Midnight Caller (19 page)

R
emoving the glasses she'd been wearing for computer work, Rain stared out her office window. A wash of lavender sky was visible above the brick wall enclosing the house's rear courtyard, while the intermittent sparks of fireflies dotted the dusk.

Despite the tranquil setting, Rain's mood at the end of the day was anything but calm. Although the news vans outside had disappeared, she still felt as if a reporter or cameraman might jump out at her from any corner of the house. Two of her three patient appointments had also canceled that day due to the media attention. The computer screen on her desk was filled with the partial text of a self-help article she'd agreed to write for a lifestyle magazine, but she couldn't muster another word.

Voices echoed from the foyer. She turned to see Trevor escorting Officer Arseneau to the front door. He'd arrived a short time earlier, his eyes meeting hers for only a moment before he'd disappeared into the kitchen with the policeman. Trevor closed and locked the door once the officer left.

“I saw you at the press conference,” she said when he reached her office. “It was on the news.”

He smiled faintly, although the act didn't reach his
eyes. “I was hoping you had a chance to witness my public humiliation.”

The press conference that afternoon had been brutal, with the media firing questions at Trevor, the local FBI and police heads, and A.D.A. Sawyer Compton. The radio caller and the subsequent attack on Rain had figured prominently in the media's queries. She'd watched with unease as Trevor had been forced to acknowledge his lack of viable suspects in a killing spree that had taken the lives of six women across multiple states.

“I also talked to David,” Rain added, her voice soft. “He called after you left the station. He says he's going to file charges against you for battery.”

Trevor didn't seem surprised. “Let him.”

She pushed away from the desk. “Today must have been a nightmare—”

“How could you have been involved with a man like D'Alba?”

A small breath escaped her at the directness of his question. In truth, it was nearly impossible to rationalize her onetime attraction to David, especially in light of his recent behavior.

“David's in some financial trouble,” she said. “You're seeing him at his worst. He's getting desperate.”

Trevor walked to the antique terrarium that sat in the corner of Rain's office. Miniature green ferns grew inside it, and he ran his fingers contemplatively over its smooth glass. “He's moved Ella LaRue in as the new host of
Midnight Confessions.
Her first show's tonight. Ella says you were too traumatized to continue.”

“That's putting a spin on things,” Rain mused. “I refused to come in and do interviews with the media. David gave me an ultimatum—show up or be replaced.”

She had to hand it to him. If David could peddle the story
that she'd resigned under duress, it would cast Ella in a better light, making the audience less resistant to accepting her as the new host. With the show on the verge of syndication it was a risky move. But if Ella could win listener support, it might keep the deal from falling apart without Rain's participation. She supposed it didn't matter that Ella wasn't an actual psychologist, as long as she could keep listeners interested. Ella's sex appeal would undoubtedly give David a marketable presence, albeit a less qualified one.

“I'd already told David I didn't plan to renew my contract when it runs out in September. I'd have preferred my exit to be less dramatic, but…”

She left her words hanging, unnerved by the way Trevor studied her. His eyes held a question that went beyond David and Ella and the radio show. She'd thought about Trevor for most of the day, but now Rain ran her hands over her cotton skirt, dreading what she'd been expecting since Officer Arseneau had asked him for a private word in the kitchen.

“Want to tell me about the kid who busted in here today? According to Arseneau, he was trying to enter your old pass code and set off the security system.”

Rain moved to the other side of the desk. Turning on the mission-style Tiffany lamp that sat on the table between the two armchairs, she sighed. “His name is Oliver Carteris. He's a patient of mine.”

“He knew your pass code?”

Rain nodded. “Yes.”

“Last night, when I asked you for the names of anyone who might've been able to get in here, you didn't mention this kid.”

“I didn't give you his name because it wasn't him who attacked me.”

“That's not the way this works,” Trevor argued. “I ask you
a question, and you give me a truthful answer. You don't filter information.”

She attempted to brush past him, but he reached out and cupped her elbow. His voice was low. “Christ, Rain. What else aren't you telling me?”

“There's nothing else—”

“And I'm supposed to believe you?”

Rain shrugged free of his grasp and walked from the office.

A minute later, she heard the change in his footsteps as he slowed at the kitchen doorway. She stood in front of the sink with her back to him, filling a glass with water. When it was full, she took a sip and stared at a spot on the tile backsplash.

“It wasn't Oliver who attacked me yesterday,” Rain emphasized quietly. “The man's body size, the tattoo. It wasn't Oliver.”

Coming up behind her, Trevor placed his hands on her shoulders. “I shouldn't be taking today out on you. But I don't understand why you'd hold out on me.”

She turned to face him. “Because I didn't think Oliver could handle an interrogation. I'm a psychologist, Trevor. These kids are my patients—”

“What makes you think there'd be an interrogation?”

“Because I knew if you ran him through the system, his name would come up. He's had some run-ins with the police.”

Leaning against the counter, Trevor crossed his arms over his chest as he waited to hear more. The tiny lines of fatigue fanning out from the corners of his eyes reminded Rain of his sleepless night and the long hours he'd already put in that day. She wondered if he'd managed to steal even a few hours of rest. The last thing he needed was to come here and find out she'd been keeping secrets.

“Oliver's only eighteen,” she said. “He has a juvenile record for break-ins and petty theft, most of which his father had expunged. But there's a B and E from five months ago that stuck. He was charged as an adult. He's on probation, one of the terms of which is counseling.”

“This is the patient you told me about a while back, isn't it? The one who went through your lingerie?”

“I said
maybe
he went through my lingerie. I can't be certain.”

“How'd he get your pass code?”

She looked at the kitchen cabinet. “I keep my pass code taped to the inside of that door, in case I forget. He found it—”

“And he's been using it ever since to come and go as he pleases.”

