The police were on to his accomplice! May already have him in custody!
The Avenger sped as fast as he dared on Interstate 80, taking the Capital City Freeway just south of the Madison Avenue exit. Although he hadn't yet formulated a plan, speed drove him relentlessly. He rubbed the clammy flesh at the back of his neck and turned the air conditioning on high, letting the cool air blast his heated body. A spasm tightened his cheek and he massaged the spot hard with two fingers.
Never one to panic, he beat down the flutters of concern, breathed deeply, and considered his options. The situation necessitated action. Still, he doubted his assistant could reveal anything very incriminating. For all the man's high IQ, he proved remarkably dull-witted when it came to covering his ass.
Momentarily, he lamented involving the man, but little could be done now. He sighed and shook off his regret, a wasteful enterprise at best. At the time he'd needed the release their little adventures brought him. Especially when the latest punishments he meted out failed to satisfy him. Failed to tether the pulsating urges that overtook him.
No, the accomplice knew enough about the Avenger's business, but not the most damning – the notes. He wouldn't make a connection between the case and the Avenger. And whatever he did remember would be lost in the enormous maze of other guilty activities.
So, his plan – clear away the artifacts first, the most egregious evidence. The thought of destroying his mementoes wrenched his gut with an almost palpable blow, but it was necessary. Leave no testament to what he'd done. Expunge all traces that the sacrifices had any link to him.
Next – destroy all connections with his assistant. That would be more difficult, but manageable. If the police arrested the man, let him take the full weight of the law.
He began to relax. No need to panic. The situation was unfortunate, but not insoluble. Let the authorities do what they would. Let the system run its natural course. Their focus on his assistant would take the heat off the Avenger. Renewed boldness surged through his body.
Over to the right, off the freeway, he spied the lighted sign of a sports bar and cantina. Luis, it shouted in large florescent letters. The green glow winked seductively at him like a woman beckoning from a warm bed. Impulsively, he pulled off the freeway, drove into the packed parking lot, and edged into a free spot at the rear of the building. He needed a drink, something to settle his nerves, put him back on track so he could continue his work.
Twenty minutes later, he'd finished his third highball when the woman sidled up to the barstool next to him. Her nails caught his attention first. Long and curved, painted bright red, they looked lethal, like enamel-coated Samurai swords extending from the tips of her fingers. A stirring in his groin prompted him to follow the line of her arm to the neckline of a dangerously low-cut black dress. Sleeveless and tight. She had the full-bodied figure no longer popular among today's anorexic women. He enjoyed the lushness of her body as she edged even closer to him.
"Buy you a drink, mister?" Her throaty voice slurred the words. This was not her first drink.
Suddenly a surge of sanity ripped through him, and with it, fury. A common whore! She sought to drag him into the iniquities of her flesh. She wanted him to grab her and do all kinds of dirty things to her in the back seat of a car, in an alley, even on the floor in front of these strangers. Disgusting, vile creature!
The bulge in his trousers expanded.
The Avenger blinked furiously. He must leave before he did something foolish. He'd come too far in his journey to fall into a woman's trap. He tossed several bills on the counter and slid off the barstool.
"Hey, whass wrong?" The overhead lighting caught the woman's features and cast them in a greenish hue, made her blonde hair brassy and her face mannequin plastic.
Without answering, he hurried toward the door, out into the cool night, and around the corner where he'd parked the sports car. As he fumbled with the unlock button on his remote, he sensed her behind him. He turned. She tottered in impossibly high heels, her skimpy black dress hiked up to her thighs, a stupid grin on her face.
"Hey, baby, come on. I just wanna have a good time." She reached him and ran her talons down the sleeve of his jacket. "I know how to have a real good time. Wha' cha say?"
He took her capture of him as another sign and herded her into the McLaren.
Jack had the federal agents checking on Latin experts in northern California, starting with the universities. Jesus, how many could there be? Too many, he thought. He'd like to get Ted Burrows alone for five minutes, just five. He ran both hands through the hair at his temples and linked his fingers behind his head as he leaned back in the extra office chair in Slater's office.
"We're not gonna get anything else out of Burrows," Slater declared with finality.
"Maybe not, but there was something in the little prick's eyes. If he wrote those notes," Jack eyed Slater as he fiddled with his computer keyboard, "he didn't write them in a vacuum. He knows the person he wrote them for."
Slater logged off the computer and turned around. "But he may not know why he wrote them. Or what they mean."
Jack ran with the idea. "On the other hand, if he did know what the notes were being used for, he could be charged with accessory to murder. Hell, even murder one. Would your district attorney go for that?"
Slater winced. "Charlie Barrington isn't a risk-taker. He wants to be sure he can win the case before he files charges. Wouldn't want to ruin his conviction rate." He smirked. "He'd rather pass the case off to the feds – to you."
Jack blew out a disgusted breath, pissed as hell that Burrows might stand between them and a madman. "I won't settle for a pawn in the killer's game. I want the DLK himself."
Slater squinted off into the distance and spoke slowly. "Burrows knows he's going to go down on multiple assault charges. Why would he hold back on the notes?"
"Unless he doesn't know anything about the murders," Jack mused slowly.
"It's been all over the news," Slater argued. "How could he not know anything?"
"Oh, he knows about the murders," Jack explained, sitting straighter in his chair, "but we didn't release the information about the notes to the press. If Ted wrote them for someone else, he probably has no idea what he's done or what deep shit he's in."
Slater relaxed and smiled. "You thinking we could make little Teddy piss his pants?"
Jack swiped his hand over his jaw and walked to the window where he could see his reflection staring back at him. He badly needed a shave. And a nice hot shower. He thought of Olivia, hidden away and sleeping safely, and put the image aside before turning back to Slater. "Let's get Burrows back in here. See what we can sweat out of him."
"Without his lawyer?"
Jack kept his expression inscrutable, hoping that Slater wouldn't argue civil rights crap. "A lawyer always complicates the situation."
After a moment, holding Jack's eyes in a neutral stare, Slater nodded. "True. And we don't really care about tainting the evidence against Burrows because we've got him solid for assault." He paused and lifted an eyebrow. "Unless you think he's good for the murders too?"
"Nah, he's not that clever, no matter what his opinion of himself is."
Jack thought of the pretty blonde still in the hospital since they'd rescued her from Burrows' house. And the redhead from his vision whom they'd likely never find. "What about the girl?"
"She's awake now and singing like a sweet little bird about Ted's kinky sex practices."
"Let's go for it," Jack said. Hell, whatever information they squeezed out of Burrows wouldn't alter the assault convictions. But he might lead them to the person he wrote the notes for. "A little pressure would go a long way with Burrows, don't you think?"