Ripper (Tortured Heroes Book 5) Read online

“I think so.” We’d rented a place with four offices, a conference room, and an outer area for a receptionist. She’d also function as our assistant. It was small, but there would be room to bring in more agents if we grew like I intended. The home office had made sure we had the budget to make it look good. Part of convincing an athlete you were going to make them money was looking like you already had it.

  “Well then, good.”

  “I think I’ve got the receptionist position filled,” Jerry said.

  “I thought we were going to do that together.” I was annoyed. It was just another way to assert control over me: he’d hired someone, and I didn’t have a say.

  “She was too good to pass up. She’s coming in tomorrow to do the paperwork. You can meet her then.”

  “Fine.” I bit my tongue. Fight the battles that mattered, I tried to remind myself.

  “You want to get a drink? It’s time to close up.”

  “I have a little more work to do here, while there’s still time in L.A. Some finalizing for Jessie Hoolihan’s new apparel deal.”

  “Okay. Set the alarm when you leave.”

  “Yep.”

  “And Sam, don’t be too pissed about the receptionist. It’s no big deal.” Jerry had sensed my irritation. He paid closer attention to me than I realized. I softened a little. I knew his support of my idea among the senior agents was critical to this satellite office’s existence.

  “You’re right. You hang around fighters as much as I do, you’re always spoiling for a brawl. Thanks for finding someone for us. I’m sure she’ll be good.”

  “For sure. Just be glad I didn’t let Gwen Stock come with us,” he said.

  “Jesus. You’re an H.R. nightmare.”

  Jerry laughed and left on that note.

  Gwen was support staff at Arm Up in L.A. and Jerry had dipped his pen in that well. Awkward. And a good lesson to me on why not to sleep with co-workers. I’d turned Jerry down myself a time or two in the beginning. Gwen had not. Ugh.

  I checked in on the deal for my fighter, Jessie Hoolihan. He wasn’t the biggest name in the sport yet, but he was likable, handsome, winning at the moment, and he could charm the reporters. It was working for him, and so was I. This apparel deal would earn him his second million. I was sure of it.

  I looked at my calendar for the next day. I was set to start getting out in the gyms again. Scouting and meeting people was the key to finding the next client for my roster. I mapped out a few places I wanted to check out. I had to be seen, so I got the tips on who was worth looking at. Not one client ever came to me first. I always found them. But that could change thanks to the success I was having securing good deals. Each deal led to the next one. Each successful fighter pointed me to the next successful fighter. It was a process and I was making my way. Screw that glass ceiling.

  I looked at my phone. It was late. Time to go home. As usual, I’d put in over twelve hours. When you loved what you did, those hours flew by. And I loved my job.

  I packed up my laptop and closed the office. I set the alarm with the code Jerry had given me.

  No one else in the office worked late hours like me and that put a smile on my face.

  I bundled up in my new coat and walked down the steps to the basement parking garage for our building. We were paying a little extra but after the can man incident this seemed safer. My heels clicked on the cement. The empty garage made each click sound hollow and loud. Which is why the next sound was so easy to peg.

  I heard another set of footfalls. Or thought I did. I stopped and looked behind me. No one was there. My car was alone down the end of the row. I walked a little more quickly.

  I hadn’t thought much about my visit from the FBI the other day. I had thought a lot about the agent, Kyle Duvall; I was single but not a nun. He’d shown up in a few dreams the last few nights. But I hadn’t worried about the garbage incident or the dark-haired girl thing. It was ridiculous and I wouldn’t let it spook me. I was busy working for my clients and making things happen for Arm Up Management. I didn’t need help staying safe, I had my mace. I slid my hand into my bag and pulled it out, just in case.

  I picked up the pace. I wasn’t someone who liked drama and I didn’t think I was paranoid, but it felt like someone was watching me. It felt like I wasn’t alone. The shadowy corners of the garage started to freak me out a little. I hit the unlock on my Durango, thankfully, as I got closer to the car.

