Jaid Black Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 - Sunday, June 8 11:10 A.M.

  Chapter 2 - Sunday, June 8 10:23 P.M.

  Chapter 3 - Monday, June 9 11:17 A.M.

  Chapter 4 - Monday, June 9 4:37 P·M·

  Chapter 5 - Monday, June 30 7:52 P·M·

  Chapter 6 - Monday, July 7 8:20 P.M.

  Chapter 7 - Tuesday, July 15 3:15 P·M·

  Chapter 8 - Tuesday, July 15 7:15 P·M·

  Chapter 9 - Tuesday, July 15 10:31 P·M·

  Chapter 10 - Wednesday, July 16 4:07 A.M.

  Chapter 11 - Wednesday, July 16 8:10 P·M·

  Chapter 12 - Thursday, July 17 1:07 P·M·

  Chapter 13 - Saturday, July 19 11:07 P.M.

  Chapter 14 - Sunday, July 20 2:07 P·M·

  Chapter 15 - Sunday, July 20 8:07 P·M·

  Chapter 16 - Monday, July 21 1:01 A.M.

  Chapter 17 - Monday, July 21 7:15 A.M.

  Chapter 18 - Tuesday, July 22 10:10 A.M.

  Chapter 19 - Tuesday, July 22 6:22 P·M·

  Chapter 20 - Wednesday, July 23 10:40 A.M.

  Chapter 21 - Wednesday, July 23 2:07 P.M.

  Chapter 22 - Thursday, July 24 1:08 P·M·

  Chapter 23 - Thursday, July 24 11:31 P·M·

  Chapter 24 - Friday, July 25 7:31 P·M·

  Chapter 25 - Saturday, July 26 1:15 P.M.

  Chapter 26 - Sunday, July 27 8:59 P·M·

  Chapter 27 - Monday, July 28 1:37 A.M.

  Chapter 28 - Monday, July 28 3:44 A.M.

  Chapter 29 - Monday, July 28 4:07 A.M.

  Chapter 30 - Friday, August 22 10:59 P·M·

  Teaser chapter

  LOVE ON THE WEB

  I want all of you, Nikki. Your body, your soul, and your heart.

  I hope I’m not scaring you off . . . please tell me if I am! I just feel so connected to you, as if everything between us fits. I know it sounds crazy when we’ve never met, but why else would we reveal our truest selves to each other—unless both of us are coming to the same conclusion?

  Please tell me I am not making a fool of myself here. *smiles*

  Yours,

  Richard

  Nikki took a deep breath and blew it out. Richard was right. As insane as it sounded, she too felt the connection growing between them. It became more and more pronounced with every email they sent off to each other.

  And it wasn’t just sexual compatibility, either. They seemed well-suited as friends, too. They shared the same political and religious beliefs, the same everything. He was almost too good to be true.

  A little unnerved by how fast her feelings were developing, but smiling contentedly nonetheless, she hit the “Reply” button . . .

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents

  either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously,

  and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business

  establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ONE DARK NIGHT

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with

  the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation edition / April 2004

  Copyright © 2004 by Jaid Black.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form

  without permission. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book

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  publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized

  electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy

  of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-440-62268-7

  BERKLEY SENSATION™

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing

  Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks

  belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To my editor, Cindy, for making this book the best it can be. To my agent, Ethan, for his valued input and criticism. To my daughters for making me dinner when I was too focused on Thomas and Nikki to eat. To my dad for all the pride I see in his eyes. And, finally, to my mom . . . for never doubting this day would come.

  Prologue

  Sunday, June 8 3:10 A.M.

  Even after fifteen years of working as a police officer, ten of which he’d spent as a homicide detective, the scent of death never got any easier to stomach. It was a hideous smell, especially if the flesh of the victim had been decomposing for a period of time, as was the case tonight.

  Detective Thomas Cavanah stepped over the yellow crime-scene tape that had been woven across twelve feet of muddy ground and chain-link fence and walked toward the body of the decomposing victim. He ignored the whirring of lights from nearby police cars, the buzzing sound of vultures—also known as reporters—as they clamored around for a story, and concentrated on the crime scene.

  She looked just like the others before her. Late twenties to mid-thirties. Light brown—maybe dark blonde?—hair. Average height. Well-endowed. Very dead.

  “Cavanah!”

  Thomas glanced up at the familiar sound of his partner’s voice. He absently watched Detective James Merdino flash his badge at a rookie cop securing the scene before stepping over the police tape. Thomas cast his gaze back down to the muddy ground, his thoughts on the victim.

  The Unidentified Subject—UNSUB—who had done this woman in was the type who likes to play, he thought, his acute brown eyes immediately noting the several superficial lacerations zigzagging across her torso. Cuts like that weren’t meant to kill—only to injure, to torture. To give hope of living where none exists. To play . . . .

