Absolute Fear. Lisa Jackson
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CAUGHT IN A KILLER’S WEB
Walking quickly, Eve bent to avoid hitting her head, while the beam of her flashlight, offering ever-weaker light in the sweltering attic space, swept side to side.
She saw the doll, her doll, Charlotte, which she hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years, caught in the yellow sweep of illumination.
Now the doll was laying facedown on a dingy sleeping bag.
Something didn’t feel right about this.
She didn’t remember ever leaving Charlotte here, and she’d been up here long after she’d had any interest in rag dolls.
Was this someone’s idea of a joke?
No, Eve, this isn’t random!
You know it.
Someone left the doll here on purpose. And they wanted someone, probably you, to find her.
Her mouth went dry. She swallowed back her fear and inched closer to the sleeping bag, then reached down and turned Charlotte over.
As she did, her blood ran cold.
A scream worked its way up her throat and ended in a terrified gasp.
Charlotte’s button eyes had been clipped off, her pinafore slashed with jagged cuts made by pinking shears, and she’d been mutilated across her belly, the number 444 scrawled in bloodred ink.
And below the numbers was a single word.
EVE.
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
Published by Zebra Books
LISA JACKSON
ABSOLUTE FEAR
To Dad.
You were, are, and always
will be the best.
Acknowledgments
There were many people involved in getting this book to print, all of whom were intregral. I want to thank my editor, John Scognamiglio, for his insight, vision, input, support, and ultimate patience. Man, did he work hard on this one. As did my sister, Nancy Bush, who was not only my cheerleader and personal editor, she picked up the other balls of my life and juggled them effectively, never once losing her cool. Thanks, Nan.
Also, I have to thank my incredible agent, Robin Rue, and everyone at Kensington Books, especially Laurie Parkin, who also worked very hard on this one.
In addition, I would like to mention all the people here who helped me: Ken Bush, Kelley Foster, Matthew Crose, Michael Crose, Alexis Harrington, Danielle Katcher, Marilyn Katcher, Ken Melum, Roz Noonan, Kathy Okano, Samantha Santistevan, Mike Sidel, and Larry Sparks.
If I’ve forgotten anyone, my apologies. You’ve all been wonderful.
Author’s Note
For the purposes of the story, I’ve bent some of the rules of police procedure and have also created my own fictitious police department.
This book was written pre–Hurricane Katrina, before the incredible city of New Orleans and the surrounding Gulf Coast were decimated by the storm. I hope I’ve captured the unique essence of New Orleans, what it once was and what it will be again.
CONTENTS
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
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Near New Orleans, Louisiana
Three months earlier
The Voice of God pounded through his brain.
Kill.
Kill them both.
The man and the woman.
Sacrifice them.
Tonight.
This is your penance.
He lay on the sweat-stained sheets of his bed while neon light pulsed blood red through the slats of blinds that didn’t quite close over the windows. The Voice thundered in his ears. Reverberated through his head. Echoed so loudly, it drowned out the others—the little, screechy, irritating, fingernails-on-chalkboard voices that he thought of as belonging to bothersome insects. They too issued orders. They too disturbed his sleep, but they were small, annoying, and not as powerful as the Voice, the one he was certain was from God Himself.
A niggling doubt wormed through his mind, suggesting that the Voice was evil, that It might be speaking the words of Lucifer, the Lord of Darkness.
But no…. He couldn’t think this way. He had to have faith. Faith in the Voice, in what It told him, in Its ultimate wisdom.
Quickly he rolled off the cot and onto his knees. Deftly, from years of practice and sacrifice, he sketched the sign of the cross over his naked chest. Beads of perspiration