“I’m in the mood for some exercise.”
The voice was deep and raspy, but strangely quiet and calm. The man dropped his gun to the floor. What happened next was a blur; the man brought his fist hard against Candice’s nose, forcing her to stumble back as her nasal bridge collapsed with a wet crunch. A palm edge connected with Dakota’s throat, apparently crushing her wind pipe as she immediately fell to her knees, gasping and choking for air. Christina’s feet were rooted in place. Move, dammit, move! She tried to will her uncooperative legs to propel her away from the horror in front of her, but she couldn’t get them to function.
Two huge hands grasped Dakota’s head, an arm as thick as a tree trunk across her throat. Christina knew what was going to happen next. With a savage jerk, the man broke Dakota’s neck before she could take another ragged breath. He dropped the lifeless body and moved toward Candice, who held one hand to her bloody face, blindly flailing the other in an attempt to work out where she was. The attacker grabbed her loose arm and pulled her in toward him, bringing his knee to her stomach and knocking the wind out of her. He put both hands around her neck and squeezed. Christina could see Candice’s eyes bulge in surprise and horror and heard the cartilage and muscle in her neck popping and tearing as the man’s grip collapsed her larynx. She quickly fell still.
Christina felt her legs begin to move. Just a little more, she willed them, desperate to get away. The man walked toward her; he was only a couple of feet away. That’s it! Christina regained control of her legs and brought her right foot up fast, using the left to pivot, and aimed her instep at the weak point behind the knee joint. The man blocked her attack effortlessly, and countered by spinning on his back leg and driving the bottom of his heel into her shin. Christina gasped in pain and toppled to her knees. The last thing she felt was a blow to the back of her head, and then there was nothing.
Chapter 3
Police Sergeant Mary Jordan was tired. Damned tired. The call had come in about an hour before, a triple homicide outside a mid-town club. Not her favorite way to start a Friday, especially not at one thirty in the morning and on only two hours’ sleep. The gas station coffee in her hand just wasn’t cutting it, and she hoped she didn’t look as bad as she felt. Mary was attractive enough not to need makeup, but she had thrown on a cursory dash of lipstick and tied back her unruly dark hair just in case she didn’t get a chance later, which was becoming more and more likely as she contemplated the scene in front of her.
On the ground lay the remains of two young women, both of whom had probably been pretty attractive before some sicko decided to mess with their faces. One girl’s nose had been caved in and her eyes were bulging from their sockets, and the other girl’s head was at a funny angle, a grotesque expression on her horrified face. Mary noticed they were both wearing clothes she couldn’t afford if she saved up for a year. A few feet further back lay the body of a young male, Mary guessed late twenties, with a single gunshot wound to the head.
“Looks like we’ve got two killers, Sarge,” one of the duty officers addressed her. He was young and puffed up, trying to prove himself. Mary eyed his badge number.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, this guy’s been shot and the others weren’t. Two killers.”
“Or just the one guy who likes to strangle women.”
Mary had seen it before. Some crazies liked to see the life drain out of their victims, liked to dispatch them using their own two hands. They got some kind of sick sexual kick out of it. As for the stiff with the bullet wound, Mary guessed he just wasn’t the killer’s type.
“Just the one set of boot prints,” she continued, “no car, no bullet casings. There was just one guy, and he was a pro.”
“Buy why would anyone want to kill someone coming out of a club?”
“You find any ID on these guys?”
The officer nodded, “Wallets and purses weren’t taken, so it was easy enough to check. Finn Johnson, Candice Berkeley, and Dakota Hall. Finn’s a nobody, works at a nightclub round the corner. Probably knew the doorman, otherwise no way he’d get in. The girls are your usual type, living off Daddy’s money and enjoying their college years. Checked immediate family, they’re all clean. Not a parking ticket among them. So why would someone want to kill them?”
“They wouldn’t. Whoever killed these people was after something else.”
“How do you know?”
“Like you said, these guys are nobodies,” said Mary, glancing down at the bodies. “You don’t see pros like this taking out nobodies on the street. He was after either something they had, or someone they were with. It doesn’t look like anything was stolen, so I’d bet on the latter.”
“What do you want me to do, Sarge?”
“Tape this place up. When forensics get here, get them searching for any hair or fibers that don’t match our other vics and have them call me straight away. Let’s find out what’s missing from this picture.”
The rookie dashed off and left Mary staring at the scene in front of her. This was all she needed, more unexplained deaths. The captain was already riding her ass over a string of high-profile cases the FBI was investigating. Apparently they expected the police to do their damn jobs for them. Unfortunately for Mary, that meant she had to deliver a suspect with at least enough evidence to guarantee a court hearing. If she didn’t find one soon, the captain, the commissioner, and even the Mayor would be baying for blood, and she knew where they’d be looking.
Mary swore under her breath and patted down her jacket pockets, looking for her cigarettes. Then she remembered she had quit last week and swore again. It was hard enough to give up smoking without having to deal with this mess. Coffee just wasn’t cutting it. Mary bit her tongue in frustration and stalked back to her car, a mid-nineties sedan that was more inconspicuous than a squad car but lacked a decent heater. She turned the car around in the narrow alley and set off in the direction of the precinct, a full night of paperwork ahead of her.
Chapter 4
Leopold saw the blade arc through the air toward his head a moment too late. The blunted edge struck him hard against the padded armor that protected his skull, but he still felt the blow like a sledgehammer striking a stone wall. Faltering slightly, he steadied himself with his right leg and assumed a more defensive stance.
Leopold tensed as his opponent advanced, sword held high. Jerome was forty-six years old, six feet seven inches tall, and built like a pro wrestler. Despite his build, he carried himself gracefully and effortlessly, even with the bulky armor weighing him down. Against his black skin, the dark padding made him look even more imposing, like a deadly shadow. Leopold wished Jerome hadn’t insisted on swapping out their usual wooden swords for steel ones.
His sparring partner attacked again, aiming his blows at Leopold’s side this time, and he had to parry with increasing speed to avoid a blow to the ribs, filling the empty gymnasium with the echoing clash of metal on metal. The sound only worsened his wavering focus as his arms began to ache from exhaustion. As Leopold’s parries slowed, his opponent found an opening and struck hard, connecting with Leopold’s ribcage and knocking the wind out of his lungs. Despite the thick armor and blunted swords, the blows still hurt like hell.