Reunion (13 page)

Laura nodded. “I know. And it’s the only thing we could have done. Henry Loo’s life is at stake.”

Gabriel grimaced. “You saw how the detective reacted when you told him. He didn’t know whether to laugh or throw us out on our butts.”

She bit the edge of her lower lip as her shoulders slumped. “It’s nothing I haven’t experienced before.”

Gabriel touched her mouth with the tip of his finger. “Hey,” he whispered. “If you want that bitten, wait for me.”

She met his gaze, remembering last night and the passion that had erupted between them.

“Gabriel?”

“What?” he said.

“Everything is happening so fast.”

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Are you referring to what happened between us, or what we’re doing here now?”

She dropped her gaze and shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a little of both.”

“Are you sorry?” he asked.

She didn’t answer.

“Laura, look at me,” he said.

She looked.

“Are you sorry?” he repeated.

Her gaze moved from the promise of passion she saw lurking in his eyes to the cut of his mouth, remembering how soft his lips had felt on her body, and then how demanding they had become, coaxing things from her she would never have believed herself capable of.

She reached out, tracing the shape of his shoulders, then the length of his arm, remembering his strength and the tenderness with which he’d held her. She looked into his eyes with a straightforward gaze.

“No. I could never be sorry about last night. But, oh God, I wish I’d never seen the—”

“Stop right there,” Gabriel said, his voice low and harsh with a demand she’d never heard. “Never be sorry for who you are, or for the fact that, by coming here, we could be saving a man’s life.”

Don’t tell. Must not tell.

Gabriel jerked. That damned voice. Why now? And why the warning?

Laura tightened her grip on his arm as Gabriel turned to her. “Did you hear?”

She nodded. “What does it mean?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “You’re the psychic,” he muttered. “You tell me.”

Suddenly Ray Bush was standing before them. Laura looked up.

“Here comes Agent Summers now,” he said.

They both turned to look. Kirby Summers was a skinny caricature of a cross between Don Knotts and Detective Columbo, wearing a suit that hung on his overthin frame and a wrinkled beige raincoat flapping at his heels.

“Sorry for the delay,” Summers said, as he reached Bush’s desk. “It’s starting to rain.”

Then he glanced down at the couple sitting at Ray’s desk, telling himself they looked reputable enough. Elation continued to bubble. This was the break they’d been waiting for, he could feel it.

“Agent Summers, I’d like you to meet Gabriel Connor and Laura Dane. They have something they want to tell you,” Ray said.

Kirby frowned. There was a tone in Ray’s voice he didn’t think that he liked. He looked at Ray. When Ray rolled his eyes, his hopes dropped. Damn. Damn. Damn. But he maintained control and held out his hand.

“Mr. Connor. Miss Dane. I’m Kirby Summers, OSBI. I understand you have some information on the Prince Charming murders?”

Gabriel shook the man’s hand, while Laura just nodded.

Kirby glanced around the room and then back at Ray.

“Is anyone using the interrogation room?” he asked. When he saw Laura stiffen, he added with a smile, “It’s just quieter, you understand?”

But Laura wasn’t pacified. They didn’t know she’d been through this drill many times before, seen sometimes as a credible psychic and sometimes as a quack, depending on who had asked for her help.

A few minutes later they were sitting around a table in a small, windowless room. Gabriel glanced at the mirror on the opposite wall and knew that it was probably a two-way. He didn’t care. The more the merrier.

“I’ll be recording our conversation,” Kirby said, looking from Gabriel to Laura and back again. “Is that all right?”

They both nodded.

“If you don’t mind, would you verbalize your response?” he asked.

Both Gabriel and Laura said yes.

“Fine,” Kirby said. “Now tell me…who witnessed what?”

Gabriel looked at Laura. “Where do we start?”

Kirby answered for her. “How about at the beginning?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Okay. I was in a car wreck a couple of months ago. My parents died. I was in a coma for several weeks. When I woke up, I was the same…but also different. Things started happening to me that I couldn’t explain.”

Kirby leaned forward. “I’m sorry for your loss, but what does this have to do with the Prince Charming murders?”

“I’ve seen every one of them happen.”

Laura groaned beneath her breath. There was only one way the police were going to interpret that statement. Guilt. Pure guilt. She wanted to take Gabriel’s hand and run, but she sat without speaking, waiting, praying that she would be able to make them understand later on.

