Cavanaugh Standoff - Marie Ferrarella

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as “life.”

      The first kill had originated from a chance encounter. After that, a plan had been born. A plan that had required a great deal of careful research, coordination and, above all, meticulous timing. But every risk, every dangerous moment, was ultimately so worth it.

      And now? Now, finally, the end of the road was within sight.

      Five bodies down, four to go. This would take more planning because they were on their guard now. But it didn’t matter.

      However long it took, they were going to die.

      Every single one of them!

      The target had already been chosen, his day-to-day movements committed to memory. Just like the others.

      If a conscience had been involved, it had long since been numbed into nonexistence.

      Four more to go.

      The words hummed like an enticing siren song. Four more people to kill and the score would finally be even.

      Four more and then maybe, just maybe, life could begin to get back to normal.

      And if not—and there was a big possibility that it wouldn’t—well, those evil, cold-blooded bastards all had it coming. Their deaths would be no loss to the world because they all dealt in death as if it was of no great consequence. With all of them wiped from the face of the earth, maybe someone else would go on living rather than have their life snuffed out as if they didn’t matter.

      Maybe the self-righteous defenders of the public safety would even see it as a public service. Because that was what it was.

      A public service.

      A public that would be a little safer once those people were all dead.

      And maybe, just maybe, sleep would finally return, bringing with it some measure of peace.

      Peace, after two years.

      Finally.

      At least, there was a sliver of hope that it would. Something that had been missing all these many long months.

       Chapter One

      “Heads up, O’Bannon, your serial killer’s body count just went up by one.”

      The declaration came from the Homicide Department’s lieutenant, Jacob Carver, as he came out of his office and walked toward the lead detective assigned to the unusual case.

      A twenty-three-year-old veteran of the Aurora Police Department, the lieutenant had a Countdown-to-Retirement calendar prominently displayed on his wall. It was the first thing anyone saw entering his office. The second thing they noticed was the pile of travel brochures amassed on his desk, a pile that seemed to increase weekly.

      But any hope the lieutenant had of having the time until his retirement go by quietly had evaporated with the advent of multiple murders—executions, actually—that pointed to a serial killer having invading the northern perimeter of their normally peaceful city.

      Ronan Cavanaugh O’Bannon frowned. “Are they sure the body is courtesy of our serial killer?” he asked.

      If it was the work of the serial killer who was selectively eliminating members of not just one gang but two, that brought the body count up to a frustrating five. Maybe this time the killer had gotten sloppy and left behind something that could be construed as a clue.

      “One bullet to the back of the head, execution style, and, according to the first officer on the scene, the guy’s right hand was cut off,” Carver recited.

      “Yup, sounds like our boy,” Detective Sebastian Choi, also assigned to the case, agreed. He shuddered. “Lot of anger there.”

      “So you still like the theory you came up with?” Carver asked, sounding rather skeptical. He looked from Choi to O’Bannon, to Nick Martinez, Choi’s partner and also assigned to the case. “That it’s just gang retaliation, with one gang attacking another to even the score?”

      “It could still be that,” Ronan allowed, the note of certainty missing from his low, deep voice. His frown deepened. “But according to the ME reports on the other four victims, all the killings were done exactly the same way. That points to one killer, not a mixed bag of executioners, the way we first thought.”

      Carver’s gaze was unwavering as he looked at his lead detective. “Is that your gut talking?”

      It was hard to miss the sarcasm but Ronan wasn’t the type to be intimidated. He was long past something like that. “It’s a family thing,” was all he said.

      The lieutenant sighed, clearly impatient. Everyone knew what it looked like to retire with something of this magnitude left unsolved on his record. It was tantamount to a black mark. He needed this solved. Yesterday. “And that’s as far as you’ve gotten in the investigation?”

      “Rome wasn’t built in a day, Loo,” Ronan replied quietly.

      “No,” Carver agreed. “But it was demolished and fell apart pretty quickly.”

      “What’s the big deal?” John Deeks, one of the squad room detectives who was eavesdropping, asked. “I mean, as long as these so-called gang members are only doing away with one another, that means there’s less of them to turn on the decent residents of their own cities, much less Aurora. Everyone remembers that drive-by shoot-out just within the city limits two years ago. Maybe this’ll teach them to keep away.”

      Ronan turned his chair in Deeks’ direction. “Our job is to catch killers regardless of who they kill,” he informed the detective coldly.

      “Yeah, they don’t pay us enough to pass judgment on the lifestyle and character of the victim,” Choi spoke up, joining in.

      Deeks raised and then dropped his wide, sloping shoulders, retreating. “I’m just saying...”

      Ronan leveled a steely gaze at the other man. “Everyone knows exactly what you’re saying.”

      “Hey, back to your corners, everybody,” Carver ordered sharply. “I want to see this kind of energy out in the field, not here.” He turned his attention to Ronan and got down to the other reason he’d come out of his office rather than summon the detective in to see him. “Since the body count is up to five, I’m thinking maybe you need a little extra help.”

      Ronan’s expression darkened just a shade. He had Choi and Martinez working with him. He didn’t want any “extra” help. Nor did he like what was being inferred. That he couldn’t do the job.

      “We’ll get him,” he told Carver with the sort of finality that was known to end discussions.

      Another man might have backed off, but dark looks and growled responses had no effect on Carver. In general, that was his domain. “I know you will.”

      Whether that was meant to be patronizing or it was actually an honest statement was anyone’s guess, Ronan thought. But an inner voice told him to brace himself.

      He watched as Carver turned, glanced over his shoulder to the far end of the squad room and then beckoned. “Carlyle, mind coming over here?” It was not a question but a civilly worded command.

      Having been forewarned a few minutes earlier by Carver as to what the lieutenant proposed to have happen, Detective Sierra Carlyle was on her feet as soon as he uttered her name.

      Aware that more than one set of eyes was on her, she wove her way between the desks that littered the squad room until she reached Carver.

      Although she didn’t make eye contact with Ronan, she was instinctively aware of the fact that he appeared to be glaring at her. Well, she thought, this hadn’t been her choice, but now that it had been made, she intended to go along with it to the best of her ability. Her job was to follow a superior’s orders whenever possible, not to buck them.

      With

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