  I gasped. The cold air I’d sucked in hurt my lungs. It took me a second to process what I was looking at. There was red paint all over my car, dripping, fresh. My driver’s side window was smashed in and the red paint coated the steering wheel and my seat.

  Who had done this? What an asshole? My car! I loved this car. Anger and confusion gave way to something else. That feeling that someone was watching me again. Whoever did this? Did they want to see me react? Shit. What if they were there right now?

  I grabbed my phone and dialed 911. If someone was trying to get to me, I’d let them know right now I was on the phone.

  “I’m at 415 Madison, in the parking structure.” I talked as loud as I could and made my way to the stairs opposite. I had to get out of there and into the open if I could.

  “My name is Sam Bosque and someone trashed my car.” I was in full on sprint and kept the line open. In thirty seconds, I’d traveled up and out of the garage and was on the sidewalk. Grand City at eight at night wasn’t like Manhattan at night, but there were people walking. It wasn’t deserted. I felt safer already.

  “Ma’am, we have a crew on the way. Where are you now?”

  “I’m okay. I’m on the sidewalk. I’m fine.”

  “We had a crew right around the block. You should see them in a moment.” I stood there and then looked back at the garage. Was someone still watching me? Had I scared them off with the 911 call?

  It was probably less than five minutes later when I saw the police lights. Each of the five minutes seemed like they took an hour, but I willed myself to be calm and not look like a hysterical idiot. What had really happened? My car was vandalized. This was no big deal. I was fine.

  I was calm and in control as I could be when they started asking questions. They took my statement, they took pictures, and I started trying to remember where my insurance company phone number was. I couldn’t drive this mess.

  The officers keyed into that.

  “We can get you a cab, we’d love to help you home, but we’ve got several more runs piling up.”

  “Uh, well thank you.” I felt a little lost, I was in a new city, and I hadn’t had time to make friends. I needed the police to dial me a ride. I had no one to call in my new city. That made me surprisingly sad.

  “I’ve got this.” I turned and there he was again, walking toward me. The lost feeling vanished. Shit. He looked like an edgy Superman and he was here. Of course, that meant only one thing.

  “Flagged again, eh?” I said like I knew the drill.

  “Yes. And I’m your second call from now on. Thank you, officers, I got this.” Duvall flashed a badge on his belt and grabbed me by the elbow.

  Several men with FBI ball caps trailed Kyle Duvall and made a b-line for my Durango.

  “Do a full work up,” Duvall told them.

  Then he leaned into me and said quietly, in a low voice, “You stay right here. Do not leave my sight line.” What was happening?

  Duvall joined the other agents inspecting my car. I followed orders and stood stuck to the spot. An older man in a suit approached me. He’d trailed the team that was snapping photos of the molested Durango.

  “Sam, I’m Special Agent Tom Scully, in charge of the Grand City FBI Residential Office.”

  “Hello.”

  “The agents are going to take your car. Agent Duvall and I need to have a conversation with you. It’s probably best if we do it at your house.”

  “What? Look, I don’t mean to be a pest. Vandalism isn’t exactly national security or terrorism. I’m sure I’ve taken more
time than you have with my two little messes.”

  “Miss Bosque, we’ll explain the situation once we get you home.”

  “You got what you need, Duvall?” Agent Scully called to him.

  “Yes, they’ve got it handled. Flatbed is on the way.”

  “What?” The two men ushered me toward a black SUV.

  “We’ve got a lot to talk about,” Duvall said to me. What the hell was going on?

  They drove me to my place, sitting stone-faced and brushing off my questions the entire time. I had a million.

  They insisted on entering my apartment first and “checking it out.”

  “Is it always in this disarray? It looks ransacked.” Agent Scully looked concerned.

  “I just moved in!” My house organizing skills clearly did not pass FBI standards.

  “Oh, sorry,” Scully apologized, looking around my place. I sensed pity. Whatever. I wasn’t the domestic type.

