SEE HER DIE (11 page)

“Dammit.”

No matter how many times she told herself that her most recent problems were entirely his fault, she just couldn’t help feeling bad about him sitting out there in a cold car after having no sleep.

Admitting defeat, she filled a thermal to-go cup with coffee and wrapped a couple of muffins in a paper towel. The least she could do was feed him. He had, after all, spent the night watching over her. The thought had her experiencing more of that awareness she could no longer deny. She was sexually attracted to the man.

She groaned. What an idiot she was. Outright asking for trouble. Ignoring the alarm bells jangling in her head, she pulled on a jacket and marched out the door, down the steps and across the street. He caught sight of her before her sneakers hit the pavement and he was climbing out of the car.

“Is everything all right?” Those blue eyes surveyed her from head to toe.

Just like last night, she could feel his eyes roaming her body. And damned if he didn’t look even better with a night’s growth of beard shadowing that chiseled jaw. “Everything’s just peachy,” she lied, forcing the forbidden thoughts to the farthest recesses of her mind. “I thought you might be hungry.”

Actually he looked ravenous. But then, she hadn’t noticed that look in his eyes until after he’d given her the onceover. She scolded herself for allowing such a silly notion. Rich guys like MacBride didn’t bother with working girls like her. Well, working girls in the sense of blue-collar types. She’d been born into a blue-collar family and she was damned proud of it. Her short stint in the high-end design world hadn’t gone so well. She didn’t belong there.

“Thanks.” He reached for the cup. “I was having fantasies about coffee.”

She blinked away the fantasies she’d been having that had nothing to do with coffee. “It’s black. I didn’t know if you liked cream or sugar.”

“Black is perfect.” He had a taste and moaned. “That hit the spot.”

The sound of his satisfaction had her smiling and feeling entirely too warm. “Muffins.” She thrust the still-warm baked goods at him and chastised herself again for being a total schmuck.

He set the coffee on the roof of his car and reached for the muffins.

His fingers brushed hers and butterflies took flight in her belly. She needed to go,
now
. “I have to get to the job site.”

“On Sunday?”

Shoving her hands into her back pockets, she offered another of those careless shrugs. “Sometimes it’s necessary.” Unlike him, she had to really work for a living. Even then she didn’t have money to throw around on extravagant clothes and much less luxury cars. She stole a glance at the dark sedan he drove. Foreign, loaded, mega pricey. She’d bet those leather seats were heated, too. Must be nice. And here she’d felt sorry for him out here in his seventy-thousand-dollar car. How many ways could she prove herself a fool?

For a time they stood in silence. He consumed the muffins and coffee. Finally he tossed the napkin into his fancy car, then handed the cup back to her. “That certainly hit the spot, thanks.”

She accepted the cup, careful not to allow her fingers to graze his. She was already in enough trouble here. “It was the least I could do,” she said before she thought. A flush heated her cheeks. “I mean... you did keep an eye on my place last night and I was pretty shaken up.”

“You didn’t think of anything you needed to tell me?”

Here they were again, right back at square one. “I told you—”

His cell phone buzzed, cutting off the rest of her words. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the slim device. “MacBride.”

She looked away, not wanting to intrude. It could be his girlfriend. Or his wife. Before she could stop the move, she checked out his left hand for a ring.

No rings whatsoever.

She gave a little mental snort of self-disgust and forced her attention to the ground where it belonged. What an absolute idiot she was! He was the enemy. She was a pathetic woman who’d been dumped by her fiancé and taken advantage of by her shrink, to whom she’d paid top dollar to climb inside her head. He had, in turn, used what he’d learned to get inside her pants. Now, the FBI agent who wanted to charge her with the shrink’s murder was somehow turning her on as well as inside out.

It just didn’t get worse than this.

“Give me the address again.” The steely tone drew Elizabeth’s attention back to him. He listened intently, his face devoid of emotion. “I’m on my way.”

She waited, her nerves jangling, as he put the phone away. His voice had sounded so ominous. Maybe there’d been a break in Ned’s case. This whole nightmare couldn’t be over soon enough for her.

He lifted his gaze to hers and said the last thing she wanted to hear. “There’s been another murder. Cassandra Fowler.”

