Die for Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer

by Cynthia Eden

  “Trent?” His partner, Evelyn Knight, entered his office, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

  He whirled to face her. He wanted to tell her that he needed to be alone, but he stopped when he noticed the stark concern on her face.

  Good old Evelyn. He and Evelyn had first met back in their college days at Emory. They’d even dated back then, for a time, but soon enough he’d realized that they were better friends than lovers.

  Evelyn had tried to warn him about Katherine. When he’d first begun to notice Katherine, Evelyn had said to stay away.

  But Katherine’s legs were killer. And her eyes…they always made him think of sex.

  Then she’d stopped seeing Evelyn. There’d been no reason why he couldn’t go after what he wanted.

  He wasn’t a man ruled by emotion so much as by basic needs. Katherine had certainly stirred up those basic impulses.

  But then she’d gone and screwed the cop instead. Dammit.

  “What’s happened?” Evelyn glanced around the office. “What’s going on?”

  He sighed. “Nothing.” He straightened his shoulders. He always had control at the office. He had control everywhere. “Katherine and I—we decided to end things.”

  Evelyn’s gray eyes widened; then she nodded quickly. “That was the best decision you could make, Trent. That woman…she won’t be ready for any sort of lasting commitment for a long time.”

  He hadn’t exactly been in the mood for forever. In the mood for some good fucks? Yes.

  “I shouldn’t have told you as much as I did.” Her rounded jaw hardened a bit. “You shouldn’t have dated her.”

  “Yes, well, I didn’t date her until you stopped treating her.” So no conflict of interest. He’d been careful. He always covered his ass. The last thing he wanted was a lawsuit. After his divorce, he couldn’t handle another cash-flow problem.

  He’d almost lost the practice in that divorce. What had he expected? His ex was a divorce attorney. She’d known exactly how to hang him out to dry.

  Thanks for taking everything, sweetheart.

  Good thing Evelyn had been there to help him out financially. She was always there to help.

  “Katherine still needs treatment. So much…” Evelyn exhaled. “But we can’t help those who don’t want to be helped, right?”

  That was Evelyn’s mantra.

  He turned away and headed for his desk. His first patient would be in at ten o’clock. He’d focus, get through the day, then go find some sexy, dark-haired woman at a club. He’d screw her, pretend she was Katherine, and all would be right in his world.

  Or mostly right.

  He frowned. There was a white box in the middle of his desk, right next to a vase full of fresh roses. He hated flowers of any sort. Just because Valentine’s Day was drawing near, it didn’t mean he had to have damn roses in his office. Vendors were hawking the roses on every street corner of the city.

  I don’t want them in here.

  Trent would have to make sure the receptionist knew not to put any more in his office. “When did this arrive?” he asked as he stared down at the package.

  Evelyn was almost at the door. She looked over her shoulder. “When did what arrive?”

  He held up the box. Shrugging, Evelyn said, “Maybe one of the secretaries brought it in.” She left the room with her usual no-nonsense stride.

  Trent studied the package as the scent of the roses filled his nose. The white box wasn’t from their usual delivery service. There was no writing on it—it almost looked like one of the boxes from the bakery on the corner. Maybe it was a pastry delivery. One of the receptionists could be trying to get on his good side.

  He slid his finger under the box’s tab and lifted up the top. The box slid in his hand as he eased into his seat, and rose petals spilled onto the surface of his desk. “What the hell…?” Trent began.

  Then he saw the photographs, and he couldn’t speak at all.

  His fingers began to tremble. The first photograph was a close-up of a woman’s chest. There was so much blood. Someone had driven a knife into her heart. His own heart was racing so hard that it seemed close to bursting from his chest. His body felt ice cold as he stared at that horrible photo.

  The second photo showed the woman’s full body. The slices on her arms. The ropes that circled her ankles and wrists. The duct tape over her mouth.

  Her eyes were closed, her hair tangled around her face.

  A face he knew too well.

  A face he’d once loved.

  A face Trent had thought he desperately hated.

