21 Weeks: Week 21
By R.A. LaShea
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About this ebook
For forty years, this serial killer has gone without capture.
For twenty weeks, the team at Las Vegas Metro Homicide has been unable to stop him from terrorizing their city again.
With days left to catch him, and facing a threat unlike any the team has faced before, Detective Beck Nash has one chance to prove she may be the only person who has ever been truly equipped to go toe to toe with this killer. Or die trying.
21 Weeks is a fast-paced police procedural thriller series that ramps up in intensity with each victim that falls until its explosive final week.
Warning: This series is about a serial killer. There will be violence. There will be language. There will be other adult things. It is intended for a mature audience.
R.A. LaShea
R.A. LaShea is a pen name of author Riley LaShea. Under this name, LaShea writes police procedural/thriller 21 Weeks.
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21 Weeks - R.A. LaShea
21 Weeks
WEEK 21
…
R.A. LaShea
21 Weeks: Week 21
Copyright 2015 R.A. LaShea
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form, without written permission of the author. Thank you for supporting the author’s rights and buying an authorized edition of this e-book.
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CONTENTS
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
Author’s Note
1 - UNLV Residential Housing Safe Room - Friday, 9:50 p.m.
Tossing the full plastic water bottle into the air with her left hand - her only hand currently of use - Beck caught and squeezed it as it fell, and tossed it again. It was a crude substitute for real physical therapy, but the few pieces she could covertly slip into the place weren’t working everything, so she’d had to improvise with what they had on hand. Not even close to back in fighting form, she was good enough she guessed, and was certainly better than a week before when she woke up in Baxton’s grandparents’ condo with no idea where she was, or how she survived that trip through the air and into the windshield of Bruce and Lydon’s police cruiser.
Nothing else to do to take her mind off of things, Beck pulled the foot-high wooden stool away from the wall, stepping up onto it, one foot at a time, and back down, feeling the strain in her lower back that had taken the brunt of the impact. The room around her was far from luxury, but it wasn’t a dump either, and they were keeping low-key enough they had yet to be discovered there. Which meant no one was looking for them there. Beck had full faith, if he was looking for them, they would have been found, and this would already be over. The semester over, though, and residences closed until spring, the campus was supposed to be abandoned. A ghost town. Which was pretty fitting for a newly deceased person like herself.
At the beep of the laptop, Beck paused mid-step, walking to the screen as it flickered back to life. Watching the small white mark on the map move, her one fully functional hand was already hovering above her phone when it buzzed.
Hey.
He’s on the move again,
Martinez said.
I see it,
Beck uttered.
It looks like he’s coming your way.
I see that too,
Beck stated. Though, whether that was the best or worst thing had yet to be determined. If he was coming her way, it meant they were right, that they had a chance. Just one more. But, if he was coming her way, it meant the clock was now ticking down at a deafening level. ETA?
Twenty minutes?
Martinez estimated. I should be there by then too. I’ll park in the casino lot across the street. Have you seen anything on your end?
No,
Beck said. But she wasn’t expecting it. If she had seen anything, it would mean they were too close. Just because they didn’t see anything didn’t mean he hadn’t been there. Or that he didn’t still have a presence. That was the thing about phantoms. They had ways of getting in and out unnoticed. She just had to trust they were right, that he would come there, that everything would go as planned. Is Norwood ready?
He will be,
Martinez responded.
Tell him to give us fifteen minutes, then dump the security for forty-five seconds. We’ll be at the doors.
I’ll monitor any changes on the way. If you don’t see anything in thirty minutes, assume something has changed, and meet me out in the parking lot.
Yes, Sir.
Nash?
Martinez said when Beck slid her thumb to the button to end the call. Are you really sure you want to do this?
No.
Beck was actually fairly certain she didn’t. None of them wanted to do this. No one in their right mind would want to do this. And, despite the many knocks it had recently taken, Beck’s mind had been pretty clear for the past week.
I’ll be there soon.
Martinez realized it didn’t mean she wasn’t going to do it, and, when the line went dead, Beck held the tethered phone as high as it would stretch in the low light.
If he had found them, it would have been a rather amazing feat. Because they had taken every precaution to make sure he couldn’t. No one but the Housing Director and Dean of Students knew they were there, and all they knew was Metro was looking into an imminent threat on campus and needed it to be kept completely confidential. It was a meeting held off-site, and off-book. Lieutenant Martinez just bumped into
the dean at a restaurant, and told him to pass on the news, everything unofficial and untraceable. As it had to be, if they had any chance of this succeeding.
Struggling with the phone, Beck really wasn’t sure how she thought she was going to pull any of it off as she raised her right hand, tips of her fingers that hung outside her cast steadying the cell as she typed.
Do it. Message in the text box, she paused over the keypad. They didn’t have a lot of time. They should already be moving themselves. But it felt as if there was something else she should say, that she wanted to say. Knock dragging her gaze across the room, Beck watched the outline settle in the darkened doorway, featureless in the shadows, but stance unmistakable.
Martinez?
the outline asked.
Yeah,
Beck said.
About that time?
It is that time.
Having deliberated too long,