Lost Souls. Lisa Jackson
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KILLING PATTERN
Kristi picked her words carefully. “I think whoever’s behind the girls’ disappearances is into something really dark. Evil.”
“Evil?” Jay repeated.
She nodded and he saw her shiver. “I think we’re dealing with something so vile and inherently depraved that it might not even be human.”
“What are you saying, Kris?”
“I’ve been doing a lot of research. On vampires.”
Jay laughed. “Okay. You had me going there.”
“I’m dead serious.”
“So whoever’s behind the girls’ disappearances believes in vampires. Is that what you’re saying?”
“What I’m saying is this guy believes in vampires or maybe he believes he’s a vampire. I don’t know. But a person like that, Jay? someone deluded or obsessed…They’re dangerous. This guy is dangerous.”
A whisper of something slid over Jay’s skin. Fear? Premonition? “Maybe you’ve let your imagination carry you away,” he said, but she could hear the uncertainty in his voice…
Books by Lisa Jackson
SEE HOW SHE DIES
FINAL SCREAM
WISHES
WHISPERS
TWICE KISSED
UNSPOKEN
IF SHE ONLY KNEW
HOT BLOODED
COLD BLOODED
THE NIGHT BEFORE
THE MORNING AFTER
DEEP FREEZE
FATAL BURN
SHIVER
MOST LIKELY TO DIE
ABSOLUTE FEAR
ALMOST DEAD
LOST SOULS
LEFT TO DIE
WICKED GAME
MALICE
Published by Zebra Books
LOST SOULS
LISA JACKSON
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
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
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank everyone who worked on this book. As always, my insightful editor, John Scognamiglio, helped with the book from the time it was a germ of an idea. With his help I was able to make a vague concept into a complete plot, and I can’t imagine how many hours he spent on the manuscript. Before the finished book ever reached New York, my sister, author Nancy Bush, helped with the editing and compiling of the manuscript—a daunting task, believe me. Behind the scenes, a legion of people helped with the research and promotion. I can’t thank them enough: Ken Bush, Alex Craft, Matthew Crose, Michael Crose, Kelly Foster, Ken Melum, Roz Noonan, Ari Okano, Joan Schulhafer, Mike Seidel, Larry Sparks, and Niki Wilkins. If I’ve forgotten anyone, my apologies. Can I blame it on the age-thing?
Author’s Note
For the purposes of this story, I’ve bent some of the rules of police procedure and also created my own fictitious police department in the city of New Orleans.
PROLOGUE
All Saints College
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
December
Where am I?
A rush of icy air swept across Rylee’s bare skin.
Goose bumps rose.
Shivering, she blinked, trying to pierce the shifting darkness, a cold dark void with muted spots of red light shrouded in a rising mist. She was freezing, half lying on a couch of some kind and…
Oh, God, am I naked?
Was that right?
No way!
Yet she felt the soft pile of velvet against the back of her legs, her buttocks, and her shoulders where they met the rising arm of this chaise.
A sharp needle of fear pricked her brain.
She tried to move, but her arms and legs wouldn’t budge, nor could she turn her head. She rolled her eyes upward, trying to see to the top of this freaky dark chamber with its weird red light.
She heard a quiet cough.
What?
She wasn’t alone?
She tried to whip her head toward the sound.
But she couldn’t. It lolled heavily against the back of the chaise.
Move, Rylee, get up and friggin’ move! Another sound. The scrape of a shoe against concrete—or something hard—reached her ears. Get out, get out now. This is too damned weird.
Her ears strained. She thought she heard the softest of whispers coming from the shadows. What the hell was this?
Her insides shriveled with a new fear. Why couldn’t she move? What in the world was happening? She tried to speak but couldn’t utter a word, as if her vocal cords were frozen. Frantically, she looked around, her eyes able to shift in their sockets, but her head unable to swivel.
Her heart pounded and, despite the chill in the air, she began to sweat.
This was a dream, right? A freakin’ nightmare, where she, immobile, was positioned on a velvet lounge and naked as the day she was born. The chaise was slightly raised, it seemed, as if she were on a weird stage or dais of some