Duty Bound

Chapter 1-2

Every now and then he’d let his gaze wander about the café, sometimes resting for a time on another customer. He liked to guess what might be going on in that person’s life. Was it as shitty as his? Shittier? With all the crap in the world Murphy thought sane people still walking the planet to be something of a miracle.

On his next circuit of the room his gaze came to rest on a man’s hands. They were big, huge even. Murphy stood six-three himself but his hands sure as hell weren’t that damn big. They were competent hands, efficiently working a mobile phone, the tanned digits flying over the keys. Did anyone not have tanned skin in this blessed country, he wondered as he followed the smooth, olive skin up the man’s arms, stopping for a moment to admire the hint of muscle poking out from the sleeve of the man’s T-shirt. The material strained over the bulk of his arms, likewise the fabric pulled tight across his chest. The man was built.

He admired the stranger’s chest for a time, idly wondering if he had time to perhaps make use of the room that he had recently vacated; he was sure housekeeping hadn’t cleaned it out yet. But there was a conversation he did not want to have with the rather stuffy concierge. His hotel sure as hell hadn’t been a by the hour type of place.

He smiled at the idea, though it was tinged with regret because he knew he’d have to pass on this extraordinary man sitting not fifteen feet from him. He continued his exploration, up the long column of his throat, tracing over the bump of the man’s Adam’s apple before finally reaching his face.

Murphy locked eyes with the stranger and froze. His entire body convulsed as though he might be sick. His heart pounded in his chest, so damn hard he expected it to burst right out of him and flop like a fish out of water on the table in front of him. Despite the air-conditioning and the ice in his veins, sweat beaded all over his shaky body.

It couldn’t be.

He’d gone full crazy and was now hallucinating in broad daylight. Had to be. There was no other way. No other explanation for Romulus Mazarin to be sitting across from him in a café in Brisbane Australia.

Never taking his eyes from Romulus, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Sure, he might be making a huge ass of himself by calling the cops on a hallucination, but Romulus was too dangerous to risk it. If he had escaped and followed Murphy here, he needed to be locked up again before Murphy took another gasping breath.

“Fire, Ambulance, or Police?” the operator asked in his ear.

“Police,” he answered, trying to hide his mouth so Romulus couldn’t read his lips, though he had to know Murphy was calling the cops.

A second operator took over the call asking what the emergency was. How to explain? “Yes. I’m looking at a man who I believe to be an escaped serial killer.”

“Beg your pardon?” Uncertainty crept into the operator’s tone.

“Please, just send someone to the It’s a Grind café on Adelaide St. Down from the mall. There is a man in the coffee shop who is a convicted serial killer and he must have escaped.”

“Is he harming anybody at this moment?”

“No. He’s having coffee. Look, his name is Romulus Mazarin. Google him. He should be in the States, in prison awaiting his death penalty. And before you ask, I’m certain it’s him because I was on the jury that convicted him.” Jesus, he hoped he sounded convincing enough. He’d follow the son of a b***h if he had to and do his best to capture him himself, but he f*****g hoped it didn’t come to that.

“All right, sir,” the operator continued, “We’ve got a unit on the way. Stay on the line with me while I get some more details from you.”

Murphy nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see him. He was consumed with watching Romulus. The murderer remained seated, calmly watching him as he finished his coffee, his dark gaze penetrating right into Murphy’s core. How many people had looked into those eyes as their life was stolen from them? That face the last they’d ever seen. Murphy swallowed the bile as his mind traversed the details of Romulus’ brutality. He’d do anything to never have to think about it again.

Romulus didn’t appear to be in any hurry to get out of there considering he had to know the police were on their way. Who else would Murphy be calling when face to face with a killer?

Murphy couldn’t stop shaking. His limbs ached, his stomach rolled and spun like a f*****g sea otter playing in the ocean. How had this happened? How could a man on f*****g death row escape? And then it dawned on him that perhaps he hadn’t. Had his lawyers discovered some loophole to get the bastard off? Surely, he’d have been warned. At the very least it would have been all over the news and his family would have called him, or Josie would have mentioned it.

Couldn’t be that. Romulus had to have escaped. Perhaps he manipulated some poor woman who worked at the prison. That had been how he’d gotten his victims. Cozied up to a woman, charmed her into thinking he was a good guy and then snatching her and her kid. He’d been interested in the children, killing the mothers almost immediately but keeping the children alive for a handful of days until he tired of them.

God, the f*****g images assaulted Murphy the second he thought of them. The things Romulus had done—he shook his head, trying to dislodge the memories. He needed to focus on Romulus, on keeping him here until the police arrived.

