by Cynthia Eden
It was her turn to nod.
She didn’t think anyone knew about her relationship with Mac, and she wanted to keep it that way. Being gossiped about wasn’t her thing.
The doors swung shut behind Mac and Evelyn.
Ronnie waited a few moments, until she was sure they were gone. Then she reached for her flashlight.
She thoroughly searched Trent Lancaster’s body but found no sign of an injection.
Then she checked the body of Amy Evans.
Amy had the same small bruise on her neck that Savannah did. The drug had been sent right into her.
Ronnie frowned as she stared down at Amy’s body. Amy and Savannah were both slender women, and both barely five feet five inches tall. As far as she knew, Valentine had never drugged his earlier victims.
He’d charmed them, seduced them into coming with him.
But he’d drugged these two.
She tossed her gloves and reached for her phone. Her temples were starting to pound. “Hey, Mike? Yeah, it’s Ronnie. I want a rush on the Lancaster tox screen, okay? I need that report as soon as possible.”
This could very well be the break that the PD needed. They could trace the drug and find their killer.
Katherine awoke with a scream. Her heart was pounding, her body tight with fear and slick with sweat.
She’d been back in her basement again. Tied down on the table. Valentine had been over her with his knife gripped in his hand. She’d wanted to beg him to let her go, but duct tape had covered her mouth. She hadn’t been able to scream. Hadn’t been able to beg.
Then he’d lifted the knife over her.
That was when she awoke.
Katherine climbed from the bed. The T-shirt and old jogging shorts she wore—clothes that had been brought to her, courtesy of the PD—seemed to stick to her skin. The bedroom was too small. Closing her in. She had to be outside. To feel fresh air on her cheeks.
To clear the scent of blood and death from her nose.
Katherine opened her bedroom door with barely a sound. The hallway and living room were dark, but her eyes quickly adjusted, and she didn’t bother turning on any light. She didn’t want to wake Dane.
She’d just go out on the balcony for a moment. Breathe air that didn’t taste like death. Then the chill would finally be chased from her bones.
Until the dreams came back.
“What are you doing?” His voice rumbled from the darkness.
Katherine jumped, her hand just inches from the balcony door. She spun around as a lamp flickered on. She saw Dane sitting in an oversize chair to her right. His hand was still on the lamp. His eyes were on hers.
She swallowed. “I just needed some fresh air.”
His gaze weighed her. Then Dane gave a nod and rose to his feet. He was wearing just a pair of jeans that clung loosely to his hips. “I’ll come with you,” he said, picking up the gun that she hadn’t noticed beside the lamp.
Dane tucked the gun into the back waistband of his jeans. The muscles of his chest and shoulders rippled, reminding her of his strength.
She stared at him a moment, lost in the shadows that slid over his skin. Dane Black was a dangerous man. Strong and deadly. So why didn’t he scare her? “Have you killed before?” The question slipped from her.
“Yes,” he said flatly. He took a slow step toward her.
“That’s what happens in the line of duty.” The words tumbled from her. “You were probably trying to—”
“I killed my father when I was seventeen.”
She fell back against the door. “What?”
He took another step. “You think you’re the only one with secrets, Katherine?” Dane shook his head. “We all have them.” His hands reached around her. “You have to move for me to open the door.”
Oh. Right. She stepped to the side and he opened the door. The wind blew off the river, lifting her hair. She turned into the wind and stepped onto the balcony, wrapping her arms around her stomach.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why?” Dane’s deep voice followed her onto the balcony.
She stared below, at the darkness of the twisting New Orleans streets. Danger was everywhere. “Why?”
“He was an abusive SOB who thought I’d let him use me as a punching bag for the rest of my life.”
She didn’t speak. She hadn’t expected this from Dane, hadn’t realized—
He’s like me.
“I was tired of taking his hits. Tired of having his fist slam into my face.” He rubbed his fingers along the bridge of his nose. The small bump suddenly took on a new significance.
Katherine’s hands curled along the wooden railing of the balcony.
“My mom left when I was ten,” Dane continued. “I didn’t blame her. He’d been hitting her. He didn’t hit me. Just her.”
“She left you with him?” Anger boiled inside her body.
Dane came to stand beside her and stare out at the glittering city lights. “Maybe she thought it was just her who he’d hurt. I saw her bruises all those years, I heard her crying…”
“Why didn’t she go to the cops?” Instead of leaving her son.
“Because he was a cop.”
Her heart beat faster. Cops hunted the monsters. They weren’t supposed to be the monsters.
“So one day, while he was off working a case, she packed her bags and got the hell away from him. The bus dropped me off after school, I walked home, and she was just…gone. Without her there, it was only a matter of time, I guess, until he turned all his rage on me.”
He’d been ten when his mother left. Seventeen when he killed his father. So many years. So much pain. The whisper of that pain was in his words. Her left hand moved a few inches. Her fingers brushed over his.
“I tried to tell his partner what was happening. Maybe he didn’t want to believe me. Not at first.”
A kid’s word against a cop.
