by Cynthia Eden
His lawyer finally managed to haul the guy away. With a last, wide-eyed look at Katherine, Evelyn followed them.
“My office,” Harley snapped. “Mac, you keep an eye on Ms. Cole for us.”
Shit.
Dane turned away from Katherine and followed the captain. Harley slammed the door behind him. “Tell me that pompous prick is wrong.”
Dane immediately said, “He’s wrong. I’m not setting him up.”
“Tell me that you didn’t sleep with her.”
Angry now, Dane snapped, “She wasn’t a suspect. She’s a consenting adult.” Why the hell did he have to explain this? “We didn’t do a damn thing wrong.”
The captain slumped into his chair. “Hell, Black, you know better!”
“She’s still not a suspect.”
“If we go to court, that jerk’s lawyer will have a field day about your involvement with her.”
“We’ll get enough evidence that it won’t matter what BS story the guy spins.”
“You’d fucking better!” Harley leveled his index finger at Dane. “Because if the killer walks, it’s your ass on the line.”
“I know how to watch my own ass,” Dane said. He wasn’t backing down, not from the captain, not from anyone. His record was spotless. Emotion didn’t get involved in his cases. He did the job. He caught the killers.
Case fucking closed.
“Dane…” Harley slumped into his chair, and, just that fast, it wasn’t simply the captain talking to him. It was a man who’d been his mentor for more than fifteen years.
Harley’s eyes drifted to the framed photograph on his desk. A photograph of a blonde wearing a graduation cap and smiling as she stood next to her proud father.
Margaret Dunning. Harley’s only daughter. She’d been at the café when Dane went in to get Katherine. She’d been nervous when she saw him.
Maggie knew Dane worked homicide. She hated homicide. Hated her father’s job and the danger it brought.
“It’s not just about the case.” Harley’s voice was softer now as he reached out for that frame. He glanced up at Dane. “You know you’re the closest thing I have to a son.”
They didn’t usually talk about Dane’s past. Or Harley’s. They’d both tried to bury it.
“I don’t want to see you get hurt.” He put the photograph back down. “I don’t want you getting in too deep with that woman, okay? She’s got some dangerous ties.”
“Katherine won’t hurt—” Dane began immediately.
Harley’s lips thinned. His cheeks reddened. “Even if Lancaster is the one killing in New Orleans, do you really believe that Valentine has just walked away from Katherine Cole? By all accounts, she’s the only thing that ever mattered to the man.”
Trent had been reduced to living in a cheap motel room. The cops were at his apartment, tearing through every drawer and file he had.
By the time Trent left the police station and arrived back at his home, the cops had gotten a search warrant. They’d met him in the lobby of his building. His lawyer had said the search was BS, that the cops had just found an overly sympathetic judge who should never have granted the warrant, but there wasn’t a whole lot Trent could do at that point. Someone had remembered him threatening Amy—and, yeah, back during the divorce, he’d made a few threats. Heat of the moment shit. He hadn’t meant them.
But what he’d meant didn’t matter. The cops had a witness to the threats. They had him tied to two victims, and now, thanks to that warrant, the cops were already in his fucking underwear drawer.
He walked the short length of his motel room. This dump sucks. His body was tense, his hands shaking. Amy was dead—dead. Sure, he’d nearly hated her by the end of their divorce, but he hadn’t wanted her dead.
He’d wanted her out of his life, but still breathing somewhere else.
A slight rap sounded at his door.
Tense, he glanced over at the door. He’d told his lawyer where he was going. Told Evelyn. Poor Evelyn. The woman was a wreck—and so sure that Katherine was setting him up.
He should have listened to Evelyn when she tried to warn him. Should have stayed far away from Katherine.
But Katherine just hadn’t seemed dangerous to him. If she was truly a killer, he should have seen it. But maybe he’d spent too many days counseling bored housewives and sullen teenagers. Maybe he’d lost his edge. Maybe he couldn’t really see the sickness in people’s minds anymore.
The rap sounded again.
Trent headed for the door. He glanced through the peephole, frowned, then yanked open the door. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
Evelyn walked inside, her steps determined, but her hands shaking. Her hair had come out of its twist. “It’s my fault.”
Trent sighed. “Don’t worry, Evelyn. This will all be over soon. There’s nothing to find at my place.”
She shook her head. “I brought her into our lives.”
“We can’t save everyone, Evie,” he said, using his old nickname for her. Trent pulled her against his chest, and for a moment he just held her.
He felt her nod. “I know.” She lifted her head. Stared up at him. Tears glinted in her eyes, and she looked vulnerable.
Almost beautiful.
Trent stiffened. He wasn’t going there. Not again.
He released her.
A furrow appeared between her brows. “Trent?”
He shook his head. “You should go home, Evie.”
Evelyn’s features tightened, but she gave a small nod. “You’re right. We’re both upset. We can talk tomorrow.”
There was always tomorrow.
At the door, Evelyn glanced back. He couldn’t read the emotion in her gaze, but then, she’d always been hard to read.
“I’m so sorry this has happened to you,” she said.
