His hands were damp in anticipation.
Licking his lips, he considered his next abduction.
His next kill.
Reaching for the sound system, he turned on the audiotapes and listened, first to Bobbi Jean, her terror, her fear, her screams and pleas…oh, that was good. His blood sang through his veins as he closed his eyes. His cock thickened in anticipation.
Then he heard the old lady’s whimpers…The cries gave him a thrill, made his blood hot and his heartbeat quicken. He thought of Bobbi Jean. And Nikki. His breath came in short, excited bursts.
His lips were so dry he licked them.
Who would be next?
He closed his eyes and ran an anxious finger over the plastic-encased pictures in his album. “Eenie, meenie, miney, moe…”
His hand stopped. He opened an eye to stare down at the smiling, sultry image of a beautiful woman…Though the snapshot had been taken a dozen years ago, he knew that she was still as eye-catching as she had been then.
He wanted her.
God, he wanted her.
His cock began to throb and he wondered how she’d like waking up in a coffin. Imagined her terror, how her gorgeous features would contort in fear, how she’d plead and beg for her life, to no avail. Panic would nearly stop her heart. The air in the coffin would thin…her lungs would be on fire…oh, yes…
He felt powerful.
Strong.
Cunning.
Anticipation thrummed through his bloodstream.
He could barely wait.
“You’re next, sweetheart,” he whispered roughly as his erection strained against his fly. God, he’d love to fuck her. To slide into her. To show her how he could do what he wanted with her. Maybe after. Maybe before. But to dip into the hot warmth of her…or even into her cold, dead cunt. Either way.
He’d never fucked one of them…never let his fantasies take hold so deeply that he couldn’t resist the temptation they presented. But maybe, this once, he could change his ritual a bit.
Anticipation quickening his pulse, he slowly lowered his face to the scrapbook, so that her beautiful, smiling image blurred. Then, without closing his eyes, he planted a wet kiss on the plastic.
CHAPTER 20
“So you’re flaking out on me again, Nikki. Nice, real nice!” The sneer in Lily’s voice was palpable even with the spotty reception of Nikki’s cell phone.
Reed had dropped Nikki off at her car at Johnny B’s and was now following her as she drove into Savannah. Nikki barely noticed the southern channel of the river, or the traffic, or the speed limit as she headed inland, the lights of Savannah beckoning in the dark night. Her concentration was on the telephone conversation with her angry sister.
“I told you it isn’t safe for me to take Phee,” she said for the third time. “Don’t you get it? My apartment was broken into, Lily. Whoever did it left me a damned note. In my bed.” She shivered, thinking of the intruder touching her linens, running his fingers over her bedposts, rummaging through her drawers.
“This is a surprise?”
“Don’t you know there’s a serial killer on the loose! He might have been the guy in the apartment.”
“Well, gee, I wonder why he would break into your place, okay? Let’s think. Could it be that you keep writing about him? Attracting his attention? No wonder you’re a target. He’s pissed off.”
“He’s not pissed off at me. He
likes
the attention I give him. He craves it. It’s all part of the serial killer mentality.”
“I wouldn’t know. They have mentalities?”
“Yes, Lily, they do and—”
“He’s killing people, for Christ’s sake! It’s not about ‘mentalities!’” she snapped, then caught hold of her temper. “Listen, Nikki, I understand, okay? I do get it. It’s your life and it’s important.” Obviously Lily couldn’t keep the sarcasm from infecting her words. “So, I’ll leave here and pick Ophelia up at the folks. Forget what I’m doing. Forget that this was a hundred dollar a plate dinner for a candidate Mel supports, that it’s important to him, that it’s important to me. Because it’s all about you, isn’t it? It always has been.”
“No, Lily,” Nikki retorted hotly as she turned off the Island Expressway. “It’s all about you. It always has been.”
Lily hung up so loudly, Nikki winced, then dropped the phone into the cup holder by the driver’s seat of her hatchback. She told herself she should feel bad, but she didn’t. Not for her sister. This was how Lily handled every crisis. By lashing out.
