Beautiful Prey (Unmasked Duet #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Rain pelted against my car, blurring the massive building in front until the wipers swiped the water away, only giving me a brief view of the gated facility. I stared at it, wondering if I would have the strength to leave my car and walk inside or if I would drive away and blow this chance.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Five years, ten months, four days.

All starting on that day. Halloween Eve.

My sixteenth birthday.

I can still remember the smell of garlic mixed with iron, making my stomach turn. The flickering flames, the red soaked floor, my brother’s body, my father’s face.

And the fear. The absolute, pure terror. High octane dread that made me want to jump out of my skin.

The shadow, the demon in a mask who butchered every family member in that house but missed me.

People called him the Devil of Harper Pointe, or the New Venice killer, because that was our street’s name. Some even called him the Birthday Boogeyman to scare the kids, saying if you don’t appreciate your gifts, he’ll come knocking. Some local teenagers took it even further after the incident. If you were still a virgin by your sixteenth, you were a goner and he’d come for you.

It had started as a real massacre turned into an urban legend, even though it had happened nearly six years ago. Those who weren’t there didn’t see the aftermath. Didn’t witness what I did.

The only real evidence anyone got that night was of the statue in the town square of a local founder, Sir Marcus Leer. After the killer left my house, I learned days later what he used my father’s gin for. No one saw him do it; they just found the statue burning, a beacon in the night, with the pumpkins around him smashed to pieces.

The melted face of the statue is still there. Every year, the mayor promises to redo it. But replacing the statue wouldn’t change anything. The town was already scarred. Parents didn’t let their kids roam around on the anniversary of that night. Didn’t celebrate birthdays until the week after. Some called it Harper Devil’s Night after the infamous night that sparked in Detroit just down river. The killings had left the town shaken, divided between those who wanted to keep the myth alive as some bizarre remembrance, and those who wanted to forget.

I should have been one of those who never wanted to look back.

And yet here I was, in front of the very facility where the devil was housed.

I opened my eyes and tightened my hands on the steering wheel.

Every day I wondered what the hell I was thinking. In the beginning, I didn’t think much about anything at all. I stayed with a family friend after the massacre and went to therapy. They tried to put me on medication, but I refused. I went to my therapist and skipped a semester of school, hoping to lead a normal life again.

Yeah, right.

“Find something you’re passionate about,” my therapist had said one day when she wasn’t particularly getting through to me and I told her I had no interest in my schoolwork.

There was only one thing ever in my mind, in my dreams. My nightmares.

The masked man.

So I got a crazy thought. Learn everything I can about him. Understand why. The more I understood, the more I could get past it all.

They had caught the Harper Devil two nights after the incident in an abandoned park near the river.

It was as if he wanted to get caught. In the trial, he was found criminally insane. Too dangerous for a regular prison, they sent him to a special facility in the wilderness—west to a place in Alaska—for psychopaths just like him.

I went down to the station many times, talked to journalists. But refused to give my side of the story. I didn’t want to share. I just wanted to disappear.

But they told me what I wanted. They told me what little they knew about him. The Devil of Harper Pointe had a name.

Emery Blakmor.

Funny how one’s curiosity can turn into an obsession. I finished school, took advanced courses, and headed straight to college with a full ride to Michigan State, into their forensic psychology department.

Now with my undergrad finished, I was headed into my masters. That same year, Emery was transferred to St. Agnes—a facility on a small island just off the mainland. A short enough distance for a bridge to get across with security at both points.

This was my moment. I had studied criminal psychology for four years, learned everything I could about the man who slaughtered my family. Which was hardly anything at all.

Because Emery’s past was so secretive, he might as well not exist. The only thing that grounded him in reality was the small evidence of his childhood, wrought with abuse and foster care. And a dead sister.

But I was determined to know more. And when I had gotten everything I could, I would tell him who I really was and what he had done. And that he had failed to get us all. That I had survived him.

My determined spirit had lasted all the way past the bridge crossing and the gate. But now, that courage was starting to wane.

What if he didn’t talk? What if he knew who I was right away, even with an alias? What if looking at him brought all the nightmares back, and I cracked right in front of him, panic attack and all?

No, I’d waited too long for this opportunity. And it was now or never.

Taking a deep breath, I took a pill bottle from the cup holder between the seats, popping a Xanax. I shut off the car, pulled up the hood of my coat, then opened the door, yanking my bag over one shoulder.