  Amy. His ex-wife.

  Nausea rolled in his stomach as sweat poured from him. Not Amy. Not Amy.

  “Evelyn!” he roared, then dropped the photos and vomited into the trash can.

  The elevator slowly ascended in the high-rise office building. Dane’s eyes were on the blinking control panel lights. Just a few more floors until Lancaster & Knight Psychiatry.

  “We’d just found the connection between them,” Mac said at his side. “The mother was in to ID the body, and she mentioned Amy’s ex to Ronnie…”

  Amy’s ex. Also known as Dr. Trent Lancaster.

  “The lady told Ronnie that the divorce was bitter. Trent had a wandering eye, and Amy was out for blood in court.”

  Only Amy was the one who bled.

  “Then the precinct got the call from the shrink’s office,” Mac said.

  Two crime-scene techs were behind them. Silent. Watchful.

  “And Trent got the photos,” Dane finished. He’d headed over to meet Mac as soon as he got the order from the captain.

  Katherine still had protection, tagalong uniforms who’d be with her for the day, while he had an appointment with the good doctor.

  “Why didn’t Katherine get the photos this time?” Mac wondered as he rolled his shoulders. “Why did she get the call but not the package?”

  “Maybe our perp couldn’t get to her because we were there.” Made sense to Dane. Did the SOB see that I was there last night?

  The elevator doors opened with a soft ding. Dane headed into the hallway, walking fast. Mac was right by his side. Mac shoved open the door of Lancaster & Knight, and two women near the reception desk began rushing toward them.

  Dane and Mac flashed their badges. Relief washed over the women’s faces as their shoulders slumped. They looked pale and shaken.

  “Where’s Dr. Lancaster?” Dane asked.

  The one with short blonde hair pointed to the right. “In Dr. Knight’s office.” She grabbed his arm before he could pass her. “Please, can we go home? I don’t want to be here any longer.”

  No, unfortunately, she couldn’t leave. Not until he and Mac had questioned her. He inclined his head to Mac and saw his partner flash his trademark calming smile. That smile could work magic.

  “Just let me ask you a few questions, ma’am,” Mac began as he gently took the blonde’s arm.

  Dane made his way toward Dr. Knight’s office. The door was ajar, but he rapped lightly on the heavy wood to announce his presence before he headed inside the room. A leather couch and two chairs were to the right. A gleaming desk waited to the left. A laptop and some wilting roses were on a corner of the desk.

  A woman with sleek blonde hair, which was twisted into a coil at the nape of her neck, spun toward him. Trent was seated in a chair beside her, his head hanging low, his body shaking.

  “I’m Detective Black,” Dane said, offering his badge, “and I understand you found a package.”

  Trent’s head jerked up. “You.” He surged to his feet. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Dane kept his expression blank. “I’m the lead detective on your ex-wife’s murder case.”

  “You’re in burglary.”

  “No, I’m a homicide detective.” That was all the guy needed to know. Because I could be talking to a killer. As a guy with access to both Katherine and Amy Evans, Trent had made it to the top of his suspect list. Now, if he could just conn
ect Trent to Savannah Slater…One step at a time. Dane narrowed his eyes. “Where are the pictures?”

  Trent’s shaking hand pointed to a door on the left. Dane headed for the door. He yanked on his gloves; then a quick twist of the knob revealed that the doctors’ two offices were connected. The crime-scene techs followed behind him, and the acrid scent of vomit hit him immediately.

  Hell.

  He made his way to the desk and saw the scattered photos. The stark black-and-white images of Amy Evans’s death. Hell. Dane studied the small white box. He’d already initiated a search to track the package that had been delivered to Katherine. So far, that search hadn’t proved fruitful. He doubted this one would either. The nondescript package could have been purchased almost anywhere.

  As for the rose petals and that vase of roses—eleven roses in that vase—he’d already started sweeps at the local florist shops.

  The techs closed in around him. Dane knew they’d dust the box and the flowers for fingerprints. They’d dust the whole damn room. On a case this big, nothing could be overlooked.