Kirby stood abruptly, tilting his chair onto the floor with a loud crack. He righted it without taking his eyes from Gabriel’s face.

“Where were you when these murders happened? Are you confessing? Were you an accomplice?” he asked, glancing quickly at Laura before turning his attention back to Gabriel.

Gabriel shook his head. “No…I don’t think I had anything to do with them, although one of the victims called out my name.”

Laura interrupted. “Gabriel, you’re not explaining yourself. You’re misleading Agent Summers as to how you witnessed the crimes.”

Kirby resisted the urge to glare. “Are you his lawyer?”

“No, I’m his—”

“She’s a psychic,” Gabriel said. “And she’s right. I’ve been living with this hell for so long that I forgot to make myself clear.”

Kirby bit his lip to keep from cursing aloud.
Psychic. Great! This is why Ray rolled his eyes.
He braced his hands against the flat of the table and leaned forward, telling himself to stay cool.

“Then I suggest you do so,” he said softly. “This has been a very long day, and it’s not over yet.”

“Sorry,” Gabriel repeated. “As for where I was when the murders occurred, I was at my home. And no, I am not the killer or an accomplice. The killer works alone.”

“How do you know that?” Kirby growled.

Gabriel looked at the man without blinking an eye. “Because I saw the murders in my dreams. Every one of them. From the prostitute down on Reno to the last, a homeless woman in an alley.”

Kirby didn’t know whether to kick them out now or let the tape run for a good laugh later on.

“That’s not news,” Kirby said. “All of that was in the papers. So far, you haven’t told me anything new, and quite frankly, visions and dreams don’t stand up in court.”

Gabriel nodded. “I know. But there are things that I saw that weren’t in the paper. If I’m wrong, I’ll be one happy man tonight.”

“Like what?” Kirby asked, and then saw Laura touch Gabriel’s hand in a warning fashion. But the man didn’t waver.

“I don’t know why he kills, but I see what he does,” Gabriel said.

“And that would be?”

Gabriel closed his eyes, letting himself slide back into the memories he’d tried so hard to forget. Then he took a deep breath.

Kirby Summers was still waiting.

“Mr. Connor?”

“His fists. He uses his fists. It’s always one blow.”

Kirby started to tense. This was close to what they’d suspected, but then he began to relax. The newspapers had said the victims had died of a broken neck. The man could be guessing.

“Go on,” Kirby prompted.

“After it’s over, I feel a sense of profound sadness. I think that’s why he leaves them a rose. I think he’s sorry it happened.”

Kirby frowned. Again, this was close to what their profiler had suggested.

“Mr. Connor, any intelligent man could have come to any of these conclusions just from reading the newspapers.”

Gabriel tensed. “I know. But there’s something else that I see that hasn’t been in the news. I don’t know whether it’s real, or whether it’s something from my life that has somehow been interwoven into the truth.”

Kirby glanced at his watch, telling himself it was about time to cut them loose.

“What would that be?” he asked.

“The roses he left. The stems don’t have any thorns.”

Kirby froze.
Sweet Jesus.
He stared at Gabriel Connor until his eyes began to burn, and then he looked past him toward the mirror on the wall, well aware that Ray Bush was listening on the other side.

“How the hell did you know that?” he asked softly.

Gabriel leaned forward. “I told you. I saw it in my dreams.”

Two hours and three additional detectives later, it was just as Laura had feared. The interview had turned into a full-fledged interrogation. So when Kirby Summers’ questions began to be echoes of the same ones he’d asked over an hour earlier, she snapped.

“Look, gentlemen!” Laura said. “If you don’t have any new questions to ask, you won’t get any new answers. That’s the way truth works.”

Ray Bush had forgone the two-way mirror and come inside hours ago, and he had to give it to this woman. If she was a fake, she was as good as they came.

“Settle down, lady,” he said shortly. “Agent Summers is only doing his job.”

But Laura wasn’t willing to budge. She could tell by the way the questions had turned that they were considering putting Gabriel under arrest. She started digging through her purse. A few seconds later, she pulled out a small red notebook.

“Here!” she said shortly, and handed the notebook to the detective. “There are more than forty-five names and numbers in that book. A large portion of them are police departments and the detectives with whom I’ve worked. Call one. Call them all. They will vouch for me. I am not a liar. I am not a quack.”

Kirby took the notebook from Bush and started turning pages. To his surprise, he recognized some of the names. He glanced up.

