Killer Smile

by Marilyn Pappano

  Before her brain could give her throbbing muscles the command to move, a shadow fell over her, and she saw her tormentor for the first time. Bewilderment flashed through her. “Rob?” He was her stalker? A computer guy from San Francisco? She’d visited the city, of course, but not since she was in middle school. How could she possibly have come to his attention?

  He smiled, his face handsome even though she knew what lay behind those blue eyes, that chiseled jaw, that straight nose. Shouldn’t evil look evil?

  “You do remember me. I knew you did.”

  Remember you from where? No matter how hard she stared, she couldn’t find anything the least bit familiar about him. Their meeting, if it had even happened, had been so inconsequential that it wasn’t even a flutter in the most faded of her memories.

  Slowly, she sat up, testing various parts of her body. The entire left side of her face throbbed, and her right hand stung from the cuts. Those damn birds really ought to be set free before they seriously harmed someone.

  But she didn’t have to worry about birds. She had her very own psychopath looming over her.

  She also had Daniel coming after her. The locked doors might slow him down, but he would come. He would save her.

  Still cautious, she stood up, swayed a bit then got her balance back. The roof was the same footprint as the hotel—not very big—and there was nothing on it. No place to run to. Nowhere to hide. Climbing over to the next building to escape was out of the question; the building on the west side was one story taller, and the alley ran on the east side. The fire escape must have stopped at the third floor. It was just one big open space, with a full ten feet of stone on one side and a low brick edge on the others. The edge, she knew from all the old buildings she’d toured, was strictly aesthetic, not protective.

  RememberMe—Rob—wasn’t kidnapping her. He wasn’t taking her to some isolated spot where they could live happily together. He wasn’t coming out of the obsessive-love phase. He was so far past it that he probably wouldn’t remember ever loving her once he killed her.

  Hesitantly she backed away a step, another, a few more. She didn’t want to be any closer to the edges than she had to—she’d always thought falling was a horrible way to die—but she didn’t want him facing the door, either, when Daniel came out. He hadn’t shown a weapon yet, but she was certain he had one.

  He turned to watch her but didn’t follow. “I knew you remembered me. That you were just playing when you pretended you didn’t.”

  “Th-there were a lot of p-people around when we met.” Her voice quavered, but that was okay. Inside she was shaking so hard, she was surprised she could even talk. What did a person say to a psychopath? What might set him off? What might appeal to his twisted sense of reason?

  “There were always a lot of people around you.”

  Always? Did that mean they’d met on more than one occasion? Or was it just something he’d noticed while stalking her?

  “I-I thought you were in Seattle.”

  He made a dismissive gesture. “I’m a cop. Do you know how easy it is to find someone who will shoot someone else for a price?”

  A lump rose in her throat. “And it made us think you were gone.” It made them let down their guard and gave him his chance.

  “I told you I was smarter than them.” When he smiled, she saw the first hint of ugliness in his smug expression, in his disdainful look. “Harper’s never been half the cop I am. He couldn’t cut it in LA, so he came here, a crap little town where nothing ever happens. He’s an idiot.”

  A blur of movement behind him distracted her for an instant: the door to the stairs opening an inch. Hastily she spoke louder than necessary to cover any noise Daniel might make. “He knows you’re a cop, too.”

  Rob shrugged. “It’s too late.” He raised his voice, too, as he began walking toward her. “I’m here. You’re here. He’s stuck on those stairs, knowing that if he bursts out here, trying to be the hero, I’ll blow his damn head off.”

  Natasha glanced at the stairs for an instant. When she turned her gaze back to Rob, he was less than ten feet away and holding a pistol. She backed up, and he lunged and grabbed her arm, pulling her around in front of him, tight against his body.

  “I told you you were mine,” he whispered, turning so they faced the stairs. “I told you you would always be mine. We made vows, Nat. You can’t break vows.”