The facility being huge was an understatement. The west and east wings were visible with the central tower between them—a brick giant covered in moss and dead vines, with iron barred windows. Above, the yellow clock ticked, like a creepy eye, watching.

With light, hurried steps, I walked to a set of large doors with brass lionhead knockers on each side.

In the glow of the orange light hanging overhead, I yanked one side open and then let the door slam shut behind me.

The air felt stale and chilly with a subtle order of bleach. The lights above cast a sickly yellowish hue as they buzzed and flickered above me. Two men sat at a security desk near the entrance. I must have caught them in the middle of a joke because they were laughing. When they saw me, they quieted.

“Eve Layne?” one man asked. He was larger and bulkier compared to the other.

“That’s right.”

He leaned into a drawer below the desk while his companion went to the phone and dialed in an extension.

“I need you to fill these out for our records.” He placed the papers on the desk along with a pen.

Thunder boomed, making my feet vibrate, as I took the pen and signed my initials on the lines indicated. The red ink was like signing my soul away in blood.

He took the form just as his companion hung up the phone.

“She’s good to go,” he said.

“Great, you can hang up your raincoat here,” instructed the man with my form.

I set my bag on the desk, then slipped off my coat and handed it over. The bigger guy looked me up and down, from my pinned-up hair, down to my blouse and skirt, finally taking in my black heels. He cleared his throat and turned toward the double doors behind him.

I might look fine on the outside, but on the inside, I could feel that scared little girl clawing up my throat, wanting to run, and it took all my will to push her down.

He unlocked the door and gestured for me to follow.

On the other end, we came into the main hall. It looked like something out of an old mansion—gray-green marble floors, a wide staircase leading to the second floor with a balcony around the edge. Tilting my head, I saw the glass roof, and the sky light up again and again. Where portraits once hung, there were now signs. Where lanterns must have once lit the room, now, there were ugly yellow lights. Only one portrait hung on the wall and it was of a woman with piercing black eyes and red lips. What I assumed had once been the owner of the estate. I imagined she probably haunted the place.

“Keep close,” the man called out, moving up the stairs. I hurried to join him. “So, you're from State, huh?” he asked. “My niece goes there.”

“That’s right.”

He turned his head to eye me. “Are you doing your thesis on this guy?”

“I am.”

He continued climbing, shaking his head. “You picked a hell of a subject. You know about this guy, right? The things he did.”

My throat tightened. “Yeah, I know.”

“And you still want to interview him?” I didn’t say anything, and as we made it to the top, he turned around. “Sorry, I know it’s none of my business but…” He shook his head. I could tell he was getting real tense just talking about it.

You and I both, buddy.

“I’m aware he’s dangerous.”

The guy let out a nervous laugh. “He is danger personified. He’s pure fucking evil. Sorry, don’t tell anyone I said that.”

I smirked. “Lips are sealed.”

We walked toward the west wing, passed another set of doors and into a glass office that served as another security point.

“They cleared her?” another guard asked as he swiveled in his seat next to a set of monitors.

My big guardsman nodded. “They sure did.”

As he made a call on his walkie to have “Prisoner 0034 sent to Room 5B,” I watched on the monitors beside him as a group of guards in white uniforms walked down a hallway with a row of thick steel doors on both sides. They stopped just short of the end and, as one man stepped toward the door, the others brought out their tasers and batons, gripping them tight, taking a stance as if ready for a fight.

“Are those necessary?” I asked, pointing to the tasers.

The guy looked at me as if I’d grown a third eye. “With this guy? Yes. Hell, we should have something better.”

My brows furrowed. “Like…guns?”

The man shrugged.

“Are tasers even allowed?”

None of them responded. The guard sitting at the monitor nodded behind me, and I turned to see Dr. Langley staring at me.

“Ms. Layne…” Dr. Langley’s gray eyes behind his large bifocals seemed to look past me, but his smile appeared genuine. “Got through the storm alright, I see. They didn’t make you wait too long at the gate, I hope?”

“No, sir, they didn’t.”

“Good, good. And John didn’t scare you away either. A great start.” He patted the big guard on the back.

John fixed me with a sheepish look. “It won’t be me scaring her away.”