As if conjured by his thoughts two police entered the café. Murphy stood, keeping his gaze on Romulus as he made his way to them. He expected any moment for Romulus to bolt, but the man stayed seated, unconcerned by the arrival of law enforcement.

“That’s him,” Murphy shouted as he neared. “That’s Romulus.” He looked at the cops now but pointed to Romulus. One of the officers broke away and ventured to Romulus’ table while the second one kept on towards Murphy.

“Mr. White?”

Murphy nodded, still focusing on Romulus in case he tried to escape.

“Take your seat, Mr. White, and we’ll have a chat.” The officer was tall, not as big as Murphy but still a good-sized man. He definitely seemed the more threatening of the two officers. Is that why he was approaching Murphy? Did they think he was the danger? Goddamn it.

“I’m telling you, that man is Romulus Mazarin. He’s killed six women and nine children. Please. You must believe me.” Murphy took his seat again as he spoke. He was trying not to do anything to spook the cop and draw the attention from Romulus.

“My partner’s having a chat with the gentleman. We’ll get this sorted.”

“He’ll have fake ID. He’s escaped from prison in the US. He has money so he would have been able to buy—”

“Calm down, Mr. White.”

Murphy hadn’t even realized he’d risen to his feet, his voice far louder than necessary in the confined space.

“Sir. Take a seat,” the officer said, his voice still filled with patience, yet now also firm and intimidating.

“Please, just call someone, anybody, to confirm what I’m telling you. He’s too dangerous to let go.”

“Mr. White, we’re already looking into your story. Just waiting for them to get back to us.”

Story.

Murphy got the impression this police officer at least didn’t believe him. And the man would have a fair point. It seemed pretty far-fetched.

“Look, Officer…?”

“Lockyer.”

“Officer Lockyer, I know Romulus Mazarin. Know exactly what he looks like and that man is him.”

Lockyer appraised him for long moments, assessing his sanity most likely. Right now, Murphy felt a bit crazy but all that mattered was getting that monster back behind bars where he belonged.

“Mr. White, anytime now my partner is going to come over and share what he learned from speaking with the gentleman. And then I’m gonna get a call which will sort this all out once and for all. Sit tight and stay calm.” Lockyer crossed his arms over his chest, perhaps showing Murphy he had some bulk behind him if he saw fit to act up.

Murphy turned his attention to Romulus, still sitting rather serenely at his table. The second officer held a wallet in his hand and was—too casually for Murphy’s liking—engaging him in chit chat. He should have his gun drawn and trained on Romulus. From where he sat, Murphy didn’t think Romulus was paying one bit of mind to the cop. His gaze remained fixed on Murphy, his face expressionless, his body relaxed.

The officer handed the wallet back to Romulus, said something to which Romulus replied with a nod, and then walked toward Murphy and his partner. “Says he’s not Romulus Mazarin,” he drawled, no urgency, no worry in his tone.

“Then who the hell did he say he was?” Murphy shouted, standing once more, this time drawing the worried frowns of two cops.

“Suffice it to say, Mr. White,” second cop said, “I’m satisfied he’s not Romulus…Mazarin.”

Murphy clenched his jaw, preparing to shout—again—at a couple of cops. Instead he watched as Romulus ambled toward them. Murphy backed up—instinctually retreating from a predator—until his back thudded against the wall. He felt as though his eyes were glued to Romulus, simply unable to look away.

“I’m not who you think I am,” Romulus said—and the voice was Romulus’.

“You are Romulus Mazarin. I sat across from you for three weeks during your trial. I memorized your face, your crimes. I memorized every detail of what you did to those women…those children,” Murphy choked out. “I can’t forget a single thing.” His body shook, ached with the constant trembling, but he was not going to let this monster walk out of here a free man. The two cops moved in close so that all three of them surrounded Murphy where he stood pressed into the wall.

“Murphy,” Romulus said, wincing when he realized that he’d given himself away by calling Murphy by name. “Look, I—”

Officer Lockyer suddenly pitched forward, would have hit Murphy, except he was already being dragged to the ground by Romulus. In the space of a few seconds several shots rang out, zinging into the wall where Murphy had stood seconds ago—would still be standing if Romulus hadn’t tackled him down.

Had Lockyer been shot? What the f**k was happening?

Romulus’ big body lay over him. Murphy braced for the bullet he knew was coming his way. But all the gun fire came from a distance. Not close by. Not point blank. Besides there was no way Romulus could miss him from this distance.