  He drew a deep breath then went utterly still. “You smell just the way I remember. You’ve worn that same perfume all this time. Just for me. Everything you do—the way you dress, the way you laugh, the way you smell, the way you move—for me. I’ve always known it. You’ve always known it, too. Now you can quit pretending, Nat.”

  Then he called, “Come on out, Harper.”

  Frantically she ran through every possible scenario in her mind and couldn’t find a single one with a good outcome. He’d moved them too close to the roofline. Two steps back, and there was nothing to save them from a forty-or fifty-foot fall. She could try going limp again, but the value of the action was in the surprise, and with his arm so tight around her waist, it wouldn’t require much more effort to hold her in place, even if she refused to cooperate. The running shoes she was wearing hadn’t made any impact when she’d kicked him, and her arms were pinned at her side, her fingers starting to go numb from decreased circulation.

  She couldn’t do anything, and so she prayed. She thought about Stacia and Nick, their parents and Archer and Jeffrey. She said a silent I love you to Daniel.

  And then he stepped through the doorway.

  * * *

  “Alex Robin Miller.”

  Rob laughed. “Ooh, my full name. I guess I’m in trouble now.”

  Daniel’s pistol was comfortable in his hand, though he hoped to God he didn’t have to use it. He had no qualms about shooting Miller, but it would take every ounce of desperation in him to do it while the bastard was using Natasha as a shield.

  His gaze locked on her, moving swiftly from head to toe and back up, relief rushing through him. Her face was white, her eyes huge and distressed and, even from this distance, he could see the shudders that racked her. There was blood on her hand, one side of her face burned red, and judging by the bangs and thuds as he’d dragged her up the stairs, she must have plenty of aches. But she was okay. Thank God, she was okay.

  Daniel moved away from the door, sidestepping to the right. Ben was positioning himself on the roof of the building next to the courthouse, directly across the street from this one, and Lois was delivering a sniper rifle to him. Sam and a couple of uniforms were in the stairwell, awaiting the signal, and every other officer in town was setting up in the vicinity; there would be no escape for Miller.

  But that sick tangle deep in his gut told him Miller didn’t plan to escape. He was making his stand, and he was taking Natasha with him.

  No damn way.

  Keeping his pistol trained on Miller, Daniel stalled. He’d had no time to grab a radio or earpiece, so he had no way to communicate with his fellow officers. When Ben was ready, he’d said grimly, Daniel would know.

  “Remind me where you met Natasha.”

  “She remembers. She said so. Tell him, Nat.” He yanked her, made her grunt as she lost her balance.

  Daniel added that to the list of RememberMe’s sins.

  “She hates being called Nat,” he said casually.

  “She hates anyone else calling her that. It’s my special name for her. I’m the only one allowed to use it.”

  “So where’d you meet? Or is that another of your fantasies?” Daniel could imagine Sam shaking his head at that last bit. Don’t upset the crazy psycho guy holding a gun on the hostage.

  But Miller didn’t take offense. He did, however, take the bait and answer the question. “The cookout for Captain Franklin’s retirement. Nat can give you the exact date if it’ll help jog
your memory.”

  Natasha’s eyes widened, and she gave a tiny shrug. She was still as clueless about their introduction as Daniel was. Sure, he remembered the cookout. Mostly he remembered that there had been a couple hundred people there, that after a half hour, he’d stopped even listening to the names of people they were introduced to. Miller had definitely come around after that half hour.

  “No, I remember. It was a long time ago. We broke up a couple months later. Why did you wait so long?”

  Miller’s face contorted into a smile. “Broke up? She dumped you. She didn’t even care enough to do it face-to-face. She sent her sister to humiliate you in front of everyone.”

  A breeze sent an advertising flyer skipping across the roof and stirred the leaves there. Daniel watched as they crackled back down, making a deliberate effort not to look at the rooftop across the street. He couldn’t betray Ben’s intentions with even a glance. “Yeah. She dumped me. Broke my heart. Maybe she even did it for you. But you didn’t make a move on her then. Why not?”