“You’ve worked with these people?”

She sighed. “That’s what I said an hour ago. The truth hasn’t changed.”

Kirby tossed the book to one of the detectives. “Make a few calls.”

Then he looked back at Gabriel. The man seemed impervious to all that had transpired. In fact, for a man so close to being arrested, he was as laid-back as they came. Either he
was
telling the truth, or he was one hell of a con artist. What Kirby couldn’t figure out was, if Connor was guilty, then why this scam? What did he have to gain?

“Okay, Mr. Connor, let’s take this in another direction. If everything you’ve told me is true, then why have you waited to come forward?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Look around. You’re treating me…us…like we’re freaks, and believe me, I feel like one. Only an idiot would welcome this kind of treatment.”

Kirby had the grace to flush.

“However,” Gabriel continued, “when Laura saw Henry Loo as the next victim, it changed everything. I only saw the murders as they were happening. Laura’s precognition may just save a man’s life.”

Kirby’s belly grumbled, reminding him that it had been hours since he’d eaten. But food was the last thing on his mind. Getting a killer off the streets was more important than losing another pound, whether he could afford it or not.

“I understand that,” Kirby said. “And, as you requested, we did send someone to speak to Mr. Loo. But you should know that he’s taken the warning with a grain of salt. Said something to the effect that one’s fate cannot be changed.”

Laura groaned. “No,” she muttered, and suddenly stood.

Gabriel reached for her hand. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. Then he looked up at Kirby. “Agent Summers, I wonder if you might do me a favor.”

The request was so unexpected that Kirby stifled a grin. The man was something all right. Cool. Still in control.

“And what might that be?” he asked, curious as to what possible favor he could do for a man in Gabriel Connor’s shoes.

“Run my picture through your computer system. See if there is a criminal on file who looks like me. And then put me in jail for the night.”

Kirby frowned. “And why the hell would I be doing something like that?”

Laura inhaled sharply. Gabriel squeezed her hand as he answered.

“Because Laura saw Henry Loo’s killer.”

Kirby’s eyes narrowed as he shifted focus from Connor to the woman at his side.

“So, something new
has
been added to this mess. Exactly who is supposed to do the killing?”

Laura paled, but her voice never wavered. “Gabriel. I saw Gabriel kill Henry Loo.”

M
ike Travers was beside himself. He’d gone to get a haircut and come home to find a message on his machine that Gabriel was in jail. After talking to Laura, he was only a little bit less panicked than when he’d first dialed the phone. The fact that Gabriel had not been arrested was good news. However, he couldn’t help but worry about the conclusions the police were bound to draw. With a serial killer on the loose and no clues to speak of, having someone walk in off the street claiming he’d witnessed the killings in a dream was nothing short of suicide.

Henry Loo was too worried about lost revenue from the second robbery to pay much attention to what the man from the police department told him a few hours ago. A psychic had predicted he would die tonight? It had been all he could do not to laugh.

His big concerns were staying in business long enough to be able to move out of this terrible location. The food was excellent, the service even better, and he’d cut his prices to rock bottom to draw customers. It was paying off. Only a couple more months—without any more robberies—and he would have plenty of capital to make the move to a new location.

He was excited. It was a classy spot on the northwest side of town, with plenty of parking and businesses on both sides that would complement his restaurant, not detract from it. The only reputable business in this entire four-block area besides his restaurant was a one-woman flower shop two doors down.

As he counted out the day’s take, he glanced at his watch. It was five minutes to eleven. A little over an hour to midnight. He’d promised his wife he would try to get home early tonight. The grandchildren were visiting, and he’d hardly had a chance to see them. The Closed sign was already turned, and the last of his employees had gone home over fifteen minutes earlier.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty.

He set the stack of one-dollar bills with the other money that would go back in the register for tomorrow’s till and zipped up the bank bag that he would drop in the night deposit slot on the way home.

With one last look at the empty room, he turned out the main lights and headed for the back door and the alleylike area beyond, where he and his employees normally parked. As he was reaching for the knob, a loud clatter sounded on the other side of the door, and just for a moment he thought of the police and the warning he’d had.

Then he scoffed at the notion and patted his pocket, taking comfort in the handgun’s bulge. Those robbers weren’t the only ones who could be cagey. If they were out there again, this time they would get more than they bargained for.