Dr. Langley chuckled. “He has a point. How are you feeling, Eve? If this is too much for you…”

“No, I’m good.” He didn’t know, none of them did. They thought I was just another student with a twisted interest in psychopaths and criminal minds. But with a few strings pulled, not only was I able to convince one of my professors to grant me this access, I kept my identity safe in the process. It helped that I changed my last name after the incident to avoid stalkers or attention and had refused to be interviewed, keeping away from the news and public light. Only those from high school knew, but I had avoided them all like a hermit and kept off social media. Only Jamie, my new friend in college, was aware of what I was doing and he promised to keep his mouth shut.

I noticed movement from the monitors at the corner of my eye and squared my shoulders when the men surrounded the open door where I could see the back of the inmate, his hands being forced into cuffs.

“Eve?”

Heart pounding, I turned back to Dr. Langley. “Yes?”

He stared at me, looking concerned. “Come sit for a moment.” He gestured to an office just outside the security point.

Unable to resist, I turned back to the monitor. They were chaining his feet now. He hardly moved, but I could see the guards were working quickly and aiming their weapons at him as if he might strike at any moment.

Hesitantly, I peeled my gaze from the screen and followed the doctor into the office.

“I know we had our talk over the phone,” he started as I took a seat in the leather green chair beside the desk and he closed the door. “Your professor, Mrs. Conley, gave you all the top marks, a glowing review.” He sat in a chair opposite me. As he did, the small green desk lamp flickered. “I respect her as a friend, but this is more than a favor to her. I mentioned on the phone already, however, I can’t stress how dangerous this man is. Sure, he will be contained, and there will be guards nearby and cameras. Physically, you are safe. But I hope you understand the emotional toll this could bring.”

“I am aware. He isn’t the first I’ve talked to.”

“Yes, she mentioned you joined her for an interview with the East River Strangler. That had to be an interesting one. And I’m sure you learned a lot that day. But Emery is very…unique. He feels no remorse for his actions, but unlike other killers, he doesn’t try to deny it either or play the victim to an unfair system. His mental state, well…he’s said very little in the last few years. I just want to warn you; he isn’t a talker. And when he does, he’s dodgy in his answers at best. You might not get anything out of him. Many of our own psychologists have struggled to gain traction with him. He’s just not interested in what we have to say.”

“I get what you mean. That this might be a waste of time.”

The doctor shrugged. “To put in less professional words, yes. As long as you understand that.”

“I do.” And I was confident I’d get him to talk. Or at least get a reaction out of him before the end of the night.

The doctor assessed me for a moment, then nodded as if satisfied. “You can stop the session at any time, obviously. All I ask is that, whatever you do get out of him, you make a copy of your report and send it to me for our own records. Deal?”

“No problem,” I said. “Thank you again for this.”

“Don’t thank me yet. If anything, I hope you don’t regret it and get the insight needed. I know you’ve been taught what to expect. If I were you, though, I’d let that all go now.”

I waited beside John in the hallway as the other guards sauntered out of the room, some sweating either from the strain of moving him or from being so tense at the possibility of what he might do. A few eyed me and shook their heads as they passed.

They moved away some distance from the door, and I took that as a sign I could enter. I took a step toward the room when John caught my arm.

“Seriously, if he gives you any shit, you tell us right away, okay? We will be outside the door,” he said gently, before letting me go.

I smiled and nodded. Clutching my bag tight, I forced myself forward.

The room was bigger than I expected. And old. The ceiling curved upward slightly, a mosaic of colors fading away where parts of the surface were peeling. I knew the building had once served as both an orphanage and an institute, and that during renovations to accommodate more dangerous subjects, some of the old rooms had been kept intact. On the opposite wall were two large windows, both gated, with tables and chairs stacked along the other sides. Here, I theorized they would usually have group sessions.

As I walked in further, my eyes drew over to the two chairs in the center, one empty and the other with Emery—a giant with his back to me, his hands and feet chained to the chair. His head was bent forward, but he didn’t move. The lights were a dim yellow, casting shadows along the ceiling and walls. A strange place to have an interview, but I wasn’t about to turn around and complain.

This was really happening. I’d finally speak to the man who slaughtered my family. All the rage and sadness I had over the years were now overshadowed by fear. But like hell I was going to turn away now.

He was chained, caged. He couldn’t hurt me anymore.

Confidently, I strolled over to my chair with a purpose, letting my heels click sharply against the marble floor. Before I sat, I whirled around to face him and smiled.

“Hello, Emery.” My voice nearly cracked when I got a good look at him.

Hollow eyes, honey colored. No, they were yellow. Eyes without a face.