  Miller awkwardly caressed Natasha’s hair with his gun hand. She stiffened but didn’t flinch. Daniel flinched, hating every second of this on her behalf. Having to face her stalker, to endure his touch and bear his aggression... It would take a long time to erase the ugliness of the past few minutes from her mind.

  Daniel intended to be by her side for a very long time.

  “I had to wait for the right time. She wasn’t ready to settle down. I didn’t have to worry about someone taking her away because she loved me. She was mine. So I gave her space. I didn’t abandon her. I stayed in touch, and I waited for the perfect time.”

  I stayed in touch. He must have been the most patient man in the world, watching from afar, keeping tabs on her. That kind of obsession freaked out Daniel—would freak out any sane person. Why hadn’t he just asked her out, like any other guy, as soon as he found out the wedding was off?

  Because he wasn’t like any other guy. He was a psychopath whose delusions controlled his life.

  Miller’s smile returned. “Are you through stalling, Detective? Do you think I’m unaware of your plan? You’ve got a sniper in one of these buildings, most likely the one across the street.” He shook his head in dismay. “People give you credit for being a much better cop than you actually are. You and your big partner, you do everything by the book. Even a common criminal can predict your every move—and trust me, Harper, I’m far more clever than the common criminal. Now, if you don’t mind—or even if you do mind—Nat and I have a vow to keep.”

  His arm tightened around her, her pained gasp slicing through Daniel like a dagger, and he raised his pistol so it was pointed at her chest, center-mass. The weapon was a .40 caliber Glock, no doubt carrying a very hot load. He meant to kill them both with one shot.

  “No!” Daniel shouted, taking half a step forward.

  “We promised. Together forever. In life and in—”

  Ben’s shot boomed, cutting off Miller’s words, slicing into the right side of his chest, spinning both him and Natasha to their left. Her scream echoed off the stone wall as panic burst through her. She freed one arm and twisted, shoved and scratched in a frantic effort to get away as Miller landed, but the upper half of his body pinned her to the roof deck, the lower half dangling in air over the roof edge.

  “Daniel!” she screamed, scrabbling and kicking at Miller, but he had a death grip—please, God, let him be dying—on her arm.

  Horror propelled Daniel forward, closing the distance in seconds, as she was pulled over the low brick edging. Miller wasn’t trying to pull himself back onto the roof. He was dragging Natasha off with him.

  Daniel dived, skidding across the rough surface, and grabbed her around the waist just as Miller succeeded in heaving her body over the edge. Her scream vibrated in his ears, churned in his gut, her free arm flailing before she grabbed hold of Daniel’s gun belt.

  “Oh, God, Daniel...” Looking down, she kicked at Miller. “Let go, you crazy bastard! Let me go!”

  He laughed. Miller actually laughed, though it was weak. “Never, Nat. Together...forever...”

  “I’ve got you, Tash,” Daniel said, forcing as much calm as he could fake into his voice. The bricks must be tearing up the tender skin on her stomach, but she was probably too scared to feel the pain. He wished Ben would shoot the son of a bitch again, but it was a risk. Miller might lose his grip, or he might clamp on even tighter. Natasha was already battered. She couldn’t hold on much longer.

  But Daniel would never let go.

  “Hang on, babe. You promised to stay forever, remember?”

  Her gaze locked with his even as her body slipped through his tightest grasp, falling another two inches. Tears welled in her eyes, and a whimper escaped that broke his heart. “I love you, Daniel.”

  “I know.”

  Heavy boots thudded, then Sam dropped to his knees next to Daniel. Cullen Simpson took the other side. Both men leaned over the wall, grabbing whatever part of her they could reach. It wasn’t much—shirts tore, fabric didn’t allow a good grip, skin got slick—but it eased a bit of the strain on Daniel’s muscles.

  “You guys have her?” Sam asked.

  “I’ve got two belt loops,” Simpson answered.

  “I’m not letting go,” Daniel said.

