Deadly Fear (Deadly 1)

But the killer would be focused on other things.

“Copy that.”

He’d taught her how to fight. She’d survive.

“Can’t this piece of shit go faster?” he bit out. Red dirt flew in the air around the cruiser.

Hold on. Stay alive.

“I’m sorry.” Luke’s lips moved silently.

Monica shook her head. He didn’t have anything to be sorry for. This was on her.

Deputy Vance Monroe was good at killing. Probably because he’d been at his craft for so long.

Since he was eleven years old.

“I love you,” Luke told her. His eyes locked on her, and they showed no fear. Sweat beaded his face, and blood soaked his arms and chest, but fear didn’t lurk in his green gaze. Not so much as a shadow.

He knew the game, too.

Way to tell Vance to piss off.

“Where do I want to start first?” Vance walked around the table. A surgical tray was on the far right side, out of Monica’s reach. Vance waved his gun toward her. “Why don’t you pick a spot for me? Something delicate, that will hurt like a bitch.”

Monica glared back at him. Enough. Her turn. “How old were you?”

He blinked.

“How old were you, Kyle, when you made your first kill?”

His lips stretched. Not a smile. Not even close. “Figured that one out, did you?” He shook his head. “Guess we both like to play with names, don’t we, Mary Jane?”

Luke’s arms tensed, and she knew he was trying to escape the straps. But they were too tight. He wouldn’t be able to get free on his own.

“I’m guessing you were the officer who supposedly told the sheriff’s department in Gatlin that Kyle West died in that car accident?”

“Finally figured that one, did you?” A sharp bark of laughter.

“Who really died in that car accident?” She pulled a bit on her handcuff, testing the table. No give. “Vance Monroe?”

One shoulder lifted in a slow shrug. “It was really too f**king easy. I saw him in a bar. He looked like me. My size, my hair, my age.” A shrug. “So I thought—why the hell not? And I got myself a fresh start.”

And another man had died. But so what, right? In Kyle’s mind, it hadn’t mattered a bit. “You were the officer who went to see May, weren’t you? You were the one sent to tell her about the car accident.”

“She was off her meds. Always going off. I had darker hair, a broken nose, and a shiny uniform. When I lowered my voice, she didn’t even recognize me.”

“But the people in the sheriff’s office would have recognized you, that’s why you didn’t tell Martin.” The guy had been good. He’d done the visit to the family that would have been required, but covered his tracks well enough that he’d slipped through the cracks in the system.

A bark of laughter. “Maybe he would have. Maybe not. That prick can’t find his own ass most days.” His voice hardened. “You know that jerkoff thinks he can change the world. He thinks he can take a killer, get him to bare his soul, and then—wham—turn him into a model f**king citizen.”

Was he talking about Martin and his visits with Romeo? “But that won’t happen,” she said, her voice soft when his was hard.

“Hell, no. Some instincts are in the blood. Nothin’ will change ’em. Nothin’.”

“You’ve got those instincts, right? Was it those instincts that made you kill your ex-girlfriend? Those instincts made you murder Saundra?”

His eyes slit. “That bitch deserved to die! She was gonna leave me. Me!”

“She wasn’t your first, though, was she?” From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Lee stir. What had Kyle given him? She’d caught sight of loose ropes binding his hands. Ropes were so much easier to work free than handcuffs. And it looked like Kyle had kept those binds nice and light, probably because he didn’t want to leave rope burns on the soon-to-be dead guy’s hands.

Rope burns didn’t go so well with a suicide.

Maybe he’d learned the rope lesson with Jeremy Jones.

Vance—Kyle—shook his head. “My first? Not even close.” He put the gun down and picked up his bloody knife. “I think it’s time we got down to business.” He turned to shoot a quick glance at Lee—

“You killed your mother!” The belt buckle bit into her hand. “She was your first kill in that fire on Valentine’s Day.”

He whirled back toward her. The gloating pride vanished from his face. All emotion wiped away in an instant. “She deserved it.”

Right, because everyone he’d killed had deserved to die.

His fingers tightened around the knife. “That bitch—she tried to kill me.”

The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. Kyle went after women. They were his primary victims, and he liked to terrify them so that he could have control.

He wanted the women to be weak, powerless. Because once, a woman had made him feel the same way. His was not instinct, more like a sick compulsion.

“She beat you.” Absolute certainty had Monica’s voice thickening. “It started when you were young. She’d hurt you—”

“That crazy whore kept saying the devil was in me!” Spittle flew from his mouth, and he didn’t see Lee sliding free of the ropes. “She’d take her belt to me every night and tell me that she was beating him out of me!”

May had been treated for schizophrenia. Maybe her sister had suffered from similar problems. But no one had ever been there to shield her baby boy.

“She said I was evil, and that night, that night, she was gonna kill me!” He brought the knife over Luke’s chest. Hesitated. With that hesitation, Monica knew he was seeing the past. Not the victims right in front of him, but the most important one he’d killed so long ago. “I got her instead. I hit her on the head, knocked her down, and then I poured gasoline all over her.”

Accelerant had been found at the scene.

“She woke up right before I lit the first match.” His eyes widened, and she knew he saw that moment with perfect clarity. “She was so scared. She begged me to help her. To get her out, but I just lit that match and watched her burn.”

And he’d gotten his taste of power. Learned how heady fear could be.

He’d become a monster.

“Everybody was working on Romeo. The deputies never looked twice at me.”

Because the sheriff had been there, covering hisnephew’s tracks? Family. You protected them. Maybe Sheriff Peterson had known what Margaret was doing to her son. Maybe he’d just been good at turning a blind eye to the things he didn’t want to see.