Die For Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer (For Me #1)(13)
Author: Cynthia Eden

Now she sat back and watched him, her eyes giving no hint of her emotions.

His kitchen table wasn’t exactly a prime interrogation spot, but he didn’t want to question her like a suspect. He just wanted to understand her. “Why do you think he came after you?”

“Because he said that he’d never let me go.”

Cold words. Brittle.

“Valentine said that I fit him. That he needed me.” Her fingers drummed on the table. “He said that without me, he wouldn’t be able to survive.”

“When did he tell you all this?” This bit hadn’t been in the case files that Sean Hobbs had sent to him.

“He told me while I stood in the basement of my home and stared at Stephanie Gilbert’s body. The police were on the way, he had Stephanie’s blood on him, and I thought he was about to kill me.”

Every muscle in Dane’s body locked down. He’d heard the story of her entering her home, finding blood, calling 911…then discovering that her fiancé wasn’t the one who was injured.

By the time the cops had arrived on-scene, Valentine had been gone. Katherine—no, Katelynn—had been huddled on the floor of the basement, in shock.

“Did he try to hurt you that day?” He kept his question quiet and calm, choking back his own emotions.

“No, he never hurt me.” Her gaze held his. “That’s the part no one understood, right? He was a sadistic killer, but he never so much as even bruised my skin. I was with him…we were engaged for a year. A whole year.”

And she hadn’t known that a killer was in bed with her.

The doorbell rang then, and Katherine jumped at the pealing sound. “Easy,” Dane said as he rose. He was wearing a loose pair of jogging pants, and he sure hadn’t been expecting company at six a.m.

Because he was a suspicious bastard by nature—and because he was lead on a case that was linked to the biggest serial-killer investigation currently running in the United States—he damn well took time to grab his gun before he headed to the door. But a quick glance through the peephole showed him that a perp didn’t wait on the other side of that door. Mac was there.

Dane opened the door. “What’s happened?” And why hadn’t Mac just called him instead of paying a dawn visit?

Mac shoved a newspaper into Dane’s chest as he pushed into the condo. “Another damn leak, that’s what hap—” Mac broke off as his gaze centered on Katherine—Katherine who looked sleep-tousled and sexy and seemed only to be wearing Dane’s shirt. ’Cause she pretty much was.

“I—uh…didn’t expect that,” Mac muttered.

Katherine leapt to her feet. “I didn’t have anything else to wear.”

Dane slammed the front door shut behind his partner.

Mac was looking at the table. The remains of breakfast. He fired a quick glance at Dane. “You cooked?”

Dane glared at him, but then his gaze dropped to the paper. To the headline that screamed at him:

VALENTINE KILLER LEAVES GRISLY GIFT.

Shit.

He scanned the article as his heart raced. This was the last thing he wanted. Didn’t the press get it? The city didn’t need to be in a panic. Panic just made it harder for the cops to do their job.

The reporter hadn’t revealed Katherine’s identity, and he could only hope it was because the reporter didn’t know who she really was. But someone had sure gone to the press fast with this big reveal.

Too fast. The captain was gonna be spitting nails.

“The press doesn’t know who she is,” Mac said as he inclined his head toward Katherine, “but I think it’s safe enough to say that our killer certainly does.”

She stood behind her chair, her fingers curved over its back. Dane saw her knuckles whiten.

“Is he a copycat?” Mac asked her. “Or the real deal?”

Katherine’s eyes widened in surprise. “A copycat?”

“How many people in New Orleans know who you really are?” Mac pressed. “We’re gonna need all the names. Maybe someone got close to you because of who you really are. Maybe that person is killing—”

Katherine started to laugh. But the sound was cold and hollow. “What? You think I can only attract killers?”

Dane winced. Mac had never been a smooth one with the ladies.

Then Katherine shook her head. “You two know my identity. Ross knows. And my ex-shrink knows.” She shrugged. “No one else. When you’ve got a past like mine, you aren’t exactly eager to share it with the world.”

Dane folded the newspaper and advanced toward her. “What about the boyfriend? He doesn’t know?”

“I didn’t want him to know.” Her lips pressed together. “When you’re dating, you don’t always want your significant other to look at you like you’re some kind of freak.”

He sure wasn’t looking at her like that.

“This isn’t a copycat,” Katherine said. “The cuts on the victim’s arms…the roses… only Valentine knew that.”

Dane knew his whole body had tensed. “What about the roses?” There had been eleven left at Katherine’s house last night.

“Roses were my favorite,” she whispered. “Valentine knew that. What I didn’t know until after was that he gave me roses when he made a kill.”

His heart was beating faster. Another bit of evidence that had never made the news. More confirmation that this was no copycat. It was the real f**king deal.

“It looked like a dozen…” Her lips twisted in a humorless smile. “When you see a bunch of flowers, how many people actually count to see if twelve are there? I count now, I always do.”

Mac swore, obviously realizing, just as Dane did, where this was going.

“Eleven for me. One for his victim. And the roses came in perfect time with his kills.” She raked a hand through her tousled hair. “When I found Stephanie that last day—he already had the roses waiting on the table for me.”

And roses had been waiting for Katherine last night.

Real. Fucking. Deal.

“I’m…ah…going to get dressed now.” She backed out of the kitchen with uncertain steps. “Do you know when I’ll be able to go home again?”

Mac glanced at Dane. Dane opened his mouth to respond, but it was Mac who said, “I’m afraid we need you to come down to the station, ma’am.”

Her face fell. “Right.” Almost whisper quiet. “Of course you do.” Then she turned away and slipped into the bedroom. The door closed with a soft squeak behind her.