Die for Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer (4 page)

Silence. She looked over and saw a muscle jerk along Ross’s jaw.

“Would a copycat know about the number of wounds?” Katherine asked.

He exhaled, and the lines on his face deepened. “Only if he saw the confidential reports from the bureau or the Boston PD. The press never knew about the exact number on the victims.”

She’d thought as much. There were no coincidences in this world. She’d learned that long ago. The wounds…the rose…the bindings…“If he’s killing here, then he knows that
I’m
here, too.”

“We don’t
know
that yet. Hell, we don’t know anything for sure at this point.” Ross wasn’t taking her straight home. They snaked through the city, following a route she knew was meant to confuse or lose any tails.
Just in case anyone is following us.

He wouldn’t want to lead anyone back to her house on the outskirts of the city.

“I’ll drop you off, and then I’ll do some checking on my own. I’ll find out what’s happening here,” Ross promised. His knuckles whitened as he held the wheel. “But Katherine, if it looks like it really is him or even a copycat who knows about you…”

He paused, but she knew what was coming.

“You’ll need to be transferred again,” he said flatly.

Another transfer. Another name. Another place.

Another life.

She turned away from him and watched the blur of buildings pass. “Will I ever get to be me again?”

She couldn’t really remember that woman. A woman who’d been so blind. A woman who, for all purposes, had died three years ago.

“It’s just not safe, not until Valentine is in custody.”

She didn’t speak again. Not until Ross pulled into the long drive that led to her house. “I…ah…left my car at Joe’s Café.” She flushed with this confession. She’d been so shaken that she’d walked all the way from the café to the precinct. “Can you get someone to—”

“I’ll get someone to bring it to you.” He killed the engine. “I want to come in and check the house.”

Right. But she didn’t move. Her gaze raked the house, the yard.

She’d been living in New Orleans for just over a year. Opened her gallery. Gotten into a seemingly normal routine. She’d even started dating someone.

Now she was supposed to abandon everything. Again.

And do what? Run forever? While more bodies piled up?

No.

“I’m done,” she told Ross, and climbed from the SUV. She shut the door on his shocked tumble of words.

Then she began walking toward the house. One determined step after another.

His door opened with a squeak and then slammed behind her. “Kat, Kat—you can’t mean this! It’s too dangerous! It’s—”

She glanced back at him. “Don’t call me Kat.” Not a weak voice. Cold and flat. “And I’m going to do what I want to do. What I
need
to do.”

No more running.

“If Valentine wants me, then he can come and get me.”
And stop hurting others. Just—stop!

Gravel crunched beneath Ross’s footsteps. “You got some kind of death wish?”

She laughed, but it sounded hollow. “I guess I do.”

“Holy shit.” Mac’s curse heaved out on a hard sigh. “That’s
her
.”

Dane stared down at the computer screen. While he’d been waiting on the Boston PD to fax over the case files, he’d started doing his own research on Valentine.

The Internet was such a handy bitch. With a few clicks of the keyboard, a guy could find almost anything.

Including pictures of one Katelynn Crenshaw. The photo had been snapped by a reporter right after Katelynn discovered her fiancé carving up his latest victim.

Right in their basement.

Her hair was longer and blonde in the picture. Her skin golden, and not the pale ivory it had been today. Her body was fuller, filled with lush curves.

But her eyes were the same. No mistaking those eyes. Or her lips.

“No wonder she knew so much about Valentine,” Harley said as he crowded in near the computer screen. “She was screwing the guy.”

Dane’s shoulders tensed. The captain could be a real ass some days. “She told the cops everything she’d seen and spent months working with them as they tried to catch the guy.”

He remembered the details now. Like the rest of the nation, he’d caught the images on TV about the Valentine Killer. Katelynn had come home early and found blood in her kitchen. She’d
called 911 and gone looking for her fiancé. She’d found him in the basement, carving up Stephanie Gilbert.

By the time the cops arrived, Valentine had disappeared. He had left Katelynn unharmed and he’d just…vanished.

No more bodies had been discovered after his disappearance, so the Boston cops had started to think the guy might have killed himself. Some profiler appeared on one of the major network channels spewing about how a serial killer like Valentine couldn’t go dormant for so long. Since he wasn’t attacking, the profiler had said the guy might have turned his rage on himself.
Suicide.

Bullshit.

From what Dane could tell, the profiler needed to think again.

“Was she in on it, do you think?” Harley asked. “She had to know what a twisted freak he was.”

Sometimes you couldn’t see the monsters right in front of you. No one had believed what a twisted SOB his old man had been, not until it was too late. “If this is really is Valentine, he’s here because of
her.
” He’d tracked her, all the way down the Eastern Seaboard. This was one man determined not to let go.

“Yeah, well…” A chair squeaked as Mac rolled away. “You can sure bet that U.S. marshal will have her out of town as fast as he can.” Mac exhaled on a hard sigh. “They’re gonna want to keep her safe so they can pull her out at trial.”