  Grimly Sam released his hold and drew his pistol from its holster. Natasha’s gaze was still on Daniel. He murmured, “It’s going to be loud,” and she darted a look at Sam. Panic flared anew in her face, but after a moment, it vanished. She looked down at RememberMe and said in a quiet voice, “I forgot you the moment I met you.”

  Sam took the shot.

  Chapter 11

  Nearly four weeks had passed since that day on the roof—painful because Natasha had had injuries that needed healing; quiet because everyone had given her and Daniel the privacy they’d needed; and happy because...well, everyone had given her and Daniel privacy.

  Stacia had been elated that RememberMe was out of their lives, doing a little dance in the middle of the street she’d been crossing when Natasha called her that Monday night. I won’t be sorry, she’d declared. He tried to hurt you. He tried to throw you off a building! He was crazy. He was mean. And I’m going to celebrate his death.

  Natasha intended to celebrate the freedom his death had given her. No more fear, no more hiding, no more guilt.

  She climbed the last couple of stairs, her hand trailing along the railing that gleamed like moonlight. At the top, she stood at the edge of the dance floor, comparing the dusty room she’d seen a month ago to this sweet-scented fairy-tale wonderland. Everything that could glisten or sparkle did, including her, she was sure, if she could find her reflection anywhere.

  Her bruises had faded, the deep scrapes across her ribcage had healed and she no longer needed layers of makeup to cover the spectrum of colors the blow from Rob Miller had left her with. She was beautiful, Daniel had told her this morning. But he’d told her the same thing in the emergency room that day, and the next morning when she’d looked like an extra from one of Stacia’s horror films. He was biased.

  But she felt beautiful, and when she came up here tomorrow morning, she was going to feel incredibly beautiful.

  They’d learned a lot about Rob Miller. He’d been an average cop, skillful with computers, not with people. He was egocentric, patronizing and never missed a chance to let his coworkers know he was superior to them in every way. The LA Police Department hadn’t come across anyone willing to claim friendship with him. It didn’t seem, when they’d searched his condo, that he’d had time for anything but work and stalking. It hadn’t been a shrine, Flea said, so much as a repository: the life of Natasha Spencer in photos, notes and, yes, as Daniel had once suggested, discarded items. His dedication to his obsession had taken away Flea’s breath.

  Of course, his neighbors had said he was a qui
et guy, rarely home but kept to himself when he was.

  He’d also had a family who loved him. Who had thought he was just odd; weren’t most really smart people? Who had never imagined in their wildest dreams that he could stalk a stranger or had the capacity for violence. Who were grieving their son and brother as surely as Natasha’s own family would have grieved her if Miller’s plan had succeeded.

  She felt sorry for them. Sorry that her side was relieved by his death while his side was bewildered and lost. Sorry that his twisted delusions had created a situation where the only way she could live was if he died.

  He had set the rules, she reminded herself, and he had lost.

  Quiet steps came up the stairs. She’d ventured out onto the ballroom floor without noticing, and when the footsteps stopped, she swirled around a few times to the music in her head. The third swirl ended with her facing Daniel. He wore his usual work clothes: gray suit, burgundy tie, white button-down. His coat was pushed back, his hands in his pockets as he looked at her.

  He’d been her rock this past month. The first few days, her mood swings had been dangerous. She’d hated that Ben had been forced to shoot Miller without putting her at risk instead of killing him outright, and that Sam had then had to look the man in the face and kill him. She’d hated that the choked sob escaping her when she saw Miller’s broken body covered on the sidewalk had been one of joy. She’d hated the dreams that plagued her the first few nights, the irrational fears that popped up from nowhere, the paralyzing thought that it could happen again.

  Through it all, Daniel was there, strong, tender, compassionate, understanding, loving. I’m gonna love you like nobody’s loved you. And he had. He would.

  He finally broke the stillness, strolling toward her. “They’re gathering downstairs.”

  “Everyone?”