Die For Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer (For Me #1)(7)

“Yeah.” Dane grunted as he waited for the connection. “And one we’re damn well checking out.”

The marshal’s involvement meant the woman wasn’t just some bullshitter off the street. And her eyes—those beautiful, golden eyes—had been full of determination and fear.

There’d been no missing the way her voice broke each time she mentioned Valentine.

The marshal wanted to protect her, but Dane wasn’t about to let that guy stand in his way. He had a murder to solve, and if Katherine Cole was involved, she wasn’t getting away from him, marshal or no damn marshal.

To stop a killer, Dane would be willing to use anything or anyone.

No more blood. No more torture. He would do anything necessary to bring the killer to justice.



“No more talking to the cops, Kat,” Anthony Ross said. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as he guided them through the thick New Orleans traffic. “What the f*ck were you thinking?” He stopped the vehicle, and a trolley whizzed past them.

Anger stirred in Katherine’s gut, slowly breaking through the ice that had encased her ever since she saw the news footage earlier that day. “Don’t call me Kat. I told you that before.” Because he’d called her that.

She saw him slant a quick glance her way.

“And as to what the f*ck I was thinking…” She sucked in a sharp breath. “I was thinking the cops needed to know who they were dealing with.”

“So you put yourself up as a target? Dammit, Kat—Katherine.” He corrected himself quickly. “You know this can’t be some random attack. A kill like this, basically right on your front doorstep—”

Her jaw dropped. “But you told me—when I called you—you said—”

“I was just trying to keep you calm until I could get to you!” His hand slapped against the steering wheel. “I wanted to keep you safe.”

Detective Black had promised to keep her safe.

She glanced down at her clenched hands. “Savannah Slater had eleven knife wounds on her left arm and ten on her right.”

Silence. She looked over and saw a muscle jerk along Ross’s jaw.

“Would a copycat know about the number of wounds?” Katherine asked.

He exhaled, and the lines on his face deepened. “Only if he saw the confidential reports from the bureau or the Boston PD. The press never knew about the exact number on the victims.”

She’d thought as much. There were no coincidences in this world. She’d learned that long ago. The wounds…the rose…the bindings…“If he’s killing here, then he knows that I’m here, too.”

“We don’t know that yet. Hell, we don’t know anything for sure at this point.” Ross wasn’t taking her straight home. They snaked through the city, following a route she knew was meant to confuse or lose any tails. Just in case anyone is following us.

He wouldn’t want to lead anyone back to her house on the outskirts of the city.

“I’ll drop you off, and then I’ll do some checking on my own. I’ll find out what’s happening here,” Ross promised. His knuckles whitened as he held the wheel. “But Katherine, if it looks like it really is him or even a copycat who knows about you…”

He paused, but she knew what was coming.

“You’ll need to be transferred again,” he said flatly.

Another transfer. Another name. Another place.

Another life.

She turned away from him and watched the blur of buildings pass. “Will I ever get to be me again?”

She couldn’t really remember that woman. A woman who’d been so blind. A woman who, for all purposes, had died three years ago.

“It’s just not safe, not until Valentine is in custody.”

She didn’t speak again. Not until Ross pulled into the long drive that led to her house. “I…ah…left my car at Joe’s Café.” She flushed with this confession. She’d been so shaken that she’d walked all the way from the café to the precinct. “Can you get someone to—”

“I’ll get someone to bring it to you.” He killed the engine. “I want to come in and check the house.”

Right. But she didn’t move. Her gaze raked the house, the yard.

She’d been living in New Orleans for just over a year. Opened her gallery. Gotten into a seemingly normal routine. She’d even started dating someone.

Now she was supposed to abandon everything. Again.

And do what? Run forever? While more bodies piled up?

No.

“I’m done,” she told Ross, and climbed from the SUV. She shut the door on his shocked tumble of words.

Then she began walking toward the house. One determined step after another.

His door opened with a squeak and then slammed behind her. “Kat, Kat—you can’t mean this! It’s too dangerous! It’s—”

She glanced back at him. “Don’t call me Kat.” Not a weak voice. Cold and flat. “And I’m going to do what I want to do. What I need to do.”

No more running.

“If Valentine wants me, then he can come and get me.” And stop hurting others. Just—stop!

Gravel crunched beneath Ross’s footsteps. “You got some kind of death wish?”