“Trial?” Dane repeated and forced his gaze off the picture of Katelynn.
Katherine.
“There’s no trial to worry about now.”

“Just because no one else has caught him,” Harley interrupted smoothly, “doesn’t mean
we
can’t.”

Harley might be an ass, but the guy had never been afraid of a challenge. He also loved getting his face splashed in the papers. If his department took down Valentine, he’d be able to wallpaper his office with all the news stories.

“Here you go.” Detective Karen James handed a fat stack of papers across the desk to Dane. “All your info from a Detective Hobbs in Boston.”

Not all. Sean Hobbs had promised to copy the rest of the files and overnight them. This two-inch stack was just the beginning.

Dane began to flip through the pages. Valentine had been one grisly bastard.

And he had only one weakness.

“Dane.”

He looked up at the captain’s voice.

“I don’t want her leaving the city,” Harley said. “Whether we’re dealing with the real deal or some copycat, that woman is linked to these killings.”

“All of the guy’s victims in Boston were blondes,” Dane said.

“And now we’ve got us a dead brunette,” Harley cut in.

Dane met Mac’s thoughtful stare.

“Katherine’s a brunette now,” Mac said.

Yes, she was.

When he’d first found Savannah’s body and seen her clutching that rose, Dane had made the connection to the Valentine case just like the reporters had. He’d remembered that Valentine liked to bind his victims and then stab them in the heart.

But as for all the small pieces, the facts, the profiles…that was what he needed to discover if he was going to find out what the hell was happening now.

“Read that report. Start piecing together all that you can on Valentine,” Harley ordered. “We have to work fast, because if it is him, the bureau will be down here trying to take over my case.”

No missing the
my
.

“We all know you have a way with the ladies, Black,” the captain continued. Detective James, who’d stayed around to
shamelessly eavesdrop, snickered at that. Harley ignored her and pointed at Dane. “So I want you to use some of that charm and keep Katherine Cole in New Orleans, you got me?”

Dane nodded. “Don’t worry, Cap. Katherine’s not going anywhere.”

Because she was the key to the case, and he’d be damned if he let the bodies start to pile up in his city.

Valentine had a weakness, all right, and Dane would be using that weakness against him.

Katherine, you’re not getting away
.

Not when he needed her so badly.

The house was clean. No, more than that.
Immaculate.
Fresh paint on the shutters. The windows gleamed as if freshly polished. There were no leaves or any debris anywhere in the front yard.

Dane stared up at the house. Katherine Cole’s house. She had no close neighbors. No one to see what was happening at her place.

No one to hear the screams.

He raised his hand to the door and knocked hard with his fist.

While he waited, he exhaled slowly and wondered what kind of sweet talk he should use.

Then Katherine Cole opened the door. She stared at him with her wide, lost eyes, and he just said, “Help me catch the bastard.”

She nodded.

The house smelled like her. Fresh strawberries. Sweet. Heady.

Katherine led him into the den, a den that looked like something out of a glossy home magazine. Picture-damn-perfect, but without a single personal touch. No photos. No mementos.

“You know who I am.” She turned and faced him with her chin up.

He inclined his head. “Katelynn.”

“No!” she snapped as she shook her head, sending her dark hair sliding over her shoulders. “I…” She cleared her throat. “I go by Katherine now.”

Right. Best to lay the cards on the table. “You planning to leave town?” Dane asked as he raised an eyebrow.

“That’s what Ross wants.”

The marshal was going to be a problem. “And what do
you
want?” he demanded as he strode toward her. He gave her credit. The woman didn’t back up.

Her breath whispered out over her lips. Sexy lips. “I want my life back, Detective Black.”

He closed in on her. Inhaled more of that sweet scent. “Then work with me,” he said. “Stay here in New Orleans. If this really is Valentine, help me to stop the bastard.” He said “if,” but the truth was that he already suspected they were facing the real deal. The
crime scene had been so perfect, and those wounds on the victim’s arms had been an exact match to the other killings.

Katherine stared up at him. She was small, no taller than five foot five, and she tilted her head as she met his eyes. “I will help you.” Firm. “That’s why I came to the station. Why I told you to contact Sean.” Her stare didn’t waver. “I’ve already let Ross know that I won’t be leaving town.”

His captain would be shit-eating-grin happy over that news.

Her eyelids flickered. “Believe me, I want Valentine stopped as much as you do.” Her laugh was bitter, broken. “More than you do, okay?
More.
I want the guy caught and locked in a cage for the rest of his life.”

Bloodthirsty.

“So I’ll be staying here, Detective—”

“Dane.” Not just detective. They were going to be working together, working
very
closely together, and he wanted her calling him by his name.

She blinked and nodded slowly. “I’ll be here, Dane. This time I won’t run away.”

He realized that this Katherine wasn’t the same as the broken woman in the photograph. Determination tightened her features and kept her back straight.

A fighter.

Good. She’d need to be.

He’d wondered just what kind of woman Valentine had lost his heart to. Now he knew.

And Dane realized that he’d been right about Katherine all along. She could be a very dangerous woman indeed.