Killer Instinct Read online

  Killer Instinct

  Barbara Winkes

  Copyright © 2018 by Barbara Winkes

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For D.

  Chapter One

  The wind had picked up, making a howling noise as it swirled the snowflakes around. You wouldn’t let your dog out in this weather. The ice crystals felt like tiny shards against the unprotected skin of her face, arms and legs. She was almost surprised to see no blood…but wait, there was blood, staining the thin shirt across her side and stomach. Christina gagged at the sight, almost surprised by it at the same time.

  What happened?

  There were only fractures of images, and sensations. Pain. A soul-eating fear like she had never known before. A warm light. Tender hands. Pain.

  Nothing made sense, not her staggering down this ravine during a snow storm, the way she was dressed, or the blood. Yet, those were the only clues she had, and they amounted to one imperative: Run!

  No, she wasn’t running, but every foot she could put between her and the evil could tip the scale, increase her chances to survive.

  “Come with us, sweetie.”

  “This will be one night you’ll never forget.”

  “You are special, Christina. That’s why we chose you.”

  The soft, sweet voices in her head didn’t leave her alone. Christina shuddered from more than the merciless cold. Somehow, she knew she would never get warm again, not in a million years, even if by some miracle she could manage to get shelter. The cold was deep inside her, and it was here that she might find her grave, in the ice and snow.

  She fell, the impact creating an explosion of pain in her side, making her stomach clench. She didn’t get sick. There was nothing left to throw up. With impossible effort, Christina pushed herself to her knees, and then to her feet. There was a crimson stain on the pristine white snow. Christina stood and stared, mesmerized by the sight. She felt so weak, exhausted, the last bit of motivation fueled by fear vanishing quickly.

  The sound of an engine roused her from her stupor. Hide! one of the voices commanded. There was nowhere to hide. Besides, this could be her chance to escape from hell, one way or another.

  “We will always be with you.”

  She stumbled onto the road and in front of the rapidly approaching headlights of the truck, the screeching sound of the brakes hurting her ears.

  A merciful blackness enveloped her, drowning out all of the sounds, from outside and within.

  * * * *

  Nate Gibson was looking forward to finishing his last shift before his Christmas vacation. He had saved to take his family on the long desired trip to the Caribbean, worked as many hours as one could justify being behind the wheel of the trailer truck. His boss had still given him the stink eye when he asked for the time off, but now that it was almost here, Nate couldn’t care less. He had earned it. Donna had earned it. They would enjoy every second of it. The kids, Aaron and Shelby, six and eight, hadn’t been able to sleep for days, too excited for the big trip.

  This would be their first real vacation since their honeymoon. They had struggled through recession and job cuts, but now things were finally looking up. It was their dream come true. As soon as he put the truck in the parking lot, a different life could begin, if only for a little while.

  In an instant, his life was drastically changed when he saw the shadow on the road, barely visible in the driving snow. Nate hit the brakes, praying he’d be able to keep the huge, heavy vehicle on the road, and away from whatever suicidal creature he had encountered. He assumed it had to be an animal, a deer maybe. No human in their right mind would be out in his weather. As the truck came to a halt, still on the road, Nate took a deep breath and then got out, only to be drawn into a nightmare.

  At first, he thought he’d hit the scarcely dressed woman. He felt for a pulse, a drop of cold sweat snaking down his spine. She was still alive. Nate realized that he’d come to a halt a few feet in front of her, and that her injuries stemmed from something else, a…stab wound? Had she been shot?

  It was unlikely for a hunter to be out there at the moment.

  The woman’s skin was cold to the touch. She might be alive right now, but not for much longer. He had to get her to a hospital. Nate envisioned trying to explain to his boss. It didn’t matter. He needed to do something, because there was no way he could go on a happy family vacation if this woman died.

  Could he move her? What if she had internal injuries, and he’d make things worse—even kill her? He had to get her out of the cold. Nate hurried to put up a reflective triangle and tried a cursory examination. The blood seemed to come from several superficial cuts and one larger, deeper wound. He picked her up and carried her to the trailer. He got a pillow from the sleeping compartment he put under her head, and a blanket to keep her warm. Within moments, there was a dark red stain, though he assumed that the cold would slow down the blood loss. He took off his jacket and laid it on top of the blanket. Less of a blood loss wouldn’t save her if the hypothermia got her first.

  Nate called 911 and prayed.

  * * * *

  Joanna would never forget the day she shot and killed Norman Decker. The memory still haunted her, every day, because she could have saved many women’s lives, had she done it sooner. She hadn’t shared this assessment with the lawyer or the court—her sentence might have been more severe than losing her job and spending a few years in prison. With Decker’s widow coming to the courthouse every day, talking to the press and showing off her six-month-old baby, Joanna had been lucky, as public opinion shifted and too many people were almost ready to forget what monster the boy’s father had been.

  Joanna remembered.