That night slammed into me like a freight train. As ridiculous and insane as it was, he still wore the mask. A red skull face.

How the hell was he able to keep the guards from forcing it off him? From taking it away and stashing it for evidence or burning it? How?

Disappointment mixed with an awful twisting in my stomach forced me down to the seat facing him. I kept my smile tight, hoping he hadn’t seen my small lapse in composure. “I’m Eve Layne.” My voice almost cracked again, and I cursed myself a dozen times. Don’t lose it fucking now, Eve. “How are you tonight?”

He didn’t say a word, not that I expected him to. He did move, however, only slightly, his back straightening and his hands resting on his lap, turning to fists.

I observed the rest of him as casually as I could while I took out my recorder and notepad from my bag. He had on a black inmate uniform with two white stripes across both arms just above the elbow. His sleeves had been rolled up to cuff him, revealing large forearms. His hair—a dark brown with a tinge of deep red—curled around his ears and back of neck, a few wavy locks falling across the mask. He was a big guy, bigger than John, bigger than I remember him on my sixteenth birthday.

“May I?” I asked, showing him my recorder.

He didn’t respond, so I clicked it on and set it on the ground. I took my notepad in my lap and pen in hand, gripping it tighter than I meant to. I finally forced myself to really look at him and tensed when I saw him staring at me. His eyes cut into me like a knife.

I straightened and tried to keep my smile friendly if small. “I heard you’re shy so it’s okay if you don’t want to talk.” I waited to see if he’d say anything, and when he didn’t, I continued, “I’m from the Psychology and Forensics department at Michigan State. I’m a student there, studying—”

“ Me .”

My heart leaped into my throat. His voice was low, husky even, a hushed sound that still caught my attention. No, demanded it.

“That’s right,” I said. “You…and others like you.”

He tilted his head as if he found that weirdly fascinating.

His gaze unnerved me, and I shifted in my seat. “I know this is sudden. You don’t usually talk to anyone at this hour. I’m sure they didn’t warn you about me coming.”

“They certainly didn’t…”

“But I’ll try to make this brief. I only have a few questions…”

“What did you mean others like me?”

I was taken back at that. Mulling it over, I said, “Those who have committed severe crimes in the past, usually with mental impairment or some form of psychological distress.”

He dipped his head. “Such an academic way of saying psychopath. Is that the definition they make you recite from the textbooks?”

I smirked. “No, it’s on our Wiki site actually.”

A short hiss of breath was his laugh. “Cute.” He looked at me squarely. “Tell me then, Eve, am I your first?”

I clenched the pen in my hand but made sure to not let my expression slip. “First what?”

“Psychopath.” A flash of lightning from the windows brightened the room for a mere second, turning Emery’s eyes bright yellow. The image almost made me shiver.

“The first I’ve interviewed? No. That was the East River Strangler.”

His eyes darkened. “Pity.”

I tapped the pen on my notepad. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ve been dying to interview you for a long time.”

He studied me. “Really?”

When I crossed my legs, I caught his eyes flickering down. “Yes, really. You fascinate me. That’s why I was hoping you would talk to me.”

His chains scraped against the seat. “Wow. I’ve heard of this before. Women who get off to killers. Who go to their court sessions and make babydoll eyes at them. Pretending the killer would turn back, see them, and think, ‘Damn, she just changed me with one look. I’d kill a dozen girls but not this one. No. I’d marry this one. And we’d live happily ever after.’ A twisted, fucked-up fantasy, but you know, for you, I’m flattered. I might just consider it.”

I clenched my jaw, feeling my heart pounding in my ears. “You’ve got the wrong idea.”

He leaned forward. “Do I?”

He was seriously flirting with me? Hell, did I just give him that impression? No. No, no, no.

“I just want to ask you a few questions.”

He made an irritated noise before straightening. “Questions. That’s all I’m good for.” He turned his head to glance behind him as if seeing someone there. He whispered something under his breath, but I didn’t quite catch it.

I had his attention, and it was a rare, precious thing. But as soon as I brought up questioning, he wanted to draw back into himself. He wasn’t interested. At least not now. But I couldn’t miss this chance.

I could always find ways to get answers. And I needed to keep him with me. Everything I had rehearsed was already up in smoke, so maybe I needed to improvise.

“Alright,” I said. “You got me. I won’t pump you for answers, but only if you tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

There was dark amusement in his gaze. “Mmm, that wouldn’t be very appropriate.”

