Die for Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer (3 page)

Ronnie walked around the table. “How’d you know, Dane?” Now suspicion had entered her tone.

“Because a woman walked up to my desk five minutes ago and told me.”

“You’re kidding.” Ronnie’s voice had risen two octaves.

“No, not this time.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “This case is priority, Ronnie. Get me the full report and get it to me yesterday.”

She nodded, eyes wide.

He turned away and pushed open the door that would take him away from the ME’s office. The scent of bleach and death followed him. Hell, he didn’t know how Ronnie could stand that place.

He hurried up the stairs, not bothering with the elevator. The ME’s office was located in the building right behind his precinct. “The death rooms,” as the cops called the place.

Please.
Katherine’s voice drifted in his mind. Breathy, sexy, and almost…desperate.

Killers could be very, very desperate indeed.

The sunlight hit him as he raced between the two buildings, burning bright and hot as it always did in New Orleans. He hurried inside the police station, grunting a greeting at the uniforms he passed.

When he reached the homicide unit, Dane found Mac sitting on the edge of his desk.

Mac pointed toward the interrogation room. “There a particular reason you got that kid guarding the door?”

Dane spared a quick glance at the door in question. The uniformed cop was exactly where Dane had stationed him.

Squaring his shoulders, Dane said, “He’s keeping an eye on a suspect.”

Mac arched a brow. “I saw the suspect.” A low whistle escaped him. “I would have kept an eye on her for you. You could’ve just asked me nicely.”

Yeah, he was sure Mac would have been only too happy to keep company with Katherine Cole. “I think she knows who killed Savannah Slater.” He paused a beat. “Or maybe she even did the deed herself.”

Surprise slackened Mac’s face. “You’re shitting me.”

But Mac didn’t actually sound disbelieving. More like sad. After working together for eight years, both men knew that even the most innocent faces could hide killers.

Dane started rolling up his sleeves as he headed for the interrogation room. Mac fell into step behind him.

“So who’s good cop?” Mac asked, voice flat, as they neared the door.

Dane thought of Savannah Slater’s broken body. “Neither one of us.”

After one look at Dane’s face, the uniform quickly moved out of the way.

Dane opened the door.

Katherine looked up at once, and she was just as damn beautiful as before. Heart-shaped face. Glass-sharp cheekbones. Tiny slip of nose. Lips made for sin.

And those eyes. One look into them, and he’d felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

But he knew all too well just how deceptive innocence could be.

Such a perfect face. But was it the face of an angel or a sadistic killer?

Time to find out.

Valentine was back.

Katherine got her answer from the look on Detective Black’s face.

Twenty-one slices.

When Detective Black came back into the room, his eyes glittering with a barely contained fury, Katherine knew her carefully constructed world was about to be ripped apart.

“How did you know?” He was trying to sound cool, she got that, but his eyes revealed the truth.

Another man followed behind him, a guy about two inches shorter and thirty pounds lighter than Detective Black. Both men were in their thirties, but this guy’s face was much softer than the other—

“How did you know?”

Katherine swallowed. “I told you, that’s what Valentine did. He always left that exact number on his victims.”

Detective Black sat in front of her. He’d rolled up his sleeves, and she could see the black edge of a tattoo on his right arm. It seemed to twist around his flesh like a snake.

“And how would you know what Valentine did, miss?” The other guy wanted to know. His voice was carefully curious, a little
bland, but she could feel his tension, too. “I mean, those crimes happened all the way up in Boston, and we’re way down—”

“I’m from Boston.” That truth just slipped out.

Wrong story.
Say it until
—

“Are you now.” Detective Black leaned toward her, seeming to swallow all the space with his bigger body. “Why doesn’t that fact surprise me?”

She lifted her hand, only to have it jerked back by the handcuff. “Is this confinement necessary?” Katherine glanced down at the cuff. “I came here to help you.”

“Is Valentine killing in my city?”

I think so. God help us all.
“You need to call Detective Sean Hobbs. He worked the case up in Boston. Talk to him. He can—”

“Did
you
kill Savannah Slater?” Detective Black’s cold question blew right through her words.

“No, of course not!” Fury hardened her voice.

His eyes narrowed on her, and she almost felt as if he could see right into her soul. Almost, until he asked, “Were you present when she was killed?”

“No!” Not for this kill. Not this time.

“Then where were you? Because, Ms. Cole, we’re sure as hell gonna need an alibi from you.”

Her lips trembled. She didn’t have an alibi. She’d been alone all weekend. At home. And she had no close neighbors. No one to vouch for her.

The interrogation room door flew open. “
This interview is over
,” a familiar voice blasted.

Katherine looked up and found her handler standing in the doorway.

Detective Black leapt to his feet. His chair slammed to the floor behind him. “Who the hell are you?”

Her handler yanked out his ID. “I’m Anthony Ross, and this woman is coming with me.”

The detective snatched the ID for a closer look while the man Katherine assumed was his partner cursed. Black and Ross were about the same size, and they were standing toe to toe.

“You’re a U.S. marshal?” Detective Black asked, and there was no missing his shock.

Ross reached for her hand. “Come on, Katherine.”

“I can’t.” She lifted the cuffs.

