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

“No, you’re not. You’re f**king not.”

He stared down at the bomb. Crude, but it would get the job done. Three wires. Just three. Red. Yellow. Blue.

Fuck, f**k, f**k! Which one? Which one would be the trigger?

Then he remembered something else that prick Valentine had said at the station. You’re gonna be seeing red…

He’d thought the guy was talking about seeing blood. But, no, what if Valentine had been talking about the red wire?

He backed away. “I need a knife.” His gaze fell to the left. To the row of knives that were sharp and gleaming. Knives that Dane knew had no doubt killed so many.

He grabbed the smallest one. Bent low over Ross.

“Wait!” Ross wheezed.

Dane glanced up at him.

“Do you know…what you’re…doing?”

“We’ve got about sixty seconds, so does it even matter? I figure we got a damn one in three shot here.”

Ross’s eyes bulged.

The floor creaked behind Dane. No, no, no…

“Dane?” Katherine called. “Dane, I need—”

“Get out!” he roared as fear twisted his heart.

Forty seconds.

But her footsteps weren’t running away. She was coming toward him. She thought he was in danger. Coming to help. Always coming to help.

Thirty seconds.

He couldn’t let her get any closer. If he was wrong about the wires, then she’d be dead. But if she stayed in the outer area, she might make it. She might—

Twenty seconds. “Stay back!” Dane yelled.

He cut the red wire.

The countdown stopped.

Hell, yes. Dane let out the breath he had been holding.

He sliced through the ropes.

“Dane?” Katherine was behind him. Voice frantic. He looked back. She had the gun clutched in her hand. Her eyes widened, and he knew she’d caught sight of the bomb.

A bomb that he was slowly moving off Ross. Slowly…slowly…

He put the bomb down.

“Now,” Dane snapped, “let’s all get the f**k out of here.”

They ran for the front of the cabin.

And they’d just cleared the steps when the place exploded.

The crowd of reporters surrounded the DA, watching his every move. The cameras were zoomed in close, the microphones scattered over the podium. Meadows, his face grim, stared back at the assembled group. “Our latest estimate is nineteen victims.”

Stunned silence.

Then a deluge of questions erupted. Dane shifted against wall, his battered body aching, as he watched the throng attack.

Meadows lifted his hand. “Valentine didn’t want anyone to know the true extent of his crimes.”

No, the sonofabitch sure hadn’t wanted to share his secrets.

“But our crime-scene techs are doing an amazing job of recovering evidence from the area surrounding his cabin.”

Recovering evidence. Finding body parts out in the swamp that the gators had missed or just hadn’t wanted.

The DA cleared his throat and said, “Valentine intended to kill Margaret Dunning and U.S. Marshal Anthony Ross on Valentine’s Day, and it was only through the very swift and brave actions of Detective Dane Black that those two individuals were spared.”

There was a smattering of applause. Cameras turned his way. Dane kept his expression blank. He wasn’t looking for thanks. He’d just been doing his job.

Actually, the last thing he wanted right then was to be in the limelight. He wanted to be away from those reporters. Away from the station. He wanted to be with Katherine.

Katherine.

“But unfortunately, not everyone survived the deadly blast that Valentine had rigged so carefully.” Sorrow softened the DA’s voice. “Katherine Cole, the woman originally known to many of you as Katelynn Crenshaw…”

“Valentine’s fiancée,” one of the reporters said, nodding quickly.

Dane stiffened.

Meadows shook his head. “Katherine Cole did not make it out of the blast. She risked her life to apprehend the Valentine Killer. To stop the bloody trail of his kills. The department—the whole city of New Orleans—will never forget the sacrifice that she made for us.”

Dane knew he was supposed to keep holding it together. Not let any emotion slip out. The killer had been stopped. The streets were safe.

But all he could think was…

Katherine.

His gaze swept over the crowd. The DA and the captain were going to give him and Mac some kind of f**king medal soon. He didn’t want the medal. Didn’t want the stupid slaps on the back. Didn’t want his face splashed in the papers. All he wanted was Katherine.

But hadn’t he realized that truth, before the explosion? Hadn’t he known how much she meant to him? When he heard her come back in that shack, when she’d called out his name…

Dane forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. Meadows was looking at him expectantly. Shit. The captain was up there, too. They were motioning for him to come toward them. Right. Mac, bandaged, bruised, was already up there.

The DA wanted a big picture of them all smiling for the press.

He didn’t feel like smiling.

Dane headed toward them. Positioned his body between the captain and the DA. As flashes from cameras lit the scene, Dane leaned toward Harley and told him, “I quit.”

As soon as he could, Dane went back to his condo. Reporters were camped out downstairs, but a few off-duty cops were earning some extra bucks by keeping them back.

After making his announcement to the captain, Dane had packed up his desk. Harley had argued, damn near begged, but Dane had stood firm. He didn’t want to work in New Orleans anymore. Too many memories were in this city. Good and bad.

Too many memories, and not enough hope.

The elevator dinged and spat him out on his floor. The carpet muffled his footsteps as he headed toward his home. A cold, dark home. Was that what he wanted for the rest of his life?

No.

He juggled the box of his belongings with one hand and unlocked his door. So dark inside. He didn’t flip on the lights. Just shoved the box onto the nearest table. Then he slammed and locked the door and—

Soft hands wrapped around him. “I was wondering if you were ever going to come home,” Katherine whispered.

His whole body stiffened. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

She should be gone. Flying away on a jet to some new town. To some new life. Ross had promised he’d take care of her.

Carefully, Dane turned in her arms. Oh, but she felt good. It had been three days since he’d held her. Three days since the explosion. Three days since they’d hurtled out of that shack. His clothes had caught on fire. She’d slapped at the flames, desperate to protect him.