“Try me.”

He clenched and unclenched one hand. “How about I promise you I will another day.”

My brows rose. “What makes you think you’ll see me again?”

He turned his head again as if someone was whispering something in his ear. All I saw were shadows.

“Emery?”

He turned back to me. “One question. I’ll give you one tonight.”

“Okay…” I knew what I wanted it to be. I wanted to ask why he had done what he did the night of my birthday. But we had only just met, and he might lie. Dr. Langley said his answer could be dodgy, after all. So I went with something simple.

“What’s your favorite movie?”

He looked at me as if I was crazy. He bent forward and laughed quietly for several seconds. When he recovered, he said, “Currently… Elephant Man .”

“David Lynch’s Elephant Man ?” He nodded, and I wrote it down on my pad. “A classic. I’m shocked. I thought you’d be more of a John Wick or Funny Games sort of guy.”

He shrugged. “Wick was fun if not a little too on the nose for the male driven fantasy. Funny Games is entertaining if I want a trip down memory lane.”

My throat tightened, my hand shaking a little as I wrote a few comments for myself. For a moment, he almost made me forget who he was. Now, I was reminded again. But I needed to remain professional and keep my emotions contained. In time, I would get my revenge. I’d let him in, make him think I cared, then I would confess everything and leave him in the dust.

“Yours?”

I looked up at him. He really wanted to know?

I couldn’t tell if he was actually curious or just pretending to be, but I indulged him anyway, “I've got two actually. Let the Right One In , the original Swedish version, not the lame American one and recently… Nightcrawler .”

“A thriller fan.”

“Depends. But I like movies like Pretty in Pink too.”

“As you should, but I prefer Sixteen Candles .”

I smiled even if I wanted to scream.

“So, is that all you do here then? Watch movies? No fun group activities or outdoor sports?”

He shifted in his seat, the chains clinking. “Movies only on Sundays. Once a day, I’m allowed outside.”

“You have a lot of time on your hands. A lot of time to think.”

Some emotion flashed in his gaze. “I read too if you're curious. And I work out, if you couldn’t tell.”

I eyed him up and down before making another note. “Oh, I can.”

“I like listening to music, drawing, and taking nice walks even if only at night. I’m really a stand-up guy.”

“Oh, yes, if I look past the bloodshed and the violent massacring of innocent people, right?” I knew I was on thin ice, but I couldn’t help it.

“Innocent is a strong word,” he replied.

That took me off guard.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

He clicked his tongue, lifting his hand to wag his finger. “ That’s one of the real questions.”

I gripped my notepad, white-knuckling it. “Are you saying those people deserved what you did to them?”

He turned his head again. In the doorway, John stood. “We're gonna have to call it, Ms. Layne. Curfew is coming.”

“I just need a few more minutes.”

“No can do, shift change is upon us. He needs to be back in his room before then.”

I wanted to protest, but John disappeared into the hallway. I turned back to Emery and found him watching me intently.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked in a guttural voice.

My eyes shifted to the door, then back to him. “Yes.”

“They did. All of them. They deserved every single cut of my knife. And if I could do it all over again, I would, and I do it with a smile. And if I had more time, I would have done so much more. I would have split their skulls and decorated the outside with their corpses, hanging them from the porch or skewering them on the fence. I would have painted the walls in their blood, cut them up until they were nothing but soup for wild dogs, relishing in every. Fucking. Stroke.” Every word was like a knife to my gut, and my blood turned cold. “So, Evee, does that satisfy your question?”

I was speechless. Shocked into silence. John and the other men were already entering the room, tasers and batons at the ready.

“Time’s up, sweetheart,” John said, and Emery repeated in a whisper.

I could do it, right there and then, I could tell him that he didn’t get us all. He lost and he’d never have a chance. I could scream at him, professional demeanor and reputation be damned.

But no, not tonight, not in front of the others. I waited too long for only a sloppy finish like this. So, even though I burned inside, I kept the smile on. I took my recorder and turned it off, pushing it in my bag along with my notepad.

I stood as the men circled him and John unchained him from the chair at the back.

Emery never took his eyes off me.

“This was certainly insightful. I’d say it was nice to meet you, Emery, but well, I’d be lying. And I think you and I should be honest with each other.”

“I agree,” he said. “So in that case, it was nice to meet you, Eve.”