sank onto the top step, still holding the knife. “That was his van I saw, wasn’t it? That was him.”
The shorter of the two detectives pulled back the front of his leather jacket and reached for his gun, his gaze zeroing in on Hope—or, more specifically, on the carving knife she still held in her fist. “Ma’am? I need you to put that down.”
Hope’s breath locked up in her chest and she instinctively recoiled.
Pike put up a hand and warned the dark-haired detective not to unholster his weapon. “It’s okay, Nick. She’s a witness, not a threat. I...” His head tipped down toward Hans. “We...scared her.”
The air gradually eased from her lungs at Pike’s politely vague explanation. She’d pulled a knife and freaked out on him, yet he was still kind enough to defend her. And although she appreciated having that blockade of Pike Taylor’s shoulders between her and the two plainclothes detectives, Hope wisely set the knife down on the floor beside her. She spotted two bobby pins on the next step down and remembered that she probably looked as if she’d been fighting something more than her own fears tonight.
The red-haired detective who seemed to be in charge slid his gaze up to her, too, assessing her unkempt appearance and dismissing her before giving a concise, emotionless report to Pike. “We’ve got a body dump around the corner in the alley. Red rose inside her coat.”
Body dump? That meant the victim was dead, didn’t it? Raped and murdered. Hope’s audible gasp echoed through the walnut banister and across the crisply painted white landing. The dog’s ear pricked to attention, but none of the men seemed to notice. Hope pressed her fingers to her lips and whispered, “Oh, God. She was inside there, wasn’t she? She was in that van.”
The red-haired detective heard her hushed voice and looked up the stairs. “A LaDonna Chambers. Do you know her?”
“LaDonna?” For a moment, the detective’s hard eyes swam out of focus. But she blinked away the emotions that made her light-headed and nodded, picturing the friendly acquaintance she’d seen just yesterday morning. “Not well. She’s interning at a law office on the next street over. I’ve waited in line with her at the coffee shop several times.”
The detective in the suit jotted something into his notebook before tucking it inside his jacket pocket and turning his attention back to Pike. “Some college kids who’d been at Harpo’s Dance Club found her. That’s not the call you’re answering?”
Pike shook his head. “Miss Lockhart called in that she’d seen a suspicious white van on her way home tonight. I came to take her statement.”
“She saw the van?” The redhead pulled back the front of his jacket and splayed his hands at either side of his waist. “His van?”
Pike answered. “Could be, sir. She gave me a detailed description, but no plate number.”
The dark-haired detective looked agitated. “When? Did she see our guy? Can she ID the driver? Is that what spooked her?”
Clearly, the two detectives suspected there was more to her story than a helpful citizen’s phone call. But Pike didn’t mention her father, the sick present she’d gotten or her off-the-charts paranoid reaction to his efforts to help her. Thankfully, neither detective had questioned her erratic behavior, either. Until now.
They had bigger problems than hers tonight.
“I’m Detective Spencer Montgomery, KCPD task force, ma’am. This is my partner, Detective Nick Fensom. We work with Officer Taylor here.” Detective Montgomery flashed his badge and looked over Pike’s shoulder, right at her. Somehow the intensity of that slate-colored gaze was even more unsettling than the threat of Detective Fensom’s pulling his gun had been. “We need to talk to you.”
* * *
“WELL, THAT WAS a lousy plan. Do you think she recognized you?”
“I don’t know.” He breezed past the woman in the negligee and robe and headed straight for the bathroom.
“You don’t know?” She followed him in. “You already made one mistake tonight. I don’t think we can afford another.”
He unhooked his belt and slung it at her feet. “We?”
She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, refusing to let the subject drop. “I did my part. LaDonna Chambers can never hurt you again. But you don’t even know if this woman—”
“Shut up. I need to think.” He opened the shower door and turned on the shower until the water ran blisteringly hot. He stepped underneath the spray, clothes and all. He braced his hands on the tile wall and bent his head. The water beat against his scalp, drowning out the sounds of her calling him all kinds of stupid for going to the bridal shop tonight. Finally, she got the hint and returned to his bedroom. He stood there for countless minutes, letting the hot water sluice through his hair and soak through his clothes while the trapped, steamy air opened the pores of his skin. He stood like that until most of the rage was purged from him.
Once the haze of emotion had cleared his brain and reason returned, he peeled off his sodden clothes and dumped them into the hamper beside the shower. Then he unwrapped a fresh bar of soap and started to wash, cleaning beneath every nail, massaging every hair follicle, rinsing his skin twice and then again.
When he was done, exhausted by the furious emotions and the long night, he pulled a clean towel from the linen closet and wrapped it around his waist. He pulled out a matching towel to wipe down the shower walls and glass door. Then, with a third towel, he dropped down to his hands and knees, sopping up the puddle of water beneath the hamper.
He hated that he’d have to do something about Hope. He knew most of the women he hunted by their face, their habits, their location. But he rarely knew their names until their pictures were splashed across the television screen or centered in a newspaper article. He knew Hope, liked her well enough, he supposed. She stirred nothing inside him—no desire, no rage—but now he could see he’d been wrong to think she was of no consequence.
Hope Lockhart ran a successful business. She was loved by clients and respected by leaders in Kansas City business and society. Who’d have thought she’d have the guts to look him in the eye and call the police?
He’d have to find out exactly what she knew about him, exactly what she’d seen. If he was lucky, she’d still be of no consequence. But if she was a threat to him...
The damp towels fisted in his hands and he felt the stirrings of that damned hunger stirring inside him again.
“I suppose you need me to take care of this problem, too?”
She was in the doorway again, sneaking up behind him, standing over him. With his nostrils flaring as he fought to maintain his composure, he slowly eased his grip on the towels and folded them neatly around the wet clothes he’d discarded. “I’ll handle it. You were messy tonight.”
“Me? You’re the one who was careless. I told you it was too soon, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“Really? A gun? Do you know how long it took me to clean up the blood?” He laid the squared package of damp clothes and towels in the bottom of the hamper before turning to face her. “I had everything under control. She was mine to use however I wanted—until you interfered.”
“Do you think she would have given you what you wanted?” He went to the sink to unwrap a fresh comb. Her reflection joined his in the mirror. “She woke up, called you by name when she recognized your voice. I had to silence her.”
“I wasn’t finished with her.”
“Oh, you were finished.” She laughed.
His comb clattered into the sink. “Shut up.”
“I’m the voice of reason in your sad, secretive life. I’m the only one who has always been here for you. Without me, you’d be rotting in prison. I know the lie you live and I’ve loved you any—”