Deadly Fear (Deadly #1)(40)

No, the sooner they caught the perp, the better.

Monica paused near the house and glanced up at it. “Probably was a happy place once.” She shook her head, then kept walking. “I’ll call Hyde. Let him know what we’ve found and adjust the profile. Maybe we can get a warrant for May’s place and find some of Kyle’s letters for a handwriting comparison. That’d be damn lucky if we could.”

Luke stilled. His eyes swept toward the SUV. Something was wrong. That tightening knot in his gut told him things were about to go to shit.

The scene was off. He couldn’t see how yet, but…“That’s wrong.” A few cautious steps forward then, “Sonofabitch.” The tires were slashed. All f*cking four of them.

No wonder the SUV had looked odd; it was sitting too low to the ground.

“He’s out here,” a whisper of sound from his lips. But Monica didn’t need to be told. He knew she understood.

He’s watching us. Hiding in the dark and watching.

“Might not be him.” Monica’s voice. Unruffled. Soft. “This is a known drug area. It could be anyone.”

Glass glittered on the ground near the passenger window. He inched forward. Maybe she was right. Maybe he’d find the radio jacked or the GPS gone or…

An envelope lay on the driver’s seat.

And, yeah, the radio was still there. So was the GPS.

“It’s him.” That had damn well better not be one of his twisted little scare notes. Oh, hell, no. First the calls to Monica, now this—

She brushed past him.

“Wait—what are you…”

She had her gloves on. Luke kept his gun up while she opened the door and snagged the envelope. He closed the distance between them, letting his shoulder brush hers. The light from the SUV spilled out, and he saw the familiar black scrawl.

Bastard.

But the name on the envelope—it wasn’t Monica’s.

No, she wasn’t the killer’s next fear puppet. The name on the envelope was his.

Agent Luke Dante.

Sweat slid down his back. Bring it, bastard. Bring it. “Let’s play,” he whispered. But you don’t know, do you, freak? You don’t know what scares me. “Open it,” he demanded, and his eyes rose to sweep the area.

“We need to call for backup. He’s got us trapped here and—”

“Open the damn envelope.”

Paper tore beneath her fingers. Something fluttered to the ground. He bent but she was there before him. Luke twisted, keeping his back to the vehicle, trying to keep her covered, keep them safe.

“Does he think he can scare me?” he snarled.

Silence.

He shot a glance back at her. There wasn’t a handwritten note. No, her fingers were curled around some kind of old newspaper clipping. One that had been folded and creased. She’d just opened it, and he could see the big, black headline:


Romeo Killer Captured. One Victim Survives.


There was a photo under the block words. A grainy shot of a man—good-looking, grinning—as he was shoved into the back of a patrol car.

“What the hell?”

She shoved the clipping back into the envelope. “We can’t stay out here.” Her voice trembled and so did her hands. “Let’s get closer to the house, get better cover. With that bastard watching, we can’t take chances.”

And they were sitting ducks right then. Yeah, they needed cover, so they could spot him and attack.

But going for a long shot with a gun wasn’t really the guy’s style. He was more the up-close-and-personal type. A man who enjoyed getting his hands dirty or covered in blood.

The Romeo Killer? He shook his head. That didn’t make a damn bit of sense. What the hell did that bastard have to do with anything?

“Let’s go,” she said, and spun away. She ran through the darkness, her light extinguished now, and her steps nearly silent.

And he was right behind her.

Because he didn’t know what kind of sick message the killer was trying to send, but he wasn’t taking any chances. The guy wanted to play, that was certain, and the game could begin anytime.

Or maybe it already had. Because he’s watching us. Waiting.

Game on.





CHAPTER Nine


The Romeo Killer.

Bile rose in Monica’s throat. She rocked back on her heels as her stomach knotted.

How had he known? No one should know. Especially not some sick, twisted bastard who…

“Yeah, we’re out at the Moffett scene. Tires are slashed. He’s here, Sheriff. What, how do I know? Because the freak left us a message. No—just get us some transportation out here, got it?” Luke barked into his cell phone.

He didn’t understand the message because that clipping wasn’t meant for him. It was for her. Her nightmare, coming true.

Looked like the killer knew how to get to her. But how had he known?

Not Hyde. Hyde wouldn’t leak that information to anyone.

“What’s he doing, Monica?” Luke demanded.

She swung toward him. “I haven’t seen—”

“No—why’s he leaving me crap about Romeo? I remember that bastard. He got off on carving up girls.”

Yes, he had.

“What is it? Is he trying to tell us he’s another Romeo? Because as far as I can tell, this creep isn’t charming his victims; he’s attacking—cold, hard and quick.”