Die For Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer (For Me #1)(40)
Author: Cynthia Eden

The woman he’d just seen in that room didn’t fit the profile he’d created in his mind. Katherine actually seemed to be trying to protect the cop. To protect everyone but herself.

It didn’t fit with what he knew.

Have I been wrong about her?

“You could’ve walked out when they entered.” The captain was glaring at him.

“Then I wouldn’t have learned more about Katherine.” There had been real pain in her voice. Real emotion on her face.

He’d always thought she was a bit of an actress, but she’d seemed so genuine this time.

Voices spilled into the room. The captain had left the door open. The captain stalked toward him. “Whatever the hell is going on personally between that woman and my detective is none of—”

Marcus waved that away. He didn’t care if they screwed each others’ brains out. That wasn’t the point. “She cares about the other victims. Empathizes with them.”

Katherine had always been on guard with him. She’d never let him see past her facade.

He’d just glimpsed past the brittle image. Detective Black had battered his way right through that facade and gotten to the real woman inside Katherine.

He needed to check his files on Valentine’s victims again. He’d thought there was nothing different about Katherine. No reason for Valentine to spare her. But now—

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Marcus flinched at the snarl.

“I found him here watching you and Ms. Cole,” the captain said as he continued to glare at Marcus.

Marcus cleared his throat.

Dane marched toward him. “Enjoy the show?”

“It was illuminating,” Marcus confessed.

Dane lunged for him.

The captain stepped in his path. “Easy, Black.”

Detective Black had an anger management issue, obviously.

Why is Katherine so drawn to him? That was another part of the puzzle.

There was so much more going on here.

“Your profile is shit,” Black snapped. “Katherine was never involved in any of the killings—she was as much of a victim as anyone.”

Marcus glanced through the two-way mirror at Katherine. He realized then that Black had left the interrogation room door open, giving Katherine the chance to leave. But she wasn’t leaving. Marcus exhaled slowly. “Before Dr. Lancaster, Valentine had never killed a man.”

His gaze couldn’t leave Katherine.

Trent Lancaster had been dating her. At the station, he’d savaged her with a verbal attack that a roomful of cops had witnessed.

Then he’d been killed. Executed.

And taken to Katherine’s gallery.

Delivered. Almost like a present. With Valentine’s Day so close, did the killer believe he’d just given Katherine the ultimate gift? Proof of his devotion? Valentine had obviously wanted to make contact with Katherine. He’d wanted her to appreciate his gift.

Possibilities began to roll through Marcus’s head. He pushed past the cops and hurried toward the bull pen. Dr. Knight was there, glaring at the uniformed men.

Black followed on his heels. Good. He wanted the detective to hear this exchange. Black was good at reading people. The guy would have made one hell of a profiler. Better than me.

“Why do you think Valentine never tried to hurt Katherine?” Marcus asked her.

Dr. Knight turned toward him. “Who are you?”

“I’m FBI Agent Marcus Wayne.” He stared down at her. Pretty, composed, and from what he’d learned in his preliminary background investigation, very, very smart. But she’d also just potentially thrown away her psychiatry license.

Not so smart.

Why would a woman like her take that risk?

“Well?” he pressed.

Black and the captain joined him at the small desk.

Dr. Knight’s gaze darted around the circle that surrounded her.

“He saw something in her,” Dr. Knight said slowly. “Something that stopped him from killing her.”

Exactly what Marcus thought. Only, before, he’d believed that Valentine had spared Katherine because he recognized a kindred spirit in her.

But what if it was something else?

Marcus glanced over his shoulder at the interrogation room. What if, when Valentine looked at her, he hadn’t seen a victim or a killer? What if he’d seen…

Hope?

Katherine was a mirror for him, yes, but instead of reflecting darkness back to him, maybe she’d shown Valentine a glimpse of what life would be like, if he had been normal.

Katherine had loved Michael O’Rourke. Had that been the first time in Valentine’s life he’d ever actually been loved?

Perhaps through Katherine, Valentine had seen his chance to reach for happiness. To have what others around him seemed to enjoy. A wife. A home. A life that didn’t involve beatings and punishment. Katherine had given Valentine the promise of everything he’d ever wanted.

And if Katherine truly was that one perfect glimpse, that one chance Valentine had for a connection with another person, just what would the killer be willing to do in order to ensure that Katherine always stayed safe?

The answer, to Marcus, was obvious.

Anything.

– 13 –

The historic building in the French Quarter sat, stark and silent, near the end of the street. The glow from a nearby streetlamp fell on the entranceway, softening the hard lines of the building just a bit. Dane hadn’t wanted to take Katherine back to her house—not after the big disclosure Evelyn had made to the reporters, and he also hadn’t wanted the media following them back to his place.

So they’d sneaked out the back of the station and taken refuge here. The apartment would give them a chance to decompress—safely—for a while.

Dane held open the car door as Katherine climbed out of the car and glanced up at the safe house. “Whose place is this?” she asked.

“It belongs to a friend of the captain’s.” Harley was a man with plenty of connections.

The scent of the Mississippi drifted on the wind even as faint jazz music teased his ears.

Katherine glanced down the street. “Do we have guards?”

Yes, guards she wouldn’t see if the men did their jobs right. He gave a grim nod.

He unlocked the street-level door, then led her up the stairs toward the apartment, making sure to set the security system behind them.

The place had been remodeled after its sale to some celebrity—a guy who’d later gone bankrupt. Now the luxury apartment seemed to sit vacant most nights.

Not tonight.