by Cynthia Eden
Marcus Wayne entered the small observation room. The police captain turned toward him, a glower on his face. “Smooth, Agent, real freaking smooth.” The captain’s jaw locked. “I want your ass out of my precinct.”
“The purpose of my going in there wasn’t to break Katherine Cole.” I know you hate being called Kat. His gaze darted to the two-way mirror looking into the interrogation room. Sorry about that, Katherine.
“Then what was your purpose? To piss off Ms. Cole?”
“No, it was to bring out more of the detective’s protective instincts.” And those instincts had sure come out. “If Katherine is going to be of any help to us on this case, then she will have to trust Detective Black. Katherine isn’t a woman who trusts easily.” He was rather surprised that she could trust at all, given what had happened to her.
“Always playing your little mind games.” The mutter came from behind him. The marshal. Marcus knew the guy was far from being a fan.
Marcus glanced over at him. “She’ll talk more freely now. She’ll tell Dane as much as possible because she sees me as the bad guy and him as her white knight.” He didn’t mind playing the bad cop. With his slight build and fresh face, it wasn’t a role he got to play often. Pity.
“Maybe she’ll just talk,” Ross said, voice snapping, “because she wants to catch Valentine. She wants him off the streets just as badly as we do.”
Marcus locked his jaw but didn’t respond. Ross didn’t get it. Katherine Cole was the safest woman in the world. Valentine could have sliced her and killed her a thousand times over. He hadn’t.
She was special to the killer.
The trick—the real trick—was finding out why she was special. If she’d just trust the detective enough to let down her guard, then Marcus might finally be able to get inside Katherine’s head and figure out how she’d managed to reach the heart of a sociopathic killer. A man who, for all psychological intents, should have no heart at all.
– 6 –
“I learned a lot about Valentine. After he vanished. I started putting all the puzzle pieces together so I could see the real man he was.”
Dane sat across from Katherine. She was pale and perfect, seemingly an ice princess, but he knew the ice was just on the surface. And the ice was cracking.
He could also see the pain in her eyes. Hear it in her voice. The jerk from the bureau had pushed her too much. Stirred memories that had ripped into her.
I should have ripped into him.
When women were hurt in any way, his protective instincts became difficult to control.
“I’ve studied serial killers.” Katherine’s confession was hushed.
Dane glanced at Mac and saw that his partner had lifted his brows.
“When you realize you’ve been sleeping with one, you’ll do anything to make sure you never get fooled again.”
He had to unclench his fingers from the edge of the table. Sleeping with one. A surge of jealousy caught him by surprise.
“In some ways, I think he was like Bundy,” she said. “So charming on the surface. So smooth. He always seemed to know just what to say or do in order to put people at ease.”
That must have been how he’d lured in his prey. Back in Boston, he’d killed four women in all. Four women they knew about. Three before he met Katelynn Crenshaw, one after.
Her breath whispered out. “He told me once that I was his chance to be better.” She looked down at her hands. “Valentine was a gifted artist. He could paint anything, sculpt anything. He could create so much beauty with his hands, but he seemed to be drawn to death.” Her gaze rose once more. “That’s why the marks with his knife were so precise. Not because he was a surgeon, which is what the cops in Boston first thought when they discovered the bodies, but because he was an artist.”
The dead women might have been his art. His twisted art.
“Valentine was always punctual, never late for a date or a meeting, always well dressed, and he had perfect manners.” Katherine lifted a shoulder in a weak shrug. “Some folks would say he was obsessive-compulsive, but maybe that’s why he did such a good job of cleaning up the crime scenes.”
“Except for the last one.” Mac finally spoke as he stirred from his position near the wall.
“He didn’t have a chance to clean up. I came home early.” Her voice dropped. Dane saw the delicate movement of her throat as she swallowed. “And don’t you know, I’ve asked myself a thousand times, what would have happened if I’d worked later? Would I be married to him?” Her fingers were trembling as she shoved back her hair. “Would he still be killing women who could have been me?”
Yes.
“Serial killers don’t just stop. I learned that.” She waved toward the interrogation mirror. “Agent Wayne, watching in there, he will tell you that. They can have dormant periods, but they never totally stop. They never stop unless they are made to stop.”
Amy Evans was tied to the table. Duct tape covered her mouth. Her eyes were opening.
Her gaze quickly filled with terror. Helplessness. Tears.
The tears fell quickly. Behind the tape, Amy was moaning. Trying to talk. Trying to beg. Trying to plead for mercy.
But there would be no mercy for her.
The tip of the knife slid over her skin. The blade didn’t cut her. Not yet, anyway. There was a pattern to the kills.
A method behind the madness.
The method had to be followed.
Amy had been stripped, and now the knife lifted to the middle of her chest. Carefully, still not breaking the skin, the knife eased over her flesh, creating the sloping pattern of a heart.
Amy thrashed. Struggled to get free. She was fighting more than expected.
“Don’t make me rush.”
The terror deepened in Amy’s eyes.
