Die For Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer (For Me #1)(31)
Author: Cynthia Eden

And that was what Dane had needed to hear. “Well, that leads me to my next question. What is your alibi for both Saturday and Sunday? I want places, I want names. Everything.”

“You think he’s a suspect.” Evelyn rocked back in her chair. “But I just told you about Katherine.”

“Yes, you did, but Katherine has an airtight alibi. She’s covered for Amy’s murder.” His stare drifted between Trent and Evelyn. “Are you, Dr. Lancaster?”

“They sure lawyered up damn fast,” the police captain said to Dane as the two men watched the shrinks huddling with their high-priced lawyers in the interrogation room. Lawyers who had busted ass getting down to the station.

“Figured they would,” Dane said.

The more he learned, the more it looked like these murders weren’t about a serial killer at all. They were about a jerk who wanted out of alimony payments. Had the reporter just been his setup kill? To make the cops to think Valentine was involved? Or Katherine? Hell, the guy could have learned all about Valentine if he’d gone through the notes that Evelyn had doubtlessly taken during her sessions with Katherine.

Just then, Trent glanced up and stared at the mirror. There was no missing the fury in his eyes.

The lawyers rose, followed by Trent and Evelyn. They said some final words and headed for the door together.

Dane and Harley moved to cut them off. As they met in the bull pen, another door opened. Katherine appeared in the doorway of interrogation room one as Mac escorted her out.

Perfect timing. Timing they’d planned.

Trent’s gaze flew to Katherine. Then back to Dane.

“What’s her alibi?” Trent demanded as he pushed his lawyer away.

Katherine flinched.

The captain locked a hand on Dane’s shoulder. “This is what we wanted, remember?” Harley said under his breath.

Trent was just a few feet from Katherine now. “Where were you when Amy was being sliced open?”

Katherine’s nostrils flared. “I was with the cops. They had me under surveillance.”

Trent’s head whipped toward Dane. “You’re screwing the cop. That’s why he’s trying to pin these kills on me.” His face was mottled with fury. “I knew what you were. I saw Evelyn’s files. She thought your case was so damn special.”

Evelyn gasped behind him.

Trent’s gaze raked Katherine once more. “What made a killer spare you when he killed every other woman who looked just like you?” He paused and glanced between Katherine and Dane. “But you got to the cop, didn’t you?”

Beside Dane, Harley had stiffened.

“I saw the way you looked at her this morning,” Trent continued. “I saw. And I’ll be damned if I let you two set me up.”

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 f**king 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 f**king 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 f**king 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.