“Then my dad started drinking. He got into fights with suspects. Put another cop in the hospital. The more he drank, the more he lost control.”
Her hand was entwined with his now.
“One night, he broke a whiskey bottle and came at me, swinging.” His free hand rose, and his fingers slid over the faint scar beneath his lip. “He was screaming about how my mother left because of me.”
She turned away from the city. Stared up at his profile. So hard. Jaw locked.
“I knew he wasn’t going to stop. He was going to kill me. He wanted to kill me.”
“I’m sure he didn’t.” Her own voice was sad.
“I punched the bastard as hard as I could. Slammed my fist into his jaw. He was at the top of the stairs. He stumbled back, lost his footing. By the time he hit the third step going down, the whiskey bottle had embedded in his throat.”
Her fingers tightened around his.
“His partner was the first one on the scene. I was bleeding and had bruises—I always had them back then—and my dad stunk of booze. His knuckles were bloody from where he’d been punching me. The neighbors finally came forward and talked about the yells they’d heard for years. The fights they’d seen.” His lips twisted. “It just took him dying for them to be brave enough to come forward.”
A lock of her hair slid over her cheek, blowing with the wind. “What did his partner do?”
“Harley?”
Harley Dunning? Katherine gasped.
“Harley told me he was sorry. Said he should have helped me sooner. He got me out of that house and brought me to live with him.” He gave a little roll of his shoulders. “Then he turned me into the one thing that I always thought I’d never become.” He met her gaze. “A cop.”
He looked back out at the city. “So yes, I’ve killed.”
“What happened to her?”
Dane’s head turned toward her.
“Your mother. Did you ever go find her?”
“She left me. There was no point.” He shook his head. “I don’t want you thinking I’m some kind of damn hero. I’
m not perfect, far fucking from it.”
And that was a good thing. “Perfect’s a lie. I thought I had perfect once. Now I want real. I want good, bad, everything in between.” She stood on her toes and pressed a quick kiss first to the scar beneath his lip, then to Dane’s mouth.
“Katherine…” Her name came out as a growl.
Her turn to confess. “In three years, I never wanted a man. Not until I met you.”
His fingers tightened around hers. “What?”
“It was like part of me was dead. I was cold inside. I went through the motions. Even attempted to date some guys.” Trent.
He released her hand. Then his fingers were closing over her shoulders, pulling her back against him. “I’m trying to do the right thing with you.”
“I’ve got a killer on my trail. I’m more concerned with feeling alive than I am with what’s right.” Didn’t he understand that?
“You’re staying alive.” She couldn’t hope yet. For years she’d been living with the threat of the grim reaper. Katherine pulled in a deep, steadying breath, then slowly eased away from him and began to walk back toward the open door.
“No one in three years?”
She’d just reached the threshold when he came up behind her. His arms closed around her. “Why me?”
She didn’t turn toward him.
His mouth was on her neck. He kissed her sensitive skin. Katherine felt the light rasp of his tongue. “All of those men out there, why the hell did you pick me?”
She looked back into his eyes and told him the truth. “You make me feel safe, Dane.”
His mouth took hers. Not tame any longer. Not gentle. The need had burst free. He kissed her with a wild hunger. The same hunger that she felt.
Then she was being lifted into his arms. He was carrying her inside the house, locking the door behind them. The faint light from the lamp illuminated the hallway as he took her back to the bedroom.
Her arms were around his neck. Holding so tightly. She wasn’t letting him go.
Chase away the nightmares.
Feel alive.
Then he was putting her on the bed. “I tried,” Dane told her, his voice deep and dark. “Why the hell can’t I hold back with you?”
“I don’t want you holding back.” She wanted everything he could give.
Every. Single. Thing.
His hands hardened on her. “You need to be careful what you wish for.” He stripped off her shirt. His fingers went to the waistband of her loose shorts.
Then he was discovering that, no, she hadn’t bothered with underwear.
“Katherine.” A rumble of raw lust. He tossed her clothes off the bed.
She started to smile up at him, feeling a heady rush of what might have been happiness in that moment.
He took the gun from the back of his jeans. Put it on the nightstand. “I need you. I sat in that chair…” His words were a heated whisper. “Two hours…thinking about you…”
“You should have been with me.”
“Wondering…” Now his hands were on her thighs. Pushing them apart. “Just how you’d taste…”
He was climbing onto the bed. Pushing between her legs. His gaze was on her sex. Seeing every inch of her.
Then he leaned forward and put his mouth on her.
Katherine wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. His dark hair was a stark contrast to her pale thighs. His lips were on her, his tongue in her.
Her breath caught in her throat. She lifted her hips toward him.
She just felt. His tongue. His lips.
“So good…” Dane muttered, the words rumbling against her and sending a pulse of pleasure through her. “So…damn…good…”
Better than good. Her body was tightening as his finger slid into her sex, his tongue licking across the sensitive center of her need.
She came in an eruption of pleasure that burst through her whole body. Pleasure that shook her, twisted her, hollowed her out.
