Die for Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer (18 page)

Someone had cleaned up that room, and it sure as hell hadn’t been the maid.

Dane made his way around the room as he yanked on gloves and went to work.

Katherine forced her shoulders back as she unlocked the door to her gallery. Plainclothes cops were standing across the street, trying to blend in, but their avid gazes kept drifting to her.

The bag of beignets in her hand jostled a bit as she opened the door. She’d made a quick stop by Joe’s Café on her way to the gallery. The gallery was in the Quarter, in a hundred-year-old building that had been partially renovated and rented out to her.
Get
back to your routine. Try to draw him out by acting normal.
That had been Dane’s advice to her.

So she was trying to follow his orders.

The gallery was dark inside, and her hand automatically reached out to hit the lights.

Only the lights didn’t come on. She pushed the switch again and again, but nothing happened.

Her body tensed. Short-circuits were common in buildings this old. She’d had a repairman out three times already in the past six months. Just because the lights weren’t on, it didn’t mean anything.

Get a grip.
Right after she’d left Boston, she’d seen Valentine in every shadow. Heard him in every rustle of sound.

But he hadn’t been there.

And just because her lights weren’t working, it didn’t mean he was here, either.

But he is in New Orleans.

Her breath was coming out too hard and fast.

She noticed the alarm also wasn’t beeping. That was normal, though, if the power had shorted. The alarm wouldn’t work until she got the repairman in there.

Katherine turned back toward the plainclothes cops. They’d crept closer when she opened her door. “Can one of you go check the circuit breaker at the back of the building? I’ve been having trouble.”

The shorter cop nodded and immediately took off toward the back. The second cop stepped toward Katherine. “You need me, ma’am?” he asked.

Her gallery was dark. The lights went off there all the time. There was no reason for her to panic.

Right?

“I-I’m fine. Can you just make sure he gets the lights back on?” She turned away from him. Katherine kept a flashlight in her desk. She’d get it, and if the cops couldn’t fix the problem from the outside, she’d look around the gallery to see what she could do about the problem.

She took a few hesitant steps toward her desk. Her eyes strained, trying to adjust to the darkness.

Nothing looked disturbed or out of place or—

She wasn’t alone.

The bag slipped from her fingers, and the beignets spilled across the floor.

A man was slouched in the chair to the left. He was so still and silent that she hadn’t noticed him at first. Her breath heaved in her chest as she took another step forward. Her eyes narrowed as she strained to make out his features. There was a large window behind him, but the curtains were drawn, and only a faint trickle of light spilled inside. But she could just see his profile. The strong lines and angles of his face were familiar.

Trent.

Her thigh bumped into the edge of her desk, and she fumbled in the lower desk drawer. Her fingers slid under the drawer’s false bottom, and she pulled out a small, black gun. Dane thought Trent might have killed his ex-wife, and now Trent was waiting for her inside her darkened gallery? Oh, hell no, that wasn’t good.

“Trent?” Her voice was hoarse as she called to him. Her fingers were trembling around the gun.

Trent didn’t stir.

She wished she could see more of him.

“Trent, how did you get in?”

He still wasn’t moving.

“Trent, the police are outside.” Instead of inching forward, she was now inching back. She was getting the cops, and whatever game Trent
thought
he was playing, well, the guy could think again. “You stay right there,” she snapped at him. “Don’t even think of coming at me. I-I’ve got a gun.”

Then she heard a loud click—like a lock turning. Behind her.

Her whole body went into high alert. She started to whirl toward this new threat, but strong hands wrapped around her body, and she was jerked back against a hard chest.

“You aren’t going to use that gun on me, are you, Kat?”

That low whisper had haunted her nightmares for so long.

It was a whisper she’d never been able to forget.

Valentine’s whisper.

“What do you think? Is the shrink in the wind?” Mac asked as he backed up and let the crime-scene techs take over the motel room.

Dane shook his head. “He left his wallet behind. All of his credit cards. His cash.” What little there had been of it.

“A guy like him would have plenty of backup resources.”

“No, the ex-wife got all the money in the divorce.” Trent had gotten nothing. Dane’s gaze swept over the room once more. He knew a crime-scene cleanup when he saw one, and this scene—it had been fucking thoroughly cleaned.

No blood drops. No sign of a struggle. Nothing at all.

He glanced at the door once more. They’d already put out an APB on Trent Lancaster, just in case, but the knot in his gut was telling him that he had to do more right
then.

