Die for Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer (9 page)

The captain was territorial about his cases. Good. So was Dane.

But Marcus shook his head. “I’m afraid there’s nothing simple about this case. Either you gentlemen have got the real deal—and if you do, then you’ll need me—or you’ve got a copycat who’s out to grab some of Valentine’s headlines.”

“I really didn’t need a fed to tell me that,” Dane muttered, aggravated. He’d been working as a cop for more than ten years. “We might be a bit slow on some things down in the South, but we know murder.”

“And
I
know murder.” Marcus stretched to his full height. About five foot seven inches. “I know Valentine. I’ve studied his case inside and out. I can help you.”

Or he could get in the way.

For now, Dane would be forced to wait and see how things played out.

Marcus glanced over at Ross. “I’m surprised you haven’t been reassigned.” He paused. “Or did you insist on staying with the case?”

Ross didn’t answer.

Marcus glanced back at Dane. His assessing gaze didn’t make Dane nervous. It irritated him. He was irritated even more when the guy rather pompously said, “Detective, you know I’ll want to talk to her.”

“The way you talked to her three years ago?” Ross cut in. “You
know
the woman hates your guts, man.”

This was just getting better and better. “We’re trying to get Katherine’s cooperation here,” Dane said, “not alienate her more.” And if Katherine didn’t like the profiler…

But Marcus shook his head. “You don’t understand her. She isn’t a victim.”

“Oh, for the love of—” Ross threw his hands into the air. “Just because Valentine didn’t slice her up,” Ross snapped, “it doesn’t mean the prick didn’t hurt her. I’ve been there. I’ve heard the screams from her nightmares.”

But she hadn’t screamed last night. Dane wasn’t sure if that meant her nightmares had stopped or if she’d just learned not to scream.

“People scream for all kinds of reasons,” Marcus said, his nasal voice irritating the shit out of Dane. “And I’ve wondered for a few years now…what gets to her?”

Dane’s gaze met the captain’s. The bureau had seriously sent this prick down to them? They must have better profilers. Somewhere.

“I
know
Valentine,” Marcus said, his voice cracking. “Give me a chance, and I’ll prove it.”

The captain nodded even as he avoided Dane’s gaze. “You have your chance, but if you do anything to jeopardize this case, I’ll personally kick your ass all the way back up to D.C.”

Blinking rapidly, Marcus nodded. Then he hurried toward the interrogation room.

Before Dane could follow him, Ross grabbed his arm. “Watch him,” Ross warned.

Dane lifted a brow.

“Three years ago, Marcus Wayne was convinced that Valentine had an accomplice in his crimes.”

An accomplice? That was news to Dane.

“His superiors thought the theory was BS, as did all the cops on the case. So Wayne got bumped from superstar profiler down to desk jockey.” Ross’s gaze was glued to Marcus’s back. “Want to know just who he thought that accomplice was?”

Hell.

“Katelynn,” Ross said softly.

The captain swore. “I think I need to get ready for some ass-kicking.”

Dane shook his head. “It will be my pleasure, Captain.” If anyone got to toss that guy out, it would be Dane. But first he asked, “If his theory is shit, then why is he back on the case?” Why the hell had the FBI brass sent the guy down to New Orleans?

“Because the guy has connections in the FBI, strings that he no doubt pulled to get down here,” Ross answered. “
And
he’s the only profiler who has spent three straight years poring over Valentine’s life.”

Dane’s brows climbed. “Even when he wasn’t officially on the case?”

“The guy’s like a bulldog. He doesn’t give up, and yeah, you need to take that as a warning.”

He would. Dane turned away from Ross and hurried into the interrogation room.

The woman didn’t even know she was in danger. She walked out of her apartment. Took the elevator down to the parking garage. And never even glanced up from her phone.

Too busy texting.

Too busy to be afraid.

Her mistake.

Most of her neighbors had already cleared out for the day. Too bad for Amy Evans—she was running late.

She thought she was alone.

Her keys slipped from her fingers. Hit the cement floor of the parking garage. She swore and finally stopped texting. She bent down and swiped up her keys.

She was making this too easy. Five steps, just five, and Amy was close enough to touch.

One, two, three, four
…

Amy never even had the chance to scream. Her body slumped forward on the ground. Her head slammed into the cement.

Amy’s dark hair had fallen over her face. Such lovely, thick hair.

Hair just like Katherine’s.

No, she hadn’t been given the chance to scream. Not then. But there would be plenty of time for screams later.

When Katherine saw Marcus Wayne enter the interrogation room, she felt her heart stop.

His eyes were the same small, beady brown that she remembered. Judging eyes. Suspicious eyes.

Plenty of others had been suspicious of her before, especially once they learned who she was, but Marcus had been the only one to ever just flat-out say,
I think you’re a killer, and, sooner or later, I’ll prove it.

He didn’t buy that she hadn’t known the truth about Valentine. He said she fit the profile too well.

She knew just what the guy could do with his profiles. She might not have any fancy degrees, but she’d spent the last three years doing her own research.

You’re wrong. I’m not a killer. And I’ll prove it.

“Hello, Kat,” Marcus said as he came into the room and pulled out the chair across from her. “You’re looking well.”

Kat.
She knew he’d used the name deliberately. With him, everything was deliberate. “And you’re looking the same, Marcus.” Same stuffed shirt. Same narrow view that only he was right.

