Die for Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer (28 page)

“What are you doing, Detective? Are you trying to take my Kat away?” Valentine stared at the screen. Rewound the footage. Played it again.

The detective kept touching Kat too much. He’d thought their relationship was a ploy at first.

A way of getting to me.

But Kat looked at the detective differently. Her gaze softened when she stared at him.

And she touched the detective. Kat didn’t like to touch others. But she touched Dane Black.
Far too much.

Valentine leaned forward and studied the scene once more. Something was off. He glared at the detective. The man had a past as fucked-up as Valentine’s own. He would never do for Katherine.

And if he kept touching—

The detective was wearing latex gloves.
Why?
Why wear gloves if they were just running in to pack a bag for Kat?

Valentine backed away from the screen.

This scene wasn’t about getting clothes.

Dane Black had been searching for something in that house. Then he’d hauled ass out of there…because he’d found what he was looking for.

Valentine watched as the detective’s gaze darted toward the security box. There…
there.
Dane Black’s stare narrowed.

He’d worn the gloves so the guy wouldn’t disturb any evidence. And, while Katherine had been packing, Dane had—

He found me.

Valentine ran for the stairs.

The house was unassuming. Small and brick, nestled at the end of a narrow street. Darkness was coming, and heavy shadows stretched over the area.

From his position behind the patrol car, Dane glared at the house.

“Doesn’t look like the place a serial killer would call home, huh?” The question came from Anthony Ross. Like Dane, he stood behind the patrol car. The marshal had been one of the first responders to rush to the scene.

“It looks
exactly
like the place a serial killer would call home,” Marcus argued quietly from Dane’s side. “Not like they have flashing neon signs.” The profiler’s voice was tight.

“Signs would make the job a whole lot fucking easier.” Ross shifted his position and pulled out his gun.

Dane already had his gun ready. He was just waiting on the order from the captain. They had their search warrant—they had more than enough probable cause to bust through that door.

He just needed the captain to wave his hand.
Come on, Harley. Come the fuck on.

Katherine was in the van to the left of Dane. After all she’d been through, the woman deserved to see them bring down Valentine. When Dane had left the van, Katherine had been quiet and tense, and he knew that she was worried.

Worried that Valentine would plan some kind of last-minute attack. And yeah, she was right. No way would Dane buy that a guy like Valentine would go down easy.

“Jail isn’t gonna be an option for him,” Marcus said, seeming to echo Dane’s thoughts. “Be prepared for anything in there.”

He would be.

Any damn thing.

Harley headed toward the men. Like Dane and the others, he was wearing a bulletproof vest. Police officers stood at the ready around them, just waiting for the signal to begin their run on the house.

As he approached, Harley stared into Dane’s eyes. “You ready for this?”

“Yes, sir.”

Harley nodded. “Then go drag that bastard out. Make New Orleans safe.”

Dane didn’t have to be told twice. He led the team toward the house. Half would follow him through the front door. Half would go with the marshal through the back.

The cops had the house surrounded. No one inside would get out.

“It’s all right,” Captain Harley said as Katherine eased from the van and stood beside him. “Those men know exactly what they are doing.”

She understood that. But knowing didn’t do anything to fight the gnawing fear growing within her. “I want it to be over.”

But…

She was afraid to hope.

Dane was at the front door now. She saw him motion to the men with him. Then he was kicking the door open. Rushing in. “He always has to be first,” she muttered.

“Dane doesn’t want anyone else to take his risks.”

But she didn’t want him risking his life.

Katherine was clutching her bag in her hand. The bag that held her gun. Being so close to Valentine, she wanted that gun
out.
In her hands.

Five blocks away.
Nausea rolled in her stomach. Not from the remnants of the drugs, but from fear and fury. “I must have seen him,” she said. While she’d been jogging. Heading to work. “I never knew.”

“Probably because he looks different now. Just like you do.”

New hair. No tan. And she’d lost some weight. But…it would need to be more than that for him. She would remember his jaw. His eyes. His nose. If he’d been so close, why hadn’t she seen him?

The cops were inside now.

All she could do was wait.

The house was clean—almost too clean. As if no real person lived there. Magazines were neatly stacked on the coffee table. Not so much as a speck of dust on the TV tray. Books were carefully
arranged—in alphabetical order—on the small shelf in a corner of the living room.

