ida sucks on the cigarette, blowing a steady trail of blue smoke out one side of her mouth. “Sure, no problem.”

“You can always say no . . .”

She shakes her head. “No need to. We’re in this together, am I right, sugar?”

Harper nods at the door. “I guess we are. I’ll be in touch, Ida. Thanks for letting me stay.”

“Don’t you mention it. Now go, get gone,” Ida says, waving her off.





13


Barnie looks at the three people standing in front of him, less than impressed.

“What’s up?” Stu asks him. “Same arrangement as always, right?”

“Aaah, I’m afraid the stakes have gone up, Detective,” Barnie says, drawing a sharp breath as he says it. “I’m risking my job letting you in with a civilian. Maybe I need a donation to my retirement fund.”

Stu regards him incredulously, as if seeing him for the first time. “Are you fucking kidding me, Barnie?”

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve had reporters trying to get in here. For all I know, they could be a test from management. See if I’m dirty. I don’t want the extra risk without, you know, extra compensation, man.”

“Yeah? That so?” Stu asks, walking around Barnie’s desk to the other side.

Harper watches the exchange with growing alarm. “Stu, what’re you doing?”

“Arresting this son of a bitch for attempting to extort a police officer,” Stu says, pulling out his cuffs. Barnie tries to dodge him, but Barnie’s too big.

“Hey! What the hell, Detective?” he cries as Stu slaps the cuffs on him, holding his arms behind his back. “Damn, that hurts.”

“Sit down,” Stu snarls at him. “We’ll be quick, and if you keep your mouth shut, I won’t mention this to your boss.”

“Come on,” Harper says, looking back at the front door. “Make sure they’re locked.”

Stu checks the control panel. “Yeah, they are.”

Ida walks ahead of them—she knows the room. Her stomach pulls tight into a knot when she gets to the door, knowing what’s behind it, picking up on the atmosphere of the place, the emptiness of it. They go inside, and Harper checks the board on the wall to find out who is where. Stu pulls Julie’s body out, unfolding the sheet away from her face as if revealing an ancient artifact. Skin, milky white, looking like a snow queen lying there, her lips a startling shade of electric blue.

Harper’s hand falls to Ida’s shoulder. “Are you ready?”

Ida swallows. “Yes. But bring that chair over, so I can sit when I’m done. Save me from hitting the floor like a bag of feed.”

“Got it,” Stu says, fetching the office chair from the other side of the room.

Ida places her hand on the woman’s forehead and sinks into the woman, sinks into her skin.

That telltale warmth fills the room and the low lights dim further.



That voice. There’s something about that voice. Julie tries to scramble to the side, but the man is quick. He steps in her way, a little chuckle coming from beneath the mask. Julie lashes out as he grapples to control her, dropping to his knees, and she somehow snags his head covering. Julie pulls and it rips, separating from the section pinned by the belt.

She knows him. His ugly, brutish face is red-hot and flustered from battling her on the bathroom floor. She is about to say his name when his right arm goes back, and Julie knows what is coming. His fist hits her and it’s like a million-watt bulb explodes in her brain.

Her vision swims. The mask hangs from the belt around his neck, and he glares at her.

“That wafn’t nife.”

“Listen . . . what are you doing?” Julie murmurs, half dazed from the blow.

He grabs her hair and forces her to turn around. “On your kneef.”

“No!” Julie struggles, but his iron grip on her hair stops her. He’s not letting go.

A part of her speaks up: Let him do what he’s going to do. You might live. Cooperate and you might live.

Sobbing, Julie has her back to him, and she lowers herself forward, exposing her rear end to him. She hears him deal with his jeans. His breathing comes hurried, almost snorting with excitement. The pain of him forcing his way inside makes her cry out, makes her try to fight him off again. He shifts around behind her, pulls her head back by her hair. Julie screams.

He holds her hair with his right hand, and reaches around with his left. He finds the soft, delicate flesh of her bare throat and caresses it with his fingers, all the while forcing himself into her.

“You gotta know when to keep your mouth fhut.”

His left hand closes on her throat and he grits his teeth, growling like an animal as he crushes Julie’s windpipe. Taking the spark of life and crushing it in his hands.