Her heart took off at a gallop, the blood whooshing in her ears as it roared through her body. Even though she didn’t recognize the name, he didn’t have to say the rest. She already knew.

He glanced away briefly, then zoomed in on her with such ferocity that she almost drew back from the force of it. “Another of your former lover’s patients.”

Tension thickened between them. It felt different in a way she couldn’t quite define.

“It’s time to come clean, Elizabeth,” he said grimly. “Before anyone else has to die.”

Chapter Seven

The Lucky Strike bustled with activity at noon on Sunday. The cool downtown eatery was on Grand between Broadway and Wooster. Though incredibly hip, it wasn’t the kind of place a girl had to worry about dressing up for. A good thing, too, since Elizabeth had come straight from her job site. She’d felt a panic attack coming on and had needed the long walk. Her private fed, the one named Duncan, had followed in his dark sedan, taking care to keep his distance. As soon as she’d arrived, the waitress had shown her to one of the wooden tables in the back and taken her drink order.

Despite all that had occurred the night before, as well as this morning, Elizabeth had managed to complete the final details on the job. If she could get the second loft on the floor finished by the end of the upcoming week, she’d have it made. For a couple of weeks, anyway.

She fingered the mug of coffee and forced herself to focus on the events of the past week. As much as she didn’t want to, she had to consider that something very sinister was happening and somehow it related to Ned and his dirty little secret.
Her
dirty little secret.

The bastard. Even in death he haunted her.

She repressed a shudder and once again wrapped her mind around the concept of serial murders. Whoever killed Ned could very well be the one killing his patients, apparently one by one.

Maybe she should have ordered a stiff drink, instead. Feeling cold and alone, she glanced around the lively dining room with its French copper bar, seemingly carefree patrons and attentive staff. Usually this place lifted her mood but today she couldn’t shake the depressing feelings.

There was always the off chance that the murders weren’t even related.

“Yeah, right,” she muttered. Maybe she could have gone along with that theory after the first woman was murdered. And maybe even the second. But the third...

Three women
.

Three of Ned’s patients.

In some instances the third time was considered the charm, but in this situation Elizabeth could only conceive that it was a sign. A sign of bad things to come.

She was a woman.

She was one of Ned’s patients.

If a list of future victims with those two common factors existed, her name would be on it.

How could this be happening? Surely the police could find and stop this killer. How many more women had to die before they figured out who this sick bastard was?

She moistened her lips, then clamped down on her lower one to stem the fear welling up in her throat. What had those women done to deserve to die? Was their only mistake getting involved with Ned Harrison?

If her initial conclusion at the funeral was correct, then they had all likely slept with Ned, just as she had. But he was dead. He wasn’t killing anyone. He hadn’t had a fiancé or even an ex-wife or girlfriend that she or Gloria knew of. Jealousy couldn’t be the motivation. Some of his patients probably had husbands or significant others who could have killed him. But surely none would have decided to have their revenge against other former lovers of Ned’s.

This couldn’t be about scorned lovers.

She stilled. Or maybe it could be.

Who said the murderer was a man? It wasn’t confirmed yet that the victims had been sexually assaulted. Was it?

Maybe some woman who’d secretly been in love with Ned had decided to kill him and all his hussies. The term Gloria had used to describe them brought a wan smile to Elizabeth’s lips. The realization that she could very well have hit on the answer chased away any hint of humor.

Three women were dead. God only knew who might be next.

“There you are.”

Elizabeth looked up at the sound of Gloria’s voice. Her lips instantly rose, but the automatic response melted away when her gaze landed on the other woman standing next to her friend.

“Elizabeth, this is Annabelle Ford.” Gloria ushered the other woman forward. “Annabelle, Elizabeth Young, my best friend.”

Annabelle extended her hand and Elizabeth had little choice but to shake it. The woman’s touch was warm and confident, as was her smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth. I’m so sorry it has to be under the present circumstances.” Her voice wasn’t unpleasant, just a little extra rich and deep. Like that singer, Adele.

