Read Online Scars (Nevada James #2) (Nevada James Mysteries) by Matthew Storm - Free Book Online

for delivery and spent half an
hour looking at one of my early Laughing Man case files. His first kill, at
least the first we knew about, had been a high society woman in her forties.
Her body had been found on a patio chair next to a swimming pool with a Mai Tai
next to her. It had been the first time anyone had seen the Laughing Man’s
bloody smile. Nobody knew what to make of it at the time. The only thing I’d
been sure of back then was that this was something new. Murders that took place
out of anger or jealousy were old hat to me by then. I’d even worked a couple
serial killer cases, but those had been simple by comparison. The Laughing Man
was something unique.
    He’d
come to feel the same way about me, eventually. Three years ago he’d had me
dead to rights, had beaten me within an inch of my life, and then, at the
moment we both knew he should kill me, he’d turned and walked away. And then he
went dark. The cops hadn’t understood why. How was it that his compulsions
didn’t make him kill again?
    The
answer was simple. Because it wasn’t about compulsion for him. It was a game.
If he killed me, he’d have had nobody left to play with. Sitting at a
chessboard by yourself isn’t any fun.
    Now I
was back on my feet, but he hadn’t started the game yet. It’s amazing how bored
you can get when you’re ready to play, but the other player refuses to take his
seat at the table.
    My pizza
came and I ate two slices, then put the rest in the tiny motel refrigerator.
The rest of it would be tomorrow’s breakfast, or maybe a midnight snack if I
woke up and was hungry. I’d tried placating my urge to drink with junk food,
with mixed results. On one hand, I didn’t get drunk. On the other, it was
getting hard to remember the last time I’d seen a real vegetable.
    I was
watching some terrible police drama on television when there was a knock at the
door. I took my Glock out of its holster and pointed it at the peephole. “Who
is it?” I called.
    “Open
the door, Nevada,” Dan Evans said. His deep voice sounded like an avalanche.
Well, I’d never been in an avalanche, so that was a guess. I probably wasn’t
far off, though.
    I put
the gun down on the bed and went to open the door. Dan stood there, a suitcase
in one hand. He looked like he’d missed a day of shaving. Behind him I could
see a taxi pulling out of the motel parking lot. “Jesus,” I said. “Did you come
here straight from the airport?”
    “It’s on
the way home,” he said. “You going to invite me in?”
    I moved
away from the door and shut it once he was inside. Dan was a bear of a man, too
tall and too wide for any of the clothes he bought, but he’d never yet let me
take him shopping. Not that I knew a great deal about men’s fashion, or fashion
at all for that matter, but at least I could find the Big  & Tall section
in a department store.
    Dan put
his suitcase down and stood with his hands on his hips, his eyes lingering for
a second on the Glock on my bed, before surveying the rest of the room. Without
a word he went to the bathroom, flipped the light on, and looked inside.
    “You
want to check the drawers, too?” I asked. “That’s where I keep the booze.” I
hoped he wouldn’t pick up that my sarcasm was a bluff and decide to look in
there for himself. I didn’t want to explain my nightly ritual to him. He’d
never understand it.
    He eyed
the dresser but didn’t look inside. “You can’t blame me for being concerned.”
    “I don’t
blame you,” I said. “I did tell you I’m fine, though.”
    “You
said the same thing five minutes before you had your first seizure.”
    He’d
told me I’d said that before, but I couldn’t remember it. I’d quit drinking
cold turkey when I finally stopped. That had been a serious mistake. It turned
out delirium tremens was a very real thing, and I’d spent two nightmarish
days in the hospital while my body demonstrated that to me. “Fair enough,” I
said.
    He
looked at