Hannah Delaney got off the Secure Ride bus operated by SWU, surprised it had arrived four minutes ahead of schedule. Hitching her backpack on her shoulder, she headed for the computer lab to work on a project.
At least, that was what she wanted people to believe.
Her police chief had given her the undercover assignment at the last minute after the University Killer suddenly resurfaced ten days ago, taking the life of twenty-one-year-old Madison Scott. For nearly the past decade, the murderer had struck on and off, always claiming three lives within a month, using the same MO before disappearing again.
Hannah had pored over the routines of the previous victims, zeroing in on things they’d had in common, and tried to recreate their lifestyle. She’d moved into on-campus housing, enrolled in a myriad of classes, frequented the Wheatgrass Café, rode the Secure Ride bus at night, hit the gym at the Sweetwater Recreation Center, biked during the day to downtown, shopped at the farmers market and caught live music at the local bar, the Watering Hole.
She still hadn’t had a chance to swing by the computer lab at night on a regular basis like some of the victims had done in years past. Fall semester had only been in session for less than three weeks. With all the new student events and socials, where a predator might be lurking, there simply hadn’t been enough hours in a day to cover everything. She had to prioritize. The lab wasn’t high on the list, since Madison Scott had never been there. Quite honestly, Hannah didn’t understand why many students would use the campus computer lab these days when most had a personal laptop.
Time was running out. The killer was going to snatch his next victim soon. Only twenty days left for him to claim two more lives. Hannah only hoped she was doing enough to catch his eye. She’d do anything to spare someone else from being violated and murdered. Stopping monsters was her life’s mission, the only way for her to atone and silence her demons. It drove everything she did—why she got up in the morning, became a detective, even why she kept everyone at a distance.
You’ll find him. You have to.
Dressed in jeans, an open flannel button-down with a tank top beneath it, hair in a high ponytail to make her appear even younger, she blended in with any other student. The only thing to set her apart was the concealed gun in her inside-the-waistband holster at the five-o’clock position between her back and hip, and the small knife that was a part of her belt buckle.
She took the alley, a shortcut to the lab. There was no way for her to know for sure if any of the other victims had ever used this same route at some point leading up to their murder. It was smarter and safer to walk around the block to get to the lab, using the well-lit sidewalks, where a passerby might see something. Yet young people, not considering the fragility of their lives, tended to trade security for convenience.
People showed you who they were in subtle ways by their choices and preferences, which were almost as telling as a Myers–Briggs personality test if you watched someone for weeks on end. Whether they were cautious or carefree. Skeptical or trusting. Selfish or caring. Predictable or impulsive.
All the slain women had been described as kind, thoughtful, naive. Somewhat of a loner. Most importantly, creatures of habit.
Despite being the right physical type, this was where Hannah was at a disadvantage. Less than ten days wasn’t long enough to establish a consistent routine, a pattern the University Killer could rely on. He not only chose his victims for their appearance, but she suspected he also stalked them to know precisely when and where to strike.
Two more women were going to die soon if she couldn’t lure him in as the bait.
A soft scuffling sound came from the other end of the alley near the outskirts of the computer-lab parking lot. Whatever it was, it was bigger than a rat.
Hannah’s gut tightened. She picked up her pace down the alleyway, sticking to the shadows of the wall. Straining to see in the dim light, she caught sight of a dark SUV, the back end of the passenger’s side.
The trunk door popped open.
Someone grunted. More scuffling noises.
“What are you doing?” a woman asked, her voice frantic.
Two people stepped into partial view, but the dark SUV partly obscured them. A man wrestled with a blond woman, possibly in her early twenties. The man hit the blonde in the face, dazing her, and hauled her to the back of the vehicle.
Dropping her backpack, Hannah rushed forward. She drew her weapon from the holster.
“Police!” Hannah called out, holding the Glock in a two-handed grip, sighting down the barrel.
He whirled, pulling the woman up in front of him like a shield, one arm locked under her chin, pressed against her throat. With his other hand, he wrenched one of the blonde’s arms clutched behind her back. An empty arm sling swung back and forth along his side. His gaze darted to the open trunk, and Hannah realized how close he had come to getting the young woman inside it.