  His gaze flicked up to the woman’s bared breasts. Or what was left of them, rather. A large hole had been dug out of her chest, a gaping wound where her heart should have been, revealing that, just like the others, that particular organ had been removed from her body—probably when she’d still been alive.

  Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath and blew it out. When the perpetrator had finally allowed the victim to die, she had been grateful for it, he was certain.

  “On my way over, the police dispatcher informed me that the heart was missing,” James said, squatting down on the ground next to the victim. “I see they got that right.”

  “This dude is one sick bastard,” Thomas muttered, his gravelly voice kept low.

  “They all are.”

  Thomas’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Not like this, bro.”

  James nodded down to the victim. “He tied her up like the others.”

  “Yes.”

  “Any signs of a struggle?”

  Thomas snorted at that. “Hell yeah, she struggled,” he growled.

  “You know what I mean—”

  “But whether or not she struggled before he tied her up I just don’t know.” Thomas frowned. “Let’s hope the coroner can answer that one. We need something more to go on, because right now we have as much as we did when the last victim surfaced—nothing.” He ran a hand through his dark brown hair, the muscle in his biceps bulging. “Why do I have a feeling Dr. Goldstein is going to say she’s too badly decomposed to tell?” />
  “Because she is. They usually are.” James sighed, standing up before his partner did.

  “He’s gotten good,” Thomas murmured. “Too good. He knows how to cut them, how to hide them, never fucks up. Never leaves DNA traces behind.”

  “He will eventually. And when he does, my friend, we’ll get his ass.”

  Thomas was silent for a protracted moment as he considered that. “Right now we’ve only got one thing going for us. His ego. It’s getting bigger and bigger.”

  He glanced back down at the victim, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The laceration marks across her torso were almost artsy this time. “He’s not just cutting them up and killing them anymore. He’s taking his time, confident in his ability to keep from getting caught.”

  “And the more time he spends with them . . .”

  “The more chance there is that he’ll leave behind a fiber—anything.”

  James nodded. “We’ll get him, buddy. I know we’ll get him.”

  Thomas forced his intense gaze away from the victim’s body. His brown eyes clashed with his partner’s. “I just hope we get him before he gets anybody else.”

  Silence.

  That scenario was as unlikely as the perp turning himself in, a fact both detectives implicitly understood.

  Somebody else would die.

  And given Lucifer’s penchant for playing, it would happen soon.

  Chapter 1

  Sunday, June 8 11:10 A.M.

  “How much blood has he lost?”

  Dr. Nicole “Nikki” Adenike put the question to the O.R. nurse as she quickly scrubbed down, preparing for an emergency surgery. The victim had taken a bullet through the chest, just two inches shy of his heart.

  “A hell of a lot. We can’t even tell.”

  “Drug related?”

  “Yep.”

  Not that it mattered. Not that she cared. It was Nikki’s job to save the man’s life, not to play judge and jury. When he was healed, he would be handed over to the Cleveland Police Department. Until then, she had a job to do.

  “Has he been prepped?” she asked as they ran together from surgery toward the awaiting victim in the operating room.

  “Prepped down in E.R.”

  The scene inside the operating room would have looked like chaos to the casual, untrained observer. In actuality, the team of nurses and doctors attending to the victim moved with expert precision, the singular goal of saving the drug dealer’s life paramount to all else.

  “We have to move fast, so don’t make me repeat myself,” Nikki calmly intoned as she took her place next to the victim. “Nurse, gauze please.”

  For the next eight hours Nikki worked like Mozart before the piano, doing what she did best. Her hands were steady, her fingers skilled. She detached herself from the pandemonium around her, concentrating instead on picking out the bullet, restoring the victim’s vital signs, and sewing up the obscenely gaping hole in his chest.

  Easier said than done. There was a lot of blood loss. His vitals were touch and go. Twice she almost lost him.

  But in the end, eight hours, a perspired brow, and a fatigued body later, the victim’s chest had been sewn back up sans the bullet, his vitals improving if not fully restored.

  He would live. He would be staring at the inside of a jail cell soon enough, but he’d live.

  Her job was done. Today.

  “You did good,” Juanita Brown remarked as she swiped at the sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand.

  Nikki smiled, then tiredly patted the young nurse on the back. Juanita was a terrific lady to work with, her favorite on the trauma surgery team. They’d been saving lives together since Nikki had been a resident surgeon. “You weren’t too bad yourself, kiddo.”

  Juanita half smiled and half sighed. “Damn, I’m beat. I’d say let’s go grab a bite to eat, but I’d rather go catch some Zs.”

  “Me, too. I’ll grab a burger from a fast-food place on my way home.”

  “Watch out. That stuff will kill ya.” They shared an insiders’ smile at the allusion to the man they’d saved together barely a week earlier after he’d almost choked himself to death by swallowing hamburger bites too fast. “You on call tomorrow?”

