Cold Fear Read Online Free Page A

to.
    Frazer understood because he was feeling them, too. He let out a long breath. “Tell her to take all the time she needs.”
    “I already did,” Parker said tightly.
    “Yeah, but tell her I said so. She listens to me.” He shut down his desktop computer. “I want her fit and healthy for work, even if she has to spend the next nine months in bed. I have some personal leave she can use.” And there’d be other agents who’d do the same for a colleague going through a tough time. The FBI was a family. They took care of their own.
    Frazer put his arm through his jacket sleeve, closed his laptop, and put it in its case. The thought of Rooney and Parker losing the baby put a rock in his throat and reminded him why it was always best to keep his distance. Too late now. “You should name him after me, you know, considering the circumstances.” Circumstances that traced back to a remote woods in the heart of West Virginia and facing down another serial killer.
    “Mal wants to name him after my grandfather if he’s a boy and after my mother if she’s a girl.” The controlled tension in Parker’s voice told him the guy was terrified.
    Frazer felt that lump in his throat grow bigger. Shit. “Keep her safe, Alex. I’ll take care of the situation in North Carolina.”
    “Call me if you need anything. I can work the case from here.” Amongst other things, Parker was an expert in cyber security and could run traces in his sleep.
    “I intend to.”
    “Happy New Year, Linc.”
    “Not yet it isn’t.”
    “No shit.” Parker sounded pissed off.
    “This is my fault, you know. For wishing things would get back to normal.”
    “You were hankering after serial killers?”
    “Yeah. I must be as aberrant as they are.”
    “Nah,” Parker drawled. “You’re way crazier than those fuckers.”
    A reluctant smile tugged Frazer’s lips. “Take care of her for us, Alex.” Then he hung up and strode out of his office.
    Happy New Year.
    *     *     *
    F ERRIS D ENKER WATCHED the cockroach idle its way across the floor. He planted one of his feet and the bug switched direction. He did it again and the roach tried to burrow under the rubber heel of his canvas shoe. Poor misunderstood creature. He picked it up and let it run over his hands. The creature’s legs felt sturdy but brittle, its feet grasping the whorls and ridges of his palm.
    He turned his hand over and the bug fell to the floor, its thin carapace making a dull clicking noise as it hit. The bug popped back up, and they started their game over. Handel’s Concerti Grossi Op. 6 played on his sound system—a pleasant change from the constant din of Christmas carols that had bounced around the Death Row facility over the last few weeks. He tried not to complain. The guys needed a little enjoyment in this sinkhole of despair.
    “Hey, Ferris.” A familiar voice hissed from the next cell. Billy Painter. The guy had raped and murdered a young woman and then done the same to her eighty-year-old grandmother.
    How the jury had wept.
    The kid had been here for the last five years and was on his second appeal.
    Ferris walked over to the door. The top half was made of steel bars. “What is it, Billy?”
    “You heard from your lawyer yet?”
    Billy would have seen if Ferris had received any news, but the fact he asked the question was grounds for his new appeal. Billy’s IQ and shoe size were almost exactly the same. The guy might have big feet, but he was still dumb as a rock.
    “Nothing yet, Billy.” The warrant for his execution sat on his poor excuse for a desk. The warden had served it on Christmas Eve, which he’d thought was a nice touch for a closet sadist. Despite having had years to prepare, knowing he was scheduled to die on January 25 made his knees shake—not that he’d ever admit it. They’d transfer him to Columbia for the execution itself, but the last thing he wanted was to make that final hundred mile journey.
    “I’m sorry, man.”