Die For Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer (For Me 1)

They reached the top floor. Again Dane set the security system—a secondary system now. One of the reasons this place was so perfect for tonight was the state-of-the-art security that it offered.

Katherine stepped into the apartment, then paused in the middle of the living room, her shoulders stiff, and gazed around. “What happens now?”

Now I keep my hands off you. It was what he should do. He was already getting too involved with her.

Katherine glanced over her shoulder at him. A woman truly shouldn’t have eyes like that. Eyes so deep and beautiful. He’d never seen a woman with golden eyes before. Not until her.

He locked the door and didn’t take a step toward her. “Now you go take a shower and get into bed. It’s been a hell of a day.”

No emotion flickered in her gaze. “Yes. It has been.”

She needed to walk away. Because he wasn’t smelling the river then. He was catching her scent. Remembering her taste. It was so hard to keep from touching her. Her skin was like silk. He could caress her for hours.

Katherine walked away. The shower kicked on a few moments later. He heard the spray of water from the next room.

His breath rushed out. Sonofabitch. He wasn’t used to turning away from a woman who looked like a wet dream.

But with her…it hadn’t just been sex.

The woman was lethal, in more ways than one.

Dane shoved his hand into a pocket and yanked out his phone. He dialed his partner’s number, and as he waited for Mac to pick up, he glanced out the window. Only the night stared back.

“Shouldn’t you be busy with your lady?” Mac muttered, sounding slightly annoyed. Voices buzzed in the background.

He was trying not to be busy with her. “We’re secure at the safe house.”

“And I’m getting ready to make sure that Dr. Knight gets home and away from the station.”

The woman had still been there when they left. “She still insisting on seeing the body?”

“Yeah, and Ronnie’s almost ready for her.”

Ronnie had told Dane that she’d have a report ready on Trent Lancaster by dawn. Maybe the killer had left some evidence they could use.

“How are you doing?” Mac’s voice had dropped.

Dane frowned.

“I saw your face,” Mac said softly, “when Katherine stepped in front of the cameras.”

Dane’s jaw ached, and he forced himself to unclench his teeth. “I didn’t know she planned to make that move.” He’d wanted to yank her back, to shield her with his body.

“Wasn’t the plan to use her?”

The plan hadn’t been to destroy her life—and now, because of those few moments on camera, the life she’d built as Katherine Cole would be gone.

The door opened behind Dane. His shoulders stiffened. “I’ve got to go, Mac. See you at tomorrow’s briefing.” He ended the call, then slowly turned around.

Katherine’s wet hair trailed down her back. She had a white towel wrapped around her, covering her from breast to thigh. Her eyes were on him.

Her scent was pulling him in. She was pulling him closer, and the woman wasn’t even moving. “Do you need anything from me tonight?”

Her smile was sad. “Chase away my nightmares?”

“I thought you didn’t have nightmares.”

Katherine averted her gaze. “I lied.”

He knew that. “What are your nightmares about?”

Her gaze held his. “I’m back in my old basement. Valentine is there. He’s wearing his black apron—he always wore that apron when he painted. Only he’s not painting. And the red on that apron…it isn’t paint. It’s my blood.”

His muscles turned to stone.

“I’m on his table.” Her voice was flat. “My hands are tied. My mouth is taped shut. I can’t scream. I can’t move. And I know he’s going to kill me.” She rolled her shoulders, as if pushing the image away. “That’s one of my nightmares. I have plenty more.”

He wanted her in his arms.

“Don’t pity me.” Her voice snapped like a whip. Not flat now, but furious. “Pity isn’t what I want from you. You were the only one who didn’t look at me with pity in your eyes!”

Before he could speak, she spun away.

He wanted to grab her arm. Even reached out to her.

But then his hand fisted.

Stay on guard.

He watched her walk away. And he didn’t follow. His c**k shoved at the front of his pants. He could taste her in his mouth. But he didn’t follow.

Because Dane was coming to realize that he didn’t just want sex from Katherine. He was starting to want…everything.

If he had his way, he’d get it.

Ronnie whistled softly as her tennis shoes moved over the tile in the morgue. It was edging close to midnight, and the place was pretty much deserted.

Dead quiet.

Normally she didn’t mind the quiet, but tonight, she felt on edge.

She lifted the sheet that covered Trent Lancaster’s upper body. Her gaze dipped over his wounds. This attack wasn’t as controlled as the others. It was as if the killer had been enraged.

“I’m sorry you had to cross my slab,” she whispered. She was always sorry for the bodies that found their way to her.

These people, they never died easily.

She’d seen deaths that still made her shudder.

She pulled the sheet back and reached for the tox screens that had just come in. A report for Savannah Slater and Amy Evans. Getting a tox screen was standard protocol, and—

What the hell?

Ronnie frowned as she read the results. Fentanyl. That was a seriously high dose. And for both victims?

She put the reports down and hurried toward Savannah Slater’s body. She unzipped the heavy bag that enclosed Savannah—the woman’s body was due for transport soon—and Savannah’s pale flesh was revealed. Ronnie grabbed a small flashlight and began to shine the light over the victim’s body.

Fentanyl was like morphine, and with a dose that high, Savannah would have been unconscious. Easy prey.

The question was…just how had she been given that dose?

I missed something with her. I missed it.

Ronnie’s flashlight swept over Savannah’s arms, lingering near her veins. No puncture wounds. But maybe the slashes had hidden an injection site.

Maybe…

The flashlight rose. Ronnie swept it over Savannah’s neck and saw the small brown mark. So tiny.

She leaned closer. Her heart beat faster.