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Authors: Hazel Hunter
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it.”
There was no proof but it made sense. The Chameleon’s ideal victim type was young, pretty, and petite–and always a brunette with long hair. Mac glanced at Isabelle, her dark hair swept behind her shoulders but its gentle curves framing her beautiful face. Though she smiled at him, Mac felt a knot in the pit of his stomach.
“We need to search hospital records for a man with that type of wound,” Mac said.
“He might not be from Los Angeles,” Dixon said. “Or he might have sustained the wound years ago before emergency rooms were computerized.”
“Or he might never have gone to a hospital,” Isabelle added.
“But we’ve got to check,” Mac said. “With so little else to go on, we have no choice.”
Unlike the case with Esme, no witnesses had come forward. Nor had Isabelle been permitted to read anything of Angela’s.
Dixon’s phone rang.
“Dixon,” he said, answering it. He listened for a few moments and his dark eyes immediately focused on Mac, who felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “We’ll be right there,” Dixon said, slamming the phone down as he stood.
Mac jumped to his feet, his muscles coiled for action, as Isabelle stoop up as well.
“The hospital found something on the security video,” Dixon said. “It’s Angela.”
• • • • •
Prentiss placed the earphones of the brand new stethoscope around Angela’s neck. Though she was still strapped to the operating table, there was hardly any need. Like his previous…patients…dehydration and exhaustion were running their course.
He threw the glass of water in her face and watched her react with a quick inhale as her eyes fluttered open. Slowly, she tried to lick her lips and save whatever moisture was left there.
“Look at me,” he ordered. Lethargically, her eyes began to close. Prentiss bent lower and slapped the side of her face, twice in quick succession. “Look at me!” he yelled.
Her eyes snapped open and tried to focus on him. He backed up slightly, took the lighter from his pants pocket, and lit it–no easy trick with the latex gloves. Gingerly, he picked up the end of the stethoscope by the black rubber tube, just above the circular steel disc, and put the flame to it. Then he looked into Angela’s eyes.
“Hello, Isabelle,” he said smiling.
Angela’s eyebrows knit together.
“Just a little message from me,” he said, drawing closer to Angela’s face, “to you.” His smile abruptly vanished. “I don’t appreciate how you spoiled my time with Esme,” he growled. “But, no worries. You’ll have a chance to make up for it.” Heat from the metal of the stethoscope radiated up to his fingers. “And I’ll tell you exactly how,” he said, drawing back. “Next time,” he paused for dramatic effect. “I’m coming for you.” With that, he tossed the lighter to the floor and picked up Angela’s hand. The belts on the operating table clanked and tightened as she squirmed, but it was pointless.
“No!” she screamed.
Before the stethoscope could cool off, he quickly pressed the diaphragm into her upturned palm. Flesh sizzled as Angela’s wild shriek echoed all around him.
“Next time, Isabelle,” he yelled, pressing the metal down harder. “It’ll be you!”
CHAPTER NINE
“ There ,” Mac said, pointing at the video. “That’s her.” He stood just behind Officer Dadashian, seated at the computer terminal. Mac hunched lower and closer. “It looks like she’s unconscious.”
Dixon and Isabelle leaned closer as well.
“From this angle,” Dixon said. “It’s hard to tell.”
At the exit from the hospital to the parking structure, the camera looked down from the ceiling.
“Watch what happens,” Dadashian said as the video continued to roll.
In silence, the four of them watched the sketchy black and white image. The Chameleon was dressed in a white lab coat over slacks and a shirt and tie. His hair was grey, as was his mustache and beard, and
There was no proof but it made sense. The Chameleon’s ideal victim type was young, pretty, and petite–and always a brunette with long hair. Mac glanced at Isabelle, her dark hair swept behind her shoulders but its gentle curves framing her beautiful face. Though she smiled at him, Mac felt a knot in the pit of his stomach.
“We need to search hospital records for a man with that type of wound,” Mac said.
“He might not be from Los Angeles,” Dixon said. “Or he might have sustained the wound years ago before emergency rooms were computerized.”
“Or he might never have gone to a hospital,” Isabelle added.
“But we’ve got to check,” Mac said. “With so little else to go on, we have no choice.”
Unlike the case with Esme, no witnesses had come forward. Nor had Isabelle been permitted to read anything of Angela’s.
Dixon’s phone rang.
“Dixon,” he said, answering it. He listened for a few moments and his dark eyes immediately focused on Mac, who felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “We’ll be right there,” Dixon said, slamming the phone down as he stood.
Mac jumped to his feet, his muscles coiled for action, as Isabelle stoop up as well.
“The hospital found something on the security video,” Dixon said. “It’s Angela.”
• • • • •
Prentiss placed the earphones of the brand new stethoscope around Angela’s neck. Though she was still strapped to the operating table, there was hardly any need. Like his previous…patients…dehydration and exhaustion were running their course.
He threw the glass of water in her face and watched her react with a quick inhale as her eyes fluttered open. Slowly, she tried to lick her lips and save whatever moisture was left there.
“Look at me,” he ordered. Lethargically, her eyes began to close. Prentiss bent lower and slapped the side of her face, twice in quick succession. “Look at me!” he yelled.
Her eyes snapped open and tried to focus on him. He backed up slightly, took the lighter from his pants pocket, and lit it–no easy trick with the latex gloves. Gingerly, he picked up the end of the stethoscope by the black rubber tube, just above the circular steel disc, and put the flame to it. Then he looked into Angela’s eyes.
“Hello, Isabelle,” he said smiling.
Angela’s eyebrows knit together.
“Just a little message from me,” he said, drawing closer to Angela’s face, “to you.” His smile abruptly vanished. “I don’t appreciate how you spoiled my time with Esme,” he growled. “But, no worries. You’ll have a chance to make up for it.” Heat from the metal of the stethoscope radiated up to his fingers. “And I’ll tell you exactly how,” he said, drawing back. “Next time,” he paused for dramatic effect. “I’m coming for you.” With that, he tossed the lighter to the floor and picked up Angela’s hand. The belts on the operating table clanked and tightened as she squirmed, but it was pointless.
“No!” she screamed.
Before the stethoscope could cool off, he quickly pressed the diaphragm into her upturned palm. Flesh sizzled as Angela’s wild shriek echoed all around him.
“Next time, Isabelle,” he yelled, pressing the metal down harder. “It’ll be you!”
CHAPTER NINE
“ There ,” Mac said, pointing at the video. “That’s her.” He stood just behind Officer Dadashian, seated at the computer terminal. Mac hunched lower and closer. “It looks like she’s unconscious.”
Dixon and Isabelle leaned closer as well.
“From this angle,” Dixon said. “It’s hard to tell.”
At the exit from the hospital to the parking structure, the camera looked down from the ceiling.
“Watch what happens,” Dadashian said as the video continued to roll.
In silence, the four of them watched the sketchy black and white image. The Chameleon was dressed in a white lab coat over slacks and a shirt and tie. His hair was grey, as was his mustache and beard, and
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