The tip of the blade moved toward her left arm. Sliced into Amy’s skin. Blood ran down her flesh.
There is a method…
Though not all murders are about madness.
“I know why the killer chose Savannah Slater.”
Dane had left his chair and walked around the table to Katherine’s side. At her quiet words, he tensed, then asked, “Why her?”
Her gaze slanted toward him, then Mac. “I didn’t tell you at first because you both already suspected me.”
Mac’s right eyebrow climbed. Dane knew what the guy was thinking: I still might. That move was one of the guy’s tells. After working together for almost ten years, the two had pretty much worked out the whole silent communication aspect of interrogations.
Katherine rolled her shoulders. “Savannah called me a few weeks ago.”
Sonofabitch.
“She was working on a piece about the Valentine Killer. I don’t know how she found me—I was supposed to be safe with my new identity—but she did. She wanted to interview me. Do some write-up about ‘the other side of the killer.’” Her voice hardened. “I told her I wasn’t interested in talking with her or any reporter. And I said she shouldn’t ever call me again.”
“Did she call you again?” Mac asked her.
Katherine gave a slow nod. “Yes.”
Shit. “When?” Dane demanded.
Her gaze held his. “The day before you found her body.”
Again, all he could think was…sonofabitch.
“I didn’t answer her call. I recognized her number on my caller ID, but I didn’t answer.” Her shoulders straightened. “Do you think he had her then? Was he already killing her? If I’d answered, would I have been able to—”
The peal of a ringing cell phone cut through her words. She jumped. Mac swore.
And Dane got a real damn bad feeling in his gut.
Katherine fumbled and reached into the small purse near her feet. “I don’t recognize the number. Sorry.” She started to shove the phone back into her purse.
Dane took the phone from her and answered it. “This is Detective Dane Black.”
Silence. The bad feeling twisted in his gut.
Then he heard a hiss of breath. A woman’s scream.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Who the hell is this?”
Katherine froze.
“Kat—” A woman screamed. “Make him stop!”
Then the line went dead.
Mac hurried to his side. “Dane?”
But Dane was already moving. “We have to trace that call!” He hit the call-back button, but the line just rang, over and over again.
He burst out of the interrogation room. Harley and the FBI agent were rushing toward him.
“Who was on the phone?” the captain demanded.
His fingers were squeezing the phone too tightly. “I think it was Valentine’s latest victim. A woman was screaming.” His jaw locked as he revealed, “She asked Katherine to make him stop.”
Ross followed behind the other men. “Savannah Slater was just found yesterday,” he said. “There’s no way—”
“Valentine waited months between kills,” Wayne cut in. “He wouldn’t attack like this, not so soon…unless something set him off.”
“We’ve got to get a trace,” Dane said. “Get the techs up here, get a track on the other phone’s signal.” The woman was screaming…that means she’s still alive.
But she wouldn’t be for long, unless they hauled ass much faster than this.
The phone was placed gently on the cement. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? And you did so well.”
Amy wasn’t talking anymore. Tears had dried on her cheeks. Slices lined her arms. Eleven on the left. Ten on the right.
There was no hope in Amy’s eyes. There’d been hope before, just a few minutes ago. Until they called Katherine together.
The tip of the knife slid over her chest. Amy’s eyes were open. No hope.
“It’s over now.” The blade sank into Amy’s heart. “At least, it is for you.”
But not for Kat. Not yet.
The life faded from Amy’s eyes. Such a beautiful sight.
The knife was wet with blood. So much blood.
There wasn’t time to linger or to enjoy this work. A rose was carefully positioned in Amy’s palm. Her fingers were forced closed around it.
The scene was set.
It wouldn’t be much longer until the cops arrived. I have to hurry if I want to get a good seat. It was guaranteed to be one helluva show.
“That telephone number traced back to an Amy Evans.” The captain’s voice rang through the station. “She’s thirty-one, brunette, dark eyes…”
A picture of Amy Evans was on the computer screen, being printed out, as Dane grabbed his keys and double-checked that his gun was holstered.
“Got the lock,” the tech John Baylor said from a desk two feet away. “The signal is coming from two-oh-nine Jamestown Avenue.”
The warehouse district.
The captain started barking orders, both to the men in the bull pen and to those listening on the police radio.
Dane rushed for the door, then hesitated for an instant as he glanced over his shoulder.
Katherine had inched toward the computer screen. She was staring at the image of Amy Evans, and Katherine looked lost and scared.
I’ll save her. He didn’t give Katherine those words, though, because it wasn’t a promise he knew he could keep.
“I need to go with you.” Katherine’s voice was low, but when she spoke, the police captain immediately jerked his head toward her. Dane had already left, and Katherine knew the captain would be rushing out soon, too.
“Hell no,” he barked at once. “I’m not sending you to a crime scene. You’re too valuable to this case—”
“If the cops arrive in time,” Marcus Wayne cut in, “and Valentine is there with his victim, Katherine could be the only one able to get through to him. He called her. Dane said the victim specifically asked for Kat to stop the killer.” He nodded toward Katherine. “I’d say she’s exactly the person you need on-scene. She’s our only way to control Valentine.”
