by Cynthia Eden
“This is fucking insane! On the news—the reporters were already saying she’d been targeted! That an FBI agent who looked like Alice had been killed!”
Randall didn’t speak.
Jonathan’s hand shook as he raked it through his hair. “Does Alice have a death wish?”
Randall might have wondered the same thing, at first. But then he’d realized—Alice just wanted the nightmare to end. “We believe the Secret Admirer has taken a victim, a woman named Tiffany Shaw. Alice wants to get that woman back.”
Jonathan’s eyes squeezed shut. “I heard that part on the freaking news, too.” After a tense moment of silence, his eyes opened. “And you know what? There’s no need to bullshit. If the Secret Admirer has that woman—if the real killer has her—she’s already dead. Alice won’t get anything back but a corpse.”
Randall had read all of the interview notes on Jonathan Collins. The guy had been singing the same song about Hugh Collins from day one—Jonathan believed his brother had been framed. “I’m Special Agent Randall Cane.” It was past time for an official introduction. “I’m working this case with Agent Todd. If you have any relevant information to provide to us—”
“My brother wasn’t a killer.”
Same song. “A woman’s body was in his vehicle. It’s pretty hard to overlook the evidence, don’t you think?”
“Not if he was framed.”
Some people just couldn’t see the truth.
“Someone could have dumped that woman’s body in Hugh’s SUV. Hugh wasn’t even routinely using that vehicle! It had sat in his garage for months because he preferred to use his motorcycle. The real killer could have known that, he could have—” But Jonathan broke off. “Why am I even wasting my breath? You have to see the truth now. The Secret Admirer is hunting again, and if we aren’t careful, he’s going to kill Alice.” Jonathan’s index finger stabbed into the air. “I’m not letting that happen. Not fucking letting it happen!” He hurried toward the station’s entrance, shoved open the glass doors, and rushed outside.
***
A swirl of faces stared back at Alice. Men and women. All shouting questions. She didn’t try to answer their questions. Instead, Alice eased out a quick breath as she stared straight ahead. She leaned toward the microphone. “Come after me.”
The questions stopped. She wasn’t there to speak to the reporters. She was there to speak to him.
“The victims have all been me. Haven’t they?” She didn’t need profilers to tell her that part. “My hair. My face shape. My eyes.” Her heart felt as if it were about to burst out of her chest. “Only they aren’t me. When you hurt them, you don’t hurt me.” A lie. Their pain hurt her. More guilt. More rage. “If I’m the one you want, if I’m the one you’ve always been after, then come after me.”
Questions fired at her.
Alice shook her head. She felt Zander slip closer to her. Another deep breath, and then… “You have a victim, don’t you? Someone else you took. Don’t hurt her. I’ll make the trade that you offered. Just call me. Tell me when. Tell me where. I will come. I will do whatever you want. It’s time, don’t you think? Time for us to get together. No one else. Just us.”
The reporters were screaming.
But Alice was done.
She turned toward Zander. “Get me out of here.”
He immediately nodded and took her arm. As they turned from the podium, she saw Jonathan rushing out of the station. The sun hit his close-cropped, dark hair, and for a moment, he looked so much like Hugh.
Hugh…with his laughing eyes. His quick smile.
Hugh…the killer. The liar.
Her chest hurt.
Zander didn’t take her back inside the station. That wasn’t part of the plan. Instead, he led her toward a black SUV that waited near the curb. Another agent held the rear door open for them. Alice jumped inside. “I need to talk with Jonathan. I saw him back there—I need to explain things!”
Zander climbed in with her and slammed the door shut. “We’ll contact him soon. Hell, I’ll get a team to bring him to the cabin, okay?” Zander looked toward the front seat. The driver was already in place. “Get us the hell out of here.”
The SUV shot away from the curb—and the crowd. Alice glanced back. The cameras were still rolling. Jonathan had moved onto the sidewalk, and he gazed after her with a tight, angry expression.