Ross closed his green eyes for a moment. “You are kidding me.” His gaze snapped open and locked on the detectives. “Why is she cuffed?
Why?
”

“Because she knows far too much about my murder victim.” Detective Black wasn’t backing down. “Either she was
there
or she knows—”

“Katherine wasn’t there. I can verify her whereabouts for the last forty-eight hours.”

Sweet of him to lie. But the marshal had ulterior motives.

He wanted to get her out of the precinct.

Ross held out his hand. “The. Key.”

But instead of handing him the key, the Detective Black stalked around the table and knelt beside Katherine. She tensed.
Too close.

She stared down at him. His head was tilted as he stared at the cuffs. His hair was dark, so thick, and a little too long. His profile was strong, and from this angle, there was no missing the fact that someone had definitely taken a few swings at his nose.

And he smelled nice. Not a cologne scent. Just…man.

He slipped the key into the lock and the cuff opened with a quick
snick
, but the detective didn’t back away. Instead, his fingers
smoothed over her wrist, stroking lightly, right where the cuff had bitten into her skin.

Now his head tilted back so that he met her stare. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on,” he said, his gaze searching hers, “then how am I supposed to keep you safe?”

Safe.
Sometimes she wasn’t even sure what that word meant anymore. Her tongue swiped over her too-dry lips. “You can’t.”

His fingers tightened around her wrist. “You don’t know me well. Not yet.”
Why did that sound like a promise
? “But believe me when I say that I could protect you from anyone or anything out there.”

Detective Black was a good cop. She’d heard the stories about him before. Seen his high-profile busts on TV. Not a glory hound, but a cop the media seemed to love.

So her smile was sad when she stood and pulled away from him. “I have to go now.”

“Damn straight,” Ross said, and then he was the one catching her hand. “And if you have any other questions for Katherine, you route them through
me
.”

Detective Black rose slowly. “You’re not a lawyer.”

“And she shouldn’t be your suspect,” Ross snapped right back. “So do your job and get out there and find the killer.”

He tried to pull her through the doorway.

Katherine dug in her heels. She glanced back at the detectives once more. She’d come here for a reason. “Call Boston. Talk to Sean.”

“
Dammit, Kat
,” Ross muttered. “We need to
go
.”

This time, she went with him.

And she hoped that the cops would be ready to face the hell coming their way.

“Well, well, well…” Mac blew out a hard breath and shook his head as he stared out the open interrogation room door. “What the hell was
that
?”

Wrong question. “We need to find out why the U.S. marshal’s office is protecting her.” He could still smell her sweet scent. All around him.

Her skin had been softer than silk.

A killer? He didn’t know, not yet. But now a marshal was involved, and that mixed up the case even more.

A marshal. Protecting a woman who knew far too much about one of the most wanted men in the United States.

He shoved by Mac and rushed back into the bull pen. His captain was coming out of his office. Harley Dunning’s round face was even redder than usual. “You want to tell me why I got the
marshal’s
office on my ass?”

Dane grunted as he sat down at his desk. “Ten minutes, Cap. Just give me ten minutes…” Sweat trickled down his cheek as he grabbed for his phone. He hit the button for the station operator. “Yeah, yeah, look, it’s Detective Black, and I need you to connect me to the Boston PD, to one Detective Sean Hobbs.” His heart thudded in his chest. “
Now
.” He was connecting the dots as quickly as he could.

“What’s goin’ on?” Harley demanded as he closed in on Dane.

Mac answered, “Our suspect gave us a tip, right before the marshal with the shiny badge dragged her away.”

“A tip?” the captain pushed.

“Yeah.” Dane grunted as he waited for the connection. “And one we’re damn well checking out.”

The marshal’s involvement meant the woman wasn’t just some bullshitter off the street. And her eyes—those beautiful, golden eyes—had been full of determination and fear.

There’d been no missing the way her voice broke each time she mentioned Valentine.

The marshal wanted to protect her, but Dane wasn’t about to let that guy stand in his way. He had a murder to solve, and if Katherine Cole was involved, she wasn’t getting away from him, marshal or no damn marshal.

To stop a killer, Dane would be willing to use anything or anyone.

No more blood. No more torture. He would do anything necessary to bring the killer to justice.

“No more talking to the cops, Kat,” Anthony Ross said. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as he guided them through the thick New Orleans traffic. “What the fuck were you thinking?” He stopped the vehicle, and a trolley whizzed past them.

Anger stirred in Katherine’s gut, slowly breaking through the ice that had encased her ever since she saw the news footage earlier that day. “Don’t call me Kat. I told you that before.” Because
he’d
called her that.

She saw him slant a quick glance her way.

“And as to what the fuck I was thinking…” She sucked in a sharp breath. “I was thinking the cops needed to know who they were dealing with.”

“So you put yourself up as a target? Dammit, Kat—Katherine.” He corrected himself quickly. “You know this can’t be some random attack. A kill like this, basically right on your front doorstep—”

Her jaw dropped. “But you told me—when I called you—you said—”

“I was just trying to keep you calm until I could get to you!” His hand slapped against the steering wheel. “I wanted to keep you safe.”

Detective Black had promised to keep her safe.

She glanced down at her clenched hands. “Savannah Slater had eleven knife wounds on her left arm and ten on her right.”