  “Miss Bosque, let’s have a seat at your table,” Scully said, and of course, I still didn’t have chairs, so we stood.

  “Uh.”

  “Just lay it on me.”

  “We believe you are being targeted by a serial killer.” I staggered back. The world shifted a little to some unnatural angle and it made me slightly nauseous. It was the strangest sentence. It seemed unreal and horrible at the same time. They were saying this wasn’t a mistake. Someone was actually after me.

  I felt Agent Duvall’s hand at my back. He’d moved to my side in an instant. It grounded me and helped me ask the questions that were bubbling in my mind.

  “The target? Agent Duvall said I just looked like women who were missing or killed. Target though? Why me?”

  “Have you ever heard of the Las Vegas Ripper?” Scully asked me.

  “I guess, maybe on the news?”

  “There are five confirmed, connected victims. They all have certain features that resemble you. Dark haired women for sure. But several of them reported strange, stalker type events in their lives before they went missing.”

  Scully produced some photographs showing garbage strewn around an apartment, paint splattered on a car, and then a closet of clothes that looked to be ripped to shreds.

  “All of the women were murdered, mutilated, and dumped. We found them in one location. We do not know where they were first attacked.”

  I swallowed hard. This was like a horror movie.

  Then Scully produced the picture of the sorority girl I’d seen a few days ago.

  “The details of her murder are the same as the Vegas women. Except she was found here. In Grand City. The same day you moved here.”

  “There are more dark-haired women than me for God’s sake. Why are you so sure this sicko is after me?”

  “We’re not. Not one-hundred percent anyway, but we’re connecting the dots here. Agent Duvall and I are, with a fair degree of certainty, convinced you are the target.”

  “So, what now?” I still couldn’t really believe it.

  “We are going to continue to work this case. The FBI is gathering new clues every day.”

  “Do you know who it is? Who could do this?”

  “We have several theories and some of those you’ll help with. There may be things you know that you don’t consider significant that can turn our theories into concrete angles.”

  “Okay.” I was reeling still.

  “And until this is resolved, you will have 24-hour protection.”

  “What? Like a bodyguard.”

  “Yes, exactly like that,” Scully said.

  “Agent Duvall will be your shadow, from now until we are absolutely sure you are safe and the suspect apprehended.”

  “My shadow?”

  “You don’t go anywhere without me.” Agent Duvall said and I felt another shift in the universe.

  “Why don’t you go get your bag,” Scully told Duvall. “I’ll look around one more time.” Duvall walked out of my apartment. I don’t think I moved or even breathed.

  “His bag?” It hadn’t all really processed or registered with me. It was all too bizarre.

  “Yes, Duvall will be sleeping on your couch, taking you to work, going to your appointments,” Scully said as his eyes scanned my place again. He looked into my bedroom. Shit. Bed not made of course.

  “I. Uh.” I literally didn’t have an answer.

  “Miss Duvall? Do you have a cat?” Scully called from my bedroom.

  “No.”

  “You might not want to come in here.” But by the time he’d said the words I was already in my bedroom. Blood stained my comforter and there was— oh God, there was a cat! Killed and on display for me.

  Then the room spun away from me and sucked me into darkness.

  Chapter Six

  Kyle

  I saw her go. I was there in time. We’d overwhelmed Sam with terrible information and her body protected her mind and shut it all down. I caught her in my arms and prevented a crash landing.

  Scully looked at me with concern. There was a lot to be concerned about. I was pretty sure, and now the agency was too, that Sam Bosque didn’t just look like all the victims. All the victims were sought out because they looked like her. Someone had a sick obsession and they had pinned his sickness on her.

  She was light in my arms but out cold. I put her on the couch, thankful she even had one. The moving-in disarray of her place had put me on edge, along with the case.

  “I think you should get her out of here for the night. We’ll work this scene in her bedroom and then once it’s clear, we’ll decide if she can come back.” Scully said this quietly. In both of our experience when someone passed out due to shock, it was best to let their body do what it needed to do. Right now, she needed to be gone.