Alice fumbled and pulled her phone from her pocket. The FBI agents could track every call that she received. She just had to get the call when it came in. Then they could act. Then they could move. “The killer is going to call,” Alice whispered.
Zander’s fingers curled under her chin, and he turned her head toward him. She gazed at him, getting lost just for a moment in the darkness of his stare.
“I will be at your side,” Zander promised her. “Every second, you understand?”
She wasn’t going to argue with that. She wanted him close. “I think I’d like a gun.”
“Hell, yes, you’re getting a gun.”
She swallowed to ease the dryness in her throat. “Did I…do okay?”
Zander kissed her. A soft, tender kiss. “You did better than okay. You hit all the right buttons, covered it just the way the profilers predicted would draw the perp in.” Another kiss. “Baby, you are perfect.”
Perfect. A shiver slid over her. “No,” Alice told him with utter certainty. “That’s something I’m not.”
Chapter Eleven
“What in the hell are you doing, Alice?” Jonathan demanded.
Alice glanced up from her position on the couch. They were at Zander’s cabin. They’d been there since the press conference, and now, as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, she had to face-off with Jonathan. Randall had just brought Jonathan to the cabin. She’d asked for the meeting with him. She’d needed him to understand—
“I have to do this,” Alice told him. “A woman is missing—”
“She could already be dead.” Jonathan shook his head. “You know once he actually took them, the Secret Admirer immediately started to torture his victims.”
Because he attacked in a frenzy. A slow buildup of stalking, of thinking that his victim was perfect and then finding out…
She wasn’t.
Zander sat right beside Alice. “The profilers all said the original Secret Admirer went into a rage when the objects of his desire did something to upset him. That’s why the attacks were so brutal. But we aren’t dealing with the original—”
“Yes, you are!” Jonathan argued fiercely.
Randall’s lips thinned as he stood near the fireplace. “We don’t know what this perp is going to do. His MO is different. He shot Agent McCoy. So we have no fucking clue what he could be doing to Tiffany Shaw.”
“And until we have a body,” Zander rose, slowly uncurling his body, “then we work under the assumption that Tiffany is still alive. We have agents, deputies, and volunteers scouring the area for her. We know the killer is still close, so that means that Tiffany has to be close, too.”
“How do you know that?” Jonathan immediately demanded.
Zander’s stare lingered on Alice. “Because he doesn’t have what he wants yet.”
Me.
Jonathan’s chest rose and fell with his rapid breathing. “Alice,” Jonathan said her name roughly, pulling her attention to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do this?”
Why? Now Alice also rose. She’d been waiting all afternoon for a call that hadn’t come, and as more time passed, her nerves had been shot to hell. “We haven’t talked in months.”
“Alice, I—”
“Hugh was guilty, Jonathan. Guilty! There was no denying the evidence.” But Jonathan had been adamant, and she hadn’t been able to stay around him. Every time they’d spoken, he’d argued for Hugh’s innocence. He’d demanded that they hunt the real killer. “A body was in the back of the SUV.”
Jonathan’s lips parted, but he didn’t speak.
“I di
dn’t really know Hugh. You didn’t really know him. Hugh only showed us what he wanted us to see.” The perfect fiancé. The loving brother. The charmer. “I stopped talking to you because you still weren’t ready to see the truth, but it was a truth I had to see.” In order to stay sane. In order to get her life back. “Hugh is dead. This guy—whoever he is—he’s still out there. And he’s not going to get away. The FBI is helping me. We’re working together. They’ll keep me safe, and they’ll stop him.”
Jonathan’s gaze raked her. “With what? A wire? A GPS monitor? You think that will keep you safe?”
Before she could answer him, her phone rang. She jumped. So did Jonathan. Zander and Randall didn’t move.
The phone was on the coffee table. She’d put it there because she wanted it close. She’d pretty much been holding it for hours, and she’d only put it down when Jonathan arrived at the cabin. Now she leaned forward to see—
Unknown Caller. “It’s him.” It had to be. Didn’t it?
Zander’s hand closed around her shoulder. “Put him on speaker. The techs will do the rest.”
