Die for Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer (22 page)

“I found him here watching you and Ms. Cole,” the captain said as he continued to glare at Marcus.

Marcus cleared his throat.

Dane marched toward him. “Enjoy the show?”

“It was illuminating,” Marcus confessed.

Dane lunged for him.

The captain stepped in his path. “Easy, Black.”

Detective Black had an anger management issue, obviously.

Why is Katherine so drawn to him?
That was another part of the puzzle.

There was so much more going on here.

“Your profile is shit,” Black snapped. “Katherine was never involved in any of the killings—she was as much of a victim as anyone.”

Marcus glanced through the two-way mirror at Katherine. He realized then that Black had left the interrogation room door open, giving Katherine the chance to leave. But she wasn’t leaving. Marcus exhaled slowly. “Before Dr. Lancaster, Valentine had never killed a man.”

His gaze couldn’t leave Katherine.

Trent Lancaster had been dating her. At the station, he’d savaged her with a verbal attack that a roomful of cops had witnessed.

Then he’d been killed. Executed.

And taken to Katherine’s gallery.

Delivered. Almost like a present. With Valentine’s Day so close, did the killer believe he’d just given Katherine the ultimate gift? Proof of his devotion? Valentine had obviously wanted to make contact with Katherine. He’d wanted her to appreciate his gift.

Possibilities began to roll through Marcus’s head. He pushed past the cops and hurried toward the bull pen. Dr. Knight was there, glaring at the uniformed men.

Black followed on his heels. Good. He wanted the detective to hear this exchange. Black was good at reading people. The guy would have made one hell of a profiler.
Better than me.

“Why do you think Valentine never tried to hurt Katherine?” Marcus asked her.

Dr. Knight turned toward him. “Who are you?”

“I’m FBI Agent Marcus Wayne.” He stared down at her. Pretty, composed, and from what he’d learned in his preliminary background investigation, very, very smart. But she’d also just potentially thrown away her psychiatry license.

Not so smart.

Why would a woman like her take that risk?

“Well?” he pressed.

Black and the captain joined him at the small desk.

Dr. Knight’s gaze darted around the circle that surrounded her.

“He saw something in her,” Dr. Knight said slowly. “Something that stopped him from killing her.”

Exactly what Marcus thought. Only, before, he’d believed that Valentine had spared Katherine because he recognized a kindred spirit in her.

But what if it was something else?

Marcus glanced over his shoulder at the interrogation room. What if, when Valentine looked at her, he hadn’t seen a victim or a killer? What if he’d seen…

Hope?

Katherine was a mirror for him, yes, but instead of reflecting darkness back to him, maybe she’d shown Valentine a glimpse of what life would be like, if he had been normal.

Katherine had loved Michael O’Rourke. Had that been the first time in Valentine’s life he’d ever actually been
loved
?

Perhaps through Katherine, Valentine had seen his chance to reach for happiness. To have what others around him seemed to enjoy. A wife. A home. A life that didn’t involve beatings and punishment. Katherine had given Valentine the promise of everything he’d ever wanted.

And if Katherine truly was that one perfect glimpse, that one chance Valentine had for a connection with another person, just what would the killer be willing to do in order to ensure that Katherine always stayed safe?

The answer, to Marcus, was obvious.

Anything.

The historic building in the French Quarter sat, stark and silent, near the end of the street. The glow from a nearby streetlamp fell on the entranceway, softening the hard lines of the building just a bit. Dane hadn’t wanted to take Katherine back to her house—not after the big disclosure Evelyn had made to the reporters, and he also hadn’t wanted the media following them back to his place.

So they’d sneaked out the back of the station and taken refuge here. The apartment would give them a chance to decompress—safely—for a while.

Dane held open the car door as Katherine climbed out of the car and glanced up at the safe house. “Whose place is this?” she asked.

“It belongs to a friend of the captain’s.” Harley was a man with plenty of connections.

The scent of the Mississippi drifted on the wind even as faint jazz music teased his ears.

Katherine glanced down the street. “Do we have guards?”

Yes, guards she wouldn’t see if the men did their jobs right. He gave a grim nod.

He unlocked the street-level door, then led her up the stairs toward the apartment, making sure to set the security system behind them.

The place had been remodeled after its sale to some celebrity—a guy who’d later gone bankrupt. Now the luxury apartment seemed to sit vacant most nights.

Not tonight.

They reached the top floor. Again Dane set the security system—a secondary system now. One of the reasons this place was so perfect for tonight was the state-of-the-art security that it offered.

Katherine stepped into the apartment, then paused in the middle of the living room, her shoulders stiff, and gazed around. “What happens now?”

Now I keep my hands off you.
It was what he should do. He was already getting too involved with her.

Katherine glanced over her shoulder at him. A woman truly shouldn’t have eyes like that. Eyes so deep and beautiful. He’d never seen a woman with golden eyes before. Not until her.

He locked the door and didn’t take a step toward her. “Now you go take a shower and get into bed. It’s been a hell of a day.”

No emotion flickered in her gaze. “Yes. It has been.”

She needed to walk away. Because he wasn’t smelling the river then. He was catching her scent. Remembering her taste. It was so hard to keep from touching her. Her skin was like silk. He could caress her for hours.

Katherine walked away. The shower kicked on a few moments later. He heard the spray of water from the next room.

His breath rushed out. Sonofabitch. He wasn’t used to turning away from a woman who looked like a wet dream.

But with her…it hadn’t just been sex.

The woman was lethal, in more ways than one.

Dane shoved his hand into a pocket and yanked out his phone. He dialed his partner’s number, and as he waited for Mac to pick up, he glanced out the window. Only the night stared back.

“Shouldn’t you be busy with your lady?” Mac muttered, sounding slightly annoyed. Voices buzzed in the background.

