“Who slit his fucking throat, London?” He advances on me. “You didn’t think that, after all my study and work that I’ve put into this case, I wouldn’t recognize the deviancy in signature?”
He’s so close to me now. I can feel his body heat. Smell his aftershave. See every wrinkle in his standard, black suit. I look up into his wild eyes. “I did,” I admit. “I placed my hand over Grayson’s and, even though we both dragged the blade across his neck, it was my choice.”
His nostrils flare. With purposeful movement, he takes hold of my hand and turns it over, exposing the tattooed key I no longer conceal. “A replica of the murder weapon. Your trophy. You killed Malcolm Noble.”
“Prove it.”
In one quick flash, Nelson strikes my face.
I slam into the door from the force of his backhand. I cover my cheek, vision blurring. The pain hasn’t seeped past my shock yet. I watch him with guarded eyes as he hovers near, breathing hard.
“I don’t have to prove it,” he says, gripping my upper arm and hauling me across the room. He swipes an arm across my desktop. Objects crash to the floor. Then he’s pushing me down against the surface. “I just have to get rid of the loose end.”
I struggle against his hold and work my way onto my back. Using my feet, I kick at him. “There are witnesses,” I say around a grunt as I strike out. “All those people down there…”
My mention of witnesses only fazes him for a second, then he pushes himself between my legs, ending my fight. His hands close around my throat. “Scream,” he dares through clenched teeth. “You’ll suffer a broken neck from a fall down the elevator shaft. No one will question me. I’m the fucking law.”
His fingers tighten, cutting off my oxygen. I claw his hands, gasping for air. “Then why not just do it now,” I manage. His hold loosens, gaze narrowed. “You can’t. The same way you couldn’t allow a trap to take your victims’ lives. You had to be the one—you had to feel life drained from them with your own hands…”
Grayson’s words channeled through me, but they’re true. However this sadistic game started for Nelson, he’s embraced it fully now. He’s become the monster he hunts. With Grayson locked away, the killings have to end.
And Nelson can’t accept that.
His grip around my neck strengthens, tears blur my eyes. Fire snakes through my lungs and curls around my throat. He’s shaking, muscles strained. Spittle leaks from his mouth as he squeezes the life from my body.
I’m going to die.
“You’ll always be in his shadow,” I wheeze out, but he hears me.
Apprehension glints in his crazed eyes. For the briefest second, air finds my lungs, and I grovel for more. I push the panic down and rake my nails across his face. He releases an enraged growl, then one of his hands wrapping my neck is gone. I clutch the air in my lungs like a desperate animal fighting for survival.
“Guess I need to taste the muse for myself, then,” he grits out. He works his belt buckle open, and another paralyzing burst of panic seizes my body.
Hand clamped hard to my throat, he wrestles his pants open, and I come alive with fight. I flail and scream, my voice nearly lost, a searing whisper wrenched free. It’s not enough. Nelson manhandles me easily, bunching up my skirt and ripping my underwear down my thighs.
He positions himself between my legs, and I can’t make sense of this. In spite of the panic, the fear…logic finds a way in. Nelson is going off script. This doesn’t fit—the killer he’s become in Grayson’s wake.
How many perpetrators has Nelson emulated? How many personas does he have trapped in his psyche? He’s coming undone.
Just one second. That’s all I need.
I swipe my hands along the surface of the desk, anger overcoming desperation. This man will not victimize me. I grasp onto something solid and aim for his neck.
He cries out as my letter opener drives into his shoulder.
A miss, but it’s enough. His hand falls away from my throat, and I pull the silver object out and drive my hand down, making contact with his leg.
“Fuck!”
I feel the warm gush of blood cover my hand and, trembling, I roll over. I take half a second to drag an unobstructed breath into my lungs, then I bound off the desk. My legs unsteady, I stagger before finding my footing. Nelson clutches the wound on his thigh, red seeping through his fingers.
Not good enough. I need him immobile.
Every muscle and bone in my body hitched with pain, I brace a hand to the desk and kick. I nail him in the balls. He falls to his knees. Then I attack again, hitting him directly in the same spot, taking him to the ground.
He’s spewing venomous curses at me—and I use his angered voice to gauge his presence as I drop before the filing cabinet. I get the key ring out of my pocket. The keys clang in my trembling hands, but I manage to insert the right one and yank the bottom drawer open. I reach underneath and grasp the object taped to the underside of the drawer above.
I close my eyes, lungs struggling to hold in air, as I grip the rusted key in my palm.