Die for Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer

by Cynthia Eden

His gaze shot over her head and landed on the marshal. “Take her back to the station,” he told Ross. He couldn’t leave the scene yet or he’d have been the one to take her. But Dane didn’t like having her out here. She was too exposed. Whatever game Valentine thought he was playing, he needs to think again.

  Ross nodded, even as his gaze drifted to the buildings on the right.

  “Keep her safe,” Dane added. The last thing he wanted to see was Katherine tied to a table. With duct tape over her mouth. And blood dripping down her arms.

  The woman in there, with her dark hair and pale skin, could have been a substitute for Katherine. Would the killer be coming for her soon?

  Dane glared up at the buildings. You can’t have her.

  – 7 –

  Cops guarded the front door of Katherine’s house. A patrol car was stationed at the end of her driveway. If she’d had any neighbors to scare, the poor folks would have been terrified.

  But she didn’t have neighbors. Because she didn’t want them to get too close. She didn’t want anyone to get too close.

  “Do you know anything about the victim?” Katherine asked as her fingers curled around the cup of coffee in front of her. It was nearing eight p.m., and she probably shouldn’t have been drinking coffee so late, but there were plenty of things she shouldn’t have done in her life.

  Coffee wouldn’t be what killed her. Valentine? He just might be.

  Ross gave a slow shake of his head. He’d been her shadow all day, a shadow she was grateful to have. “Her name is Amy Evans. She’s divorced. Thirty-one.” He expelled his breath in a rush. “I learned that, then got—”

  “Sentenced to babysitting duty with me,” she finished, shoulders hunching.

  The kitchen chair groaned beneath him as he shifted his weight. She looked up and saw that his gaze had hardened. “Do you still have the gun?” Ross asked.

  He was always Ross to her. Never Anthony, never Tony. He’d been her handler for three years. Given her two new identities in that time. But she always called him Ross because she wanted to keep distance between them.

  Because she didn’t trust him.

  I don’t trust anyone.

  Not even the men with badges.

  “Katherine.”

  She blinked.

  “Do you still have the gun?”

  He’d given her the gun the day he got her out of Boston. She didn’t know if it was standard procedure to give a witness a gun. She doubted it, but there had been shadows in Ross’s eyes. A story she hadn’t been brave enough to ask about. He’d given her the gun and said, “If the bastard ever finds you, don’t waste a breath talking to him. Just shoot.”

  Her fingers curled tighter around the mug. “I still have the gun,” she said. She most certainly still had it, and she spent ten hours a week at the firing range making sure she knew exactly how to use it.

  In the years since her horrible discovery in that basement, she’d taken steps to make herself stronger. She’d become a damn good shot, and she’d spent countless hours hitting the mat in self-defense classes.

  She wouldn’t be caught unprepared if she faced a killer again.

  “Is it loaded?”

  She shook her head.

  “Load the damn thing, Kat—Katherine. Keep that gun close, and if you need to…shoot. He came all the way down to New Orleans, didn’t he?”

  “He…he never tried to hurt me before—”

  “He’s a fucking psychotic killer. Just because he didn’t before, that sure as hell doesn’t mean he won’t come at you with his knife this time.”

  Some of the hot coffee spilled over onto her hand. The burn lanced her skin, but she ignored the flash of pain. “He never wanted me to find out what he did. He told me that in the basement.” So why would he be calling her now? Trying to lure her to crime scenes? Maybe Ross was right. Maybe she’d become one of his targets now.

  “Keep the gun close,” Ross told her again, his voice dropping, “and don’t forget for an instant what he is.”

  Her gaze held his. “I can never forget.”

  There was a beat of silence, and then she heard voices. Cops on her porch, talking to Dane. She pushed aside the coffee and hurried into the den just as he entered the house.

  The faint lines near his mouth looked deeper, and there were shadows under his eyes. She knew from just one look at his face that he hadn’t found the killer.

  “He sent you a package after the last kill,” Dane said.

