by Cynthia Eden
Mac wasn’t waiting for the medic to come to him. He turned and, holding Ronnie in his arms, ran back for the line of cop cars that waited at the edge of the road.
Dane faced the line of houses. The bastard could still be there. Dane motioned with his hand and pointed to the fourth house. Four men and one uniformed woman immediately followed him. All had their guns ready.
The sagging porch groaned under his weight. He reached for the door.
It was already open.
So much for having to kick it down.
He rushed inside that dark cavern of a house. The others followed him, checking the room. Finding nothing but dust and broken furniture. Roaches that scurried away from them.
The floor creaked beneath Dane’s feet. The other cops were fanning out. Searching the small scattering of rooms in the house. Finding nothing.
He knew this was the place. His instincts were screaming at him. Dane opened the narrow door to the left. Not a closet.
Stairs. Stairs illuminated by a faint glow that came from below.
The others had seen his discovery. They hurried to him. With the floors groaning so loudly, there was no chance they’d catch their perp by surprise.
It didn’t matter if he was surprised or not. What mattered was catching him.
Dane led the way down the stairs. The light was coming from some old lanterns that had been set up. The basement stretched, the walls sliding into shadows. The basement was as big as the first floor of the house. And right in the middle of that basement, a large metal table stood, a table that was dripping blood onto the dirty floor.
Bloody ropes had been left on the table. He stared at those ropes, noting the clean cuts. Sliced.
Ronnie hadn’t broken free by yanking on the rope or by breaking it. A knife had cut through her bonds.
Only as he looked around, he didn’t see a knife at the scene. Just blood.
“The house is clear,” a uniform said behind him.
This wasn’t right. He kept staring at the ropes. He raised his hand to the transmitter attached to his right ear. “He isn’t in the house.”
Dane’s gaze drifted around the basement. No pictures. No clothing. No furniture. Just the table. Just the blood.
The ropes that had been cut.
“We’re sweeping all the houses,” Detective Karen James replied in Dane’s ear. “Sending cops and dogs into the woods.”
“I want to talk to Ronnie.” He turned away from the table. A live witness. She could tell them exactly what was happening.
The scene isn’t right.
It looked like the killer had just let Ronnie go. Cut her, tortured her, but spared her life in the end.
His flashlight swept the floor once more. The trail of blood led from the table to the open window. A window that wasn’t boarded up. Ronnie had slipped out that way. Gone through the window and dragged herself to freedom.
Carefully he walked the length of the room.
He froze when he saw the drops of blood on the fourth stair. He’d gone down those stairs so quickly that he hadn’t even noticed it.
“Don’t touch this area!” Dane barked. He could see blood and…shit, was that hair on the fourth stair? Stuck in the blood? It sure looked like it. A long strand of hair.
Blonde hair.
None of the victims—those they knew about—had blonde hair. And the blood hadn’t left a trail. There were just a few drops on the steps, far from what he assumed was Ronnie’s escape trail.
Another victim?
Or the killer? Had the killer fallen while making his escape? Smashed his head into the stairs, then rushed away, injured?
Only that strand of hair was so long. His heart beat faster. Maybe they weren’t looking for a he.
An ambulance took the ME away. She was bloody and crying and didn’t want to let go of Mac.
Katherine watched as Mac climbed into the ambulance with her. Mac wasn’t letting go of her, either.
Dogs were hunting in the woods. Dane had come out of the house. Dogs were searching the area. Their barks and growls carried easily through the night.
It was hot, sweltering, but chill bumps covered her arms.
And she felt like she was being watched.
Katherine’s gaze slid through the darkness. The house was small, and, without the air of neglect, it would have looked like any normal home. Before time had warped it, what had the owners been like?
And had a monster lived there? Hiding beneath the guise of a smiling face? Because this house—with its dead roses—wasn’t random. The killer had lured them there, shown them the roses, because the killer wanted them to find something.
Not just about Ronnie. The killer wants us to see something here.
“Sonofabitch.” It was Dane, headed toward Katherine with glinting eyes. “I just got the background information on this house. Wanna know who lived here for two years when she was a kid?”
Katherine’s gaze drifted to the roses. Roses had been in the hands of the victims. Rose petals had been in the packages with the photos.
Dane’s question echoed through her mind. She.
Katherine remembered a woman who enjoyed having fresh roses nearby. Roses that were always watered. Always blooming. The smell of those roses had made Katherine tense up every single time she went into that office.
Katherine shook her head. She should have seen it. All of the questions. The intensity.
Even before Dane opened his mouth to tell her, she knew who had once lived in that house.
“Hello, Dr. Knight.”
The voice pulled her back to consciousness.
“Sorry for the binding,” the man told her, and Evelyn realized that her hands and feet were tied with heavy, thick rope. Rope that was abrading her skin, chafing her, trapping her.
“But I’m sure you understand,” he continued, his voice mild. They were in a car. No, an SUV, and she was crammed down in the back. She couldn’t see him. Could only hear him. “I needed to keep you contained during the transport.”
He started to whistle then. Easy, carefree.
She was covered in blood. He was whistling.
Her breath hitched in her lungs. She wanted to call out to him, but duct tape was over her mouth.