  Dane’s gaze darted back to the photographs.

  The photos hadn’t been printed at some local drugstore. No tags were on the back of the images, no numbers that would lead them to a specific printer. But they could still analyze the paper and the ink.

  Dane scanned the room. Nothing seemed disturbed or out of place. He hurried to the office’s main door. The lock hadn’t been damaged in any way.

  He opened the door and found Mac with the two receptionists. “Did one of you put the package on Lancaster’s desk?” Dane asked.

  They both shook their head.

  “He locked his office on Friday night,” the redhead said, inching a bit closer to Mac. “And no packages came in that day.”

  Amy had still been alive on Friday. The package couldn’t have come in then. Keeping his voice easy and calm, Dane asked, “What about this morning?”

  The redhead shook her head. “The office stayed locked until Dr. Lancaster came in. No one went inside until then.”

  “He came in looking angry,” the blonde said. “So we just stayed away from him.”

  Yeah, Dane was sure the guy had been angry when he’d arrived.

  “Are there any security cameras on this floor?” Dane asked.

  “No, the doctors specifically requested that none be installed,” the blonde receptionist said. “They want to protect the privacy of their patients.”

  He’d talk with the guard downstairs. Maybe there’d be footage of the perp entering or leaving the lobby. Or maybe the guard would remember seeing someone.

  Dane turned away and headed back to the two shrinks.

  Trent was still seated. His face was even paler than before, and his hands were curled tightly around the arms of his chair.

  “Dr. Lancaster,” Dane began, “do you know anyone who would want to hurt your wife?”

  Trent flinched. “Me.” The answer was stark, and not at all what Dane had expected. “Everyone else loved her. I was the one who fucked things up and caused the divorce. I was the one pissed because she tried to take my practice.”

  “Trent…” Dr. Knight began, her voice high and nervous as she edged toward him.

  “I’m the one with the motive. I’m the one who wanted her to disappear, so let’s just cut through the crap, okay?” Trent shoved to his feet and swayed unsteadily. “I’ve been angry with her. She hated me, but that—” He broke off, swallowing. “I’d never do that to her. Not to anyone. It’s sick.” He was panting. “And Amy…she didn’t deserve it.” His shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Amy.”

  Dr. Knight stepped in front of him. She was a pretty woman, with hard, gray eyes. “That’s not a confession, Detective.”

  He hadn’t thought it was.

  “I was with Trent when he found the package. He’s clearly devastated.”

  To Dane, it looked like the guy was heading into shock, but appearances could be deceiving.

  Dr. Knight glanced at Trent but then moved closer to Dane. “I need to talk privately with you.”

  He moved back and let the lady lead the way. She led him to the lobby, where Mac was just finishing up with the women. Mac headed toward them.

  “But—” Dr. Knight began.

  “This is my partner, Detective Mac Turner.” Whatever she wanted to say to him, she could also say to Mac.

  Gray eyes darted between them, then briefly over her shoulder toward her office. “I could get into so much trouble for this.”

  “For what?” Mac asked, keeping his voice low.

  “I saw the pictures of poor Amy.” Her own voice sounded a bit broken. “But I’ve seen images like that before.”

  Dane didn’t speak.

  “When?” Mac asked quietly.

  Dr. Knight glanced at the reception area. With her voice even quieter, she said, “I have a patient…had a patient…there’s confidentiality, but I can’t let anyone else die—”

  “What about the patient?” Mac pushed.

  “Have you heard of the Valentine Killer?” Dr. Knight leaned toward them. “Because he killed women, just like this. He bound them. Sliced their arms. Drove a knife into their heart. When I saw the rose petals scattered on Trent’s desk, I thought of him.” The phone rang, and she jumped. Her hand rose to cover her heart. “My patient is linked to Valentine.”

  Then she grabbed Dane’s shirt. “I knew she was dangerous. I just didn’t realize she would kill.”