  The bloodred roses and the photograph to immortalize his kill. To show his masterpiece. Valentine had taken photos of his victims in Boston, too. The cops had tried tracking him down based on the paper and ink he used, but they hadn’t found him.

  “If the killer is sticking to his routine, he’ll send you another package.”

  Her hand was starting to throb a bit now. She pressed her fingers against her jean-clad thigh.

  “I’ll be here if he comes. If anyone comes with any kind of package.”

  “I can stay—” Ross said immediately.

  But Dane shook his head. “My shift.” His gaze lingered on Katherine. “I’ve got her now.”

  Dane was going to spend the night with her. Again. At least she had an extra room he could use.

  A room right across the hallway from hers.

  Ross’s fingers brushed down her arm. She instinctively stiffened, but he just said, “I’ll be back in the morning.”

  She nodded.

  He bent toward her. “Remember what I said.” His words were a quiet whisper that Dane shouldn’t have been able to hear.

  But when Ross pulled away from her, she saw the suspicion on Dane’s face.

  “Detective,” Ross said, nodding toward him, “if there’s any threat—”

  “Got you on speed dial,” Dane said with a tight nod.

  Then Ross was gone. Dane shut and locked the door, and the house that she’d always thought was too big for her suddenly seemed too small.

  – 8 –

  “What did he tell you?” Dane asked, voice curious. “He whispered to you, right before he left.”

  “I have a gun that I keep in my nightstand. Ross was reminding me that I needed to keep it close.” Use it.

  “You do,” Dane agreed as his gaze swept over her.

  She shook her head. “He never hurt me.”

  Three steps and Dane was in front of her. He reached for her hands. “He tortured those women. Don’t tell me the guy wouldn’t slice you if he had the—”

  She gasped as his fingers tightened around the burn on her hand.

  “What is it?” His gaze dropped. She followed his stare and saw the red streaks on her flesh. “What the hell happened?”

  “I just…some coffee spilled on me.” Katherine tried to pull her hand away. “It’s nothing.”

  But he was tugging her toward the kitchen. Turning on the cold water. Holding her hand under the faucet. The icy water felt good on her skin. Or maybe it was his fingers that felt good. Strong. Tan and long.

  She looked up. His eyes weren’t on her. They were on her hand. On the water that poured over a small wound that shouldn’t matter for anything.

  “We need to put some cream on it, we need—”

  “I’ve had worse burns.” Plenty, back when she’d been a kid. “I’ll be fine.” Because being so close to him was making her nervous and edgy, she pulled away.

  He turned off the faucet.

  She backed up and hit the counter behind her. Great. Not exactly any place to run. The kitchen was small. Or maybe he was just too damn big.

  “Does the name Amy Evans mean anything to you?” Dane’s gaze was watchful, hooded.

  “I know she was the victim. I heard that at the station.”

  “But you didn’t know her?” Dane pressed.

  “I don’t think so. I saw her picture on one of the computers down there, but I’d never seen her before.”

  “You’re sure?”

  What did he want? Did he wan
t her to break? “I’m sure. Why?” Her breath caught. “Was she another reporter? Was she working on a story about Valentine?”

  “No, Amy wasn’t a reporter. She was a lawyer.” He exhaled slowly. “We’re checking her background, seeing what can tie her to—”

  “Me,” Katherine finished.

  He nodded.

  “Because the reporter knew me, you think this Amy did, too.”

  “We have to explore that possibility.” His voice was a low rumble.

  Goose bumps rose on her arms. “You checked my phone, didn’t you? You saw Savannah’s number.”

  He nodded.

  “Was that Valentine calling? Did he have her then?”

  “Yes.” A hard pause, then, “The ME thinks she was alive then.”

  Her lashes closed. Dammit. One missed call. If she’d just picked up the damn phone, maybe she could have saved Savannah. Stopped Valentine.

  Then Amy Evans would be alive, too.