  “Nope.” Nikki grinned. “I have a day off, if you can believe it.”

  “Well, enjoy it. I got stuck pulling a double shift.”

  “Hey, I’ve had my fair share of those. See you Tuesday, Nita.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Nikki had changed into her street clothes, settled into her Mercedes Benz, and was driving toward the apartment she rented out in a high-rise complex that catered to doctors and other affluent professionals who worked at or around Cleveland General. Only ten minutes away, it was a logical place to live when people were depending on you to show up at the hospital on a moment’s notice in order to perform emergency surgeries.

  The minute the hospital was out of sight, so too was it out of Nikki’s mind. She had learned long ago the importance of leaving her work at work, to avoid burn-out.

  She doubted that most people could appreciate the stress that is inherent in playing God in people’s lives, to know that they lived or died depending upon how well you performed on any given day. There was no room for error; only for precision. An impossibility, given the fact that she was human.

  Due to the nature of her occupation, it was vital to not only be a skilled healer, but also a skilled commander of people, whom her trauma team could respect. They looked to her for direction, for the ability to provide authority and leadership.

  Not that she was complaining. Nikki loved her job; always had. She took a lot of pride in what she did and the fact that she did it so well. Nobody, however, can be precise, commanding, and authoritative all the time, so she looked forward to her days off as a time to recuperate, a time when she could be plain old Nikki instead of the respected surgeon, Dr. Nicole Adenike.

  Exhausted, Nikki smiled as the looming high-rise complex in which she lived crept into view. She patted the grease-stained paper bag sitting on the passenger’s seat beside her.

  First a burger, and then a hot bubble bath. Damn, she loved her days off.

  “Another body was discovered in the early hours of the morning outside downtown Cleveland’s financial district. The victim, identified through dental records as thirty-three-year-old Linda Hughes, was a well-respected international tax accountant at the prestigious Waterson, Helman, and Pandley firm.

  “Reported missing several months ago, news of her death nevertheless came as a shock to family, friends, and coworkers, all of whom described Linda to reporters as an affable, highly intelligent businesswoman and friend.”

  Nikki watched from the bathtub in which she was soaking as the news report played on the flat-panel TV display that had been mounted onto a nearby wall. She absently worked soap bubbles over her breasts, then up and down her arms, as the victim’s shaken mother spoke tearfully before the cameras.

  “If this can happen to my Linda, it can happen to any woman,” Mrs. Hughes said, her voice quivering. “My daughter was a smart woman. She never would have gotten herself into a preventable situation.”

  Which meant, as the police no doubt already suspected, that Linda had trusted the man who had murdered her. It was kind of unnerving to think that this particular serial killer had ingratiated himself into the lives of so many women—so many smart women, at that. Doctors, lawyers, CEOs ... the man whom the Cleveland press had dubbed “Lucifer” was nobody’s fool, she thought.

  The phone rang, breaking Nikki out of her reverie. She reached for the TV’s remote and hit the power button, flicking the box off at the same time she answered the cordless. “Hello?”

  “Hey Nik. It’s Kim.”

  Nikki smiled into the phone. Kimberly Cox was her nearest and dearest friend. “After sixteen years, one would think you would quit identifying yourself every time you call. I do recognize your voice, my dear,” she said teasingl
y . “I’ve only known you since, oh, college.”

  “Hey, you never know. We’re both thirty-four now. Starting to lose brain cells and all.”

  “Uh huh.” Nikki tucked a light brown lock of hair behind her ear. “What’s up?”

  They chatted for a few minutes, catching up on the past seven days, neither of them having had time to phone the other at all for the past week.

  “As nice as that sounds, I’m too beat to go out tonight,” Nikki said regretfully. “I feel like bumming around in my sweats and that piña colada-stained T-shirt I got when we vacationed in St. Maarten.” She smiled when Kim chuckled nostalgically. “Want to do brunch tomorrow instead?”

  “Sounds good. I really need . . . I need to talk, to see you.”

  Nikki’s eyebrows slowly drew together. “Is something wrong, kiddo? If there is, I’ll be right over—”

  “Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow,” Kim cut in.

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Nikki wasn’t precisely certain she believed her, but decided to let it go. The last thing she wanted to be was a nag. “That little French bistro in the Flats. At, let’s say, eleven?”

  “It’s a deal.”

  She hung up the phone a minute later, the next day’s plans cemented. Whatever was worrying Kim, they would deal with it together tomorrow over crêpes, their usual method of enlightenment.

  Tonight, she told herself, was for Nikki. And for her, um . . . research.

  Chapter 2

  Sunday, June 8 10:23 P.M.

  Okay, so it wasn’t research in the clinical sense. In fact, most people would probably chalk it up to reading porn, but in Nikki’s eyes it was still legitimate research. That it, rather than work, involved the sex life she aspired to one day have was beside the point.