  Dane didn’t move a muscle. “Doctor, are you telling me a patient of yours committed this crime?”

  Mac froze beside him.

  Miserable now, Dr. Knight nodded. “I thought she had her impulses under control, but my gut told me she was dangerous.” Dr. Knight’s eyes were now glued to the floor. “Katherine Cole.” The name was a hopeless whisper from Dr. Knight. “She was my patient. I’m afraid she’s the killer.”

  – 10 –

  The police officer trailing behind Katherine was in plainclothes—jeans and a dark T-shirt. He looked like a tired college student, just running into Joe’s Café to grab an early morning bite to eat. He didn’t even make eye contact with Katherine.

  But she knew he was there. And she felt better for having him close by.

  After Dane was called away, she’d dressed as fast as she could. She wasn’t going to hide in her house. She would get out, do her normal routine, and if Valentine was out there…

  Then maybe by being out, she’d be able to find him.

  Katherine took her usual seat at the counter. Joe came over at once, his face drawn in lines of worry. “I’m glad you came back.” He leaned toward her, and his gaze searched her face. “You ran out of here so fast the other morning, I thought something was wrong.”

  Just one or two things. Murder. Torture. The usual.

  “I wasn’t feeling that great.” She offered him a smile. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

  “You worried us both.”

  She turned her head, and saw Ben Miller on a nearby stool. Like Joe, Ben had always seemed friendly, but since she hadn’t been in a frame of mind to make friends, she’d closed him out.

  She’d closed everyone out. It had become habit for her.

  Ben usually arrived at the café at the same time she did. A few years older than she was, Ben wore dark-framed glasses and always looked as if he’d just left the gym. Sweats, freshly washed hair. She suspected he worked out at the gym across the street, then raced over for Joe’s famous breakfast. Joe really did make the best beignets she’d ever tasted, and after moving to New Orleans, she’d made it a point to taste every beignet she could.

  Ben hadn’t ever hit on her. He just ate, gazed at the news, then went about his business. He’d even brought his girlfriend with him a few times, a pretty blonde in spandex.

  Katherine realized she should say something. Their concern was making her uncomfortable, especially since she was lying to them both. Her fingers tapped on the counter. “It was really
nothing.” The cop had to be listening in on this. “I just needed to get back home.”

  But it mattered to her that these two men cared about what happened to her. She wasn’t just walking through life like a ghost after all.

  Ben’s dark brown eyes drifted over her face. “If someone’s giving you trouble,” he said softly, “you can tell me.”

  “Damn right.” Joe slapped his apron on the counter. “You’re a good lady. You come in here like clockwork, never bother anyone. If someone’s bothering you, me and Ben will take care of him for you.”

  She blinked away tears. “Thank you.” I matter. “But it’s nothing, really. Just a little sickness.” Her smile was more genuine this time. “Can I just have my usual, please, Joe?”

  “Sure thing.” But Joe hesitated, and his face became more serious. “I know about trouble, okay?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin. “Seven years sober,” he whispered. His fingers fisted around that coin. His gaze held hers. “When it’s not easy, you have to remember: things always get better.” He gave her a firm nod.

  She nodded back and forced a smile. Things could get better, but how many people have to die first?

  The bell over the door rang, signaling a new customer. Katherine glanced over and saw a leggy blonde making her way to Ben’s side.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said as she pressed a quick kiss to Ben’s cheek. “Spin class was a bitch.”

  The woman had an easy, casual confidence. Her fingers linked with Ben’s. There was warmth and affection in her gaze. These two, they were normal. Happy.

  I want to be like that.

  Ben bent and whispered to his girlfriend, and the blonde laughed softly.

  “I’ll take that order to go,” Ben told Joe.

  Joe started to bundle up some beignets in a plastic container.

  Ben and the blonde stood, but Ben cast Katherine one more glance. “Don’t forget, if you have trouble…”

  “What’s going on?” the blonde asked, her eyebrows rising.

  “Nothing,” Katherine said immediately. The last thing she wanted was to pull these two into her nightmare.