Sinnerman (15 page)

“To be honest, I didn’t know anyone was still assigned to me,” I said. “Not with that guy in custody and everything.”

The wrong guy.

“Boss had some doubt. Said you didn’t think it was him and to stay with you until he said otherwise.”

“So what else do you guys do when you’re not coming to my rescue?” I said.

A smile formed on Lucio’s lips and he winked at me.

“Nice try, lady.” He wagged his finger at me. “For a smart girl, I can’t believe you haven’t figured it out yet. You expect me to believe you don’t know?”

A figure appeared from the side of a huge boulder. We raised our guns in synchronized motion.

Lucio shouted, “Sal, that you?”

“It’s me,” the guy said.

Lucio turned to me. “It’s okay, he’s one of us.” He gave Sal a stern look and said,

“Well?”

Sal shrugged but wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“Can’t find him. I looked everywhere. No blood, nothin’. It’s like the guy was never here.”

“Boss won’t be happy ‘bout this,” he said.

“I’ll talk to him,” I said.

Sal and Lucio looked at each other and laughed and Lucio said, “Lady, you got a lot to learn.”

I looked back but didn’t say a word. So did they.

Sam Reids hunched over the stove in his kitchen and nursed his wound. The bullet from Sloane’s gun nicked him in the shoulder and it stung like he’d doused it in alcohol and held it there. Going to the hospital was out of the question, and he knew what had to be done—he’d have to extract the bullet himself.

He took a long hard swig of whiskey and another, and then poured some of it on the afflicted area. It was now or never. With his sterilized knife in hand, Sam stabbed at the gaping hole. The impact of the knife on his exposed flesh was more than he could stand, and he squealed like a pig headed for the slaughter. He jerked from one side to the other and wished he could knock himself unconscious rather than endure the pain a second more.

Sam tried to set aside the constant throb that pounded like the beat of a heart and inched the knife deeper until he reached the place where the bullet had lodged. He dug around until he had a firm grip and then harvested it from its position inside his body. Once it dislodged, he grabbed it with his free hand and heaved it across the room. It smacked hard against the wall and fell in silence to the carpet below. Sam dipped the blade of his knife into the open flame on his gas stove and then, when it was hot enough, he pressed it against his flesh. The smell permeated the room and it looked like his flesh had melted, but after a moment, the wound seared shut and he tossed the knife into the sink.

Sam didn’t want to admit his plan turned out to be such a grandiose failure or that Sloane was more prepared than he anticipated. She was alone, vulnerable, and in the perfect position for him to strike, and yet he failed. He thought it would be easier to catch her—he was sure she would struggle, but to fight back like she did without hesitation and through pure instinct was a shock to him. Sloane was strong and resilient, and to catch her would require serious thought.

He hadn’t planned on the two goons who showed up either. The bait he set with the fake Sinnerman in custody had all been for naught. Why hadn’t her protection been called off like he thought they’d be—didn’t they think they had their killer? It didn’t make sense. She should have been in his possession now, locked up in a room in his basement that he’d prepared just for her, his most prized possession. But his plan had failed, and he wondered how long it would take for it all to unravel. Now there were loose ends to take care of, and he cringed at the thought of it. One of those loose ends was Sloane, and Sam wanted to make her pay. He’d make them all pay.

I sat on a sofa in a room the size of my entire house that was embellished in warm shades of burgundy, brown, and gold. Every wall was adorned with at least one piece of art, many were works by famous artists, but unlike so many replicas I’d seen in other homes, I had no doubt these were originals.

In another room a group of men were enthralled in a parley of some kind. From what I could hear, it was Giovanni, Sal, and Lucio. Giovanni tried to muffle his voice and keep a sense of composure, but his tone was tense, and his words—sharp. He reprimanded them for letting me out of their sight and for the fact that Sinnerman was still out there somewhere and what that reality meant for me, and what that would mean for them if anything happened to me because of it. His voice conveyed genuine concern, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. A minute later the only sound I heard was the persistent twitch of the clock that hung on the wall in front of me. The front door closed, and Giovanni joined me in the living room.

“I know it doesn’t change things,” I said, “but they tried to protect me.”

He sat down next to me and remitted a cup of tea.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

“For whatever reason, lately I’ve felt like the girl in school who gets all the boys in trouble. I didn’t know I was still being shadowed by your men, or I never would have gone up there in the first place and put them through all that. I’m sure they drained themselves just to keep up. There’s no way they could have been expected to—”

He placed his hand on my leg which stopped me mid-sentence. Why did I lose all concentration every single time he got anywhere near any part of my body? It bugged me.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you, Sloane,” he said.

That type of sentiment was too much, too soon, and I wished for an eject button on the side of the chair that would hurl me toward the sky before I felt any more out of my element than I already did. Giovanni just sat there and stared into my eyes with such tenacity, a confidence that I almost always had, but right now, for whatever reason I didn’t. Instead, I pointed at one of the paintings on the wall and said, “Which one is your favorite? They’re all so different from each other.” Lame.

“All of them. I have a deep appreciation for art which I attribute to the fact that I cannot draw to save my life. And I’ve found that when I’m unable to do something, I either learn how to, or in this case, I gain a much deeper respect for it.”

“That’s the way I feel about books,” I said. “I never did any good in English class in school, and the grades I received on my essays were even worse, so it was easy for me to pick up a book and get swept away with how the words are articulated on the page. It’s a feeling I can’t describe. Reading brings me so much happiness. I can pick up a book and become so engrossed in the story, I forget everything that’s going on around me.”

“We have a great deal in common.”

“I think so too,” I said.

“We should talk about what happened to you today.”

I sat back and crossed my legs and took a sip of my tea.

“It was him,” I said. “Sinnerman.”

His face turned from playful and soft to grim in an instant.