  “Agreed.”

  Scully got on his phone and went back to the bedroom.

  I looked down at Sam. Her eyelashes were dark against her white cheeks. Her chestnut colored hair fell over part of her face. It was easy to see how anyone could get obsessed with the look of her. The woman was stunning. I felt something tighten in my chest and I reached out to move a lock of that glossy hair, so it wasn’t in her face. It was silky soft. I needed to get my thoughts in check. I was here to keep her safe, not kiss her on those full lips. But that thought kept returning, no matter how hard I tried to banish the feelings I was having for this woman.

  She flinched and was wide awake as though she had that sensation of falling in a dream. She had hit the ground, and unfortunately, it was her current reality. I wanted desperately to calm her and take away the furrow that appeared as she looked around.

  “Agent. What?” She was processing the last few minutes before she’d passed out.

  “You’re safe with me,” I said. I should have said something more official, but that’s what I wanted her to know. What I wanted her to feel.

  “That poor cat.” She said and sat up rather quickly. She swung her long legs out and they hit the floor.

  “Don’t stand up yet.”

  “I just, everything just went whoosh!” She was looking around her apartment like she’d never seen it before. I sat down next to her and put my hand on her knee to ground her. I had never felt this strong an urge to fold someone close to me. It was powerful and I was fighting against it with everything I had. She needed stability and I was going to be that. Nothing else. This was my job.

  “It’s normal. Your body shut down to protect your mind. It happens.”

  “It’s weak. If any of my fighters would have seen me just then, ugh. I’d never hear the end of it.” She smiled at me and I was struck how tough she was, how resilient. She really wasn’t crying or hysterical and just seemed embarrassed to have passed out. I wanted her to know what I saw in her, but said nothing. She was far too good for my kind of history. Dark deeds from evil people didn’t surprise me, it was the opposite. I expected them. She didn’t need any more wackos in her life. One homicidal one was more than enough.

  “You’re not weak. But I’m gett
ing you out of here for the night. Techs are going to be processing this as a crime scene. You need to rest.”

  “I what? No. That just now, that’s not…” She stood up and straightened her skirt.

  “This isn’t a debate.”

  “What?”

  “We’re going to a hotel.”

  “I uh, need to get some stuff.”

  “No, sorry, you can’t go in your bedroom or get anything out of there. Not until it’s been completely checked out.”

  “So the FBI is going to be pawing through my underwear drawer? Sure. Cause that’s not weird.” I wanted to laugh, but I gave her my iciest stare. We were face to face in a showdown.

  “Let’s go.” I was annoyed. She wanted to do things her way. The wrong way. I was also fucking turned on by being so close to her.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Sam lifted her chin. She was tall, but even in her heels, I still had her by a good six inches. Somehow this did not seem to factor into her decision to defy my orders.

  “Either you turn around and walk out that door, or I carry you over my shoulder.”

  “You better not try it.” She squared her shoulders and looked up at me. It was a dare if I ever saw one.

  “I carried you to this couch. I’ll carry you to my vehicle. And I’ll carry you to the hotel. Do not test me on this.” I gave her my worst biker bad ass stance. I had spent the last few years with outlaws, murderers, thugs, and drug runners. And I was the muscle in that scenario. Gorgeous Sam Bosque was going to have to learn that what I said was what we did, at least while this psycho was out there.

  We stared at each other, eyes locked, bodies just an inch apart. My hands still remembered the feel of her in my arms when I’d caught her. Part of me wanted her to test me and let me sweep her up. But that wasn’t happening. She was back, on fire, and pissed. It was sexy as hell.

  She broke the spell and took a step back. I watched her walk in a little circle in the apartment.

  “Is it okay if I have my purse, my computer?” A vulnerability had crept in where the defiance had been.

  “Yes.”

  She walked to the door.