Free The Holiday Killer by Holly Hunt Page A

black dress, her carefully applied makeup already streaking down her cheeks. She put her hand on the door, sighing. It was time.
    Then, taking a deep breath, she turned the door handle, pushed the light wood open, and stepped inside.
    The room hadn't been disturbed since he'd been taken, and she stood in the middle of the room, looking around at the carefully arranged toys, the folded clothes, the swept floor. Forensics hadn't found a single piece of evidence in the room. To them, it looked like Jamie had cleaned the place up himself before being taken.
    She looked at the bed and the perfectly straight rug, and gently lifted Jamie's second-favorite toy—a bear his father had given him when he was three—to look into its glassy eyes. Tears welling in her own eyes, she threw it across the room and looked at the toys gathered on his bedside table. The space that once held his five-inch plastic robot stood empty, covered in a thin layer of fingerprint dust.
    He loved that damn robot.
    She grabbed the remaining toys and, with the force of her anger and grief, hurled them across the room to thump into the wall. Screaming her rage, she ripped the sheets off his bed, knocked his clothes off the chair, and generally did everything she could to mess up the room.
    Exhausted, she finally collapsed in the middle of the room as Phil, Bill, and Lisa barreled into the room, looking around in horror at the mess she'd created.
    Liz opened her eyes from her sobbing to see the bear sitting in front of her knees, watching her. She picked it up and cradled it to her chest, just as she had Jamie when he was a baby, the bear's head over her shoulder. Phil and Lisa rushed forward to help her to her feet, ignoring the smears of makeup that covered her cheeks, and helped her from the room.
     

10
     
     
     
     
     
    After the funeral, Bill and Lisa dropped Liz and Phil off at home. Liz headed straight for their room while Phil headed to the kitchen for a beer, neither of them talking to each other.
    It's time. He's not going to hurt anyone else.
    When she got to her room, though, Liz scrambled through her clothes for her gun, but could not find it.
    God fucking dammit, they took it! Shit!
    She opened the drawer of her desk and dragged out her old pistol, hidden in the secret compartment at the back of the drawer. Phil didn't know about this gun, or it wouldn't still be there. Her father gave it to her before he died, and she'd kept it safe and well oiled since. She retrieved some ammunition and loaded the gun, tucking it into the empty holster thrown over the chair, and settling the holster over her shoulders before she covered it all with a coat. She glanced in the mirror, checking to make sure it didn't look out of place.
    Then she grabbed some extra bullets, not knowing if she would have cause to use them tonight, but needing to have them available if she did. She tucked them into a pocket, wrapping a scarf around her neck to ward off the New Year's chill.
    She crept through the house, quiet as a mouse, and stopped before she reached the kitchen. She peered around the corner, looking for Phil.
    He was asleep, headphones over his ears and an empty bottle of bourbon beside his hand. So she slipped out the front door, taking the keys to his car from the tray as she went.
    She rolled silently down the driveway and started the car on the road, careful not to cause too much noise. Shifting into gear, she drove off into the coming night, choosing a random direction to drive in, and hoping she would find the bastard.
    That night, Liz patrolled the streets, her gun at her hip. Around 1 in the morning, a brand new Lexus slipped into traffic next to her and she glanced at it, instantly curious. What business would a rich guy have at this time of morning, this close to the docklands?
    A small, barely obvious line of darkness was dripping from the back door, down the white paint. The light of a streetlight lit it up momentarily, the bright red of fresh blood