Three Times a Lady

Chapter 43

Two days later, Dana went on national television to do an interview with Brent Price – the reporter from Cleveland who’d ambushed her outside the front doors of her apartment complex a year earlier.

After a lengthy discussion with Bill Krugman about how they wanted to proceed, Dana and the Director had finally decided that the best way to go about things would be to lure Nicole Preston out from beneath whatever rock she was hiding under at the moment by staging an elaborate, televised presentation – ostensibly to discuss the recent, horrific murders of celebrities.

With the information they’d compiled about Preston’s psychology and the woman’s overwhelming need for the spotlight, Dana felt confident that the murdering little bitch wouldn’t be able to stay away. And that’s why the taping of the show would be accessible to the general public, as well. It was a dangerous gamble and one that probably bordered on the ethically questionable, but Dana and Krugman felt like they needed to take a chance at this point. To protect attendees, seventy-five plain-clothed FBI agents would be stationed around Hammond Stadium, posing as snack vendors and concessions workers.

The home of the minor-league affiliate of the Minnesota Twins was located on Six Mile Cypress Parkway and seemed like the perfect place for the highly scripted ruse to unfold. The underlying hope was that the outdoor setting and throngs of people expected to attend would lure Nicole Preston into a false sense of security.

Only time would tell.

At precisely eight o’clock in the evening, Dana took the stage in the middle of the baseball diamond following a short introduction from the public-address announcer. From her seat in the middle of the large wooden platform, she scanned the crowd.

More than a thousand people, easy. Just below the stage, dozens of members of the press lined the fishbowl, cameras focused squarely on Dana. Still no sign of Preston yet, though.

Brent Price turned in his seat to face Dana and smiled warmly. ‘Special Agent Whitestone,’ he said, his voice echoing over the PA system in the stadium. ‘Thank you so much for agreeing to do this interview. I guess the main thing we all want to know is what can you tell us about the Censor? What can you tell us about Nicole Preston? What makes this woman tick?’

Dana cleared her throat. ‘Thanks for having me, Brent,’ she said, trying her best to ignore the unsettling feedback of her own voice in her ears. ‘It’s a pleasure to be here tonight. Anyway, Nicole Preston – or the Censor, as the press has taken to calling her – is a serial killer who’s been targeting famous people around the country. She’s already killed four people that we know of and she’ll undoubtedly kill more in the near future. Preston is an egomaniac, has delusions of grandeur. Killers like her never stop until they’re caught.’

Price templed his fingers in front of his body and nodded, obviously playing up his time in the national spotlight for all it was worth. No big surprise there, though. From all appearances, he intended to parlay this once-in-a-life opportunity into a glitzy new job in New York City – or anywhere else in the country not named Cleveland. ‘I see,’ Price said. ‘And what exactly is the FBI doing to catch this woman?’

Dana cleared her throat again. She was just about to answer Price when a gunshot suddenly cracked through the night. A split-second later, a speeding bullet whizzed past her right ear.

Everything devolved into pure pandemonium after that as the screaming crowd stampeded toward the exits like a herd of terrified buffalo. Whipping out her Glock from the shoulder holster underneath her FBI blazer, Dana scanned the crowd frantically.

Nothing but chaos.

Another bullet whistled past her head, zinging by her left ear this time. Dana scanned the crowd again, her breath hitching in her throat. She saw plenty of guns out there, but they all belonged to the undercover feds working the stadium. Finally, on the third shot from the crowd, Dana caught a muzzle flash coming from the fishbowl holding the press.

A huge chunk of stage exploded in a shower of splinters at her feet. A man with media credentials slung around his neck lifted a huge black pistol and aimed the barrel directly at the centre of Dana’s forehead.

A Mickey Mouse watch was strapped around his left wrist.

Confusion flooded through Dana’s brain. A dozen thoughts raced through her mind at once, bumping into each other before shattering away into more confusion. Chief among them: How the hell could she get off a clean shot with so many people around?

Before Dana could outthink herself, her instincts took over. Aiming her gun and pulling back her finger on the Glock’s trigger, she felt a familiar power explode up her arm as the firearm went off with a tremendous bang.

Thankfully – unlike her confidence – Dana’s aim hadn’t suffered one little bit over the past year. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.

The bullet from her Glock tore off the top of the man’s head cleanly at his hairline. An absolutely perfect shot.

A moment later, his bloody scalp came to a tumbling stop alongside the third-base foul line, a good fifty feet away from where it had initially begun.