9 Kill for Me
Karen Rose
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by Karen Rose Hafer
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Grand Central Publishing
Hachette Book Group
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New York, NY 10017
Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.
First eBook Edition: February 2009
Grand Central Publishing is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The Grand Central Publishing name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-446-54370-5
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
About the Author
ALSO BY KAREN ROSE
Don’t Tell
Have You Seen Her?
I’m Watching You
Nothing to Fear
You Can’t Hide
Count to Ten
Die for Me
Scream for Me
To Martin, for always believing in me even when I don’t. I love you.
To Sarah, for achieving your dreams despite all the obstacles. You inspire me. Life, Prosperity, Health.
Acknowledgments
Danny Agan for answering all my questions about police procedure.
Shannon Aviles for all her support and wonderful ideas.
Doug Byron for his help in DNA procedure.
Kay Conterato for going above and beyond the call of duty when she researched radio ID badges while hospitalized!
Marc Conterato for all of his medical expertise—my drugged, shot, stabbed, and poisoned characters thank you, too.
Myke Landers for sharing his experience as a survivor of a POW camp in Vietnam. I was honored and forever changed. Thank you.
Angela Maples for her guidance in the tracking of pharmaceuticals.
Shirley McCarroll, Tommy Gianides, Suzanne Verikios, and Jan Sarver for all their priceless information on Greek families and customs.
Frank Ouellette for answering my questions on the Chattahoochee River.
Nate VanNess for his help on tracking ISPs.
Terri Bolyard, Kay Conterato, and Sonie Lasker for helping me get unstuck. You all are awesome.
Karen Kosztolnyik, Vicki Mellor, and Robin Rue for all you do to make my dreams come true.
As always, all mistakes are my own.
Prologue
Port Union, South Carolina, August, six months earlier
Monica Cassidy felt a flutter in her stomach. Today would be the day. She’d waited for sixteen long years, but today the wait would be over. Today she’d be a woman. Finally. And wasn’t it about time?
She realized she was twisting her fingers together and forced herself to stop. Calm down, Monica. There’s nothing to be nervous about. This is, like, natural. And all her friends had done it. Some of them a lot more than once.
Today, it’s my turn.
Monica sat on the hotel bed and brushed the dirt off the keycard, which had been hidden exactly where Jason said it would be. She shivered, her lips curving in a small smile. She’d met him in a chat room and they’d clicked right way. She’d meet him in person soon. In the flesh. He’d teach her things. He’d promised. He was a college guy, so he’d be a lot better at it than the gross boys that tried to cop a feel every time there was a crush in the hallway between classes.
Finally she’d be treated like an adult. Not like her mom did. Monica rolled her eyes. She’d be a forty-year-old virgin if her mother had her way. Good thing I’m smarter.
She grinned to herself, thinking of all the steps she’d taken to cover her tracks that morning. No one friend knew where she was, so they couldn’t blab if they wanted to. She’d be back home, well and truly fucked, before her mother made it home from work.
How was your day, honey? Mom would ask. Same old, same old, Monica would answer. And as soon as she was able, she’d come back. Because she was sixteen years old for God’s sake and nobody was going to tell her what to do ever again. Bells trilled and Monica dug furiously in her purse for her cell. She drew a breath. It was him.
RU there? she read.
Her thumbs were actually trembling. W8ing 4 U. WAU. “I’m waiting for you. Where are you?” she murmured as she entered her reply.
POS. PITA. SYS. ILY, he answered. His parents were watching him over his shoulder, she thought, rolling her eyes again. His folks were as big a pain in the ass as hers. But he’d see her soon. She smiled. He loves me. This would be so worth it.
ILY2, she typed and snapped her phone shut. It was an old phone. It didn’t even have a camera. She was the only one in her crowd without a damn camera on her phone. Her mom had one. But did Monica? No. Mom was such a control freak. You’ll get a phone when you bring up your grades. Monica sneered. If you only knew where I am. You’d shut up. She stood up, suddenly restless. “Treat me like a fucking kid,” she muttered, taking her purse to the dresser and staring in the mirror. She looked fine, every hair in place. She looked pretty, even. She wanted to be pretty for him.
No, she wanted to be hot for him. Monica rummaged in her purse, pulling out the condoms she’d pilfered from her mother’s ancient, never-used supply. But they hadn’t hit their ex-date, yet, so they’d still be good. She looked at her watch.
Where was he? She was going to be late getting home if he didn’t get here soon.
The door creaked open and she turned, the feline smile she’d practiced firmly in place. “Hello there.” Then she froze. “You’re not Jason.”
It was a cop and he was shaking his head. “No, I’m not. Are you Monica?”