Still fuming, she wended her way through the historic district. She took a corner a little too fast to avoid stopping for a yellow light, then told herself to calm down. A fight with Lily wasn’t exactly a news-breaking event. She and her sister had never gotten along. She glanced in her side-view mirror. Reed was still behind her, never letting her get too far ahead, never gunning the El Dorado past her. His being near was comforting in an odd way. She liked knowing he was so close. He’d been more approachable and she’d thought she’d heard a new tone in his voice, something softer, as if he cared about her—if only because she was a person he was sworn to serve and protect.
At that thought, she nearly ran the next light. “Get over yourself,” she admonished. “This is Pierce Reed you’re mooning over.” Disgusted with the turn of her thoughts, she pulled into her spot in the tiny parking lot. A police car was already parked in the alley that housed the Dumpsters for the apartment building. Red and blue lights strobed the old bricks, tall windows and gleaming shutters of the once-grand house that she now called home. Yellow tape was being strung to keep the onlookers at bay while more than one of her neighbors’ lights were blazing. A few braver souls, clad in raincoats hastily thrown over pajamas craned their necks to stare up at her apartment and some of the bystanders had begun peppering a stoic-faced officer with questions.
“What’s going on?” one woman asked. She was huddled under an umbrella with a big hulking man dressed in wrinkled sweat clothes.
“Don’t really know,” the police officer said. “If you’ll please stand back and let us do our work, we’d appreciate it.”
The big man didn’t take the hint. “Whatever it is, it’s the top apartment, the one in the turret.” The umbrella shifted as the curious neighbors turned their noses skyward to stare at Nikki’s apartment. Nikki moved back a couple of steps, behind the umbrella, where the nosy neighbors couldn’t see her, and was grateful when, from the corner of her eye, she noticed Reed approaching.
“Isn’t that where Nikki Gillette lives?” the woman under the umbrella said. Nikki shrank back even farther. “She’s that reporter, you know. The one who’s writing all the stories about the Grave Robber…”
Nikki backed away from the conversation before they turned, saw, and realized who she was. She nearly bumped into Reed, who grabbed her arm and shepherded her away from the conversation. For once she was grateful to rely on someone else, to feel his strong fingers around her forearm. For the moment she felt protected, though she knew it was only a matter of time before she was spotted and recognized. More neighbors had begun collecting. Fortunately most of the onlookers stood away from the police, preferring the safety of the shadows or their own porches. Only a few vehicles passed by, rolling slowly, drivers rubbernecking, passengers pointing at the elegant old house while sirens, coming ever closer, wailed in the night.
“This is going to be a three-ring circus,” Nikki muttered under her breath.
“Or four,” he agreed.
“Thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”
One of the uniformed officers took up traffic duty, waving the onlookers through while a damp, icy wind scraped Nikki’s cheeks and tugged at the hem of her coat as vehicles crept down the street.
“We’ll need a key,” Reed said.
She wanted to refuse, hated the invasion of her privacy, but she dug through her purse, found her key ring and slipped the house key off.
“We’ll go inside as soon as we get the okay.”
“From?”
“Diane Moses. And believe me, she’s aptly named. In this department, she does hand down the word of God.”
Nikki chuckled despite her case of nerves. She glanced up at Reed and noticed he wasn’t smiling, but his eyes seemed warmer than before, his perpetually harsh expression less severe, the hint of tenderness perceptible beneath his gruff facade.
“Hang in there,” he said, dropping her arm as the crime scene van arrived along with two more police cars and the news van from WKAM. Nikki watched a reporter and cameraman emerge, while Reed spoke to a petite black woman whose face seemed set in a perpetual frown. The woman slid a curious glance in Nikki’s direction, but her scowl only deepened, another fan of the press, as Reed introduced Diane Moses, then handed her Nikki’s key.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” Fred Cooper, the apartment manager, had finally awakened and wasn’t too happy about it. Dressed in a striped bathrobe, he came charging around the corner of the apartment house like a bulldog. His thin white hair was standing on end, the bags under his eyes indicating he needed a lot more sleep. “What the hell is this?” Turning his gaze on Nikki, he stopped dead and the corners of his mouth pursed. “Why am I not surprised this has something to do with you?”
It was Nikki’s turn to make hasty introductions. “Fred Cooper, the manager, Detectives Reed and Moses. They want to see my apartment. I said it was okay.”