Rain needed Trevor to understand. “Oliver's smart. He's brilliant, actually. His IQ's off the charts. But he's very troubled. He lost his mother at an early age, and spent most of his youth in boarding schools in Europe—”

“Rain.” He peered into her eyes. “The reality is, I can't afford to overlook any possible angle. The fact that he had your pass code is reason enough for me to bring him in. For all you know, he could've traded it to the killer for a nickel bag of reefer or a Satan decoder ring—I don't know, whatever the hell he's into. I just want to talk to him, that's all.”

Lowering his head, Trevor brushed his lips against hers. “Don't worry, I'll go easy on him.”

“I should've told you about Oliver. I didn't mean to make things more difficult.” She touched his shirt. “This wasn't the way I imagined our first conversation going after last night.”

His eyes darkened at the memory of their lovemaking. He tangled his fingers with hers. “I'm staying for a little while, but there's a uniform coming in a couple of hours to relieve
me. I've got a meeting in the morning with the SAC of the Violent Crimes Unit. He's flying in tonight and he wants a full briefing on the investigation at 8:00 a.m. I need to get some sleep and be ready. Until New Orleans, this case has been under the radar. It made national news today.”

Rain nodded her understanding. Of course Trevor couldn't work all day and keep guard over her until dawn. She didn't expect that. At least he hadn't said the one thing she feared hearing most. That last night had been a mistake.

“I was thinking we could have dinner together,” he suggested. “Order something in?”

She forced a smile. “Okay.”

“I need to make a few phone calls. Think about what you want and we'll have it delivered.” He leaned his forehead briefly against hers and then walked from the kitchen.

 

They ordered from Nicole's, a popular bistro at the edge of the Garden District. Rain sipped her Merlot as Trevor twirled linguine around his fork before taking a bite. He'd changed into jeans and a T-shirt, his appearance more casual now that the suit and tie were gone. But his gun remained holstered at his side, a reminder of the reality that had drawn them together.

“You're not eating much,” he observed, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“I'm not very hungry. Nerves, I guess.”

He poured the remainder of a can of soda into his glass.

“You said at the Ascension that you don't drink, even off duty,” Rain recounted. She twisted her napkin in her lap as Trevor looked at her. “Is it because of your father?”

“I get a complimentary psychoanalysis with dinner?” Despite the joke, there was little levity in his words.

“I just want to know you, Trevor.”

He took a lackluster jab at his food before setting the fork
on the plate's rim. “I tried it a time or two in college. I didn't like the feeling, the loss of control. Besides, my family has a history of substance abuse. You know about Brian.”

“I know he's been clean for two years now.”

“He's still a recovering addict. That never changes.” He paused in reflection. “Our mother had a drinking problem, too. She died a few years ago.”

Rain watched his face, aware of the tension in his features. “Alex said you don't see your brother and sister very often.”

“It's complicated.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked carefully.

When he looked at her again, his eyes appeared shadowed. “I'd rather just have a peaceful dinner with you, Rain.”

He sat quietly for the rest of the meal, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Then he stood and took his empty plate to the sink in the kitchen to rinse. Rain carried her plate into the kitchen, as well. She put the rest of the shrimp and eggplant she'd ordered into a plastic container and placed it inside the fridge. From the corner of her eye, she studied Trevor's profile. He appeared on the point of exhaustion.

“Why don't you lie down in the parlor. Just until the officer arrives to relieve you—”

He shook his head. “I'm fine.”

“Trevor.” Rain's voice was soft. “You could never be like him, you know. Your father. It's not in you.”

Perhaps fatigue had made him vulnerable, but something in his expression made her heart clench. Their eyes met in an unspoken dialogue as a metallic shrill broke the room's quiet. With a sigh, Trevor checked his cell. “It's not me.”

Rain searched for the source of the sound. She spotted her own cell phone, nearly hidden beneath the day's mail stacked on the counter. She picked it up as the words
unidentified caller
flashed on its backlit screen.

It could be another journalist, trying to get a quote. But Rain's patients also had her cell number for emergencies. Opening the phone's cover, she spoke into the receiver. A chill danced up her spine as her salutation was returned.

“Good evening, Rain.”

“How'd you get this number?”

“I have my ways, where you're concerned.”

Trevor put down the dish towel he held and gently pried the phone from Rain's whitened fingers. He pressed the speaker button, then placed it on the counter. Dante's voice flooded the room.

“They just announced your resignation on
Midnight Confessions,
” he said. “I'm listening to your replacement at this very moment. She sounds rather…
anemic.
”

“Just tell me what you want.”

“You don't know that by now? My dear, I thought you were bright.”

Trevor steadied her from behind, his hands clasping her upper arms. Rain closed her eyes.

“You called me Desiree last night. I'm not her.”

“No, you're certainly not,” he agreed. “But I can use my imagination. After all, you look so much like her. You share her blood.”

“You're psychotic,” she managed to get out.

“If I am, it's entirely your fault. I've been half out of my mind thinking about you. It hardly seems fair that now I'm being denied even the simple pleasure of hearing your voice on the radio.”

When Rain didn't respond, he continued, “Am I being punished for my alleged attack on you? The newspapers and television reporters are all accusing me. It's very distressing. So much so that I was forced to find an outlet for my anger. What do they call it in your field of expertise? Oh, yes.
Transferring my aggression.
”

Rain covered her mouth as the realization sank in. He'd just confessed to another murder.

“Are you there, Agent Rivette?”

“I'm here.”

“I didn't imagine you'd be too far away.” Dante sounded amused. “I watched your televised press conference today. You're a very handsome man.”

“Why don't you come meet me in person.”

He merely chuckled. “I left a gift for you in Coliseum Square. I think you're going to like her very much.”