Page 8 of Dark Angel
“No problem. As it’s your first night here, I figured you’d like some company. Do you want to have dinner with me at Tommy Joe’s Bar and Grill?”
Starting any type of relationship with a colleague wasn’t in her future, but was he just being nice? Co-workers in her last office often dined together. Perhaps this was what Styles expected and her concern wasn’t necessary. She thought for a beat and then nodded. “I’ll need to get back into having a partner. I’m used to working alone. I find having someone constantly interrupting my thoughts is counterproductive.”
“Counterproductive, huh?”Styles cleared his throat in what sounded like a bad attempt to cover up a snort.“Well, I’ve been managing here alone for some time now and, apart from the sheriff, I haven’t needed anyone to brainstorm ideas with to catch killers. It was just me and it worked out just fine, so having you come by and cramp my style wasn’t the kind of news I welcomed either.”
Well, he was being brutally honest with her. She was starting to like this guy. Lately men seemed to tiptoe around her, as if too scared to say the wrong thing. At the airport a man had held the door open for her and then apologized. With her hands full of luggage, she’d smiled and thanked him and noted the relieved expression on his face. “In that, the feeling is mutual. Nothing personal. I’ve worked alone since joining the FBI, mainly because I was working cybercrime and had my nose stuck to a screen for long hours. After, I moved around most of the time and worked undercover some of the time, so having a partner never happened. I worked under Mac and gave him a report of my progress, is all. Being here is a new experience for both of us.”
“Not for me. I was a captain in the Army, in military police. This is why you’re here with me. Mac sent you here to assess your functionality in the field.”
Swallowing the taste of deception, Beth screwed her hand into a fist. “You know darn well the reason I’m here. I found a dying perp. He was planning on raping a kid, but the Tarot Killer got there before me and cut his throat, which I hear is tame for him.” She sighed. “I did a psych test and the consensus was I needed time away from the city. They figured if I had PTSD, I might freeze up if confronted by a killer.”
“Would you?”Styles sounded interested.
Beth barked a laugh. “Well, as I haven’t met one since, your guess is as good as mine. What you said earlier about my lack of caring is wrong. I did care for the little girl and I prevented her from seeing the perp’s body. I’ve thought about her often and had nightmares about the guy gushing blood, but before you ask, no, I don’t suffer from PTSD.”
“Okay, okay.”She could hear Styles scratch the stubble on his chin.“No more talk about that old case. It’s closed. Are you meeting me for dinner or what?”
Smiling to herself, Beth blew out a breath. What harm could it possibly do? “Yeah sure, I’ll be there. What time?”
“I have a table booked for eight-thirty. I’ll be there early, playing pool and having a few beers as it’s walking distance away.”He let out a long sigh.“Catch you later… and I’m paying this time.”He disconnected.
Beth dropped her phone on the counter and went to the bathroom to take a shower. As the hot water spilled over her it gave her time to think. Working with Styles was going to be a problem, but she’d overcome many difficulties in her lifetime and he was just a small bump in the road. The one constant in her life was the stream of psychopathic killers and the victims who needed justice. Her mind went to Dr. Shane Wolfe. The man intrigued her, especially now that she’d met him in person. Not that he was like her, but they shared the same ethic in a twisted way. She’d once read a paper he’d published on why he became a medical examiner. He wanted to be the voice of the dead and tell their story to bring their killer to justice. So, in truth they had the same goal. The only difference was she played on the same team as the killer. She understood a psychopath’s need to kill but her focus was different. Her dark side only sought vengeance and she murdered people because they deserved to die. Removing a predator from society was her priority. She made logical decisions and targeted seemingly uncatchable psychopathic killers committing horrendous crimes. Now with Styles as her wingman, she’d need to re-strategize her endgame.
An hour later, Beth stared at her reflection in the closet mirror and shook her head in disbelief. Agent Beth Katz had been transformed. She’d replaced the black suit, white shirt, and heels with blue jeans, sweater, and jacket. She pulled on flat leather ankle boots and straightened to slide the black Stetson on her head. The fact that everyone including the kids she’d noticed around town wore cowboy hats had forced her hand. She’d walked into the Mountain Range clothing store and explained what she required and left with a trunk filled with packages. The Stetson she’d purchased from a store situated down a small alleyway. The hat had been fitted and steamed into shape to suit her, the store owner insisting the hat was made to last a lifetime.
It was just after eight when she left the building. A cold wind brushed her cheeks, bringing with it the fresh smell of snowcapped mountains. Most of the stores had closed signs hanging in the doors, but lights blazed from the saloons, pizzeria, the gas station, and Tommy Joe’s Bar and Grill. As she made her way along the sidewalk, a delivery guy came out of the pizzeria in the distance, carrying a pile of boxes and headed toward a pickup. She raised her eyebrows, surprised such a small town delivered pizza, but then the town’s size was deceptive and miners would likely be their best customers.
Out of the shadowed storefronts a group of men emerged. Some carried beer cans, and from the remarks, she figured these were the local bullies. Before the delivery guy had made it to the truck, they’d surrounded him, stealing boxes from his stack and pushing him around. Beth quickened her pace to intervene when Styles came barreling out of Tommy Joe’s carrying a pool cue. Words were exchanged and the delivery guy collected his pizzas and escaped to his truck. Beth moved closer, keeping to the shadows. The men had Styles surrounded, but as no loud insults carried to her on the wind, she assumed he had the problem in hand.