The cops were searching every inch of the first floor. Ross and his team went to the back of the house, but Dane knew where Valentine liked to work, so he headed for the basement. With a motion of his hand, he got two officers to follow him. He yanked open the door to the stairway and rushed down the narrow steps.

Dane was afraid he’d find a body down there. The same twisted scene that Valentine had played out before.

But there was no victim in the basement this time. There was no one there at all.

Dane’s gaze narrowed on a small table against the right wall. A computer sat on top of that table. An image was looping and playing on that screen, again and again. Dane and Katherine. In her bedroom.

Valentine had been watching. Just a few minutes ago.

Dane stared at the screen, his body tight.
You were here. Are you still?
“Search every closet, under every bed—every damn place!” Dane barked. He tapped his transmitter. “Captain, he may have just fled the premises. Get the cops outside to start fanning out!”

The captain was shouting orders, telling his men to search the area.

“Get back in the van,” Harley told Katherine as his cheeks flushed. “Stay there until it’s safe.”

A cop ran toward Harley, coming from the back of the small house. He had a cap pulled over his head. Harley motioned to him. “Take the south patrol! Join up with them!”

Harley turned away from the cop and helped Katherine into the van.

The cop didn’t head south.

Katherine frowned. “Wait, didn’t you tell him—”

Harley’s phone began to ring. He grabbed it with his left hand even as his right kept pulling the van door shut. “Stay inside!” Harley told her once more.

But the cop hadn’t headed south. He’d turned toward the woods.

Katherine glanced over at the tech. John looked tense, and his gaze was on the computer screen.

“John, who owns this house?”

He looked over at her. “Can’t tell yet. Hell, what I’ve gathered, no one should own it. It was foreclosed on a year ago.” His gaze shifted back to the small screen. “The lights are hooked up, gas and electricity, but it looks like the guy used three different names for those services. Tricky SOB.”

Yes, he was.

Katherine glanced toward the closed van door. She kept seeing that cop head the wrong way. It had probably been nothing. Maybe someone else had told him to search in that direction, but…

It felt wrong. She reached for her bag and the gun that was inside it. Right then, she needed that security.

As her fingers closed around the bag, Katherine heard a faint a gasp, then a thud.
Like a body hitting the pavement.

Her heart slammed into her ribs as she lunged up and grabbed the door’s handle. The door rolled back, and the light from the van’s interior spilled on the ground.

Showing Katherine the fresh spatter of blood that was just inches from the van.

John grabbed her. “Hey, what are you doing? The captain said to stay—”

“Didn’t you hear that sound?”

He just stared blankly at her. He hadn’t. He hadn’t heard. She had. “He’s out there.” She clutched the bag tighter. “There’s blood on the ground, and I’m sorry, but you have to let me out of this van.” She wasn’t going to sit back again. Not going to let others be risked.

John scrambled back. “Blood? Where?”

She pointed to the ground and heard his sharp inhale. “Get on the radio,” she ordered him. “Valentine’s here.” And before he could stop her, she jumped out of the van. Katherine yanked her gun out of the bag. Harley was gone. There was no sign of the cop who’d been wearing the cap. Where were they?

She glanced around the street.

Harley had wanted the cop to search to the south.

So that just leaves north, west, and east.

Then she heard a faint groan. Pain-filled, soft. That faint sound had come from the left.
To the west.

She ran as fast as she could. She jumped over a tall row of bushes, felt the scratches on her right leg. Tripped over someone’s discarded tricycle, and then—

Harley was on the ground.

The cop with the cap was crouched over him. The cop—he had a knife at Harley’s chest.

“You should have taken better care of her. I mean, you call yourself a fucking cop.” She heard the words distantly. They seemed too quiet. Maybe her heartbeat was too loud.

“You’re useless, that’s what you are.”

That voice.

“Michael.” The first time she’d said his name since the day she’d found him standing over another victim. Only this time, his victim wasn’t dead.

She saw his shoulders tense. The darkness was growing thicker, and it was hard to see him clearly. His cap was hiding his hair, and his shoulders—they were much bigger than they’d been before.

He didn’t turn to face her, and he made no move away from Harley. Harley wasn’t fighting his attacker. Just lying limp on the ground.

“You aren’t supposed to be here, Kat.” Michael’s voice was chiding. “I saw the captain put you in the van. You’re supposed to be in the van.”