Debra Webb - The Coldest Fear

The crisp breeze sent goose bumps spilling over her skin as she tossed her elegant silk blouse to the ground and reached for the side zipper of her trousers. Her husband often teased her about her obsession with beautiful clothes. Edward showered her with exquisite jewelry and she had always appreciated his generosity, yet there was something cold about jewels. Give her silk and cashmere any day.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—took that deep chill from her bones. Not once in these past thirty-two years had she felt truly warm. She lifted first one foot and then the other from the legs of her pants, leaving the light gray wool twisted on the grass. Reaching behind her, she unfastened her bra and let it fall. Her panties followed that same path. Her nipples stiffened in the cold air. Not even the many lovers she had discreetly taken over the years had been able to warm her.

On this night thirty-two years ago Allison Hall Cortland’s life had drained from her body, no matter that her traitorous heart had continued to beat. She dipped a toe into the icy water. Closing her eyes she put one foot in front of the other, stepping into the water.

All these years, no matter how much alcohol she consumed, no matter the various prescription medications she tried, nothing ever expelled the aching nothingness that had invaded her very soul. For any parent there existed no greater agony, no more devastating blow than losing a child. It was unquestionably the coldest fear that haunted every mother’s heart.

The chilly water rose above her chest, washed over her shoulders and lapped at her chin. All these years she had muddled through this cold, empty life for him. Her husband needed her. They had faced the horror, as best they could, together. They had survived together. Despite the ways in which each of them had privately struggled to conquer their pain, they had slogged through the months and years...together.

As if Fate was determined to land one last, shocking blow, two weeks ago the handsome young man to whom she had said “I do” forty years ago was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The numerous specialists could do nothing more. Her husband had a month to live, possibly more, probably less.

Allison sucked in one last breath of crisp night air before the water engulfed her face. If only the bastard had possessed the courage to take his vile secret with him to his grave.

But no. He’d had to confess his sins...he’d had to plead for her forgiveness.

She wasn’t like the others. She couldn’t go on knowing this awful thing and she damned sure could not forgive him. The idea of muddling through another single day with this new weight on her heart was unimaginable.

He had stolen the only reason she had bothered to go on at all.

Allison stopped holding her breath and welcomed the rush of death.

Two

Atlanta, Georgia

Friday, October 28, 2:30 a.m.

The simple definition of fear according to Merriam-Webster: “an unpleasant emotion caused by being aware of danger; a feeling of being afraid.” Bobbie Gentry hadn’t felt that emotion for her personal safety in 309 days. It wasn’t that she no longer sensed danger or felt afraid, she did. The sense of danger that haunted her was always for the welfare of others.

As a detective with the Montgomery Police Department she encountered plenty of opportunities to fear for her well-being. Cops felt the cold, hard edge of fear on a daily basis. But it was difficult to fear death when all that mattered most in life was gone and the small steps she had dared take toward building a new one had been derailed.

A psychopathic serial killer known as the Storyteller had murdered her husband and caused the deaths of her child and the partner she loved like a father. Nearly a year later she had learned to some degree to live with the unthinkable reality and, wouldn’t you know, along came another crushing blow. A second serial killer had devastated her life all over again. A fellow cop she dared to keep close was brutally murdered a mere two days ago. His killer had left a message for her: This one’s just for you, Bobbie. The same killer almost succeeded in taking the life of her uncle, the chief of police.

Bobbie sucked in a deep breath. How did she muster the strength to keep going? Revenge? Justice? She’d gotten both. The world was free of two more heinous killers and still it wasn’t enough. The expected relief and satisfaction came but the hollow feeling, the emptiness, remained her constant companion. But there was the tiniest glimmer of hope. A fragile bond had formed between her and the man who’d helped her stop the two monsters who had destroyed so many lives, including hers. The development was completely unexpected, but surprisingly not unwelcome.

Nick Shade had given her something she’d been certain she would never again feel: the desire to live for more than revenge...for more than merely clipping on her badge each morning. Now he needed her help—whether he would admit as much or not.

Those who knew of his existence called him the serial killer hunter. Nick was unlike any man Bobbie had known. Brooding, intense, impossible to read and yet deeply caring and self-sacrificing. At twenty-one he had discovered his father, Randolph Weller, was a depraved serial killer with forty-two murders to his credit. Since ensuring his father was brought to justice, Nick had dedicated his life to finding and stopping the vicious serial killers no one else seemed able to catch. Like Bobbie, he’d stopped feeling much of anything beyond that driving need for justice a very long time ago. Maybe that was the bond that had initially connected them—the thin, brittle ties of utter desolation and desperation. Two broken people urgently attempting to make a difference that neither of them could completely define nor hope to quantify.

Yet they’d found something together. Something that felt real.

Whatever they’d found had gone up in smoke three days ago when Randolph Weller escaped the Atlanta hospital treating him for an alleged heart condition. Nick was determined to do whatever necessary to find him—including risk his life. Since Bobbie refused to give up on him or that tenuous bond that had developed between them, she had to find a way to give him the backup he needed.

Her search had brought her well beyond her jurisdiction in the middle of the night to the one person who might know how to find Randolph Weller. Her chief as well as her lieutenant were not happy about her decision.

Sometimes you have to do what you have to do no matter the cost to career and relationships.

Bobbie stared up at the big house perched on a hillside well above the street. Towering trees blocked the moonlight, casting long shadows across the lush landscape. She chugged the last swallow of cold coffee, her third cup since leaving Montgomery, squared her shoulders and tucked the empty container back into the slot on the console. She reached down and checked the backup piece strapped just above her ankle. The truth was it really didn’t matter how far out of her jurisdiction she’d come since she wasn’t in the Peach State in an official capacity.

In fact, there was a strong possibility she would no longer have a place in the department after the actions she’d taken in the past six hours. She’d barely reached the Montgomery city limits when the blue lights in her rearview mirror forced her to pull over. The chief had sent two uniforms chasing after her with orders for Bobbie to report in ASAP or face suspension. There hadn’t been time to convince her overprotective uncle that she had no choice. So she’d offered her police issue Glock and her detective’s shield to the officer who’d pulled her over and told him to consider her on suspension. The officer had refused to take her weapon or her badge, but she felt confident the message had been adequately relayed to the chief.