Monica lifted her chin, her heart pounding. “What’s it to you?”
“You don’t know how lucky you are. I’m Deputy Mansfield. We’ve been tracking your ‘boyfriend’ Jason for weeks. Your ‘boyfriend’ is really a fifty-nine-year-old pervert.”
Monica shook her head. “No way. I don’t believe you.” She rushed for the door. “Jason! Run, it’s a trap! They’re cops!”
He caught her shoulder. “We arrested him already.”
Monica shook her head again, slower this time. “But he just IM’d me.”
“That was me using his phone. I wanted to be sure you were in here and that you were unhurt.” His face gentled. “Monica, you really are a lucky girl. So many predators out there are trolling for girls just like you, pretending to be boys your age.”
“He said he was nineteen. A college boy.”
The deputy shrugged. “He lied. Come on, get your things. I’ll take you home.”
She closed her eyes. She’d seen stori
es like this on TV and every time her mom would wag her finger. See? she’d say. Perverts out there everywhere. Monica sighed. This can’t be happening to me. “My mom is going to kill me.”
“Better your mom than that perv,” he said evenly. “He’s killed before.”
Monica felt the blood drain from her face. “He has?”
“At least twice. Come on. Moms never really kill you.”
“Shows what you know,” she muttered. She grabbed her purse, furiously. I am so dead. She’d thought her mother was crazy protective before. She’ll lock me up and throw away the key. “Oh God,” she moaned. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
She followed the deputy to an unmarked car. She could see the light on the dash when he opened the passenger door. “Get in and buckle up,” he said.
Grimly she obeyed. “You can just take me back to the bus station,” she said. “You don’t have to tell my mom.”
He just gave her an amused look before slamming her door shut. He got behind the wheel and reached behind the seat, grabbing a bottle of water. “Here. Try to relax. What’s the worst your mom can do?”
“Kill me,” Monica muttered, twisting the top off the bottle. She drank a third of it in great gulps. She hadn’t realized she was so thirsty. Her stomach growled. And hungry. “Can you stop at MickeyD’s at the exit? I haven’t eaten today. I have my own money.”
“Sure.” He started the car and pulled onto the stretch of highway that went back to the interstate. In a few minutes he’d covered what had taken her an hour to walk that morning after the last ride she’d hitched let her off at a gas station at the exit.
Monica frowned when the world went spinning. “Whoa. I must be hungrier than I thought. There’s a . . .” She watched the golden arches disappear behind them as he got back on the interstate. “I need to eat.”
“You’ll eat later,” he said coldly. “For now, just shut up.”
Monica stared at him. “Stop. Let me out.”
He laughed. “I’ll stop when I get to where you’re going.”
Monica tried to grab the door handle, but her hand didn’t move. Her body didn’t move. She couldn’t move.
“You can’t move,” he said. “Don’t worry. The drug’s only temporary.”
She couldn’t see him anymore. She’d closed her eyes and now couldn’t open them. Oh God. Oh God. What’s happening? She tried to scream, but couldn’t. Mom.
“Hey, it’s me,” he said. He’d made a call on his phone. “I have her.” He laughed softly. “Oh, she’s very pretty. And she just might be a virgin like she claimed all along. I’m bringing her in. Have my money ready. Cash, like always.”
She heard a sound, a terrified keening, and knew it came from her own throat.
“You shoulda listened to your mama,” he said mockingly. “Now you’re mine.”
Chapter One
Ridgefield House, Georgia, Friday, February 2, 1:30 p.m.
The ringing of Bobby’s cell phone brought an abrupt halt to their chess game.
Charles paused, his forefinger hovering over his queen. “Do you need to get that?”
Bobby checked the caller ID and frowned. It was Rocky, calling from her private phone. “Yes, I do. Excuse me, please.”
Charles gestured his assent. “By all means. Should I leave the room?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bobby said, then into the phone asked, “Why are you calling?”
“Because Granville called me,” Rocky said tensely, road noise in the background. She was in her car. “Mansfield’s with him at the river place. Mansfield got a text from Granville saying Daniel Vartanian knew about the product, that he’s coming with the state police. Granville says he didn’t send the message. I don’t think he’s lying.”
Bobby said nothing. This was far worse an outcome than expected.
After a moment of silence, Rocky hesitantly added, “Vartanian wouldn’t have warned them. He would have just shown up with a SWAT team. I . . . I think we were too late.”
“We were too late?” Bobby asked scathingly and there was silence.
“All right,” Rocky said quietly. “I was too late. But it’s done now. We have to assume the river place has been compromised.”
“Fuck,” Bobby muttered, then winced when Charles lifted his brows admonishingly. “Clear out by the river, not the road. The last thing you want is to meet the cops coming in as you’re driving out. Call Jersey. He’s moved shipments for me before.”