“Keep your f*****g head down,” Romulus hissed in his ear, one of his giant hands pushing on the back of Murphy’s head, pressing him into the floor.

His heart thudded in his ears; panic clawed its way up his throat. From a short distance away, he heard the second officer desperately calling for help. Shots fired. Officer down. Other information Murphy just could not process right then.

What the f**k is going on?

Sirens blared in the distance, competing with the screaming of terrified witnesses. Romulus’ heavy body still lay over him, preventing him from rising though it had been a while since the last shot. Or had it? Time made no sense anymore.

Finally, the weight lifted from him, but a vise-like grip latched on to his arm. Romulus yanked him to his feet, manhandling him until they were face to face. “Come on,” he yelled, pulling Murphy as he spoke.

Murphy dug his feet in, determined he wasn’t going anywhere with a killer. He knew better than to be taken to a second location. Lockyer lay face down to his left, blood sprayed everywhere. The second officer was at his side, one hand holding his drawn weapon, the other frantically roaming over Lockyer’s body. He raised pleading eyes to Murphy. “Help me.”

Murphy reefed his arm free of Romulus’ hold and dropped to his knees. They’d have to flip Lockyer over to see how bad his injuries were. The metallic stench of blood filled his nostrils making his gorge rise, but he bit it down. Leaving the second cop to focus on the shooters, Murphy flipped Lockyer, surprised by the ease of the turn until he realized Romulus was right beside him—helping.

“Christ,” he muttered when he saw Lockyer’s wound. Half the man’s damn face was gone. He felt for a pulse, though knew how unlikely it’d be to find one. The cop’s chest did not rise and fall, no discernible heartbeat thrummed beneath his fingers. He glanced over at the second cop and shook his head.

“f**k,” the cop swore.

“Murphy,” Romulus murmured, “we need to go. Now.”

“I’m not f*****g going anywhere with you, Romulus.” Murphy tried to push away from Romulus, but the man’s grip held firm.

“I told you. I’m not Romulus. I’m Remus, his twin. And that guy who just killed this cop…he’s coming for you.”

Twin.

Was it possible? Murphy had no reason to believe the man other than it made just as much sense as a serial killer on death row escaping and traveling to the other side of the world. He recalled talk of a brother at the trial, but had it been a twin? An identical twin, even down to the same voice?

Everything else was the same. Skin tone, size, mouth, nose, the same green eyes surrounded by thick black lashes. This man’s hair was longer, scruffier, maybe a little darker than Murphy remembered, and he wasn’t as closely shaved as the man in the courtroom.

Was he seriously considering this?

“Okay,” he said, “Let’s say I believe you and you’re not Romulus Mazarin and there is someone after me. Why would I take off with you? Surely I’m safer here with the cop and more on the way.”

“I get it, Murphy,” Remus said, impatience creeping into his tone. “I do get it. But, please—”

“Trust you? I’m not even convinced who you really are. So, I’m sure as hell not going off God knows where with a man that may or may not be a f*****g killer.”

Romulus—no Remus—watched Murphy intently, studying his every move, each breath. His eyes dropped to Murphy’s mouth and for once crazy second in this ass-backwards day, Murphy thought the man meant to kiss him. Then he went back to holding Murphy’s gaze with his own.

He felt uncomfortable, though not in the way he’d always imagined he would if he came face to face with the monster Romulus Mazarin again. He recalled vividly the predatory glare Romulus had often shot the jury, the danger, the evil in that look as though he was planning how he intended to kill each of them. The green eyes watching him now still had a hint of the same predatory gaze, yet Murphy sensed no danger, no evil in them. He shook his head. None of this made any sense.

The sirens were closing in on them and for a second Murphy thought everything was going to turn out okay. Then more shots rang out and Remus was shoving him toward the counter, doing his best to shelter Murphy’s body with his own. Murphy ducked mechanically, dropping to his knees once they’d made it behind the relative safety of the counter.

The terrified eyes of the barista stared as they settled in with their backs to the counter. Murphy glanced at Remus, only then noticing he had a gun of his own. Again, he stiffened as though expecting a bullet to tear through his flesh at any moment.

“Is there a back entrance?” Remus shouted above the noise.

Murphy shrugged—hell if he knew—then realized he wasn’t asking him. The terrified barista pointed, her arm shaking so violently Murphy thought it in danger of actually coming loose from her body.

“We need to go, Murphy.”

“No, I—” His words cut off as he watched, stunned into immobility as Remus raised his arm and struck him hard in the head. He had no time to think of anything more as everything around him darkened and reality disappeared.