With thoughts of his wife and grandchildren foremost in his head, he opened the door and stepped out into the alley, giving the area a careful look before closing the door behind him. It was only after he started across the lot toward his car that he realized the security light under which he normally parked was out. He frowned and reached for his gun. Darn kids. Always breaking something. It was Henry’s opinion that children today had no respect…except for his grandchildren. They had been raised in the old ways. For Henry, the old ways were best.

Another sound of metal to metal echoed within the confines of the small enclosure, and he clutched his money bag close to his chest and spun, aiming into the darkness.

“Who’s there?” he shouted. “Don’t come any closer! I have a gun!”

Although he saw no one, he began backing toward his car while fumbling for his keys. A little nervous, but still convinced that he could make it to his car okay, he continued to back up while fumbling for the fancy key ring that went to his new car. One push on a particular button and his door would be unlocked. Then all he had to do was jump inside and speed away. They would never reach him in time.

He glanced over his shoulder, judging the distance he still had to go. As he did, out of the corner of his eye he saw something moving inside the shadows. He panicked. His first mistake was when he started to run. His second was hitting the wrong button on the key ring. Instead of the button that unlocked the doors, he hit the one marked Panic. Within a second, his car horn began to honk.

Loudly.

Constantly.

Reverberating within the enclosure like an echo gone mad.

And even for Henry, who realized instantly what he’d done, the sound was deafening.

Suddenly a roar sounded behind him, somewhere between a scream of great pain and a howl of rage. In a panic, he turned toward the sound, and in doing so, dropped his keys. The keys that would get him to safety. Within the periphery of his senses he could hear them clattering to the pavement, and he groaned. The time for getting in his car had passed.

The man was coming toward him now, waving his hands and shrieking like a demon from hell. The gun. He still had his gun. He took aim, his hands shaking as fast as his heart was pounding. A quick spurt of wet warmth slid down the inside of his leg. It shamed him to know he was wetting himself as the first shot rang out.

Somehow he’d known before the bullet ricocheted off the opposite wall that the shot would go wild. He pulled the trigger again and again, emptying the gun without taking clear aim, continually missing his target.

“No! No!” he screamed, and threw the money bag across the lot toward the oncoming man. “Take money. I not care. Take money and go!”

To Henry’s shock, the man swung at the money bag as it flew by his head. In that moment, he thought of the warning and knew he was dead.

Gabriel lay on the bunk, staring at the ceiling and wondering if this was the biggest mistake he’d ever made. Laura had been right. The police hadn’t believed the psychic theory, and there was a good chance they were going to try to pin the murders on him. Yes, they were cooperating right now by locking him up for the night as he’d asked, but they’d also asked if he would submit to blood and tissue samples so they could run a DNA test. He’d done so, knowing there was no way he could refuse and still maintain his innocence. Besides, there wasn’t any real reason why he should worry. He hadn’t been a crazy killer before the accident that killed his parents, therefore a knot on the head shouldn’t have changed his personality so drastically that he would be capable of taking another person’s life now.

Yet with every passing minute, he couldn’t quit thinking of the look on Sadie’s houseman’s face when he’d opened that back door. He’d known his killer.

Gabriel swiped his hands across his face, as if trying to remove the memory.

Why would he think it was me? I wasn’t there. I couldn’t have been there. It’s more than a mile from the Husser home to mine.

Then he remembered waking up with that scratch on his neck.

I was wandering all over the garden. I probably scratched it on a rosebush or something.

Laura’s face flashed through his mind, and he rolled over on his side, absently watching a cockroach as it disappeared into a crack running up the wall. He inhaled slowly and closed his eyes, picturing her off-center smile and the way her eyes gleamed when something made her happy.

He’d known her for less than two weeks, and she’d gotten under his skin in a way he would never have believed. He’d had one unbelievable night with her in his arms, and even if he could repeat the act for the rest of his life, it would never be enough.

What the hell am I going to do if I can’t fix this mess? I haven’t figured out how to live without my parents yet. How am I ever going to live without Laura?

He rolled over on his back, his mouth grim with anger.

Even more to the point, why would I want to? I’m tired of losing people I love.

His eyes burned with unshed tears, but he refused to give in to the weakness of the emotion.

In fact, I’m so damned tired of it, I could—

A chill ran through him as the thought ended suddenly. What was it? What terrible threat had he been about to utter that his conscience wouldn’t let him voice? He lay there for a moment, all but holding his breath as certainty slithered through him.

