Cold Death by Mary Stone (best e reader for android TXT) 📕

perp had led to more than one cop ending their career in a body bag. He had no desire to be next.

Quiet and methodical, Fortis began his hunt, stalking down the aisle, clearing one car at a time. First the red Honda Civic, then the white Ford Escape. Every few steps, he stopped. Held his breath and strained his hearing.

The only sound was the faint electric hum of one of the lights overhead.

He stalked forward, this time darting in-between a Subaru and a Prius. After another quick scan, Fortis dropped to the ground, pressing one palm to the cold cement while he peered between the tires in both directions. An empty McDonald’s bag and a few oil stains but nothing else. No bodies hiding under cars or even a pair of shoes.

With a frustrated groan, Fortis shoved back to his feet, winced when his knee complained, and continued his slow search. He reached the end of the row with no luck, and his shoulders began to sag.

Where had the bastard gone? Forget being a hero. If the guy did turn out to be Kingsley and Fortis had let him get away, he’d never hear the end of it. The other detectives would whisper behind his back that he’d lost his edge.

Shit, forget behind his back. Browning would tell him straight to his face.

Dammit to hell.

Fortis stalked back down the aisle, rechecking behind and between the cars as he passed them. He reached for his phone to call for backup, but doubts froze his hand midway to his pocket. What if he called in the troops and they caught the guy, but he turned out to be a nobody? Just some Good Samaritan who talked kinda snooty and was just tired from a long trip?

His gut squeezed, insistent that the man was a person of interest. But at the end of the day, that was all Fortis had. His gut, and a single delayed reaction. Was that really enough to put his reputation on the line?

Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the pain in Fortis’s left knee grew sharper. Still, he limped along, double checking every single car on the level before finally conceding defeat.

Fortis didn’t know how, but the man was gone.

“Dammit.”

He holstered his gun and headed back toward the stairwell to where his own car waited on the first level. By the time the door shut behind him, and he’d limped his way to the driver’s side door, Fortis had convinced himself that he’d overreacted.

The man probably had an outstanding parking violation or owed back child support. Or maybe he’d had a bad encounter with the police in the past. Lots of explanations for fleeing that didn’t involve him being a serial killer. Fortis had let visions of a heroic, movie-style takedown cloud his judgment.

He stepped a little too hard on his left foot and winced. Now the only things on his mind were a long, hot shower and a tube of topical ointment that burned his skin.

Fortis’s keys jingled as he unlocked the door. When he swung it open, the side-view mirror reflected shadowy movement behind him. Adrenaline surged, and he grabbed for his gun.

His side seized up first.

You have got to be shitting me. A measly quarter-mile run, maybe less, and he had a side stitch? Pathetic. Starting tomorrow, he was hitting the gym.

Those were the thoughts circling his head as Fortis gasped through the pain to massage the area just above his waist. He froze when his fingers touched something warm and wet. Sticky.

Fortis yanked his hand away and gazed at the red substance smeared across his skin in disbelief just as the pain increased a hundred-fold. His training kicked in an instant later. He lifted the gun in his other hand. Or tried to. As though incased in iron, his arm felt like it weighed a hundred pounds all of a sudden. Too heavy to raise without help.

The overhead lights spun as Fortis staggered into the car door. He summoned every remaining bit of energy to raise his gun hand, but it was like trying to push an anvil up a mountain. His legs buckled next.

As he slid to the ground, Fortis wished that he’d called his kids when he’d had the chance. Marie crept to his lips, but forcing sound from his throat required too much effort.

For a few seconds, his surroundings all but disappeared as his vision turned to a sheet of bright, blinding white. As the light faded, a shadow squatted by his head.

“Poor Detective Fortis. Your instincts were spot-on. For all the good it will do you now. Don’t worry, though. Ellie will be joining you in the afterlife soon enough.”

Ellie. No.

Fortis gathered his remaining strength to grab for the shadow, but his hands refused to work.

The shadow’s laugh filled Fortis’s ears while the lights spun above him.

No.

His lips tried to form the word again, but consciousness faded first, plunging him into the silent dark.

6

When the detective’s eyes closed and didn’t open again, I fished the gun out from under his coat and tucked it into the interior pocket of my own jacket. Grabbing him beneath his armpits, I heaved him up and plunged him into the driver’s seat. Once I’d maneuvered his limp body behind the wheel, I stepped back and allowed myself a moment to enjoy the fruits of my labor.

Only a moment to gloat, though, because despite the glee bubbling through my body like champagne, my time here was limited. It was just about the only downside of murdering an officer in the parking garage of the police department where he worked.

Using my jacket as a glove, I pushed the button to recline the seat a bit more. There was no dignity in allowing Detective Fortis’s head to loll forward on his neck like a rag doll.

I snickered and wiped the knife handle clean of prints before tossing the weapon into the passenger seat. After straightening my jacket in the side-view mirror, I nudged the door