Revelation by Kathryn Keith
This manuscript excerpt is not to be copied or duplicated without permission of the author.
CHAPTER ONE
His voice paralyzed her. "I told you not to let anyone touch you, Cedrie."
"Who are you?" Cedrie did her best to control the shiver in her voice. She'd changed her phone number, but he'd found her again.
"Yesterday he took you to Brava's for lunch. You had the salmon. He touched your hair and kissed your cheek."
"That's none of your business." Desperation made her voice rise. "Tell me why you're doing this. Why won't you leave me alone?"
"Because you're mine, Cedrie," he said softly. "No one touches you but me."
Touch her? He wanted to touch her now? The phone calls the unwanted gifts and the letters weren't enough? She used her free arm to hug herself. "You're a psychopath." Feed your anger; starve your fear she told herself. "A pathetic little pig."
"Calm down, love. Your fear only excites me. The police told you that didn't they?"
"They're tracing this call."
"I'm sure they think they are." His deep laugh made her stomach jump. "But they won't find me. I can talk to you whenever I want, Cedrie."
"Why me?" she asked. "What did I ever do to you?"
"I love you." The whisper was dark, hungry.
Bile surged into her throat. "Love doesn't mean frightening people and making threats."
"Of course it does."
Did it? For all Cedrie knew about love, he could be right. "Stop calling me; leave me alone."
"Never. But as it happens, I do have to go now, love." The words came faster; she could hear anticipation in his voice. "It's almost seven. Look out the window, Cedrie."
"No." She wasn't about to obey him like a trained poodle.
"Are you sure? Your date is here."
Cedrie rushed to the window overlooking the street and watched as Tim got out of his sleek black Mercedes.
"There he is," the voice whispered. "First we check our watch."
Tim looked at his watch.
"Fuss over our hair."
Tim ran a hand through his thick blond hair and bent to glance at himself in the side view mirror of his car. He pulled a comb from his jacket pocket.
"When we're sure we look our best, in say fifteen seconds, we'll set the alarm on the Mercedes." He chuckled. "You'll get a bang out of this, Cedrie. Back away from the window, love. Those expensive security panes you just put in might not hold."
The line went dead.
Horror washed over Cedrie as she started pounding on the window. "Tim! Don't set the alarm! Tim!"
Tim glanced up and waved, then pulled his key ring from his pocket to point the remote at his car.
Cedrie used the receiver of her phone to bang on the window, hoping to break the glass. Tim looked up again.
He frowned as he watched her frantically hitting the window and then dashed around the car toward her apartment building. Cedrie cried out with relief when he seemed to forget the car. But as he ran to her, Tim pointed the remote at his car and pushed the button.
The black Mercedes flew apart in a fiery mass of metal and heat. The steering wheel twirled up and banged against her window. Cedrie screamed, still trying to break the windowpanes with her phone. Thick gray smoke filled the street, keeping her from seeing Tim.
"No! No! No!" She screamed. The case of the cordless phone cracked and the battery fell to the carpet. The fire alarm outside her door went off and she could hear her neighbors shouting and running into the stairwell.
"Cedrie!" Mrs. Riter pounded on her door. "The building is on fire."
The smoke outside parted for just a moment, allowing her to see the street. Cedrie could see nothing but bits and pieces of the car.
Sobbing, she turned and threw the phone aside. She ran from the apartment and slammed her hands against the release bar on the door to the stairs. Thick black smoke filled the stairwell. Cedrie bent her head and charged down the stairs.
"Tim!" Her voice echoed in the stairwell. Coughing, she made her way down the first flight. As her feet hit the landing on the second flight, the stairwell began to spin and the smoke thickened around her.
Cedrie slumped against the wall, realizing she was about to faint. On her way down she tried to grab for the alarm on the wall, but missed.
Drifting away from consciousness, she felt someone lift her into strong arms. She was being carried down the stairwell and away from the smoke. She felt the carpet of the lobby under her back and legs as someone gently lowered her to the floor. Clean air filled her lungs, as if she'd been carried to the one place where the smoke couldn't get her.