His brows rose. His smile was forced. “My lawyer will have this handled in hours. The PD will be the sorry ones—sorry they ever messed with me.” Or they would be, if he could actually afford a lawyer who gave a damn. The lawyer who’d come down to the police station was way over his budget and already threatening to walk.
But Evelyn bought his act. She gave a little wave and left.
He shut the door behind her, catching the faint scent of her lingering perfume. For a moment he just stood there, thinking about the mess of his life—and trying not to think about those black-and-white images of Amy’s body.
But he couldn’t get them the hell out of his head.
A knock sounded at the door again. Sighing, he turned back and yanked open the door. “Evie, look, I told you—” His words ended in a hard gasp.
A knife had been shoved into his chest.
Trent tried to speak but couldn’t. He was shoved back, away from the door. Away from help.
He hit the floor. His blood seeped out. His body began to grow numb.
The door closed with a soft click, sealing him inside with his attacker.
“You’re still alive,” Trent heard. “I missed your heart.”
The knife lifted.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get it this time.”
– 11 –
Dane didn’t come to Katherine’s house that night. Mac did instead. He looked grim and determined, and he spent the night on her couch. He was the silent type, all right.
The next morning, as the sunlight trickled through her window, Katherine stood in the kitchen, glancing out at the line of trees near the edge of her yard. She was sipping her coffee when Mac entered the kitchen. He’d changed into fresh clothes, and his gaze was as watchful as always as it swept over her. “What can you tell me about Dane?” she blurted out when he’d had time to get his own mug of coffee.
“The captain told him to stay away.” Mac was silent for several moments. Then he sighed and his face softened. “He can’t be involved with you, not while he’s trying to take down Lancaster.”
“We’re not involved.”
“He sure looks at you as if you are.”
/> She wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
Then she heard raised voices outside her front door. Shouts. Her body tensed as she recognized one of the voices as Dane’s. Whatever was going on out there, he sure sounded pissed.
Mac hurried out of the kitchen and yanked open the front door. “What are you doing here, man?”
From the shouts, Katherine knew someone else was out there with Dane, but she sure hadn’t expected to see Evelyn.
Evelyn’s eyes were wide and tear filled. A uniformed cop stood beside her with his hands wrapped around her arms, as if restraining her.
“Where is he?” Evelyn demanded.
Katherine frowned.
“Where is he?” Evelyn screamed. The reserved, always questioning, always watching doctor was screaming.
Katherine’s gaze darted to Dane.
“It seems Dr. Trent Lancaster is missing.” His voice was mild.
“Missing?” Katherine said, feeling lost.
“Innocent men don’t run,” Mac said. He stood beside Katherine with his arms at his sides
“He wouldn’t run!” Evelyn’s face was red and blotchy. “I went back to his motel this morning. Something happened to him, I know it!”
Katherine could almost feel Dane and Mac’s silent communication. She’d noticed that they often spoke to each other in glances or raised brows.
“I caught her on the way up the walk,” Dane murmured with a nod toward Evelyn. “She was racing for the door.”
“Because she did something to him!” Evelyn pointed at Katherine. The cop tightened his hold on the shrink. “She killed him, just like she did the others!”
Katherine took a step toward her. “I had a guard at my house all night. How was I supposed to kill someone with cops all around me?”
Evelyn’s eyes widened. She glanced at Mac, Dane, then the uniform. “Where is he?” Now her voice was hushed. Desperate. “Where is Trent?”
Katherine didn’t know, but Dane’s hard stare told her that he’d be finding out.
The smell of bleach hit Dane the instant the maid opened the motel room door.
Mac was behind him. “Thanks, ma’am,” he murmured to the lady with the nervous hands.
The maid backed away.
Dane eased inside. His gaze went to the floor. He was staring down at concrete. The carpet was gone and the scent of bleach hung heavily in the air.
They both knew what this scene meant. Either Trent Lancaster had been attacked in this motel room, or he’d attacked someone there.
Someone had cleaned up that room, and it sure as hell hadn’t been the maid.
Dane made his way around the room as he yanked on gloves and went to work.
Katherine forced her shoulders back as she unlocked the door to her gallery. Plainclothes cops were standing across the street, trying to blend in, but their avid gazes kept drifting to her.
The bag of beignets in her hand jostled a bit as she opened the door. She’d made a quick stop by Joe’s Café on her way to the gallery. The gallery was in the Quarter, in a hundred-year-old building that had been partially renovated and rented out to her. Get back to your routine. Try to draw him out by acting normal. That had been Dane’s advice to her.
So she was trying to follow his orders.
The gallery was dark inside, and her hand automatically reached out to hit the lights.
Only the lights didn’t come on. She pushed the switch again and again, but nothing happened.
Her body tensed. Short-circuits were common in buildings this old. She’d had a repairman out three times already in the past six months. Just because the lights weren’t on, it didn’t mean anything.
Get a grip. Right after she’d left Boston, she’d seen Valentine in every shadow. Heard him in every rustle of sound.
But he hadn’t been there.
And just because her lights weren’t working, it didn’t mean he was here, either.
But he is in New Orleans.
Her breath was coming out too hard and fast.
