Visions in Death (In Death #19)(45)

She rose, the burger in one hand, to walk closer to the wall screen. Sometimes, she thought, you saw a pattern because you wanted to, and sometimes it was just there.

He'd walked those streets, she was sure of it. Walked from gym to shop to shop. Because he lived or worked, or both, in that sector. This was his neighborhood. People saw him there, knew him there.

And so would she.

She walked into Roarke's office where he sat at his desk enjoying what looked like seafood pasta while he worked. His laser fax was humming, and his comp signaled an incoming.

"You've got stuff coming in."

"Project reports I'm expecting," he said without looking up. "They can wait. I don't have anything for you yet."

"Put that on hold a minute, come take a look at this."

He brought his coffee with him, went with her into her office.

Eve gestured to the wall screen. "What do you see?"

"A sector of the West Village. And a pattern."

"So do I. I want to start with residences in this sector. Before you say anything, no, I can't even guess how many there must be. It's a long shot, a really long shot, but..."

"He may live there. So you start with residential, get owner and tenant lists, eliminate families, couples, single women, and fine-tune it down to men who live alone."

"You should've been a cop."

He shifted his gaze from the screen to her face. "Don't I have enough horror in my head with potential midwifery without you heaping more in there?"

"Sorry. It'll take a lot of time. He may live a block outside my perimeter. Hell, he may live five blocks out and work inside it. Or work one block out. Or he could just do his shopping and bodybuilding there and live in fricking New Jersey."

"But you go with the percentages, and the percentages say here."

"It'd go quicker if you gave me a hand with the runs."

Nodding, he continued to study the screen. "Your place or mine?"

———«»——————«»——————«»———

When Eve crawled into bed just after one in the morning, she knew she was on the scent. And hoped, could only hope, he waited long enough for her to track him down.

"Two months between Kates, Breen, and Maplewood. If he sticks with that schedule, I'll have him before he kills another one."

"Shut it down, Lieutenant." Roarke drew her in so her head settled against his shoulder. She rarely had the dreams when he kept her close. "Shut it down, and sleep."

"I'm close. I know I'm close," she murmured and drifted off.

———«»——————«»——————«»———

He was waiting for her. She would come. She always walked this way. Briskly, her head down, her steps nearly soundless in her gel-soled shoes. She'd have put them on after her shift, after she'd taken off the whore shoes she wore to serve the men who leered at her over their drinks.

Whatever she wore, she remained a whore.

She'd walk by, head down, and the streetlights would shine on her hair. It would look almost gold. Almost.

People would think: That's a pretty woman, a nice, quiet pretty woman, going about her business. But they didn't know. He knew what was inside the shell. Bitter, black, and dark.

He could feel it rising in him now as he anticipated her. Rage and pleasure, fear and joy. You'll look at me now, you bitch.

And we'll see how you like it, see how you like it.

Thought she was so pretty. Liked to parade and pose in front of the mirror without her clothes. Or parade and pose for the men she let touch her.

Won't look so pretty when I'm done.

He slipped a hand into his pocket, felt the long length of ribbon.

Red was her favorite. She liked to wear red.

He saw her, as he once had. Screaming, screaming, naked but for the red ribbon she'd worn around her throat. Red as his blood when she'd beaten him. Beaten him until he'd passed out.

Only to wake in the black. In the dark, in the locked room.

She'd be the one to wake in the black now. Blind in hell.

There she was... there she was now, walking along in her briskway, head down.

His heart thundered in his chest as she came closer.

She turned, as she always did, through the iron gates and into the pretty park.

For an instant, just one trip of that heart, her head came up. And there was fear and shock and confusion in her eyes when he leaped out of the shadows.

She opened her mouth to scream, and his fist broke her jaw.

Her eyes rolled back to white, to blind, as he dragged her away from the lights.

He had to slap her several times to bring her around. She had to be awake for it, awake and aware.

He kept his voice down—he was no fool—but he said what he needed to say as he used his fists on her.

"How do you like it now, bitch? Who's the boss now, whore?"

And there was both shame and unspeakable delight in ramming his body into hers. She didn't fight, only lay limp, and that was a disappointment.

She'd struggled before, and sometimes she'd begged. That was better.

Still, when he pulled the cord around her neck, when he yanked it tight and saw her eyes bulge, the pleasure was so keen he thought he, too, might die of it.