Page 3 of Killer Knows Best (Fallon Baxter FBI Mystery #4)

3

EVIL

T hey never make it easy, do they?

I slip out of the hotel and the cool night air hits me like a slap. The bare branches from the army of maples surrounding this place rattle like skeletons as the wind picks up steam.

We’re knee-deep in fall. My favorite season. Nature is one of the only things that brings me joy as of late. People can be so disappointing.

It’s over now.

It’s all done.

One less— two less public nuisances traipsing around the planet.

I did what I had to do with expert efficiency. They say practice makes perfect and I’ve had plenty of that. Although this method was particularly messy, I must say it’s one I prefer. So quick, so to the point, so very final. I’m not here to make anyone suffer. That’s not what this is about.

My heart races wildly, thumping against my chest like a drumbeat that won’t quit.

I expected one. Just one. But when I opened that door and saw two of them standing there, well—plans changed. It’s not like I had much of a choice.

Two girls selling themselves . Their desperation was practically oozing out of them.

Those trashy dresses, those sky-high heels—they were begging for trouble.

It disgusts me.

They were so young, so full of potential, and yet they were bartering their worth away like cheap goods. They had no idea how wrong it is—how much damage they do, to themselves, to everyone around them. And they were college students no less. At least I know for a fact one of them was. You would think they would be brighter than this. In the least that they could be teachable. How I wish someone out there would have taught them a lesson before I was forced to step in.

A thought occurs to me. Could I have been the person? Not like this, not tonight. Maybe there’s another woman out there I could help, but not those two. For them it is far too late.

This was a favor. For them, for the world. I know that. Deep down, I’d like to think they knew that, too. It was destiny that our paths would cross. I’m sure they would thank me if they could.

It’s always hard in the moment—harder than anyone would guess—but it is just and it is right.

What I did was necessary. It’s a mercy, really. If I didn’t stop them, who would? They would’ve just gone on, getting worse, falling deeper into their own filth.

I glance down at my hands, still trembling from the adrenaline.

The things I’ve done... They haunt me. Not because I regret it—no, never that—but because no one understands the burden I carry.

It’s a thankless task, but someone has to do it .

Someone has to be willing to do what others can’t. And that someone is me.

After all, this is my cross to bear.

I take a breath and do my best to rein in the adrenaline. My heartbeat slows as I glance around the parking lot. No one is watching. No one even notices me. I blend in, invisible like always.

I know how to hide. I’ve done this enough times now. I know how to disappear. I’m practically a seasoned pro at not existing. Ironic when you think about it. I’m also a seasoned pro at making sure others cease to exist.

No, I’m not the Almighty. But even he has his minions. I’d like to think I’m on the cleanup committee. And with so much filth covering the earth, there is a lot of cleaning up to do. There’s enough to keep me busy until I am swept off the planet.

The countless, nameless, faceless victims race through my mind like a haunted parade of whores.

The first one was the hardest. Always is. It took me days to come down from it. But each one after that, well, it gets easier. Not the killing itself—that’s never easy—but the knowing. The knowing that it’s for the best. That I’m saving them from themselves. And I’ve saved a lot of them now. They’ll never understand that, but I don’t need them to. They dissolved their own relevance once they decided to give their sacred body away in exchange for cold, hard cash.

I did them a favor. All of them. Those two silly girls, the others. None of them should have been selling their bodies. It’s lewd, wicked—an insult to women everywhere.

They were born for more than this. But they couldn’t see it, could they? No, they chose this. And so, they had to be stopped. They were like wild horses trampling through town, destroying everything in their wake, so in turn, they themselves had to be destroyed .

My chest tightens as I walk, while my legs do their best to carry me farther away from the hotel, deeper into the night. With each step I feel lighter, freer.

They’re gone now. I did what had to be done.

I think of the others once again—the women who came before. They were all so lost, so blinded by their choices. Just like these two. It’s always the same story. It never changes. But I’m the constant. I’m the one who cleans up the mess.

The chosen one.

I stop at my car, my hands still shaking as I reach for the door handle. I left my mark, my signature at the scene. I always do. Signed, sealed, and delivered to the afterlife with love. It’s my way of letting them know I care. It’s my way of shouldering responsibility, and shirking it at the very same time.

No one is going to miss them. They couldn’t have been appreciated in this life in order to behave that way. That’s part of the problem. Then they became a problem.

That’s why they had to go.

It’s a difficult task, but that’s why it’s mine. To bring balance, to restore what has been broken.

And I did.

I always do.

I will again.