Kill?

Was that it?

Did he feel so guilty for living when his parents had died that he was trying to die and take everyone with him? Then he frowned. Not only no, but hell no. He wasn’t going to let his mind play those games. A few minutes later he dozed off.

Laura stood naked in the lamplight, her arms outstretched, her body trembling with desire.

“Gabriel, make love to me. Take me where you took me last night.”

Gabriel opened his arms, and when she walked into his embrace, he picked her up and carried her to his bed.

She lay beside him, whispering words he could not hear. Now she was begging…begging.

“What?” he kept asking. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

Finally, unable to make him understand what she was trying to say, Laura pointed. Gabriel followed the line of her finger until he caught himself staring at a reflection in a mirror.

He smiled. It was him and Laura.

Then he frowned. Something was wrong. Yes, it was him and Laura, but they weren’t in bed. This didn’t make sense. They were right here. Lying in each other’s arms. But their reflection showed an entirely different scene.

He looked down at Laura and frowned, but she had started to cry. He looked back at the reflection. It was starting to fade. But he could see clearly enough to recognize what he was doing. He was reaching for her neck. He jerked and looked down. The tears were still fresh on her face.

Gabriel tried to wake up, but the horror of the dream wasn’t over. Suddenly he was no longer in bed with Laura. He found himself standing in an alley beside a Dumpster. The scent of flowers was strong. He looked down. There were flowers everywhere. Limp ones. Broken ones. Shattered ones. Where were the roses?

He started to dig.

A short while later, he suddenly groaned beneath his breath and then came off of the bunk on which he was sleeping, swinging his arms and screaming like a man in deep pain. Seconds later, the jailer bolted through a doorway and began running down the hall toward Gabriel’s cell with his gun drawn, shouting for help as he ran.

When the phone rang beside Kirby’s bed, it was years of being wakened in such a manner that made him answer in his sleep. But when the man on the other end of the line started talking, it didn’t take long for him to come fully awake.

“That’s impossible,” he muttered, as he reached for the light.

“Maybe so, but the guy nearly tore the cell apart before they got to him. You’re not gonna like this, but he had himself another one of those dreams.”

Kirby’s belly knotted as he shoved a hand through his hair.

“There’s not a likeable thing about this whole damned mess, so get it said,” Kirby ordered.

“You know that man, Henry Loo? The one that woman warned you about?”

Kirby closed his eyes. Ray was right. He wasn’t going to like this a bit.

“Yeah, what about him?” he muttered.

“They found his body in the alley behind his restaurant about half an hour ago. He’s seriously dead.”

Kirby closed his eyes. “Oh, damn.”

“Yeah,” Ray echoed. “And, Kirby…”

Kirby groaned. “There’s more?”

“Yeah. There were roses everywhere. Looks like the killer had been doing a little shopping in the Dumpster behind a nearby florist. There’s a trail of them all the way from the back of the florist to Henry Loo’s face.”

Kirby knew he needed to start dressing, but his legs felt weak. He couldn’t quit thinking that this was all his fault. They’d been warned. And then he shook his head in disbelief, warned by a psychic, for God’s sake. Who could have known?

“Are the roses missing any thorns?”

“Only some of them. It looks as if Henry surprised the man before he had time to finish the job.”

“Okay,” Kirby said. “I’ll be right there.”

“You have the address?” Ray asked.

“Somewhere,” Kirby said. “But give it to me again.”

Ray did as Kirby asked and then disconnected, leaving Kirby with the certain knowledge that had he taken Laura Dane as seriously as she’d expected, one small Oriental man who’d been trying to go home to his family would still be alive.

Sam Whitehall was just finishing his investigation as Kirby walked up.

Kirby took a sip of the coffee he’d been nursing and nodded at an officer he recognized.

“Hey, Sam. What do you think?” Kirby asked.

Whitehall looked up from where he was squatting. “That he should have ducked.”

A wry grin broke the somberness of Kirby’s face. “You’re awfully witty for someone who got dragged out of bed.”

Whitehall stood, wincing as pain shot through his bad knee. Damn, but he hated getting old.

“Sorry,” Whitehall said. “Sometimes it’s either make jokes or cry.”

The grin slid off of Kirby’s face. “Yeah, I know what you mean. So, was it the same killer?”

Whitehall shrugged. “It’s hard to say for sure, but I’d lay odds that it was.”