  In the present, she was hardly a heroine who had slain a monster, and she didn’t feel like one. She was out. Her motivation didn’t go much further than working a job that paid enough for rent and booze, and keeping appointments with the parole officer. She had started smoking again as soon as she left the prison gates. On occasion, she hooked up with women who didn’t ask too many questions, and didn’t expect a call the next day.

  She didn’t have company the previous night when she came home, just collapsed on the sinking sofa bed in the living room and slept until sunlight woke her. It wasn’t a pretty picture—the bottle on the table, the ashtray, and the gun she wasn’t supposed to have, next to it. There was a time when she’d passionately opposed guns in the home of depressed, potentially volatile individuals. The subject had caused bitter arguments between her and her father before he wrote her out of the will, though that had been because of her sinful lifestyle. Joanna hadn’t asked what he meant by that—her being a lesbian, or sleeping around too much (or going to prison?). It didn’t matter. She accepted her reality for what it was, but that didn’t mean she had to like it, or herself.

  Joanna sat up, raking a hand through her disheveled hair. She should probably get something resembling breakfast before getting ready for work, though what she really craved was a coffee black as the night, and a cigarette. There wasn’t much time for anything else, and her fridge was empty anyway. She wasn’t hungry either. She could grab a coffee on the way if she hurried up, and talk one of her co-workers into sharing a smoke if she was lucky.

  It was getting colder, she realized a few minutes later on the way to her car. Last night’s forecast had called for a snow storm later today. A gust of wind swirled leaves around her feet, making her sh
iver in her leather jacket. In some places, the Halloween decoration was still up while others were ready for Christmas. This time of year, with its many holidays and cheerfulness, made her even more short-tempered and thus reclusive. Even before the incidents that sent her life on a downward spiral, she hadn’t enjoyed them much—now she wished she could just take time off and head south for a couple of weeks, but she needed to pay the bills.

  It hadn’t been easy to get a job after her prison sentence. Eventually, she’d been lucky: The friend of a friend, who thought people like Decker shouldn’t walk the earth, had hired her for his warehouse, where she spent most of her working hours loading and unloading trucks. She didn’t hate it—it kept her mind off things. Joanna liked that it was physical, something that made her feel more at home in her own body, in control. In the past few years, she hadn’t been in control of much.

  The snow started to fall again on her way to the warehouse. By the time she arrived, traffic had slowed down almost enough for her to be late. She might have been lucky that the owner got her the job, but her immediate supervisor would surely love to shave a few dollars off her paycheck if she didn’t show up on time.

  Another aspect of her job that Joanna liked was the monotony, the repetitive tasks. Yes, it was demanding, and currently she was freezing her fingers off even with the gloves, but she could escape the hamster wheel in her head for a while. It kept her sane in a way she never imagined. Joanna didn’t begrudge the efforts of IAB that had brought her here. She knew that the Internal Affairs inspector hadn’t set out to destroy her career—she just was meticulous, believed in obeying the law by the letter, even if said laws protected a serial murderer’s life.

  Joanna still didn’t understand Vanessa Young, or why they had become something akin to friends in the aftermath. Vanessa had come to visit her in prison, which had been a surprise. Joanna had made it clear that she needed no one, but maybe Vanessa needed her.

  In the present, they tolerated and gravitated towards each other. Some mysteries didn’t need solving.

  Work was a bit slower than usual, due to traffic that forced every driver to slow down, and one truck that hadn’t come in yet. Joanna overheard co-workers talking, but she wasn’t really listening, not interested in the details. Another neat element: She didn’t have to watch her back at every turn. This place was a male-dominated area as the police department had been, but there was nothing new. She had already heard every sexist joke, and the ones who tried initially, gave up one by one when they realized they couldn’t get a rise out of her. Or maybe they knew that she had once killed a man when she got so sick and tired of his deep and cruel misogyny she couldn’t stand it any longer.

  Joanna didn’t know the true reason, and she didn’t care—the only thing important was that they pretty much left her alone. She had the chance to make a living. Norman Decker was still dead and wouldn’t cost the taxpayer another cent, a mild sentence considering all the lives he had taken.

  Due to the decreased schedule, she had a few minutes to get a hot coffee from the vending machine in the break room. It was bitter and tasted like that machine hardly ever saw a cleaning, but at least it warmed her. A couple of her co-workers stood talking, ignoring her presence. Joanna didn’t want to hear about their latest conquests or how they got away with cheating on their girlfriends. There were a few key words in their conversation that made her halt, producing a familiar, uncomfortable sensation in the pit of her stomach. It might be the lack of food intake. After her shift, she’d find a diner for something greasy and sweet.

  Not my circus.

  “That’s gotta mess with his fancy vacation,” one of the men said. “Apparently the police questioned him…She was barely breathing when they found her. He didn’t know if she made it.”

  Joanna picked up her cup from the counter and forced herself to be sociable.

  “Hey. What happened?” Her smile would hardly convince anyone. To her surprise, one of them turned to her and said, “A woman almost ran into Nate’s truck. No one knows what she ran from, but it had to be nasty. She was bleeding all over the road.”

  It could have been an accident.

  Not my responsibility.