“Let her go!” Hannah ordered. “Right now!”
Keeping the woman held tightly in front of him, he scurried backward around to the driver’s side, dragging her along with him. Her nose was bloody. Her eyes were wide with fear. She clutched the arm over her throat, her feet shuffling in the direction she was being forced.
Easing around the rear of the vehicle, Hannah glimpsed inside the trunk. A chill ran through her. The interior of the cargo compartment was padded. A plastic tarp was laid out. Handcuffs and leg irons each dangled from a chain that had been bolted to either side of the trunk. On the breeze, the biting scent of bleach hit her. No license plate.
She rounded the back side, coming face-to-face with him. One clean shot was all Hannah needed.
“Release her, or I’ll shoot.” A complete bluff. Although an excellent markswoman, she didn’t have a clear shot with the blonde being used as a human shield.
Between the shaggy hair, mustache, glasses and the way he hid his face behind the young woman’s head, Hannah couldn’t make out enough details to identify him, much less find the clearance to pull the trigger.
Yanking the woman another foot or two toward the driver-side door, he released the arm wrested behind her back and pulled something from his pocket. A semiautomatic pistol. “Drop your gun,” he demanded, pressing the muzzle to the young woman’s side. “Or I’ll shoot her.”
Hannah held her ground, keeping her weapon aimed levelly. “This isn’t what you want,” she said, taking a calculated risk. Killing his victims slowly after raping them was his MO. Taking her life in an impulsive act wouldn’t satisfy him. Not only that, but he’d also lose his only leverage. “I don’t think you’re going to pull the trigger and kill her.”
He eyed the car door. “Who said anything about killing her?” He jammed the muzzle into the woman’s side so hard that she winced. “Drop it, or I start putting bullets in her.”
Hannah hesitated. The need to put this monster down and end his nine-year-long killing spree was an ache in her soul. She might not get another opportunity if he slipped through her fingers now.
“The first one goes in her stomach,” he promised.
Getting this woman out alive was the only thing that mattered at the moment. Hannah glanced over her shoulder at the dumpster near the entrance to the alley. If he tried to shoot at her, she could make it there and duck for cover. She raised her palms with her gun vertical, barrel pointed up. Slowly, she set it down on the ground, never taking her gaze off him and the girl.
“Do you think I’m stupid? Kick it under the car.”
She did as instructed, sending her weapon sailing beneath the SUV, only deepening the nasty twist in her gut spiraling into fear. Fear for the life of the young woman.
“Open the door,” he snapped at the blonde, tightening his arm over her throat.
No matter what, Hannah wasn’t going to let him get away with another victim. Worst case, if he managed to get the girl into the car, she’d pull her backup weapon from her boot and blow out his tires. He wouldn’t make it far.
With a shaking hand, the young woman grabbed the handle and opened it. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she swayed in his grip.
Was the hold on her throat choking her, cutting off her airway?
“Let her go!” Hannah took a tentative step forward. “She can’t breathe.”
“Don’t you move. Not another step.” He backed up, using the woman’s body to block him. His arm loosened around her throat as he climbed into the vehicle, keeping the gun pointed at her side.
The woman swayed again, her head bobbing like she was going to keel over any second.
She’d been drugged. He must have dosed her with ketamine already.
The car engine roared to life while he kept the gun pointed at his hostage. “You’ll have to choose. Me or her.”
Choose? What does he mean?
He pulled the trigger, shooting the blonde in the side, and peeled off.
No!
The young woman staggered and slumped to the ground. The SUV sped across the parking lot, hitting the street. He turned the corner and sped away, tires squealing, as Hannah raced over to the young woman, knelt beside her and checked the wound.
Thankfully, the bullet had missed her stomach, but it had struck her just above the hip. The woman’s brown eyes fluttered closed—a combination of the drugs and shock.
Hannah took off her shirt and applied pressure to slow the bleeding. “Hang in there. You’re going to make it.” She whipped out her cell phone and called 911.
Once she heard sirens approaching, she wondered which campus officers would arrive on the scene.
She’d readily deal with any of them except for one—the SWU police department chief.
Matt Granger.
Copyright © 2024 by Juno Rushdan