She noticed the alarm also wasn’t beeping. That was normal, though, if the power had shorted. The alarm wouldn’t work until she got the repairman in there.
Katherine turned back toward the plainclothes cops. They’d crept closer when she opened her door. “Can one of you go check the circuit breaker at the back of the building? I’ve been having trouble.”
The shorter cop nodded and immediately took off toward the back. The second cop stepped toward Katherine. “You need me, ma’am?” he asked.
Her gallery was dark. The lights went off there all the time. There was no reason for her to panic.
Right?
“I-I’m fine. Can you just make sure he gets the lights back on?” She turned away from him. Katherine kept a flashlight in her desk. She’d get it, and if the cops couldn’t fix the problem from the outside, she’d look around the gallery to see what she could do about the problem.
She took a few hesitant steps toward her desk. Her eyes strained, trying to adjust to the darkness.
Nothing looked disturbed or out of place or—
She wasn’t alone.
The bag slipped from her fingers, and the beignets spilled across the floor.
A man was slouched in the chair to the left. He was so still and silent that she hadn’t noticed him at first. Her breath heaved in her chest as she took another step forward. Her eyes narrowed as she strained to make out his features. There was a large window behind him, but the curtains were drawn, and only a faint trickle of light spilled inside. But she could just see his profile. The strong lines and angles of his face were familiar.
Trent.
Her thigh bumped into the edge of her desk, and she fumbled in the lower desk drawer. Her fingers slid under the drawer’s false bottom, and she pulled out a small, black gun. Dane thought Trent might have killed his ex-wife, and now Trent was waiting for her inside her darkened gallery? Oh, hell no, that wasn’t good.
“Trent?” Her voice was hoarse as she called to him. Her fingers were trembling around the gun.
Trent didn’t stir.
She wished she could see more of him.
“Trent, how did you get in?”
He still wasn’t moving.
“Trent, the police are outside.” Instead of inching forward, she was now inching back. She was getting the cops, and whatever game Trent thought he was playing, well, the guy could think again. “You stay right there,” she snapped at him. “Don’t even think of coming at me. I-I’ve got a gun.”
Then she heard a loud click—like a lock turning. Behind her.
Her whole body went into high alert. She started to whirl toward this new threat, but strong hands wrapped around her body, and she was jerked back against a hard chest.
“You aren’t going to use that gun on me, are you, Kat?”
That low whisper had haunted her nightmares for so long.
It was a whisper she’d never been able to forget.
Valentine’s whisper.
“What do you think? Is the shrink in the wind?” Mac asked as he backed up and let the crime-scene techs take over the motel room.
Dane shook his head. “He left his wallet behind. All of his credit cards. His cash.” What little there had been of it.
“A guy like him would have plenty of backup resources.”
“No, the ex-wife got all the money in the divorce.” Trent had gotten nothing. Dane’s gaze swept over the room once more. He knew a crime-scene cleanup when he saw one, and this scene—it had been fucking thoroughly cleaned.
No blood drops. No sign of a struggle. Nothing at all.
He glanced at the door once more. They’d already put out an APB on Trent Lancaster, just in case, but the knot in his gut was telling him that he had to do more right then.
He and Mac headed outside. “We’ll need to talk to Evelyn again.” The woman had been damn near hysterical earlier, so sure that something had happened to Trent.
She’d been right.
Dane’s gaze scanned the parking lot. They’d talked to the front desk clerk, and the guy had remembered seeing Lancaster pull up in his sports car. Apparently they didn’t get a whole lot of Jags at that place.
Considering the financial mess the doc was in, Dane was rather surprised he’d even kept the ride.
But that fancy vehicle wasn’t there now. Every cop in the city was looking for it, though. Dane slid into his vehicle.
Find that Jag and they’d find—
The radio crackled to life. Dane leaned forward. “Got a hit on that APB,” he was told. “Your sports car was just spotted in a tow-away zone.” The dispatch rattled off the address—an address that was too familiar to Dane.
“Hell.” His breath rushed out. “That’s three blocks from Katherine’s gallery.” He’d given the guards orders to stay close to the gallery.
They’d better damn well be close. “Send the cops in now!” Dane barked. “I want them standing by Katherine’s side until I get there.”
He raced down the road with a squeal of his tires. Why was Trent’s car so close to Katherine’s gallery? No damn way it was a coincidence. No fucking way.
He tried to get Katherine on the line. But her phone just rang and rang, then her voice mail picked up. Shit. “Katherine, get to the cops who are watching you. Stay with them. Got it? Stay with them.”
Then he and Mac burned rubber to get to her.
“Good girl. You don’t need to answer that call. It’s no one who matters.”
His arms were still too tight around her. His face was behind her, his lips near her ear as he whispered, “And you don’t need the gun. Trent can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore.”
Her gaze flew back to Trent. He still hadn’t moved. Not at all. “The gun isn’t just for Trent,” she said.
He laughed behind her. “Oh, sweet Kat, you don’t have to worry about me. I’d never hurt you.”
She was supposed to believe a man who spent his nights carving up women? Katherine would love nothing more than to put a bullet in his heart. If he actually had a heart.