  The floor creaked beneath his feet. His hands closed over her shoulders, but this time he seemed to be holding his strength in check. “Her death isn’t on you.”

  She looked up at him. “Isn’t it?” Her guilt said that yes, it was. Savannah’s death and so many others.

  “You aren’t the one doing the killing.”

  “In Boston, that didn’t matter.” So many people had come at her. Bricks had been thrown through her windows. Threatening phone calls had come constantly. She’d been given police protection because of the death threats.

  Then, finally, she’d had to take on a new life in order to escape.

  “This isn’t Boston. Everything is different now. Everything.” There was a deeper note in his voice, one she couldn’t quite interpret.

  She stared into his eyes and wanted to believe what Dane was saying. She wanted it so badly, but for three years she’d felt like she was running from death.

  A girl could run for only so long.

  “I’m tired.” The confession slipped from her. It was the truth, and she wasn’t just talking about being tired of running.

  His eyes narrowed.

  Tired of running. Of looking over her shoulder. Of jumping at every creak and rustle.

  And mostly tired of not living. Of watching everyone else around her be happy and fall in love and get married and have their kids.

  She’d watched them all. Life had passed her by. She’d finally forced herself to date again, with Trent, but that just hadn’t worked. She hadn’t wanted him.

  When Trent touched her, she tensed. She got too nervous and anxious, the way she did with nearly every man who came close to her.

  Every man except Detective Dane Black.

  Her gaze slid over him.

  He wasn’t classically handsome, she knew that. He was big and muscled. Strong. He still had his holster on—she could see the outline of his weapon. He was a dangerous man, with a dangerous job.

  But he made her feel safe.

  When no one else—not even Ross—had been able to make her feel that way.

  “Be careful.” Dane’s words were low.

  Her gaze jerked back up to his face.

  “There are some lines that you might not want to cross.”

  She felt her cheeks heat, and she wondered just what her expression had given away. This was the point where she should take a few steps back. Put some distance between them.

  Go in her bedroom. Lock the door.

  But she couldn’t move.

  “Sometimes,” she whispered, “I feel like my life ended three years ago.”

  “It didn’t.”

  He wasn’t understanding. She’d been going through the motions for so many months. Thirty-six, to be exact. Pretending to live while her body was encased in ice.

  She didn’t want to pretend anymore. Valentine was back. This time he might come after her. She didn’t want to die knowing only fear and pain.

  Katherine wanted life.

  She wanted Dane.

  Her breath seemed to burn in her lungs as she forced herself to move closer to him. “You’re staying here all night?”

  He nodded. His gaze was hooded, and she didn’t want him to look at her that way. She wanted to stare into his blue eyes and see need, lust, staring back at her.

  She reached out and touched his chest. Her fingers were trembling, but maybe he wouldn’t notice that.

  “What are you doing?” Dane asked carefully.

  If he had to ask, then she must be doing this wrong. She was rusty. Katherine swallowed and grabbed onto her courage as tightly as she could. “I was going to kiss you.”

  “Why?”

  She didn’t back down. “Because I want to.” Then, since she wanted to be honest with him, Katherine confessed. “Because I don’t want to die regretting that I didn’t live.”

  “You aren’t dying.”

  Amy Evans sure hadn’t woken up that day thinking she’d die either.

  “Will we break rules by kissing?” She offered him a smile that felt far too forced. “Fraternizing with a suspect? Is that against PD rules?”

  “No.” A stark pause as his gaze swept over her. “You’re not a suspect.”

  Good to know.

  “But you need to realize…” His voice had deepened. His fingers pressed a bit harder into her shoulders. “I might not stop with just a kiss.”

  She wanted to forget control and care and death and just live for a while. His chest was rock-hard beneath her touch. “And I might not want you to stop.”

  “Katherine…” Her name was a growl of lust. That same lust was in his gaze because he’d finally dropped his mask. Yes. That was what she needed to see. She needed to be wanted. Desired.

  Just a man and a woman. That was what she wanted. In the next instant, his hands were on her. His mouth was on hers. Not a gentle, seeking kiss. Hot. Demanding.

