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

“Sorry for the binding,” the man told her, and Evelyn realized that her hands and feet were tied with heavy, thick rope. Rope that was abrading her skin, chafing her, trapping her.

“But I’m sure you understand,” he continued, his voice mild. They were in a car. No, an SUV, and she was crammed down in the back. She couldn’t see him. Could only hear him. “I needed to keep you contained during the transport.”

He started to whistle then. Easy, carefree.

She was covered in blood. He was whistling.

Her breath hitched in her lungs. She wanted to call out to him, but duct tape was over her mouth.

“You shouldn’t have taken the ME. That was just a foolish mistake.”

Her gloves were gone. He’d taken them. Taken her knife.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Now he sounded abashed. “I should probably introduce myself, shouldn’t I?”

No, he didn’t need to do that. She already knew exactly who he was. She knew everything about him. But…

“I’m Valentine,” he said.

Her heart beat faster but that fast beat wasn’t from fear. Valentine. She’d wanted this meeting for so long.

“And I’m afraid that you’ll be dead soon.”

Her elation vanished. She started to fight harder, yanking at the ropes. They wouldn’t give.

He began to whistle once more.

– 17 –

Katherine watched as Dane paced the small confines of the hospital waiting room. His body was tight with barely leashed energy. Mac was with them, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants as he leaned forward and glared down at the floor.

“She’s going to be fine,” the doctor said, appearing in the doorway. It was the same doctor who had treated Katherine. “But she’s out. Fentanyl was in her system, so it’s pretty much a miracle that she was still conscious enough to crawl out of that house.”

Mac surged to his feet. “I want to be with her.”

The doctor nodded.

Dane caught Mac’s arm. “As soon as she wakes up, you call me.”

Marcus crept into the room. “Is Dr. Thomas—”

“She’s going to be all right,” Dane said, rolling his shoulders. “A copycat…we were dealing with a f**king copycat killer.”

“No.” Katherine spoke quickly as she curled her hands into fists. “I saw Valentine. He’s here—he was in my gallery, he was at the house on Oakland—”

“He’s here,” Marcus agreed, “and he wanted you to know that he killed Trent Lancaster, but with the fentanyl in the blood of the other victims…” He exhaled slowly. “I don’t think those were his crimes. He realized what was happening—that someone else was hunting as him.” Marcus exhaled slowly. “I was so focused on his profile that I never considered an alternative.”

An alternative. Evelyn.

Marcus’s gaze slid to Katherine. “With Dr. Knight’s medical license, she would have access to the fentanyl,” he said, voice rumbling.

My fault. “I told her that the ME had found fentanyl in the victims’ tox reports,” Katherine whispered. “She must have realized that Ronnie would learn more, so she went after her.”

Marcus nodded.

“Evelyn is obsessed with Valentine.” Katherine put her hands in front of her. Twisted them. “In all of our sessions together, she always asked about him. About what he did. Why I thought he’d committed the crimes.” Why he never attacked me. “I stopped seeing her because I felt like she was more interested in Valentine than she was in actually helping me.”

Evelyn had made her feel broken beyond repair.

A curiosity, one to be examined, studied. Journaled about.

“Did you tell her about the specific way he cut his victims? Those twenty-one slices on their arms?” Marcus asked as he pinned her with his gaze.

Miserably, she nodded. “Yes.” She had thought that detail didn’t matter, that it was safe to reveal to her doctor. It wasn’t like she’d shared it with the press. Discussing it in therapy should have been okay.

She’d been so wrong.

Disgust tightened Dane’s face. “And, thanks to the overeager press everyone knew that Valentine liked to leave roses in the hands of his victims. Roses and a knife to the heart.”

Yes, everyone knew.

Dane stood close to Katherine. Just a foot away. She wanted to reach out and touch him, soothe him, because there was plenty of pain and fury to see on his face.

But she didn’t move.

Not yet.

Evelyn wasn’t found at the crime scene.

She had her own tension. Her own growing fears.

“So the shrink was a fan girl who wanted to be like Valentine,” Dane said. “The question is…where is she now?”

Marcus was silent.

Katherine wasn’t. “Where is she, and where is Valentine?”

They finally left the hospital and headed back to the station. While Dane changed in the locker room and ditched his ash-covered and bloodstained clothes, Katherine waited near Dane’s desk, her fingers tapping nervously on the wood. The place was mostly deserted now. It was nearing six a.m., and she could see faint streaks of light cutting through the blinds.

A detective brushed by her as he made his way to the door. She glanced over at him—the guy was holding a big, heart-shaped box of candy. He gave a little wince when he saw her gaze drop to the box, and he tried to offer her a smile. “My wife. She always wants the chocolates.”

Katherine nodded. Just because Valentine’s Day equaled a nightmare for her, it didn’t mean that everyone else felt the same way.

Maybe one day, it’ll just be a holiday for me.

Yeah, right. She wasn’t even going to try to lie to herself about that one.

“Come with me.”

Her head jerked up at Dane’s low words. His black hair was damp, his eyes hot.

She rose and followed him down a narrow hallway. No one stopped them. No one was even there to see them.

He opened a door and stepped back for her to walk inside. “No one will be f**kin’ watching this time.” He shut the door behind her. Put a chair beneath the doorknob.

She frowned at that and turned toward him. When had someone watched? “Dane—”

“I saw the table. I saw the blood.” His fingers came up and caught her jaw. He tilted her head back and stared into her eyes. “And all I could think was that I never wanted that to be you.”

His forehead leaned against hers. “Mac was out of his mind. So desperate to get to Ronnie. I knew how afraid he was. If it had been you instead of her—”