Right. Right. Okay. Sweat covered her as she swiped her finger over the screen. “Hello.”
“I saw you on the news,” blasted the robotic voice. The exact same voice she’d heard before. “You want to be with me.”
“I want you to let Tiffany go. I want to trade places with her.”
Robotic laughter. “Are you sure?” And then…
A woman’s scream.
Tiffany.
Still alive. Oh, thank God, still alive. “Don’t hurt her!” Alice cried out. “Just—just tell me where to meet you. I’ll come, I’ll be there, I’ll—”
“Alone, Alice. You come to me alone. No FBI. No deputies. They don’t track you. They don’t follow. You come to me.”
She was nodding but, of course, he couldn’t see that. “Where? When?”
“Now, Alice. Come to me right now.”
She couldn’t pull in deep enough breaths.
“There’s an old cemetery at the edge of town. You go there. You walk in alone. I’ll find you.”
“But—”
“If your lover comes with you, if anyone else is there, I’ll put my knife in Tiffany’s heart.”
The call went dead.
For a moment, all Alice could hear was the sound of her heartbeat. Then…
“Tell me you triangulated the signal.” Zander’s voice. Strong. Hard.
Her attention snapped toward him. His phone was pressed to his ear. He nodded and said, “Right. Hell, yes, we’re putting the tracker on her. And I’ll be at that fucking cemetery.” He ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket. He glanced at Randall. “Let’s get her wired. The call came from in town, less than a mile from the cemetery. The bastard is out there, and we’re getting him.”
“No!” Jonathan’s sharp voice. “You can’t do this, Alice! You’re going to die!”
Zander snarled, “Time for you to get the fuck out of here.” He grabbed Jonathan and guided/shoved the other man toward the door. “Alice will stay safe. You can count on it.”
“Because you’re going to be with her?” Jonathan sneered at him. “But didn’t you hear what that bastard said? He’ll kill that other woman—”
“He won’t know I’m there.” Zander yanked open the door. Alice could see a red-haired deputy outside on the narrow porch. Zander called, “Deputy Ross, Take Mr. Collins to his motel—”
“I can get there my damn self!” Jonathan huffed. He twisted, and Alice saw him crane his neck until he caught sight of her. “Alice, don’t do this. I’m begging you.”
Didn’t he understand? “I have to help her.”
Jonathan shook his head. “It’s going to be your funeral.” He stormed away.
Zander slammed the door shut. His gaze swept over her, softened. “Baby—”
“I have to help her,” Alice said again. “Now, where in the hell is the gun I was promised?”
***
“Is the bulletproof vest necessary?” Alice asked as she tugged at the vest Zander had forced her to wear. They were in the back of the SUV—the FBI seemed to have a ton of the dark-colored vehicles—and parked about forty yards from the entrance to the cemetery.
“Yes, it’s fucking necessary. The guy shot Cara, and he’s not going to get the chance to go for your heart.” He pushed the gun into her hand. “Aim and shoot, baby.”
“I know how to use a gun.” And if the bastard attacked, she wasn’t going to hesitate. “Is the tracker working?” The thing had been practically miniscule. The agents didn’t think that the killer was actually going to just be standing in the cemetery. They thought he’d be watching her from a distance, that he’d call her and direct her to another location. But the agents were going to be ready for that move.
They were going to be watching. Always.
At least, that was what Alice had been told.
Zander pressed a hand to his earpiece. Then he nodded. “They say it’s working perfectly.”
Because the device could give GPS coordinates and it would transmit every sound it heard. A clever bit of FBI protection.
“I’m going to be close,” Zander assured her.
Alice bit her lip. “If you’re too close, he’ll see you.”
“Baby, I was a Ranger for four years. The guy won’t see me.”
Despite everything, she smiled at him. “Thanks for being with me.” She was so scared that her fingers were shaking, but having Zander there—she just felt better.
“Where the hell else would I be?” He took her hand. Brought it to his lips. Pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “We’re going to take him down. It’s going to end tonight.”