“You shouldn’t have taken the ME. That was just a foolish mistake.”
Her gloves were gone. He’d taken them. Taken her knife.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Now he sounded abashed. “I should probably introduce myself, shouldn’t I?”
No, he didn’t need to do that. She already knew exactly who he was. She knew everything about him. But…
“I’m Valentine,” he said.
Her heart beat faster but that fast beat wasn’t from fear. Valentine. She’d wanted this meeting for so long.
“And I’m afraid that you’ll be dead soon.”
Her elation vanished. She started to fight harder, yanking at the ropes. They wouldn’t give.
He began to whistle once more.
– 17 –
Katherine watched as Dane paced the small confines of the hospital waiting room. His body was tight with barely leashed energy. Mac was with them, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants as he leaned forward and glared down at the floor.
“She’s going to be fine,” the doctor said, appearing in the doorway. It was the same doctor who had treated Katherine. “But she’s out. Fentanyl was in her system, so it’s pretty much a miracle that she was still conscious enough to crawl out of that house.”
Mac surged to his feet. “I want to be with her.”
The doctor nodded.
Dane caught Mac’s arm. “As soon as she wakes up, you call me.”
Marcus crept into the room. “Is Dr. Thomas—”
“She’s going to be all right,” Dane said, rolling his shoulders. “A copycat…we were dealing with a fucking copycat killer.”
“No.” Katherine spoke quickly as she curled her hands into fists. “I saw Valentine. He’s here—he w
as in my gallery, he was at the house on Oakland—”
“He’s here,” Marcus agreed, “and he wanted you to know that he killed Trent Lancaster, but with the fentanyl in the blood of the other victims…” He exhaled slowly. “I don’t think those were his crimes. He realized what was happening—that someone else was hunting as him.” Marcus exhaled slowly. “I was so focused on his profile that I never considered an alternative.”
An alternative. Evelyn.
Marcus’s gaze slid to Katherine. “With Dr. Knight’s medical license, she would have access to the fentanyl,” he said, voice rumbling.
My fault. “I told her that the ME had found fentanyl in the victims’ tox reports,” Katherine whispered. “She must have realized that Ronnie would learn more, so she went after her.”
Marcus nodded.
“Evelyn is obsessed with Valentine.” Katherine put her hands in front of her. Twisted them. “In all of our sessions together, she always asked about him. About what he did. Why I thought he’d committed the crimes.” Why he never attacked me. “I stopped seeing her because I felt like she was more interested in Valentine than she was in actually helping me.”
Evelyn had made her feel broken beyond repair.
A curiosity, one to be examined, studied. Journaled about.
“Did you tell her about the specific way he cut his victims? Those twenty-one slices on their arms?” Marcus asked as he pinned her with his gaze.
Miserably, she nodded. “Yes.” She had thought that detail didn’t matter, that it was safe to reveal to her doctor. It wasn’t like she’d shared it with the press. Discussing it in therapy should have been okay.
She’d been so wrong.
Disgust tightened Dane’s face. “And, thanks to the overeager press everyone knew that Valentine liked to leave roses in the hands of his victims. Roses and a knife to the heart.”
Yes, everyone knew.
Dane stood close to Katherine. Just a foot away. She wanted to reach out and touch him, soothe him, because there was plenty of pain and fury to see on his face.
But she didn’t move.
Not yet.
Evelyn wasn’t found at the crime scene.
She had her own tension. Her own growing fears.
“So the shrink was a fan girl who wanted to be like Valentine,” Dane said. “The question is…where is she now?”
Marcus was silent.
Katherine wasn’t. “Where is she, and where is Valentine?”
They finally left the hospital and headed back to the station. While Dane changed in the locker room and ditched his ash-covered and bloodstained clothes, Katherine waited near Dane’s desk, her fingers tapping nervously on the wood. The place was mostly deserted now. It was nearing six a.m., and she could see faint streaks of light cutting through the blinds.
A detective brushed by her as he made his way to the door. She glanced over at him—the guy was holding a big, heart-shaped box of candy. He gave a little wince when he saw her gaze drop to the box, and he tried to offer her a smile. “My wife. She always wants the chocolates.”
Katherine nodded. Just because Valentine’s Day equaled a nightmare for her, it didn’t mean that everyone else felt the same way.
Maybe one day, it’ll just be a holiday for me.
Yeah, right. She wasn’t even going to try to lie to herself about that one.
“Come with me.”
Her head jerked up at Dane’s low words. His black hair was damp, his eyes hot.
She rose and followed him down a narrow hallway. No one stopped them. No one was even there to see them.
He opened a door and stepped back for her to walk inside. “No one will be fuckin’ watching this time.” He shut the door behind her. Put a chair beneath the doorknob.
She frowned at that and turned toward him. When had someone watched? “Dane—”
“I saw the table. I saw the blood.” His fingers came up and caught her jaw. He tilted her head back and stared into her eyes. “And all I could think was that I never wanted that to be you.”
His forehead leaned against hers. “Mac was out of his mind. So desperate to get to Ronnie. I knew how afraid he was. If it had been you instead of her—”
Dane broke off, and his mouth took hers. The kiss was hot and hard and wild. No control. Just raw need.
