Die for Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer (5 page)

Dane returned to Katherine’s house that night and watched her from the shadows. Now that he knew her relationship to Valentine and with one woman already in the morgue, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her unguarded.

There was just something about Katherine Cole…

She was working her way right under his skin.

Was this the way it had been for Valentine? The question whispered through his mind. Had Valentine met her and not been able to get her out of his head?

She’s in my head.

If he weren’t careful, the situation could be deadly.

Headlights lit the area as another car approached. The vehicle slowed and then braked at the end of Katherine’s drive. Dane tensed, then saw a guy in a three-piece suit hurry out of his fancy sports car.

He ran a hand over his face. He hadn’t expected Katherine to have a date, but it looked like the lady had planned a night out on the town. For some reason, the sight of the jerk in that overpriced suit pissed him off. Katherine, dressed in a form-fitting black dress that hugged her body like a sweet glove, smiled at the bozo when she opened the front door and even let the guy kiss her cheek.

Bastard.

Dane wrote down the bastard’s tag number and called it in while he trailed them to a high-end restaurant. In less than five minutes, he knew that Katherine’s date was Dr. Trent Lancaster, a local shrink.

Jeez, a shrink? He’d never liked the head case doctors. They analyzed everything to death.

The guy’s hands were a little too clingy as he led Katherine toward the restaurant. And Dane realized he was gripping his steering wheel a little too tightly.

Just a case. Just a case.
Breathing deeply, he forced his hands to relax. Then he pulled out his phone and called Mac. One ring. Two. The shrink and Katherine disappeared into the restaurant.

Mac answered on the third ring. Dane could tell by the background noise that his partner was still at the station. Perfect.

“Run a check for me,” Dane said without bothering to identify himself. “Find out every bit of intel you can on Dr. Trent Lancaster.” His fingers tapped against the steering wheel, and he kept his eyes on the restaurant’s entrance.

One of Katherine’s lovers had been a killer.

Was another?

This wasn’t working. Katherine forced herself to smile at Trent. He was talking about an article he’d written, something about behavioral regression, and she wanted to just drop her head and bang it on the table. Hard. Over and over.

Not working.

Had she really thought she might be able to sleep with Trent? That tonight would be the date that finally took their relationship to the next level?

Her body was so amped up that she felt as if every muscle trembled, and her eyes couldn’t seem to stop searching the room.

Someone’s watching me.
The tension in her belly told her that.

“I was thinking that we could rent a cottage at the beach for a few days,” Trent said, his voice with that smooth, perfect tone that
no doubt lulled many of his patients. “It would give us a chance to get to know each other even better.”

Can’t, Trent.
The instant denial sprang to her lips, but she managed to bite it back.
My serial-killer ex might be in town.

She also choked back the slightly hysterical laughter that rose within her.

“Uh, Kat?”

She flinched. “Katherine. Not Kat, remember?” Because whenever someone called her Kat, she heard Valentine’s voice in her head.

Trent blinked.

Great. Now she was being a bitch to her date. Trent didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. She forced a wan smile. “I’m sorry, Trent, but I’m just not feeling well tonight.” She should have canceled the date.

His handsome face immediately crinkled with concern even as he inched back from her. The instinctive response of a guy who was preparing for something he didn’t want to hear. Then he cleared his throat and asked, “What can I do?”

She rubbed her throbbing temples. “I think I need to go home.” Too many people were there. Watching. So many eyes had been on her after the Valentine case exploded.

So many people, judging her.

As she sat there, Katherine still felt like she was being judged. “Please,” she whispered. “I want to go home.”

“Of course.” He reached for her hand, and she had to fight the instinct to recoil. His touch felt cold, clammy.

What would Trent do if he knew who she really was? Would his eyes look so caring? Or would he start to study her with that clinical detachment she’d seen in the eyes of his partner, Evelyn
Knight? She’d gone to Evelyn to get help. To try to stop the nightmares and the paranoia.
Someone’s watching…

But from the very first, Evelyn had made her feel tense. Her questions had been designed to rip right through Katherine’s skin.

I’ve already been filleted enough, thank you
.

“Trent…” She reached for her bag but kept her eyes on him. This needed to be said. His grip was making her tense, and his eyes…they were looking for too much as he stared at her. “I don’t think it’s going to work between us.”

His lips tightened a bit. “But we seem so compatible.”

Compatible.

She knew Trent was used to women falling at his feet. He was handsome. Smart. Charming. The perfect gentleman. Pity she wasn’t the perfect lady for him.

When he touched her, she didn’t feel anything. She hadn’t realized that was really a problem. For three years, she’d existed in that void, not truly
feeling
anything.