The spicy scent of expensive aftershave drifted around her.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Tim?"
"Poor, brave Cedrie," he said. Cool, firm lips brushed her temple. "You can't help Tim now. Just relax and catch your breath, love."
The voice sent a new wave of panic through Cedrie, clearing her head. The bastard had followed her down the stairs. She struggled onto her elbows and opened her eyes.
Through a dizzy haze she glimpsed shiny black hair, straight white teeth, and bright green eyes before he whirled away. She heard running footsteps. He was gone.
Tim was dead.
She heard Mrs. Riter shouting and felt someone shaking her. "Cedrie! Cedrie. Someone started a fire in the stairwell and a car blew up out on the street. Are you all right?"
"Did you see him?" Cedrie coughed and tried to sit up. "The man who carried me out of the stairwell?"
"Darling, I can't see a thing. I left my glasses on the kitchen counter."
"Did anyone see him?" Tears streamed down her face and over her chin. "Mr. Riter? Did anyone see the man with black hair?"
"No, Cedrie." Mr. Riter helped her stand. "I was too busy getting everyone out of the stairwell. What kind of person would turn on the fire alarm and then fill the stairwell with smoke?"
"A killer." She looked around. "Someone had to have seen him. The man who carried me out of the stairwell. Did anyone see a man carry me out?"
"It's all right, darling," Mrs. Riter said as she patted Cedrie's arm. "You can thank that nice man later."
Cedrie fainted in Mr. Riter's arms.
"Have you seen this?"
Edward Washten took the police report from Jack and looked at the woman's picture. She was pretty, even in newsprint, with light red hair and dark eyes. "She's a writer?"
"Yes," Jack said. He pointed to another picture inside the folder. "That's what's left of her boyfriend's Mercedes."
"She do it?"
"No." Jack chuckled. "Miss Lang's got a fan that doesn't like her having boyfriends. He decided to do away with this one to make his point."
"A stalker?" Edward shook his head. "I'm too busy for this, Jack. Give it to Craig. Any kid with access to the internet could find out how to flame a car."
"In
The seriousness of Jack's tone made Edward reach for the folder and scan the report. "C-4 with a delay gadget."
"Not what you'd expect from a jealous fan, is it?"
"He wanted her to see the guy get killed." Edward said. "He delayed the switch until that Mercedes was parked where she could see it."
"Yes." Jack nodded. "Read on."
"Calling her with an elaborate system of relays so he can't be traced? He's smart. Very smart. This could be him." Edward got to his feet and poked a finger at the paper.
"I knew you'd say that." Jack smiled. "But slow down and let me play devil's advocate for a moment. Our boy's been quiet for a long time. It sounds too good to be true, and it might just be a copycat after the writer."
"You're right." Edward nodded. "If it is The Deliverer, he's changed his M.O." He leaned over the desk and pointed to the report. "But look. It says she ran into the stairwell, not realizing it would be filled with smoke. Someone carried her out to the lobby. When she came around she recognized his voice as the man who's been calling her."
Edward straightened away from the desk. "He'd show off like that. Walk right up to her and carry her out of danger when he's the reason she was in danger."
"Maybe he didn't think she'd try to get down to the street and just didn't want her hurt."
"No," Edward said. He picked up the folder and stared at the picture of Cedrie Lang. "He knew she'd hit those stairs and try to get to her boyfriend. He wanted her to know how close he was, and he wanted to see how impressed she was with his work. He wanted to put his hands on her."
Edward turned to Jack. "Was there anything left of the delay switch?"
Jack nodded. "It's a match to the one your boy used six years ago."
"Shit!" Edward stood up and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair "Where is she?"
"St. Michael's hospital."
"Can we get in to see her?"
Jack shrugged. "I've got some connections that should get us in the door."
Edward nodded and felt his heart speed up. Links to The Deliverer were like wisps of smoke. He was as brilliant as he was dangerous. He never bought more than one component of his explosives at a time. He never left a fingerprint, never bragged in bars, never confided in hookers, and never let anything distract him. Until now.