He and Mac headed outside. “We’ll need to talk to Evelyn again.” The woman had been damn near hysterical earlier, so sure that something had happened to Trent.

She’d been right.

Dane’s gaze scanned the parking lot. They’d talked to the front desk clerk, and the guy had remembered seeing Lancaster pull up in his sports car. Apparently they didn’t get a whole lot of Jags at that place.

Considering the financial mess the doc was in, Dane was rather surprised he’d even kept the ride.

But that fancy vehicle wasn’t there now. Every cop in the city was looking for it, though. Dane slid into his vehicle.

Find that Jag and they’d find—

The radio crackled to life. Dane leaned forward. “Got a hit on that APB,” he was told. “Your sports car was just spotted in a tow-away zone.” The dispatch rattled off the address—an address that was too familiar to Dane.

“Hell.” His breath rushed out. “That’s three blocks from Katherine’s gallery.” He’d given the guards orders to stay close to the gallery.

They’d better damn well be close.
“Send the cops in now!” Dane barked. “I want them standing by Katherine’s side until I get there.”

He raced down the road with a squeal of his tires. Why was Trent’s car so close to Katherine’s gallery? No damn way it was a coincidence. No fucking way.

He tried to get Katherine on the line. But her phone just rang and rang, then her voice mail picked up. Shit. “Katherine, get to the cops who are watching you. Stay with them. Got it?
Stay with them.
”

Then he and Mac burned rubber to get to her.

“Good girl. You don’t need to answer that call. It’s no one who matters.”

His arms were still too tight around her. His face was behind her, his lips near her ear as he whispered, “And you don’t need the gun. Trent can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore.”

Her gaze flew back to Trent. He still hadn’t moved. Not at all. “The gun isn’t just for Trent,” she said.

He laughed behind her. “Oh, sweet Kat, you don’t have to worry about me. I’d never hurt you.”

She was supposed to believe a man who spent his nights carving up women? Katherine would love nothing more than to put a bullet in his heart. If he actually had a heart.

“I couldn’t let Trent hurt you. I can’t let anyone hurt you.”

Then she felt the press of his lips against her neck.

Katherine shuddered.

“I’ll
never
let anyone hurt you.”

Fists pounded against the gallery’s front door.

He laughed again. “I locked the door behind you. So we could have a chance to talk. It’s been far too long, Kat.”

“Not long enough.” It was her turn to whisper. Then, because the cops were close enough to hear, she screamed, “
It’s Valentine! He’s here!
”

The pounding at the door doubled. “Ms. Cole!” She heard the frantic shout from one of the cops.

Shouts weren’t going to help her. Bullets would.

She took a deep breath and knew that this was her chance. Katherine lunged away from him, then spun and fired—

Only the gun just clicked. Again and again.

No bullets came out.

And Valentine had disappeared into the dark shadows of the gallery. His laughter reached out to her. “Oh, Kat, did you think I didn’t know about your weapon? I’ve been watching you.”

She backed away and headed toward Trent. She reached down, trying to find a pulse.

But his skin was ice cold. And sticky.

Nausea rolled in her stomach.

The cops were still outside.

“I’m
always
watching,” he told her, and he was still whispering. Just a whisper that made goose bumps rise on her arms. This felt like the nightmare she’d had dozens of times. “Remember that, and
stay the fuck away
from that detective.”

A gunshot blasted.

Katherine screamed. Another blast thundered through the gallery. The cops were trying to shoot their way inside.

They needed to
hurry.

Dane slammed on the brakes and jumped from his car. Katherine’s gallery was ten feet away. Two plainclothes cops were in front, and they’d just fired at her window. Even as he leapt from his car, the shattering of the glass filled his ears.

“Fuck me,” Mac muttered.

Dane ran toward the cops. “Circle around!” He looked back at Mac. “Make sure no one gets out the back entrance!” His heart was racing and his palms were sweating as he kept a death grip on his gun.

Katherine hadn’t answered her phone. The cops had radioed and said they’ d heard a scream from inside.

Be alive.
He’d planned to use Katherine as bait to lure in Valentine, but he’d never planned for her to get hurt.

He flew through the window, crashing through the glass and heavy curtains—and almost landed on top of Trent Lancaster’s body. The guy was slumped in a chair, and blood covered him.

There was a crash from the back of the gallery. He hauled ass into the back room, with the two plainclothes cops right behind him. He went in low and fast and came up with his weapon raised. “New Orleans PD! Freeze!”