He was trying
not
to be busy with her. “We’re secure at the safe house.”

“And I’m getting ready to make sure that Dr. Knight gets home and away from the station.”

The woman had still been there when they left. “She still insisting on seeing the body?”

“Yeah, and Ronnie’s almost ready for her.”

Ronnie had told Dane that she’d have a report ready on Trent Lancaster by dawn. Maybe the killer had left some evidence they could use.

“How are you doing?” Mac’s voice had dropped.

Dane frowned.

“I saw your face,” Mac said softly, “when Katherine stepped in front of the cameras.”

Dane’s jaw ached, and he forced himself to unclench his teeth. “I didn’t know she planned to make that move.” He’d wanted to yank her back, to shield her with his body.

“Wasn’t the plan to use her?”

The plan hadn’t been to destroy her life—and now, because of those few moments on camera, the life she’d built as Katherine Cole would be gone.

The door opened behind Dane. His shoulders stiffened. “I’ve got to go, Mac. See you at tomorrow’s briefing.” He ended the call, then slowly turned around.

Katherine’s wet hair trailed down her back. She had a white towel wrapped around her, covering her from breast to thigh. Her eyes were on him.

Her scent was pulling him in.
She
was pulling him closer, and the woman wasn’t even moving. “Do you need anything from me tonight?”

Her smile was sad. “Chase away my nightmares?”

“I thought you didn’t have nightmares.”

Katherine averted her gaze. “I lied.”

He knew that. “What are your nightmares about?”

Her gaze held his. “I’m back in my old basement. Valentine is there. He’s wearing his black apron—he always wore that apron when he painted. Only he’s not painting. And the red on that apron…it isn’t paint. It’s my blood.”

His muscles turned to stone.

“I’m on his table.” Her voice was flat. “My hands are tied. My mouth is taped shut. I can’t scream. I can’t move. And I know he’s going to kill me.” She rolled her shoulders, as if pushing the image away. “That’s one of my nightmares. I have plenty more.”

He wanted her in his arms.

“Don’t pity me.” Her voice snapped like a whip. Not flat now, but furious. “Pity isn’t what I want from you. You were the only one who didn’t look at me with pity in your eyes!”

Before he could speak, she spun away.

He wanted to grab her arm. Even reached out to her.

But then his hand fisted.

Stay on guard.

He watched her walk away. And he didn’t follow. His cock shoved at the front of his pants. He could taste her in his mouth. But he didn’t follow.

Because Dane was coming to realize that he didn’t just want sex from Katherine. He was starting to want…
everything.

If he had his way, he’d get it.

Ronnie whistled softly as her tennis shoes moved over the tile in the morgue. It was edging close to midnight, and the place was pretty much deserted.

Dead quiet.

Normally she didn’t mind the quiet, but tonight, she felt on edge.

She lifted the sheet that covered Trent Lancaster’s upper body. Her gaze dipped over his wounds. This attack wasn’t as controlled as the others. It was as if the killer had been enraged.

“I’m sorry you had to cross my slab,” she whispered. She was always sorry for the bodies that found their way to her.

These people, they never died easily.

She’d seen deaths that still made her shudder.

She pulled the sheet back and reached for the tox screens that had just come in. A report for Savannah Slater and Amy Evans. Getting a tox screen was standard protocol, and—

What the hell?

Ronnie frowned as she read the results. Fentanyl. That was a seriously high dose. And for both victims?

She put the reports down and hurried toward Savannah Slater’s body. She unzipped the heavy bag that enclosed Savannah—the woman’s body was due for transport soon—and Savannah’s pale flesh was revealed. Ronnie grabbed a small flashlight and began to shine the light over the victim’s body.

Fentanyl was like morphine, and with a dose that high, Savannah would have been unconscious. Easy prey.

The question was…just how had she been given that dose?

I missed something with her. I missed it.

Ronnie’s flashlight swept over Savannah’s arms, lingering near her veins. No puncture wounds. But maybe the slashes had hidden an injection site.

Maybe…

The flashlight rose. Ronnie swept it over Savannah’s neck and saw the small brown mark. So tiny.

She leaned closer. Her heart beat faster.

The injection site.
So incredibly small. Placed right above the jugular so the drug would have been pushed into the victim’s system immediately.

Savannah never had a chance.

“Dr. Thomas?”

She jumped at the deep, rumbling voice—a voice that was all too familiar to her. She spun around and saw Mac standing in the doorway.

A slightly disheveled blonde woman was next to him.

“Dr. Thomas…” Mac was formal only when others were around. When they were alone, it was quite a different story. “Are we clear to view Trent Lancaster’s body?”

Her gaze darted to the blonde once more. Right. Right. That was Evelyn Knight—she’d heard rumbles about her from some of the uniforms who’d dropped by earlier. Evelyn had gone on the air and outed Katherine Cole.

She hadn’t expected Evelyn to look so fragile.

Evelyn’s shocked gaze was on Savannah Slater’s body. Ronnie jumped to attention and hurriedly covered Savannah once more. “Yes, yes, of course. Give me just a moment.”

She took a deep breath. She wanted to race over to the body of Amy Evans and search for a puncture wound, but word had come down from the captain that she was to make sure Evelyn saw Lancaster’s body.

Apparently the woman had said she wouldn’t leave the station until she saw Trent.

After her outburst to the media, the captain was trying to placate her.

Ronnie knew that Harley’s placating moves rarely lasted long.

Evelyn’s high heels tapped over the tile. “Which one? Where is Trent?”

Ronnie quickly adjusted a new pair of latex gloves. “He’s here.” She pointed toward the sheet-covered body. “And, Dr. Knight, I’m very sorry for your loss.” Ronnie had said those words hundreds of times—but she meant them. She hated seeing people in pain as they viewed their loved ones.