Elizabeth studied the tall, thin woman for a long moment, wondering who exactly Annabelle Ford was and why she was with Gloria. Her light-brown hair was cut in a fashionably short style that framed her face. Brown eyes that appeared both intelligent and sincere assessed Elizabeth with equal curiosity.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Elizabeth eventually remembered to say.

“Did you order already?” Gloria asked as she took a seat next to Elizabeth. Annabelle settled in one across the table.

“Just coffee.” Elizabeth sipped the warm liquid, acutely aware that Annabelle was still scrutinizing her.

When the waitress had taken drink as well as food orders and rushed away Gloria leaned forward and kicked off the conversation. “I don’t know what’s going on, but after you called I did some thinking.”

Elizabeth had called her friend twice in the past twelve hours. Once around midnight after her run-in with MacBride and then again this morning when he got the call that another woman was dead. She and Gloria had decided to move up the meeting they’d planned for dinner this evening. Neither of them could stand the suspense a moment longer. Elizabeth’s need to finish up at the loft was the only reason they’d waited this long.

“This can’t be coincidence,” Gloria went on. She sat back in her seat and shook her head. “My God, three women... all Ned’s patients.” She inclined her head toward her guest. “That’s why I called Annabelle.”

Just when Elizabeth was about to ask who Annabelle was, Gloria told her. “Annabelle is—was Ned’s attorney.”

“And his confidant,” Annabelle put in, that husky voice modulated to a discreet level. “I’ve known Ned since our college days. We shared a great deal. He was an outstanding psychiatrist and a fine man.” She fell silent and her gaze grew distant.

For just a second, Elizabeth couldn’t help wondering if Annabelle had been one of Ned’s lovers, too. When she’d spoken of their relationship, there’d been an intimacy about her tone. But Annabelle didn’t strike Elizabeth as Ned’s type. Who knew, though? Ned clearly was not a man of high morals, so maybe his standards didn’t always dictate the voluptuous type. Admittedly, Elizabeth didn’t quite fit that mold, either. Maybe she and Annabelle had something in common.

“She knew Ned better than any of us,” Gloria rushed to add. “On the way here, she told me some very startling secrets about our old friend.”

That roused Elizabeth’s attention. She propped her arms on the table and leaned into the circle, speaking directly to Gloria. “How about this newsflash? Whoever is doing this may have both of us on his list, as well.”

“Precisely,” her friend agreed. “This is why we have to do something.”

Elizabeth gave her a palms-up gesture. “Do what? I spend half my time looking over my shoulder. I’m scared to death someone is already watching me.” She leaned closer still. “I told you what happened last night.”

“Someone besides the FBI, you mean?”

This query came from Annabelle. Startled that Gloria had shared this with a stranger, Elizabeth could only stare at the woman.

“Don’t be upset, Elizabeth,” Gloria urged. “I had to tell her everything. She can’t help us if she doesn’t know everything.”

Where had she heard that before? Mac had used the same line on her, but for totally different reasons. She shook herself. When had she started calling him Mac? “Yes,” she said bluntly in response to Annabelle’s query. “I feel like someone besides the FBI is watching me.”

Annabelle placed a hand over hers. Elizabeth shifted, not quite comfortable spilling her guts to this stranger.

“I think you might be right.” Annabelle looked from Elizabeth to Gloria and back several times as she spoke, her gaze direct, her voice low but firm. “Have you ever heard of the Gentlemen’s Association?”

Both shook their heads. Sounded to Elizabeth like a men’s club where strippers dominated the menu.

Annabelle sighed. “Well, it’s not something you’re going to enjoy hearing about, but I feel I must tell you.” Her gaze took on a kind of desperate quality. “Ned shared this information in confidence with me, but he’s dead now and I’m almost certain it may be crucial to your continued safety.”

Elizabeth’s nerves twisted into knots. “What is this Gentlemen’s Association?”

“A bicoastal group of men, all wealthy professionals much like Ned, for whom life has become tragically boring because they have it all.”

She paused as if to measure their reactions.

“They have all the money they could ever wish for, social status, anything they want,” she continued. “So the thrill of a challenge, of the hunt is gone.” She shook her head sadly. “I watched this very need eat away at Ned. None of his accomplishments were ever enough. His life lacked the primal kind of excitement that comes from a new conquest. That’s why he joined this Association.”