Katherine realized that her hands had grabbed the sheets. Fisted the fabric. Her breath was gasping out, and her heart pounded in her ears.
Dane was watching her.
“Dane…”
“I like the way you taste.”
She wanted him inside of her.
He still had on his jeans. He needed to ditch those.
Her hands slid down between their bodies. She undid the snap and eased down his zipper. His cock was big and heavy, and her fingers stroked over him.
“Katherine.” There was such need in his voice.
The same need that she felt.
“I don’t want to wait.” She wanted the pleasure—she wanted him. Right then.
He reached into his back pocket. Pulled out a foil packet, and then he was positioning his aroused length at the entrance to her body.
Death had come too close to her that day. But at that moment, Dane was reminding her about life.
He thrust into her.
Her legs wrapped around his hips. He was still wearing his jeans, and the material rasped against her inner thighs, but she loved the rough friction.
He withdrew, then drove deep, over and over. And he kissed her. Thrusting his tongue into her mouth as he took her body.
Her nails scratched over his back. She didn’t worry about being controlled or restrained or anything. She just felt.
Alive.
Then his mouth was on her neck. Licking. Sucking the skin. Scoring her lightly with his teeth. She arched toward him as the pleasure built within her, spinning her higher and higher.
Then her climax hit, stealing her breath, and the explosion rocked through her—the most powerful release she’d ever felt.
Katherine held tight to him, and in the next instant, he was shuddering above her. His eyes seemed to go blind, and he held her so tightly.
As if he’d never let her go.
Slowly, so slowly, their heartbeats eased back to a more normal rhythm. He eased away from her, and she fought the urge to reach out and hold onto him.
Dane disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the splash of running water.
Her eyes squeezed closed. When the pleasure ended, reality came back far too soon. She would have rather just stayed with Dane longer, curled in his arms, so she could pretend—for just a little while more—that death didn’t stalk her.
Then the bed dipped beneath his weight. Her eyes flew open in surprise. “Dane—”
“Shh….let me take care of you.” A warm cloth slid over her sensitive skin. She gasped at the contact, soothing and arousing at the same time.
Was it wrong to already want him again?
She felt like she needed, wanted too much with him. As if her feelings were out of control.
Maybe they were.
He started to rise. She grabbed his hand. “Stay.” She wasn’t sure just how much time they had left. Not with Valentine out there.
Watching.
Always watching.
She didn’t want to be alone in the dark.
He slid back into the bed. Curled his arms around her. Pulled Katherine back against his racing heart.
She closed her eyes and hoped that—this time—she wouldn’t dream of blood and death. Of a man who’d said he loved her even as he lifted a knife and prepared to take her life.
“You didn’t have to bring me home,” Evelyn said quietly as the detective walked her to her door. “I could have taken a taxi.”
“The NOPD wanted to make sure you arrived safely.” His voice was carefully modulated to show no emotion.
“The NOPD just wanted me away from the station.” She rubbed her temples. She was so bone-tired then. Her shoulders slumped and she reached for the doorknob.
Only her door was unlocked.
Tension snaked through her suddenly stiff body.
“Dr. Knight?”
She glanced back at Detective Turner. “I locked my door.” She always locked her door. Her heart beat faster.
The detective pulled his gun
even as he pushed her behind him. Evelyn swallowed, and the image of Trent’s sheet-covered body drifted through her mind. She reached out for the detective, moving on instinct, and her fingers curled around his shoulder.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered.
She nodded, but he didn’t see the move.
Then the detective slipped into her house. It was dark inside, quiet, and the thick carpeting muted the sound of their footsteps. The detective was methodical, searching every room, every closet, but no one was there. Nothing was disturbed.
They returned to the living room. With nervous hands, she quickly turned on all the lamps in the room. The detective watched her with a guarded gaze that she didn’t like.
“Your alarm wasn’t activated, Doctor.”
“It should have been,” she whispered, almost to herself.
He pulled out his phone. Called for a crime-scene unit.
“Why are you doing that?” She glanced back toward the door. It had been locked when she left that morning, right? She’d been so frantic to find Trent.
Surely she hadn’t just run out and left the door unlocked.
“I want the door dusted for prints. I want fresh eyes in here looking at the scene.” He put his phone back in his jacket. “You want to know why the crime team is coming?” He shook his head as if he didn’t understand. “Lady, your partner was murdered by the Valentine Killer. You just went on the news and outed his exfiancée, a woman who was supposed to be protected with a new identity. Did you even stop to think for a second that you could be putting a target on yourself?”
A target? No, that wasn’t possible. “Valentine wouldn’t come for me.”
“You sure about that?” He stepped toward her. “Then who the hell else do you think might have broken into your place tonight?”
Her heart was beating so fast and hard that she feared it would burst from her chest, but she tried to control her expression—an old habit—because she didn’t want the detective to know how she truly felt.
“Valentine is killing in this town,” he told her, giving another slow shake of his head, “and with your performance today, you just might have set yourself up as his next victim.”
– 14 –