Die For Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer (For Me #1)(21)
Author: Cynthia Eden

“I can stay—” Ross said immediately.

But Dane shook his head. “My shift.” His gaze lingered on Katherine. “I’ve got her now.”

Dane was going to spend the night with her. Again. At least she had an extra room he could use.

A room right across the hallway from hers.

Ross’s fingers brushed down her arm. She instinctively stiffened, but he just said, “I’ll be back in the morning.”

She nodded.

He bent toward her. “Remember what I said.” His words were a quiet whisper that Dane shouldn’t have been able to hear.

But when Ross pulled away from her, she saw the suspicion on Dane’s face.

“Detective,” Ross said, nodding toward him, “if there’s any threat—”

“Got you on speed dial,” Dane said with a tight nod.

Then Ross was gone. Dane shut and locked the door, and the house that she’d always thought was too big for her suddenly seemed too small.

– 8 –

“What did he tell you?” Dane asked, voice curious. “He whispered to you, right before he left.”

“I have a gun that I keep in my nightstand. Ross was reminding me that I needed to keep it close.” Use it.

“You do,” Dane agreed as his gaze swept over her.

She shook her head. “He never hurt me.”

Three steps and Dane was in front of her. He reached for her hands. “He tortured those women. Don’t tell me the guy wouldn’t slice you if he had the—”

She gasped as his fingers tightened around the burn on her hand.

“What is it?” His gaze dropped. She followed his stare and saw the red streaks on her flesh. “What the hell happened?”

“I just…some coffee spilled on me.” Katherine tried to pull her hand away. “It’s nothing.”

But he was tugging her toward the kitchen. Turning on the cold water. Holding her hand under the faucet. The icy water felt good on her skin. Or maybe it was his fingers that felt good. Strong. Tan and long.

She looked up. His eyes weren’t on her. They were on her hand. On the water that poured over a small wound that shouldn’t matter for anything.

“We need to put some cream on it, we need—”

“I’ve had worse burns.” Plenty, back when she’d been a kid. “I’ll be fine.” Because being so close to him was making her nervous and edgy, she pulled away.

He turned off the faucet.

She backed up and hit the counter behind her. Great. Not exactly any place to run. The kitchen was small. Or maybe he was just too damn big.

“Does the name Amy Evans mean anything to you?” Dane’s gaze was watchful, hooded.

“I know she was the victim. I heard that at the station.”

“But you didn’t know her?” Dane pressed.

“I don’t think so. I saw her picture on one of the computers down there, but I’d never seen her before.”

“You’re sure?”

What did he want? Did he want her to break? “I’m sure. Why?” Her breath caught. “Was she another reporter? Was she working on a story about Valentine?”

“No, Amy wasn’t a reporter. She was a lawyer.” He exhaled slowly. “We’re checking her background, seeing what can tie her to—”

“Me,” Katherine finished.

He nodded.

“Because the reporter knew me, you think this Amy did, too.”

“We have to explore that possibility.” His voice was a low rumble.

Goose bumps rose on her arms. “You checked my phone, didn’t you? You saw Savannah’s number.”

He nodded.

“Was that Valentine calling? Did he have her then?”

“Yes.” A hard pause, then, “The ME thinks she was alive then.”

Her lashes closed. Dammit. One missed call. If she’d just picked up the damn phone, maybe she could have saved Savannah. Stopped Valentine.

Then Amy Evans would be alive, too.

The floor creaked beneath his feet. His hands closed over her shoulders, but this time he seemed to be holding his strength in check. “Her death isn’t on you.”

She looked up at him. “Isn’t it?” Her guilt said that yes, it was. Savannah’s death and so many others.

“You aren’t the one doing the killing.”

“In Boston, that didn’t matter.” So many people had come at her. Bricks had been thrown through her windows. Threatening phone calls had come constantly. She’d been given police protection because of the death threats.

Then, finally, she’d had to take on a new life in order to escape.

“This isn’t Boston. Everything is different now. Everything.” There was a deeper note in his voice, one she couldn’t quite interpret.

She stared into his eyes and wanted to believe what Dane was saying. She wanted it so badly, but for three years she’d felt like she was running from death.

A girl could run for only so long.

“I’m tired.” The confession slipped from her. It was the truth, and she wasn’t just talking about being tired of running.

His eyes narrowed.

Tired of running. Of looking over her shoulder. Of jumping at every creak and rustle.

And mostly tired of not living. Of watching everyone else around her be happy and fall in love and get married and have their kids.

She’d watched them all. Life had passed her by. She’d finally forced herself to date again, with Trent, but that just hadn’t worked. She hadn’t wanted him.

When Trent touched her, she tensed. She got too nervous and anxious, the way she did with nearly every man who came close to her.

Every man except Detective Dane Black.

Her gaze slid over him.

He wasn’t classically handsome, she knew that. He was big and muscled. Strong. He still had his holster on—she could see the outline of his weapon. He was a dangerous man, with a dangerous job.

But he made her feel safe.

When no one else—not even Ross—had been able to make her feel that way.

“Be careful.” Dane’s words were low.

Her gaze jerked back up to his face.

“There are some lines that you might not want to cross.”

She felt her cheeks heat, and she wondered just what her expression had given away. This was the point where she should take a few steps back. Put some distance between them.

Go in her bedroom. Lock the door.

But she couldn’t move.

“Sometimes,” she whispered, “I feel like my life ended three years ago.”