headline that screamed at him:
V ALENTINE K ILLER L EAVES G RISLY G IFT.
Shit.
He scanned the article as his heart raced. This was the last thing he wanted. Didn’t the press get it? The city didn’t need to be in a panic. Panic just made it harder for the cops to do their job.
The reporter hadn’t revealed Katherine’s identity, and he could only hope it was because the reporter didn’t know who she really was. But someone had sure gone to the press fast with this big reveal.
Too fast. The captain was gonna be spitting nails.
“The press doesn’t know who she is,” Mac said as he inclined his head toward Katherine, “but I think it’s safe enough to say that our killer certainly does.”
She stood behind her chair, her fingers curved over its back. Dane saw her knuckles whiten.
“Is he a copycat?” Mac asked her. “Or the real deal?”
Katherine’s eyes widened in surprise. “A copycat?”
“How many people in New Orleans know who you really are?” Mac pressed. “We’re gonna need all the names. Maybe someone got close to you
because
of who you really are. Maybe that person is killing—”
Katherine started to laugh. But the sound was cold and hollow. “What? You think I can only attract killers?”
Dane winced. Mac had never been a smooth one with the ladies.
Then Katherine shook her head. “You two know my identity. Ross knows. And my ex-shrink knows.” She shrugged. “No one else. When you’ve got a past like mine, you aren’t exactly eager to share it with the world.”
Dane folded the newspaper and advanced toward her. “What about the boyfriend? He doesn’t know?”
“I didn’t want him to know.” Her lips pressed together. “When you’re dating, you don’t always want your significant other to look at you like you’re some kind of freak.”
He sure wasn’t looking at her like that.
“This isn’t a copycat,” Katherine said. “The cuts on the victim’s arms…the
roses…
only Valentine knew that.”
Dane knew his whole body had tensed. “What about the roses?” There had been eleven left at Katherine’s house last night.
“Roses were my favorite,” she whispered. “Valentine knew that. What I didn’t know until after was that he gave me roses when he made a kill.”
His heart was beating faster. Another bit of evidence that had never made the news. More confirmation that this was no copycat. It was the real fucking deal.
“It looked like a dozen…” Her lips twisted in a humorless smile. “When you see a bunch of flowers, how many people actually count to see if twelve are there? I count now, I always do.”
Mac swore, obviously realizing, just as Dane did, where this was going.
“Eleven for me. One for his victim. And the roses came in perfect time with his kills.” She raked a hand through her tousled hair. “When I found Stephanie that last day—he already had the roses waiting on the table for me.”
And roses had been waiting for Katherine last night.
Real. Fucking. Deal.
“I’m…ah…going to get dressed now.” She backed out of the kitchen with uncertain steps. “Do you know when I’ll be able to go home again?”
Mac glanced at Dane. Dane opened his mouth to respond, but it was Mac who said, “I’m afraid we need you to come down to the station, ma’am.”
Her face fell. “Right.” Almost whisper quiet. “Of course you do.” Then she turned away and slipped into the bedroom. The door closed with a soft squeak behind her.
Dane sighed and glanced over at Mac—and he found his partner glaring at him. “What?”
“Did you screw her?” Mac’s voice was hushed. “Dammit, man, we
need
her!”
And Mac
needed
to watch that tone. Dane closed in on him. “I kept her safe for the night. I kept my eyes on her.” Just like he was supposed to do. The captain had given him orders that Katherine wasn’t to slip town, so he’d made sure that he was between her and any exit door.
“But did you keep your hands off
V ALENTINE K ILLER L EAVES G RISLY G IFT.
Shit.
He scanned the article as his heart raced. This was the last thing he wanted. Didn’t the press get it? The city didn’t need to be in a panic. Panic just made it harder for the cops to do their job.
The reporter hadn’t revealed Katherine’s identity, and he could only hope it was because the reporter didn’t know who she really was. But someone had sure gone to the press fast with this big reveal.
Too fast. The captain was gonna be spitting nails.
“The press doesn’t know who she is,” Mac said as he inclined his head toward Katherine, “but I think it’s safe enough to say that our killer certainly does.”
She stood behind her chair, her fingers curved over its back. Dane saw her knuckles whiten.
“Is he a copycat?” Mac asked her. “Or the real deal?”
Katherine’s eyes widened in surprise. “A copycat?”
“How many people in New Orleans know who you really are?” Mac pressed. “We’re gonna need all the names. Maybe someone got close to you
because
of who you really are. Maybe that person is killing—”
Katherine started to laugh. But the sound was cold and hollow. “What? You think I can only attract killers?”
Dane winced. Mac had never been a smooth one with the ladies.
Then Katherine shook her head. “You two know my identity. Ross knows. And my ex-shrink knows.” She shrugged. “No one else. When you’ve got a past like mine, you aren’t exactly eager to share it with the world.”
Dane folded the newspaper and advanced toward her. “What about the boyfriend? He doesn’t know?”
“I didn’t want him to know.” Her lips pressed together. “When you’re dating, you don’t always want your significant other to look at you like you’re some kind of freak.”
He sure wasn’t looking at her like that.
“This isn’t a copycat,” Katherine said. “The cuts on the victim’s arms…the
roses…
only Valentine knew that.”
Dane knew his whole body had tensed. “What about the roses?” There had been eleven left at Katherine’s house last night.
“Roses were my favorite,” she whispered. “Valentine knew that. What I didn’t know until after was that he gave me roses when he made a kill.”
His heart was beating faster. Another bit of evidence that had never made the news. More confirmation that this was no copycat. It was the real fucking deal.
“It looked like a dozen…” Her lips twisted in a humorless smile. “When you see a bunch of flowers, how many people actually count to see if twelve are there? I count now, I always do.”
Mac swore, obviously realizing, just as Dane did, where this was going.
“Eleven for me. One for his victim. And the roses came in perfect time with his kills.” She raked a hand through her tousled hair. “When I found Stephanie that last day—he already had the roses waiting on the table for me.”
And roses had been waiting for Katherine last night.
Real. Fucking. Deal.
“I’m…ah…going to get dressed now.” She backed out of the kitchen with uncertain steps. “Do you know when I’ll be able to go home again?”
Mac glanced at Dane. Dane opened his mouth to respond, but it was Mac who said, “I’m afraid we need you to come down to the station, ma’am.”
Her face fell. “Right.” Almost whisper quiet. “Of course you do.” Then she turned away and slipped into the bedroom. The door closed with a soft squeak behind her.
Dane sighed and glanced over at Mac—and he found his partner glaring at him. “What?”
“Did you screw her?” Mac’s voice was hushed. “Dammit, man, we
need
her!”
And Mac
needed
to watch that tone. Dane closed in on him. “I kept her safe for the night. I kept my eyes on her.” Just like he was supposed to do. The captain had given him orders that Katherine wasn’t to slip town, so he’d made sure that he was between her and any exit door.
“But did you keep your hands off
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