“Of course it’s okay…but…” Fred, standing in the midst, was obviously confused and not happy about the situation. He stared at the ever-growing crowd of police and onlookers. “Jesus…”
Reed took over. The ensuing conversation was short. Reed explained what they were doing as Diane Moses climbed the stairs to Nikki’s apartment.
Cooper backed off and stepped back to stand guard under the overhang of his porch. One shoulder propped against the doorjamb, he glared at the disruption of his usually predictable, neat life.
Members of the team roped off areas surrounding the walkway and gate, then carefully started examining the exterior of the house before climbing the stairs to Nikki’s apartment. It was weird to see the police swarming around
her
home, searching for evidence of a crime against
her.
She hated to think how many crime scenes she’d visited, always hungry for knowledge, with fleeting thoughts of the victims, while her concentration had been on finding out who, what, when and why.
“We’ll give them time to look around first,” Reed said, grabbing hold of Nikki’s arm again when she tried to follow an officer through the gate. “Even though it’s been over twenty-four hours since the break-in, they could find something important.”
“Okay, but my cat will freak.”
The hand around her sleeve didn’t let go. “He’ll get over it.”
“You don’t know Jennings. He holds a grudge for weeks!” she insisted, staring up at her apartment. “This’ll cost me a fortune in catnip.”
He snorted a laugh and looked at her. For the first time, she was certain, he really looked at her. Past her I’m-a-serious-reporter skin to probe beneath the surface, to search for the woman she usually kept locked away. “I think you can afford it,” he observed as another police car, lights blazing, roared down the street.
With a squeal of tires, the cruiser ground to a stop.
“Morrisette,” Reed said.
Cliff Siebert, his expression grave, made a hasty exit from the passenger side. He slid a look in Nikki’s direction, then immediately turned his attention to Reed, who dropped her arm. Cliff’s forehead was creased, his lips pursed. He looked ready to spit nails.
“You call this in?” he demanded, zeroing in on Reed.
Nikki saw the fight brewing and stepped in. “Wait a minute.
I
called Detective Reed and told him about the break-in.”
“
You
called
him
.” Obviously Cliff wasn’t buying it.
“Ms. Gillette has some evidence about the Grave Robber that she’d like to share with us all.” “So, after we’re through here, let’s all go to the station.”
“Hold on, Reed. You’re off the case.” Cliff scowled at the older detective and his lips barely moved as he added, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Okano will have your badge and your ass.”
From the corner of her eye, Nikki saw Detective Morrisette approach. “Whoa, boys. Enough. Let’s not go off here half-cocked.”
“This is my fault,” Nikki cut in. “I knew Detective Reed had been called up to Dahlonega and was close to one of the victims, so I approached him first. I’ve been leaving messages for Detective Reed ever since this case broke.”
Cliff’s gaze, when he looked at Nikki, was cold as death. “Detective Reed was removed from the case, Ms. Gillette. I assumed, as you’re writing so feverishly about everything there is about the Grave Robber, that you knew that Detective Morrisette was in charge and that I’m assisting her.”
“Listen, Siebert, turn down the testosterone a notch or two, okay?” Morrisette’s multiple earrings caught in the light from the street lamps and her platinum spikes took on a gray-blue hue as another press van pulled into the alley. “Great. More dickhead reporters, present company excluded.” A uniformed officer met the van, keeping the driver and newsman behind the barrier. It was weird being on the other side of the microphone, Nikki thought, strange being the victim rather than a voyeur looking for a story, an angle to make her story the best.
Morrisette was still reaming out Reed and Siebert. “…so I don’t give a flying fuck who did the calling or responding on this. It just doesn’t matter. So let’s just get to work and figure out what’s going on before we have the press crawling up our butts.” She looked from Siebert to Reed. “Let’s go.” She was already starting for the gate.
Jaw tight, Cliff Siebert was only one step behind.
“Ms. Gillette said her apartment was broken into the other night. Whoever did it left a note with a poem. Looks like it’s from the Grave Robber,” Reed said.
“Holy shit.” Only one step from the stairs, Morrisette stopped dead in her tracks and spun on the heels of her snakeskin boots. “I assume you brought it.”
“She gave it to me,” Reed said. “I thought we’d take it down to the station and compare it to the other notes.” He must’ve seen Cliff’s reaction because he added, “And yeah, she does know that the Grave Robber’s been sending us messages, too.”