“Granville called him and he’s on his way. Trouble is, we can only fit six in the boat.”
Bobby scowled. “Jersey’s boat is big enough to fit twelve in the cargo hold, easily.”
“That boat’s elsewhere. This is the only vehicle he had available.”
Dammit. Bobby glanced at Charles, who listened avidly. “Eliminate what you can’t carry. Make sure you leave nothing behind. Understand? Nothing can remain. Use the river if you don’t have time to make other arrangements. There are some sandbags behind the generator. Bring them here. I’ll meet you at the dock.”
“Will do. I’m on my way down there to make sure those two don’t fuck it up.”
“Good. And watch Granville. He’s . . .” Bobby glanced at Charles again, saw he now appeared amused. “He’s not stable.”
“I know. One more thing. I hear Daniel Vartanian went to the bank today.”
This was far better news. “And? What did you hear that he came out with?”
“Nothing. The safe-deposit box was empty.”
Of course it was. Because I emptied it myself years ago. “That’s interesting. We’ll discuss it later. Now move. Call me when the job is done.” Bobby hung up and met Charles’s curious gaze. “You know, you could have told me Toby Granville was unraveling before I took him on as a business partner. Freaking crazy SOB.”
Charles’s mouth curled up in a self-satisfied smile. “And miss all the fun? I don’t think so. How is your new assistant working out?”
“Smart. Still gets a little green around the gills when she has to process orders, but never lets the men see it. And it’s never stopped her from getting the job done.”
“Excellent. Glad to hear it.” He tilted his head. “So is everything else all right?”
Bobby sat back, brows lifted. “Your business is fine. Nothing else is your business.”
“As long as my investment continues to pay dividends, you may have your secrets.”
“Oh, you’ll get your dividends. This has been a very good year. Base business profits are up forty percent and the new premium line is just flying out the door.”
“But you’re about to ‘eliminate’ stock.”
“That stock was at the end of its useful life anyway. Now, where were we?”
Charles moved his queen. “Checkmate, I believe.”
Bobby swore lightly, then sighed. “So it is. I should have seen that coming, but I never do. You’ve always been the master of the chessboard.”
“I’ve always been the master,” Charles corrected, and pure reflex had Bobby sitting up a little straighter. Charles nodded, and Bobby swallowed back the annoyance that rose every time Charles tugged the reins. “Of course, I didn’t drop by simply to beat you at chess,” he said. “I have some news. A plane landed in Atlanta this morning.”
An uneasy shiver skittered up Bobby’s spine. “So? Hundreds of planes land in Atlanta every day. Thousands even.”
“True.” Charles began putting the chess pieces in the ivory case he carried with him everywhere. “But this plane carried a traveler in whom you have a vested interest.”
“Who?”
Charles met Bobby’s narrowed eyes with another satisfied smile. “Susannah Vartanian is back in town,” he said, holding up the white ivory queen. “Again.”
Bobby took the queen from Charles’s hand, trying to appear blasé, when inside a geyser exploded. “Well, well.”
“Well, well, indeed. You missed last time.”
“I didn’t try las
t time,” Bobby snapped defensively. “She was only here a day when the judge and his wife were buried last week.” Susannah had stood at her brother’s side at their parents’ grave, her face expressionless even though turbulence had churned in her gray eyes. Just seeing her again after all this time. . . . The turbulence in Susannah’s eyes was nothing compared to the seething rage Bobby had been forced to swallow.
“Don’t you snap the head off my queen, Bobby,” Charles drawled. “She was hand-carved by a master craftsman outside Saigon. She’s worth more than you are.”
Bobby placed the queen on Charles’s palm, ignoring that last jab. Calm down. You make mistakes when you’re riled. “She went back to New York too quickly last week. I didn’t have time to adequately prepare.” It sounded whiny, which made Bobby angrier.
“Planes fly both ways, Bobby. You didn’t have to wait for her to return.” Charles snuggled the queen into her velvet slot within his ivory case. “But, it would appear you now have a second chance. I hope you plan more effectively this time.”
“On that you can depend.”
Charles’s smile was cagey. “Just promise me a ringside seat when the fireworks begin. I’m partial to the red fireworks myself.”
Bobby’s smile was grim. “I can guarantee lots of red. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some pressing business to attend to.”
Charles stood. “I have to be going anyway. I have a funeral to attend.”
“Who’s getting buried today?”
“Lisa Woolf.”
“Well, Jim and Marianne Woolf better enjoy it. At least they won’t have to fight the other reporters. They’ll have a ringside seat, right on the family pew.”