“I never want that to be you.” Dane said the words against her lips.
And she realized that her nightmare had become his.
“It won’t be,” Katherine promised as her hands rose to curl around his shoulders. “It won’t.”
His mouth was on hers. Tongue thrusting deep. She could feel the hard thrust of his arousal pushing at her. Warm. Strong. Alive.
His scent surrounded her. Fresh from the shower. The slight tang of his soap. The deeper scent that was his alone. Her fingernails sank into Dane’s shoulders.
“I need you,” Dane growled.
There was no foreplay. No finesse. She didn’t want that. Didn’t need it.
She just needed Dane.
He shoved down her jeans. She yanked open his waistband. He lifted her up. Pushed her back against the wall. Jerked her panties to the side.
Her heart was racing. Her body shuddering.
Dane stared into her eyes. “It won’t be you.”
She stared back. Saw past the fury to the fear. And it won’t be you. I won’t let it be you.
He thrust into her. Hard, strong, filling her completely. Their gazes held.
His hand slid between their bodies. Found the center of her need. Stroked.
He withdrew. Thrust back in a deep, smooth glide.
She bit her lip, trying to hold back her moan. There were no windows in the room. Only one door. But how thick were the walls? She didn’t want to cry out.
He thrust again.
Her mouth opened.
He kissed her, muffling the sound.
Again and again, he thrust. Her back hit the wall, her legs tightened around him. It was basic. It was raw.
It was life.
When the pleasure crashed over her, she lost her breath. Her body tightened, her heartbeat seemed to stop, and the climax flooded through her. Not a wave. Not a pulse. Too consuming. Too deep.
She held onto Dane as tightly as she could and just felt the power of her release sweep her away. Then he was stiffening against her. Driving deep once more. Holding her with hands that bruised, but she didn’t care. She was holding him just as tightly.
Holding on as if she never wanted to let go.
His breath rasped against her. She could hear the thunder of her heartbeat. Or was it his? Didn’t matter.
She didn’t want to let him go.
Dane kissed her once more. Light. Gentle now. Then he put his forehead against hers. “What the hell is happening? I don’t do this.” He sounded angry. “Not at the station. Never here. You make me lose control.” His forehead lifted. Her gaze found his. The emotions that she saw filling his eyes, maybe they should have scared her.
Dane swore and pulled away. “Why? Why do I want you so badly?”
She didn’t question why she wanted him any longer. She was just glad that she did. Glad that she wasn’t living in a void.
I’m alive now. I’m not a ghost.
“Fuck, I didn’t even use anything.” Shock vibrated in Dane’s words as he lowered her legs back to the floor.
Her knees were shaking. She locked her legs and pushed her heels into the hard tile. The better to hide the tremble.
She stiffened. “We don’t have to worry about kids.”
His gaze lasered in on her. “You’re on protection?”
Since she’d had zero sex in three years? Um, no. “I don’t need it. I can’t have kids. Ever.” He pulled away, and suddenly, when she’d felt lust and heat and need mere moments before, she now felt…embarrassment.
She scrambled, yanking up her jeans. Shoving her ripped panties into her pocket. Jerking on her shoes.
He fixed his clothing,
but not with the same mad rush. Then his hands were on her wrists. Not hurting. Strong. Steady.
The way he usually was.
“Talk to me.”
The light was too bright. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? The light in the room was stark and bright. She should have noticed it.
“Katherine.”
Fine. He’d told her about the nightmares of his childhood and adolescence. “You know my mother abused me. My father…he wasn’t exactly in the picture.”
He nodded.
“I had a dozen broken bones by the time I was ten. Child Protective Services took me away from her, but they always sent me back.” Why? She’d preferred the foster homes. Preferred anything to her mother. “She was an addict. She’d say she was clean, and maybe she would be for a little while.” It had never lasted. Never. “One month, two, then she’d be using again.”
She hated the bright light. Secrets were to be shared in the dark. Not in this stark light. They didn’t need to be shared when she could still feel Dane inside her. Could smell the faint scent of sex.
She wanted to think about the pleasure he’d given her.
Not about the pain of the past.
There’s no escaping it.
So she stared into her memories and told him, “I was fifteen the last time I saw her.” She could remember it all so clearly. Would never forget. “She was high. Out of her mind. And she was the one driving the car.”
“Katherine…”
No, he’d asked. He’d hear her story.
“The cops thought she didn’t see the big rig. That’s what they all said.” But they hadn’t been in the car. “My mother pushed down the accelerator. She laughed. And she turned the wheel and she aimed for him. I could have jumped from the car.” She’d had the choice. Had the time.
He was silent. Staring down at her with a locked jaw and glinting eyes.
“But I had to try and save her.” Time had slowed down. “She was my mother.”
She could remember unhooking her seat belt. Fighting for the wheel. Shoving her foot down on the brake. But her mother had struggled against her, still laughing.
“We went through the light. The truck driver tried to swerve, but it was too late.” She shrugged, but the move was a lie. There was nothing careless about this memory. “We were both pinned in the car until the firefighters could cut us out. She died on impact.”