“You’re sure?”

I nodded.

“He approached me from behind with a needle, and we’ve already determined that he sedates his victims when he takes them,” I said. “It’s his M.O.”

There was a knock at the door. He looked at me and said, “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

A minute later Giovanni’s brother and the chief entered the room. The chief looked like he’d had about twenty cups of coffee and all the added sugar he could stand.

“Sloane, are you alright?” the chief said.

I nodded.

“I’m doing fine.”

I felt like I’d been shaken and stirred, but I didn’t want everyone else to know that. Just being in the presence of the man I’d hunted for the last few years aroused all kinds of emotions inside me. I was so close, and now all I could think of was whether I’d get another chance or if I’d blown it all together.

“You got something for me?” Agent Luciana said.

I nodded and rose from the chair and walked over to a small round table at the corner of the room. I reached into my bag that rested on top and pulled out the needle that took Lucio about twenty tries before he freed it from its home on high.

“I didn’t have any plastic with me,” I said. “So the only thing I could do was fold it in a napkin I had in my car.”

Agent Luciana took it and thanked me. It was always all business, all the time with him.

“I doubt you’ll get any prints off it, he was wearing gloves,” I said.

He nodded.

“Just what in the hell is this guy after anyway?” Agent Luciana said.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I said. “Me.”

The chief and Agent Luciana exchanged looks and then sat down on the sofa. I sat across from them. Giovanni stood in the corner of the room, leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Go on,” the chief said.

“This is the way I see it—for whatever reason, Sinnerman wanted everyone to believe he’d been caught. He framed a guy for the murders, planted evidence in that same guy’s car and had every last detail organized; it was a well-choreographed operation. And he was so good at it, you all believed you’d caught the killer, and who knows, maybe you still think that. All I know is he went through a lot of effort to pull this off so that everyone would stop looking for him. And when he thought he’d succeeded, the first thing he did was to come after me.”

“What does he want with you though?” the chief said. “All his other women have been random. Why single you out—I mean I get there’s a sister connection, but…”

I shrugged.

“Maybe because I called him out, who knows. No other woman has been bold enough to do that. But to put all this together just so he could get his grips on me…”

“I’ve seen this type of thing before,” Agent Luciana said. “Not in this exact way, but I believe he’s become obsessed with you, and I’d be willing to bet that there’s no avenue he won’t consider in order to get what he wants. There’s a term for his behavior: erotomania.”

“Eroto what?” I said.

“It’s when a person suffers with a form of delusion where they believe the other person is in love with them. They live in some type of fantasy until they feel betrayed, at which point, they can become violent. I believe he’s been stalking you for some time.”

“Why me?” I said.

Giovanni walked over next to me and sat down.

“Because of who you are,” he said. “You’re gutsy; you let him know you were coming after him. You told me yourself that you believe this guy gets his kicks from a challenge, and I’ve never known a better one than you.”

“If he wants me, he can come and get me,” I said. “I have another bullet for him, and this time it will be aimed straight at his chest.”

Three hours later I stepped out of my car and into a local joint known for being the place to go if you wanted to score, and by score, I didn’t mean a one night stand. My attire for the evening was black. A fitted black t-shirt with shredded holes on both sides, faded jeans, and dark makeup, and I’d gone so heavy on the eyeliner I could have attracted a male raccoon. I felt like a prostitute, and I imagined I looked the part as well.

After I’d sorted the morning’s events around in my head, I realized there was one person I needed to talk to who was the best chance I had to find Sinnerman—Trisha. She’d fingered the guy in custody fast—too fast. And then there was the matter of her bloody nose. For a girl who claimed to live where she did, the way she dressed told me otherwise.

Behind the counter at the bar was a giant of a teenager with bluish hair accented with black tips on the ends that were shaped into perfect spikes on top of his squarish head. The spikes reminded me of the points on a stegosaurus, and they were so stiff, I wanted to ask him what kind of hairspray he used for future reference. He eyed me with a look of distain.

“You gonna order lady, or what?”

I shook my head.

“Nobody comes in here and doesn’t get a drink or something, okay?”

“Fine. I’ll take the or something,” I said.

His forehead creased into several lines that spanned the length of his head.

“What’ll it be?”

For the sake of appearances, I knew I needed to order before he became unnerved enough to tip everyone off to the imposter lurking about the place. The last thing I needed was the fine patrons of the seedy establishment to clear out like a bomb had just gone off.

“You got any Absinthe?”

He nodded.

“I’ll take a shot of that,” I said.

“A shot of it?”

“You heard me,” I said.

He shook his head and relayed the order to the lanky woman who stood behind him. Her size XS tank top hung off her body like a piece of torn fabric in the wind. While she poured my drink, my favorite girl who cried wolf meandered through the door. She looked disheveled, just like the first time we met, except this time there was one difference: she fondled a wad of cash in her right hand. She didn’t notice me, and that was fine. It gave me a chance to observe her. And the first thing she did was to head straight for a back room. I waited and as I did so, I weighed my options about whether or not to take the shot that had just been placed in front of me. I took it.

“Another?” the bartender said when I’d finished.

I shot him a wink and edged off the barstool.

“I’d like something a bit stronger,” I said, and tilted my head toward the door Trisha just went through.

“Ahh,” he said. “I see.”

I didn’t, but I was about to. I made my way through the crowd and stood a couple feet from where Trisha had just entered. It didn’t take long for her to reemerge, and by the smile smeared across her face, it looked like she got what she wanted. She made her way to the entrance and walked out of the bar without a word to anyone. I followed.

When I got outside Trisha was about twenty paces in front of me.

“Where you headed?” I said.

Trisha curved her body around. She had a stunned look on her face, and once she got over her initial shock, she walked in my direction.

“Oh, it’s you. What are you doing here?”