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “You have to ask him, but he won’t come back before the holidays, unless the cops make him stay here.”

  “Why would they?”

  “I don’t know. He said someone stabbed her. Maybe they think it was him.”

  By now, she could barely breathe. Joanna took a sip of her coffee. It wasn’t hot anymore, the bitter brew on an empty stomach sickening. It could be the images evoked.

  She didn’t know Nate very well. She had heard of his plans to take his family on a vacation. Joanna couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone, but nice quiet people sometimes turned out to be serial killers. Like Norman Decker.

  She tossed the paper cup into the garbage and went back to her shift, but the effect wasn’t the usual one. As the hamster wheel started turning full force, her thoughts revolved around a woman, bleeding, running away from her sure death.

  Joanna knew she’d forego the diner. When she got out of here, she would need a drink first.

  She felt chilled to the bone, which had little to do with the winter outside.

  Towards the end of her shift, the work load picked up after all for which she was grateful. Yet, it seemed like the bubble she had lived in for the past years was irreversibly burst. It wasn’t like she never paid attention to the news or the unbelievable cruelties inflicted on women, but for the most part, she managed to keep the disturbing reality at bay. She had paid her dues. She wasn’t willing to take part in a losing game any longer. This was different, a co-worker of hers unwillingly connected to a crime. Too close for comfort. In the car, she heard the news on the radio. There wasn’t much information on the woman. She appeared to have been stabbed and left for death. According to the hospital she’d been brought to, she would survive. The doctors hadn’t related any further details.

  Joanna knew that the police would be combing the area right now for any hint as to who had hurt her. She didn’t envy them. There were too many Norman Deckers out there, and they had the power to haunt beyond the grave.

  At home, she showered and changed before going back out. She knew from experience that the weather wouldn’t keep the patrons from coming to The Copper Door. They were, like her, determined and desperate, and clinging to a past that was only better in their imagination. The door hadn’t been copper in years, and while the place used to be a cop hangout, with the owners changing, it had become a place for cheap alcohol, snacks and hook-ups. On occasion, Joanna appreciated all three, and she thought that tonight might be such an occasion.

  She wondered if Nate would be able to scrub the image of the woman out of his head and go on his vacation as planned.

  * * * *

  A cigarette would be neat, but even The Copper Door had caught up with the times and banned smoking inside. Joanna wasn’t willing to give up the warmth for a smoke. She sat down at the bar and ordered vodka, moments later enjoying the burn of the alcohol warming her from the inside. This was better. She didn’t need any sleepless nights over someone else’s tragedies anymore. She had promised herself. The bartender put a bowl with salted peanuts in front of her, and on cue, her stomach growled.

  “I’ve been longing for some hot wings all day. Would you share?”

  Vanessa Young stood out in this place as usual, too dressed up in the woollen coat over the short dress and the leather boots. Joanna made a face.

  “You go outside in these clothes? It’s a miracle you haven’t gotten frostbite yet.”

  Vanessa shrugged, unfazed by her words. “One of us needs to have a sense of fashion. No, I’m not cold, but I’m hungry. Do I have to eat the whole plate by myself?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll help you. How was work today?”

  It was a small precinct. She must have heard about the woman Nate had found.

>   “Hectic.” Vanessa sighed. “I guess you heard.”

  “Yeah. Do you know anything about her? More than they said on the radio, that is.”

  “There are competent people on the case. That’s all you need to know.”

  “Humor me. Unless you pissed off someone else, and it’s a cold war up there.”

  “It’s not.” Vanessa rolled her eyes. “You know, most people actually appreciate that we at Internal Affairs do our job. No one likes a dirty cop.”

  “Yeah. I got that concept.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you. God, I need that drink already.”

  When the bartender had taken her order and refilled Joanna’s glass, she continued, “Be glad you don’t have to deal with this crap anymore. This woman? Someone drew lines on her body with a marker and started cutting her. She was lucky, they got interrupted and she got out, nearly ran in front of a truck.”

  “They?”

  “Figure of speech. I don’t know that much more, and frankly, I don’t plan on finding out more if I can avoid it. I don’t do the creepy stuff.”

  “Yeah, I know. Dirty cops are your specialty.” Joanna said it without scorn. They were both aware of their past. They still respected each other, and for some reason neither of them could figure out, they couldn’t let go of each other.

  Something about Vanessa’s words struck her as odd, some little detail that bothered her. The marker.

  “Oh no, I know that face. I’m not going to look into anything for you. You are not cop anymore. Let it go.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Joanna said, irritated. “You started talking about the case. I just want to enjoy some junk food and booze in peace.”

  “All right, let’s do that. See anyone interesting around here?” Vanessa asked, her tone softening.

  “For you or me?”

  “Both.”

  Even though Vanessa didn’t seem to be the type to frequent a place like The Copper Door, she sometimes ended up bringing home some good-looking guy. Joanna preferred women, though the process was the same—neither of them went on second dates much. Maybe that was where they had bonded: They didn’t judge each other. They were long past that.