“Please,” Katherine said to the captain. “I want to help.” Valentine had let his victim call her. So maybe—maybe—he had let Savannah call, too.
Could I have saved her?
“Hell.” The captain gave a grim nod. Then he motioned to Ross. “You’ve been keeping her in check for years—so you stay with her, got it? I don’t want her out of your sight. You stay behind my men and you keep her back, too.”
Her breath rushed out.
“Yes, sir,” Ross said. His hand closed around her shoulder. He leaned close to her. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing? The whole purpose of witness protection is to keep you away from Valentine so that you’re alive when it comes time for the trail.”
But if they never caught him, there would be no trial. How could she keep hiding while others died?
She couldn’t.
They went in quietly. Dane led the team as they slipped inside the warehouse at 209 Jamestown. It was a tactical call. They could have gone in with sirens screaming, but the captain worried it would make Valentine kill the woman that much faster.
Don’t alert him. Just get close and take him down. Those were his orders.
So Dane slipped through the run-down warehouse. The place seemed abandoned. Filled with the scent of old dust and mildew. The windows were broken. A rat scurried across the floor.
But he didn’t hear the sound of a woman screaming.
Be alive. Please be alive.
The cops were wearing bulletproof vests, but he barely felt the weight of his. His gun was gripped firmly in his hand. He motioned to the right, and Mac rushed into the next room.
He followed his partner, searching.
Five rooms so far…all nothing.
But John had been certain that the cell phone signal was coming from this address. As far as Dane knew, the man had never been wrong on any case. When it came to tech, John was king.
Dane went back into the narrow hallway and followed two cops up the stairs.
Then he caught the scent of blood.
Be alive. The thought slid through his mind once more.
At the top of the stairs, a door had been left open. Mac gave him cover while he hurried inside. His gaze swept the room—
And he saw her.
He rushed toward her with his heart racing in his chest. The scent of blood was strong in the room, heavy and cloying as it filled his nostrils.
Amy’s wrists and ankles were bound. Blood soaked the floor around her. Duct tape covered her mouth.
Deep slices lined her arms. A deep hole had been dug into her heart.
Amy had been screaming less than thirty minutes ago. But now she was dead, and fury had his whole body tensing. His breath panted out, hard and fast, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her frozen features.
Another victim. Too late. Dammit. He shook his head, hating the sight of her broken body. We didn’t find her fast enough.
Dane backed away from her. Almost stepped on the smart-phone that had been placed on the ground. Why the hell was it there? Had the killer dropped it? Dane tapped the transmitter at his ear. Before he came into the warehouse, he’d gotten wired so he could transmit out to the others. “We found Amy.” He swallowed and said, “We’re gonna need the ME.”
He could already imagine the expression on the captain’s face as he heard the news—an expression that would match Dane’s own.
They hadn’t arrived fast enough to save the victim, but the sonofabitch could still be close by.
“Keep searching,” Dane ordered the men around him. “Every single room. Every crawl space. Everywhere.”
He led the men. They took their time, doing their best not to destroy any evidence. They searched room after room. Air-conditioning ducts. Closets. Storage spaces. Every damn place.
Then Dane headed outside with his men. Bright sunlight beat down on him. He saw the line of police cars that had assembled and saw the captain glaring at the scene. Uniforms had fanned out and were searching all the nearby buildings.
They won’t find him.
Because the killer was just screwing with them all.
Harley moved to the side, and Dane caught a glimpse of Katherine’s face. Just seeing her so close to the murder scene was like a punch to his gut. No. She shouldn’t be here.
He ran toward her and the captain. He tried to hold back his anger, but it broke free as he glared at Harley and demanded, “Why the hell would you bring her here?” How could the captain not understand what the killer was doing? He’d called her, lured her there.
“Valentine wanted her out here for a reason,” Harley said, his voice rough. “And she insisted on coming.”
Dane was starting to think the woman had a death wish.
But the captain was right. The call to Katherine had been deliberate, and Valentine would have been too smart to use the victim’s phone—knowing they could trace both the victim’s identity and the phone’s location through that call—unless he wanted us here.
The bastard was jerking them around.
Because he wanted to watch.
“The men need to fan out more.” His gaze left the closer buildings and drifted farther away, then rose. “Get uniforms up there.” He motioned to the buildings on the far right. “He set the scene, and he lured his players out here. I’m betting he stayed to watch.”
Valentine liked to think he was in control of the game. A twisted game in which he was the only one having any fun.
Harley sent the uniforms scrambling. They rushed toward the first building that Dane had indicated, a four-story warehouse that would have given the killer a perfect view of the cop cars as they arrived.
“He saw us coming,” Dane said. “He watched us every step of the way.”
Katherine touched his arm—a light, hesitant touch. “She was dead?”
He nodded. The ME’s van was already there. Ronnie would be heading in soon to check the body. “She was still warm.”
Katherine’s breath shuddered out.