  At the first touch of his lips on hers, a dam seemed to explode within her. All of the needs she’d bottled up came crashing through her control. Her lips parted for him, and his tongue thrust inside her mouth.

  She moaned, a soft, hungry sound. His hands slid down to hold her hips. Warm, strong hands, and his mouth…

  The detective knew how to kiss.

  She stood on her toes as she leaned into him. Her hands had curled around his shoulders and she was holding him tight. Her breasts were aching, the nipples tightening to hard peaks. She couldn’t get close enough to him. Katherine knew she needed so much more than just a kiss.

  Then he was lifting her up. Their mouths broke apart and she sucked in a sharp gasp of air. He sat her on the countertop and slid between her legs. His mouth was on her neck. Licking. Sucking the skin. Lightly biting the flesh.

  A sensual current of energy seemed to pulse through her body. Her nails dug into his shirt. I want the shirt gone.

  Her hands fumbled and slid under the material. Then she was touching his skin. Feeling the faint curl of hair on his chest. Feeling all of those sexy muscles. Hot flesh.

  She tossed his shirt to the floor.

  His fingers were on her thighs. They seemed to brand her through her jeans. Far hotter than the coffee, his touch singed her.

  It hadn’t been like this for her before. She hadn’t wanted—

  Katherine stiffened.

  Don’t think about before.

  “Stay with me,” Dane ordered her as his head lifted. His blue gaze was so intense, heated with desire. “Stay with me.” Softer now. His lips took hers again. His tongue pushed into her mouth. His hand slid between her legs, to the juncture of her thighs. He stroked her lightly through the jeans.

  Just think of Dane. Only Dane. Nothing else. No one else.

  She didn’t want nightmares to take this pleasure away.

  Dane. She kissed him back. Slid her tongue against his. Nibbled on his lip. Sucked the small wound she’d made. Her legs rose and curled around his hips.

  He kept stroking her through the fabric of her jeans, his touch growing harder. She wanted t
o arch against him, to push and demand more, but she didn’t want the moment to end. This was the closest she’d come to actually feeling normal in—

  She stopped the thought immediately.

  Only Dane.

  His lips lifted from hers. “Let’s make the nightmares go away.”

  Yes, please. She was ready to shove those nightmares in a dark closet and padlock the door.

  Dane eased back. “I want you naked.”

  She wanted him the same way.

  “I’m not a gentle lover.”

  He seemed to be.

  “I like sex wild and hot.”

  Sounded good to her.

  “And you…you need more.”

  But Katherine shook her head. Didn’t he get it? “What I need right now is you.”

  “Then baby, you’ve got me.”

  At first, she thought they might make love right there. But he pulled her off the counter. Led her through the kitchen.

  Then it was her turn to lead. Up the stairs. To the room on the right. Katherine made sure to turn off the lights when she slipped into her room. She didn’t want him to see her eyes…or her scars.

  Not yet. For now, she wanted this to be only about desire. A man and a woman.

  Nothing more.

  She kicked off her shoes. Undressed with hurried, so-not-sexy moves. But in the dark, he couldn’t see her clumsiness. He wouldn’t see her stumbling around or notice her shaking hands.

  He’d just see her shadow. The way that Katherine could see his shadow. A big, solid form filling the doorway.

  Then he was heading toward her. Slow steps. She climbed onto the bed, pulling the covers back. “Um, do you want—”

  “Just you.” He kissed her again. “Just. You.”

  He was naked. Warm and solid and surrounding her. Part of her wanted to pull away, because, suddenly, this was too much. He was too much.

  The whispers of the past tried to come for her once more.

  “Tell me what you like.”

  His voice quieted the whispers.

  “You.” Her instant response. And it was true. There was something about him that got to her. An instinctive response.

  He laughed lightly, and Katherine had the feeling that she’d caught him by surprise. She also liked his laugh. It sounded warm. A little husky.