A Serial Affair
Natalie Dunbar
Dedication:
This book is dedicated to the women who want to have it all: good man, exciting job, love, family and a good career. See it, believe it, then strive to achieve it.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Acknowledgments:
I want to thank my husband, Chet, and my boys for all
their love and support while I took time away from them to write this book, was irritable when the muse quit working, and didn’t get to things as planned.
Prologue
Out by the pool, Elliot Washington sipped his mixed drink and grinned in anticipation of a night of hot sex. Clad only in a pair of swim trunks, he relaxed on a chaise longue. There wouldn’t be many more nights like this because he would be getting married soon. Once the honeymoon phase with his blue-blooded bride was over, he’d be back in business, though.
He glanced at his watch. It was getting pretty late. He was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it and that was a lot sooner than this. How long was he going to have to wait for satisfaction? “What’s going on?” he asked his companion.
The words that came out of his mouth bore no resemblance to those he’d formed in his mind. He felt weird. His gaze fell on the glass in his hand. A third of his Zombie remained. The glass on the table was empty. He could usually drink at least four before he flew this high.
His companion removed the glass from Elliot’s numb fingers with a gloved hand and placed it on the table beside the other. Then his companion leaned over him, the long blond hair brushing Elliot’s chest and stomach, tickling him. There was something distorted about his view of his surroundings and his companion, but he couldn’t quite grasp what it was. Elliot gazed around him, enjoying the air of unreality. Then he saw the wicked-looking knife in his companion’s hand.
“This is for all of us, for what you did. You see, you didn’t really get away with it.”
The words fell on Elliot’s ears like a benediction.
The knife rose.
Gasping, Elliot tried to scream, to get away, anything but keep his body frozen to the chair. A whimper escaped his lips as the knife fell again and again….
Chapter 1
The whites of Marina Santos’ mahogany-brown eyes shone bright in the bathroom mirror as she skillfully thickened her lashes with mascara. Quickly lining her lids, she filled in her eyebrows. Grumbling in frustration, she gave her thick hair one last impatient brush. Why hadn’t she been blessed with easy-care hair like her cousins Janisa and Carmen? Maybe her hair would be easier to manage with a permanent.
Her full, berry-colored lips twisted ruefully. With the dense, moisture-laden July air, her shoulder-length hair would be even thicker before she got to work. She would have pulled it back, but she hated the drab, toned-down, buttoned-up look that most sported at her job. Wearing her hair down was one of the small ways she rebelled.
Straightening the casual navy pantsuit that she’d brightened with a multicolored camisole, she inserted a pair of ruby studs into her ears. In the background she could hear the Channel 9 news. Brushing lint off one sleeve of her jacket, she froze as she listened.
“Early this morning the body of twenty-six year-old Elliot Washington was found floating in the pool at the Hartford Hotel. The family has been notified. The cause of death has not been determined and police are not releasing details, but there are several reports that the body had been mutilated.
Washington was last seen partying with friends on the North End last night. You may recall that Washington was a close friend of Mayor Dansinger’s daughter, Jade. He was a press favorite at several events featuring the mayor and his family.
Police are asking that anyone with information that might lead to an arrest contact them.”
Marina stepped out of the bathroom in her low-heeled sensible shoes in time to see a television screen close-up of a tall blond man shown with the mayor’s daughter. She recognized him from stories she’d seen on television and in the newspapers. A stockbroker, he was young, good-looking, and known to be a bit wild. Washington appeared often on the arm of the mayor’s daughter and many speculated that things might have been heating up.
Eyes narrowing, Marina reached for her purse. Working under Lowell Talbot, the FBI’s violent crimes expert, had so honed her instincts that she’d never look at life the way she used to. Now she saw patterns in everything. Leaping in anticipation of a new puzzle, the analytical part of her brain took in the news information, dissected it and searched for comparisons with things she’d seen and heard.
Reaching back in her memory, she recalled reading about a similar homicide several months ago. Hadn’t there been another young man found dead and mutilated? Yeah. They’d found his mutilated body in a stall at Union Station. And she was betting that he hadn’t been the first. It usually took three similarly patterned murders before a murderer was considered a serial killer. Could Chicago have a serial killer on the loose?
Washington’s body had been mutilated, according to the reporter. Just what did they mean by “mutilated”? Working with Talbot she’d seen it all. Murder and mutilation were disturbing enough, but in general the damage was more visceral when a serial killer was involved. The victims were usually women. That made the possibilities in this instance even more intriguing. If her instincts were on target, this time a group of men was in danger.
Settling the strap of the purse on her shoulder and palming her car keys, she exited the front door of her remodeled brownstone. With the alarm set, she carefully locked the door. She took the steps in brilliant sunlight, then opened the door of her red sports car, at which point she allowed herself to wonder. Has anyone else even noticed the two murders enough to tie them together? Of course, the Chicago Police Department had noticed, but that wouldn’t be on the news. Getting the local population all excited with the news wouldn’t be smart anyway.
Settling on the seat and buckling the safety belt, she savored the sound of the engine roaring to life, then took off in a squeal of tires.
By the time she’d parked her car and made it to her office at the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime, she knew something was up. Everyone seemed unusually busy as she’d passed on her way to her cubicle.
Scanning the office, she still didn’t have a clue what was up. Some of her co-workers had been distant ever since she’d landed