She kissed him. Brought her mouth to his and kissed him wildly, passionately. “I’m glad I met you.”
“Baby—”
“And I get it—okay? The lies. I don’t like them. I hate them, in fact, but life is kinda too short for bitterness, and whatever happens next, I don’t want you thinking…” Her words were tumbling out, too fast, but she couldn’t stop. “I’m not holding on to any anger. I understand. And I’d do it all over again. Eat the sweets you brought to me. Have dinner at my place. Run to you in a rainstorm.” She swallowed. “I would always run to you.” Alice had to get those words out.
Because she was afraid there might not be another chance to say them.
“And you asked if I would date you…if this craziness was all over, yes, yes, I would date you. And I’d probably love you.”
His face tensed. “That’s good, sweetheart.” His lips feathered over hers. “Because I already do love you.”
What?
“And you’re going to be fine. You’re going to come back to me. And you’ll never be afraid of anyone or anything again.” He smiled at her, and his smile almost broke her heart. “Because I’m going to spend every day of my life making sure of that fact. I’m going to spend every single day working to make you so happy that there isn’t room for fear or doubt.”
Randall cleared his throat—from the front seat. He’d driven them to the drop-off spot. “This is some really romantic shit and all…” He coughed. “But, Alice, you need to get moving.”
She kissed Zander again. Not the last time. This is not the last time I will kiss him.
“I’ll be right there, baby,” Zander promised her gruffly. “You won’t see me. But I’ll be there.”
She nodded. Then she opened the door, and she did exactly as Randall had said.
She got moving. And Alice also kept a very, very tight grip on her gun.
***
“She’s going to be all right,” Randall said as soon as Alice left the vehicle.
Zander grunted as he yanked on his own bulletproof vest. “Hell, yes, she is.” He inclined his head to Randall. “Keep a lock on her signal. Keep talking in my ear. I’m going after her.” Without another word, he slipped out of the SUV. But unlike Alice, Zander didn’t walk straight toward the old, sagg
ing cemetery gates. Instead, he headed for the shadows. He’d learned to blend as a Ranger. Learned to enter a scene without a sound. Learned silence and the fine art of camouflage. He’d watch Alice. He’d stay close.
Because there was no way he’d lose the woman he loved. Those words hadn’t been some lie. He’d never lie to her again. Alice owned his heart, and he would keep her safe.
I’m watching, baby. I’ve got your back.
***
She’d never liked cemeteries. The headstones gleamed in the moonlight, and Alice found herself walking around them carefully. As a kid, when she’d visited her grandfather’s grave, she’d always been so afraid that she’d step on the dead. She’d imagined the bodies beneath the ground, and it had seemed so wrong to just walk across someone that way. So she still walked through the cemetery as if she were that eight-year-old girl, carefully creeping around the headstones and hunching her shoulders against the wind that howled around her. Her jacket covered the bullet-proof vest that she wore, and it gave her a bit of warmth on that surprisingly cold, spring night.
Her phone rang, jarring her. Her right hand gripped the gun, but her left shoved into her pocket and pulled out her phone.
Unknown caller. Zander and the other agents had predicted she’d get a call from the perp as soon as she got inside the cemetery. The FBI had been right. She answered the phone, fully expecting to hear that robotic voice filling her ear—
“Get rid of the tracker or he’ll kill me!”
That wasn’t a robotic voice. It was the hushed, desperate gasp of a terrified woman.
“Tiffany?” Alice gasped.
“Yes, oh, God, it’s me! Get rid of the tracker. Do you hear me? You have to get rid of it! Now! The FBI gave you a tracker. He can see you. He’s watching. Take it out. Crush it beneath your shoe. Please,” Tiffany begged, her hoarse whisper almost painful to hear. “God, please, get rid of it—he’s hurting me!”
Shit. Shit. Alice yanked out the small tracking device. She crushed it beneath her shoe, grinding it into the hard earth. “It’s gone! Okay? It’s gone!”
Silence.
Her fingers clenched around the phone.