He cleared his throat. “I’m going to be working with your detectives on this case. I thought we could all begin by going over Valentine’s profile.”

Was she supposed to believe that she was one of the team?

Katherine glanced up as Dane came into the room, but she couldn’t read anything past the veil of his eyes. His partner was still in the room, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. She had no clue what Mac was thinking.
Mac.
He’d told her to call him that when he’d entered the interrogation room. He’d seemed friendly.

Now Marcus was trying the friendly routine with her, too.

The atmosphere just made her more tense.

Then Marcus began to talk.

“Michael O’Rourke is highly intelligent, charming, and without any sense of remorse or compassion,” he said flatly. “He’s a chameleon. He can blend, mixing perfectly in nearly any situation—and has. He graduated at the top of his college class. Did a stint in the military—picked up demolitions training with his unit—and even received a Purple Heart when he was injured while saving two men on his team in Afghanistan.”

A hero. A killer.

“He saved men?” Mac asked, his brows wrinkling. “Why the hell would he do that if the guy just gets off on killing?”

“Because those men didn’t fit his victim type,” Marcus answered. “They weren’t the ones he was going after.” A pause. “But being around that level of violence, I believe, encouraged the darker instincts within Michael.”

He came toward me, flashing a wide smile. “Hi, I’m Michael. Michael O’Rourke.” His eyes were so green. “And I think I’m in love.”

“To truly understand him, we have to look at Michael’s origins.”

Katherine fought to keep her breathing slow and steady.

“Michael O’Rourke grew up in a single-parent home. His mother was a drug addict who sold her body whenever she needed some cash. She generally forgot about her son, and when she did remember him, she spent her time slapping him around.”

That didn’t match up with the story Michael had originally told her…

My mother? She died when I was just six. Such a beautiful lady, inside and out. She had the biggest smile…but one night, a man came for her. He attacked her in an alley. She was just going to get groceries for us. He was high on drugs. He killed her quickly, so she didn’t suffer—or at least that’s what the cops told me.

“When he was twelve, Michael’s mother overdosed. He was the one who found her body.”

Her funeral was beautiful. So many flowers. Roses were her favorites, too. She loved them just like you do. I like to think she was smiling down from heaven when she saw those roses.

“No father was ever in the picture,” Marcus continued. His nasal tone was like nails on a chalkboard. “I doubt his mother even knew his name.”

My father took care of me until I was nineteen. Then he passed away. A heart attack. But if you ask me, I think his heart stopped the day my mother died. He loved her so much…as much as I love you, Kat.

Her palms flattened on the smooth surface of the table. She’d believed everything Michael had said about his life. Why doubt him? Falling for him had been so easy.

Because he’d been perfect.

“Michael O’Rourke probably began torturing and killing animals when he was a small child.”

She remembered how Michael had seen a man kicking a dog one day and rushed over. Stopped the man. Demanded, “
How would you like to be kicked?
”

He’d
never
liked to see animals hurt. Her eyes narrowed as she stared down at her hands and saw her memories.

“He is a sociopath. Not able to form any sort of lasting relationship with anyone or anything. He suffered so much abuse as a child that he now believes the only way humans actually express emotion is through abuse. So when he attacks his victims, he’s both showing his control, his complete dominance over them, and he’s also showing…well, the only emotion that he can.”

Her back teeth ground together.

I love you, Kat. I didn’t think it would be possible to care about someone the way I do for you. But you’re different. You make me want to be better. To be someone else.
His warm green eyes had stared into her own.
Marry me. Let’s start over, together.

“I suspect he originally approached Kat here…”

She flinched at the name. “
Don’t
call me that.”

“Is that because Michael did?” Marcus asked.

“You know he did.”

“Just as I know he approached you because you fit his victim profile. You were the perfect victim for him. Right hair, right eyes, right age.” He paused. “Right past.”

Her gaze snapped to his.
Don’t talk about that. Don’t go there.
She would share what she knew about Valentine, but her own wounds—the wounds that had come long before she ever met Valentine—those weren’t open for the world to poke and prod for their pleasure.

“The women he targeted were all damaged.” Marcus’s eyes weren’t looking away from her. They were trying to look
into
her. “You could have been his perfect prey, but he didn’t kill you. He didn’t put you on his table. Didn’t slice into your arms twenty-one times and then drive a knife into your chest—”

“
That’s fucking enough
.” Dane had dropped his neutral expression. His gaze was blazing as he jerked Marcus’s chair back. Marcus stumbled, nearly falling to the floor.

Katherine realized her chest was heaving. So much for her slow breathing technique. Her heart was pounding too fast.

“To understand Valentine, you have to know why he picked Katherine,” Marcus insisted, tilting his head to study her. He was sweating. She could see the gleam of moisture on his temple. “I know why he picked you. You were his mirror. His perfect, broken mirror.”

Dane grabbed the guy by the shirt. “The FBI actually sent you? Or did you just bribe someone up there?” He dragged the man toward the door. “Time to kick your ass back to D.C. You don’t come into my precinct and start talking to her like that—”

“Because she makes you feel protective?” Marcus jerked free of his grasp. “She made Valentine feel that way too. He should have seen her as prey, but for some reason Kat’s good at—”