Before she’d taken her next breath it got nasty. Beth picked up her pace, as one of the men swung a punch at Styles and all hell broke loose. She stared open-mouthed as Styles broke the pool cue over one guy’s head in a shower of splintered timber, twirled the broken end in one hand, and swung it low to take out the legs of another. Men rushed him but Styles ducked and twisted, missing blows. The thumps and gasps meant Styles’ attackers weren’t so lucky. Cries of pain rang out as the men ran straight into fists or the heel of Styles’ boot and fell gasping to the blacktop rolling around in agony.
One man grabbed the broken pool cue from the ground and ran at Styles, screaming a war cry. Beth’s hand went to her weapon but froze as her partner grabbed the man’s wrist and spun him around, wrenching his arm so high up his back she could almost hear the tendons snapping. Running to assist, Beth reached the sidewalk beside Tommy Joe’s Bar and Grill in seconds and pulled her weapon from its shoulder holster. As cool as a cucumber, Styles curled his mouth into a smile and he held up a hand for her to stop.
“I said, go home before I send you to the hospital.” Styles tossed the man away and stood relaxed with his hands loose at his sides. There wasn’t a mark on him. “You know the deal in this town: no gangs, no bullies. Draw down on me and you’ll die.”
The two men left standing looked at each other and came to a silent decision. One lurched forward, dancing like a prizefighter, ducking and weaving before aiming a punch, but Styles just smiled. He struck out like a rattlesnake, and as fist met bone in a sickening crunch, blood ran down the man’s face and he howled with pain. “Should I be using words of one syllable so you understand?” Styles dropped his hands again and stared at the remaining man. “Pick up your buddies and go back to camp. Playtime is over.”
Beth stood to one side and waited for the burly men, all between twenty-five and thirty, to disperse. They limped away, holding tissues to bloody noses and cursing. She’d just witnessed Styles dealing with six men, who could have been armed, although she had read in the documentation on Rattlesnake Creek that the miners camps prohibited the carrying of firearms. Styles must be crazy or enjoyed fighting to take such a risk without backup. Shaking her head, she stared at him as he turned back to walk into the bar. “Are you hurt?”
“Oh, youdocare.” He grinned at her. “There’s Mac’s lack-of-empathy case shot to bits.”
EIGHT
After returning to her apartment from her dinner with Styles, Beth dropped into one of the comfy leather chairs and considered the primal being that was Dax Styles. He’d surprised her. The quiet, seemingly introspective man was akin to a bottle of nitroglycerine—one jolt and he exploded into a completely different person. Not a psychopath—she understood the difference—this man was in control every second of the time. He gave a warning, and if not heeded, then a whole world of hurt came tumbling down on whoever had stepped out of line—and oh boy, those who called his bluff ended up in the hospital. She had no doubt that Styles kept himself on the right side of the law, but she could tell just by looking at his eyes, he’d kill without a second thought. She stared at her reflection in the black screen of the wide TV. “If I cross that imaginary line, he’ll take me down without hesitation.” She smiled and leaned back in the chair. The idea of eluding a strong adversary excited her. “Life just got interesting and I sure do love a challenge.”
She stood and went to the kitchen to pour a glass of the wine she’d brought with her from DC. She’d ordered comfort food to make her time in Rattlesnake Creek as pleasant as possible. Her extravagant lifestyle, fed from various income streams via the dark web, meant that she lived comfortably, ate the best food, and drank the best wines. It enabled her to use and discard disguises when she needed to disappear. Working as a special agent was the perfect cover. In her profession, she was up close and personal with crime investigation. Having a firsthand look at the crime scenes made her choices easier and ultimately gave her exposure to the deadliest criminals.
At first, it had surprised her just how many serial killers used the dark web. Many had followers hidden in the data streams, and it was these particular dominant psychopaths who caught her interest. These notorious killers thrilled their devotees with each increasingly brutal murder. The fact they had so many followers concerned her. The others held no thrill value for her and she’d willingly participate in a team or alone to capture the grab-and-slash killers. The opportunistic killers rarely had the brains to plan a murder. The fast-kill, no-thrill, out-of-control frenzied killers usually died in a hail of bullets. No, the psychopaths in her sights had a high intelligence, murdered frequently, and planned ahead. They hid their secrets well and took dangerous to a new level. They were a worthy challenge.
Many had killed ten or twenty victims before she discovered their MO. All of them eventually convinced themselves of their infallibility and escalated into an out-of-control state. These people needed to be stopped, permanently. If allowed to live, they would be dissected by the FBI behavioral analysts who would discover secrets they didn’t need to know about the other reality that existed on the dark web—her sanctuary. The place where the monsters waited to strike, deals were made and secrets shared. In cases like these, it took the brain of a psychopath to take them down and once she set her sights on one of these killers it was game on.
NINE
TUESDAY
After a peaceful night’s sleep, Beth changed into running gear and headed for the local park. She ran, feeling the cold numbing her cheeks and the mountain air burning her lungs. Maybe from now on she’d find a better way of keeping fit. After breakfast, she took the elevator to the office and used her palm print to access the entry. She stepped inside a bright modern office with large windows overlooking spectacular scenery of the river, forest, and mountains. The mountains seemed close enough to touch and surrounded one side of the town and then went on forever in the distance to meet up with the snow-covered Crazy Mountain Range. Dax Styles hadn’t arrived and she glanced at her watch. It was five after eight. Perhaps he was a nine-to-five operative.
The room was clean but had a distinct male locker-room aroma overlaid with aftershave. She wrinkled her nose and walked over to the window and pushed it open to allow the fresh mountain breeze inside. The cool wind lifted papers pinned to a whiteboard and she turned to examine what must be Styles’ current case.