Then Dane Black had touched her. He’d been full of anger. Determination. Humming with wild energy.

And she’d wanted him. For the first time in three years, she’d actually felt something other than fear at a man’s touch.

She’d thought Trent might be able to make her feel something tonight.

No dice. And he deserved better than to be strung along by her. “You’re a wonderful guy, Trent, but trust me on this, I’m not the right girl for you.”

A muscle jerked in his jaw. “You’re just not feeling well,” he said dismissively as he rose to his feet and signaled the waiter. “We’ll talk about this after you’re back to your old self.”

“I’m sorry, Trent.” She rose as well, and a few moments later, they were leaving the restaurant.

Trent might think all would be different in the morning, but nothing was going to change for Katherine. She knew she wouldn’t be carrying through with her plans to sleep with him.

She couldn’t. She just didn’t want him, and she couldn’t
make
herself want him.

The date had ended too soon. When Trent and Katherine had come hurrying out of the restaurant, Dane had tensed.

Then they drove right back to her house. They’d gone fast, maybe too fast, as he carefully tailed behind them.

Hell.
He understood what that speed meant.

Why did that piss him off so much?

Dane clenched his jaw. He had no claim on Katherine. If she wanted to screw her shrink, then she could screw him all night long.

The thought burned right though him, but Dane locked his muscles and didn’t move from his now-parked car. He’d found an old dirt road that ran alongside Katherine’s property. A perfect place from which to watch and not be seen.

Katherine got out of the sports car. The shrink followed her. They went up onto the porch. The shrink pulled her close.

Asshole.

The guy put his hands on Katherine’s smooth skin. Curled his palms over her shoulders.

Bastard.

Dane ground his teeth together.
You don’t know her. She can have sex with whoever she wants.

And she probably did.

But not that night.

Katherine pushed away from the shrink with a sad shake of her head. While the guy’s hands fisted, she turned away and headed into the house alone.

Dane started breathing again.

The shrink watched her for a moment or two longer. Glared at the closed door.

Keep moving, jerk. Nothing to see here
.

The shrink went back to his fancy ride. Cranked the engine. Drove away a little too fast.

Dane smiled.

The lights flashed on inside Katherine’s house. Good. She was in safe for the night. Now maybe the tight tension that coiled his muscles would go away.

That had been awkward, but at least Trent knew where they now stood. It wouldn’t have been fair to lead the guy on, not when she couldn’t make herself
feel
anything for him.

But then, she hadn’t felt very much in the past few years. Half the time, it seemed as if she were wrapped in some kind of fog, moving slowly through life.

You felt something when you were with the detective.
The whisper slid through her mind. Katherine swallowed and turned toward the stairs. Right then, she didn’t want to think too much about the dark and dangerous detective. Instead, she wanted—

She came to an abrupt stop.

There were roses on the stairs.

The breath froze in Katherine’s chest.

Once upon a time, roses had been her favorite flowers. Then she’d learned just what Michael had been doing with the roses.
Buying a dozen roses…then leaving one with his victim and bringing the remaining eleven to her.

He brought them to me after each kill.

Her cheeks were wet now. Her hands were shaking.

And there were fucking roses on her stairs.
In my house.
“No,” Katherine whispered. This could not be happening.

But there was something beside the roses. A small box. It almost looked like a candy box from one of those fancy chocolate shops that she’d seen in the French Quarter a few times. Slender, long…

She was walking toward the box. She should be getting the hell out of there, but it was as if she were being pulled forward, forced toward that box.

I’ll look inside. It will just be chocolate. Trent could have left the candy and the flowers when I wasn’t looking. He dropped them off when he was here earlier and I was getting my purse.

It didn’t
have
to be from Valentine.

But he always sent me flowers after each death.
She just hadn’t realized that fact until it was too late. He’d sent her eleven roses, and his victim—each time his victim had the twelfth rose.

Her breath sawed out of her lungs as her gaze locked on those roses. Helplessly she began to count them.

One, two, three…

The scent of the roses was sickly sweet.

Four, five, six…

There were thorns on the roses. Thorns that would draw blood.

Seven, eight, nine…

Her heart beat so hard that it hurt her chest.

Ten. Eleven. Dear God, only eleven.

The twelfth rose was missing.

She picked up the box. Nearly dropped it because she was so scared and nervous. Then her shaking fingers lifted the lid off the box. Rose petals fell onto the steps. Then she screamed, a long, desperate sound, but one that also burned with rage because the sick bastard was back. He was playing his games with her—with his victims—all over again.

There was no chocolate in the box.

She dropped it. Jumped back.