The Defendant

Yes, my last post left you guessing what happened to our poor little prosecutor... This story builds off that one - so if you didn't read the first part yet, click here.
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Jim watched her in the courtroom. The cocky bitch played to her jury with fake sympathy for a woman too stupid not to protect herself against a thug. Rebecca's words rang hollow in his ears. Sitting in the back of the gallery, he glared at her with unveiled hatred. The big bad prosecutor.

Fucking whore.

He knew her weaknesses. Every last one of them. Before he was done, he'd exploit them all.
He had been the one to make her afraid. Make her flee. Make her change her fucking name.

But she couldn't shake him. He found her every time she changed cities. She made it so easy because she had to have the damn spotlight in the courtroom. She wasn't always the prosecutor. Sometimes she was the hot shot criminal defense attorney.

And when he knew her, she was just Rebecca Long. Mousy little college freshman. The sweet innocent little girl that it was so much fun to corrupt.

Rebecca's closing droned on. Her mouth was moving, but he no longer heard her words. He fixated on her lips. Beautiful red lips which would be much better served wrapped around his cock. Her pink tongue. It should be stroking his shaft from base to tip... A low growl escaped from his throat at the memory of her down on her knees before him. Before he blew the element of surprise, he left the courtroom.

As the doors slid closed, he turned to watch Rebecca one more time. He knew she felt like she'd hit her stride by the way she strut across the courtroom. Her bitch walk. Too bad it wouldn't matter.

Her defeat was a foregone conclusion. He'd seen to that. It was so easy to threaten and bribe the jury. Forget a hung jury. The defendant would walk with a straight acquittal. The man was fucking guilty as sin and him getting off would eat at Rebecca, throw her off her game and keep her very much off guard.

Jim Dowd strode through the courthouse toward the exit. He found Rebecca's car easily in the parking lot. She always drove a midnight blue Mercedes, another thing which made her such an easy mark. Despite the unseasonably warm weather, he slipped his hands into black leather gloves before reaching into his pocket.

Her removed an envelope, running his gloved fingers over the creamy ivory fabric, before sliding it under a windshield wiper. He couldn't wait for Rebecca find it. He would enjoy watching her reaction, the fear that would quickly flash in her eyes before she could reign in her control. Jim slipped into the shadows and waited.

He was soon rewarded with the telltale sound of Rebecca's stilettos clacking against the pavement. He could see her fishing through her purse for her car keys. Then she saw the envelope on the car. Jim smiled smugly when Rebecca could only hiss "no" upon seeing his little gift for her.

Shaking hands tore at the envelope. She drew out a square of hard ivory card stock. A piece from her own collection. Written in blood red letters was his message: "YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CAN'T HIDE."

Rebecca's lips opened in shock and a scream ripped loose before she could stop herself. Jim's letter floated to the ground as Rebecca fled to the safety of her car. The tires squealed as she peeled out of the parking lot. Jim knew she spent the entire ride home looking for him in the rear view mirror.

He waited a day before his next contact, letting Rebecca regain some of her balance. Then, as a Rebecca was climbing into bed, he hurled a rock through the bedroom window. The screams were music to his ears.

The games continued over the course of the next week. Jim leaving little presents for Rebecca. His favorites were the dead animal on her doorstep and the wilted roses delivered to her office. It was time for them to meet face-to-face again.

Rebecca was working late at the office. He knew she was seeking sanctuary there, thinking that no one would harm her if she was in the hallowed halls of the courthouse, surrounded by police and sheriffs. While he was a lot of things, Jim was not a stupid man. He had to lure her outside to the parking lot where he would be waiting.

Jim pulled out his phone, linked to an account that would never be traced to him and sent a quick email. Nothing fancy, just enough words to elicit the desired effect. Watch your back!

His efforts were quickly rewarded. He could already hear the Rebecca's towering heels clicking against the sidewalk. He began following her, letting his footsteps match the pace of hers. Rebecca broke into a run toward her car. Damn, that bitch moves fast Jim thought as he pulled the gun from the small of his back.

Rebecca was almost to her car. He couldn't let her get away from him this time! He planted his feet and took aim. The Beretta felt good in his hand, heavy and deadly. A quick squeeze of his trigger finger and the first shots rang out.

Jim didn't want to kill his prey, yet. He just wanted to wound her, slow her down so he could capture her, bring her back to his place. That short trip alone would torture her... Oh, Rebecca would die tonight - but not here in the parking lot.

The bullet hit its mark, tearing through Rebecca's side. She fell to the ground, pressing her hand to the wound. She was a tough bitch, he'd give her that. He watched her pull herself along the ground, open the car door and start rooting around inside.

He slowly stalked toward Rebecca, gun trained on her. She had backed herself against the wall of the parking garage, still bleeding profusely. He stopped in front of her, staring down at the weak creature before him. "I told you before. You can never get away from me." His cold voice echoed through the garage.

Then the stupid bitch pulled a gun on him. When the hell did she get a Glock? Who cares? Jim was an expert marksman and Rebecca? She would never hurt a fly.

She glared up at him, face a mask of pain and fear, and whispered hoarsely, "And I told you before. We are over. Now. Get. Away. From. Me."

Jim laughed at her. "You'll never shoot me, Becky." He taunted her, gun still aimed at her heart. Rebecca aimed the Glock at his head. "Wanna make a bet, asshole."

They both fired. Gunshots echoed through the night. Sirens wailed as the police drew closer.

Jim lay on the ground on the other side of Rebecca's car. He squeezed off a couple more shots. Rebecca answered back with her own rapid fire.

Jim chanced a look at Rebecca. She cowered against the wall, bleeding profusely. She had multiple gun shot wounds. Her blue eyes blazed as they met his. Then her long lashes fluttered and her eyes closed.

Pressing his hand against his own wound, Jim grinned. At least the bitch died before he did. Jim sputtered and gasped his last breath.

When Officer Valentine arrived on scene, he couldn't believe his eyes. Blood was everywhere. Gun in hand, he crept closer to inspect the bodies. He stepped over the gun casings, careful not to disturb the crime scene.

Valentine knelt next to the first body. The man had lost a lot of blood and was suffering from a shot to the gut. A Beretta lay next to the man. Valentine quickly kicked it out of reach with the toe of his boot before pressing his fingers to the man's neck, looking for a pulse. Dead.

Valentine turned his attention to the other side of the car. A woman was propped against the wall, gun still in hand. He carefully moved closer and knelt before her. The woman was unconscious, her breathing shallow and labored.

He knew her instantly. "Shit, Becks. What the hell did you get yourself into?" Valentine whispered. Then he radioed for an ambulance and hoped they weren't too late...