Cedrie Lang distracted him. He wanted this woman so badly that he'd killed for her. Clearly stating that any man who came between The Deliverer and his love interest was a corpse.
Looking at the press photo and Cedrie Lang's smiling face as she posed with a copy of her latest book, Edward felt anticipation coil inside him. She could lead him to The Deliverer.
After all this time, the bastard had a weakness. A weakness Edward meant to exploit to the fullest.
"I want Cedrie Lang. I'll get her to let me take charge of her, and get him to come out of the bushes."
"Edward." Jack sighed. "I know how much you want The Deliverer, but this is a lead, that's all. We've had hundreds of leads and nothing so far."
"Not like this lead."
"All right," Jack said. "She's in enough danger that she might agree, but if she doesn't, you back off. I need you on the Revelation case."
"I can handle both cases, Jack." Edward assured him. "Loan me Craig and he can keep me up to speed on Mr. Revelation while I take on Cedrie Lang."
"That works." Jack shrugged. "Craig could use the time under your wing."
"I want to see her." Edward handed the paper to Jack. "I want to listen to her talk about him, maybe she'll say something she doesn't realize is important."
Jack nodded. "You, Sara and me?"
"Yes."
Jack reached for the phone. "I'll set it up." As he started dialing, he looked up at Edward. "How are you planning to flush him out?"
"By doing something that will make him berserk." Edward smiled. "Steal his woman."
"What if she isn't interested?" Jack chuckled.
"I'll persuade her." How he’d go about that, Edward wasn’t exactly sure. He’d have to do some research on Cedrie Lang and figure out exactly how to get her attention and her cooperation.
“I’ll let you know when we can see her,” Jack said.
Edward nodded, already making a mental list of the things he wanted to know about Cedrie Lang before he met her. He wasn’t about to let this opportunity to catch The Deliverer slip away.
In less than two hours, Jack had pulled all the details together and was waiting at the hospital. Edward found himself in a limousine with Sara, driving toward what may be his best and final chance to catch The Deliverer. He’d never felt this close before, not once had he ever felt as if he were on the brink of catching the bastard.
As they drove, he went through the information he’d been able to gather about Cedrie Lang, in hopes of winning her trust and cooperation.
“Ready?” Sara asked.
Edward looked up and smiled at Sara. “I think so.”
“What have you got?”
“Just some history and some gut instincts. Cedrie Lang isn’t the average stalking victim, I’ll tell you that. Our boy shopped long and hard for her.”
“Well,” Sara lifted her shoulders in an elegant shrug. “Maybe she can give us an indication as to what he’s shopping for.” She leaned forward and looked at the file photo of Cedrie Lang that Edward was holding. “Pretty,” she said. “Beautiful to a certain type of man.”
Edward glanced down at the photo. Cedrie Lang wasn’t blonde or blue eyed like Sara, the cool sophisticated type of woman he usually went for. She was wholesome looking, natural and vivid. He found her beautiful. “What type of man?”
“The type who wants to settle down with a good woman who’ll give him six kids and never stop loving him.”
Edward slapped the file closed. “Says who? You?”
“Always.” She smiled and took a final drag from her cigarette before crushing out the butt in the ashtray of the limousine. She picked up her purse and took out her compact. Edward watched her put a barrette in her thick blonde hair, apply light lipstick and unbutton the top button of her suit. The simple procedure transformed her from hard-core hunter to the girl next door. She was now every woman’s best friend, someone a female victim could talk to, someone to trust.
She pulled out a pack of breath mints and popped two in her mouth. Cedrie Lang didn’t smoke, so Sara had to give the impression that she didn’t either.
Edward grinned. “She’ll smell those Virginia Slims on your clothes.”
Sara shook her head. “I’ll blame the driver as soon as I walk in the door.”
“Of course.” They hadn’t worked together in a while and he’d forgotten how smoothly she could fit into whatever role a victim needed in order to catch the suspect. They hadn’t talked since they stopped sleeping together a month ago.
Edward leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry, Sara.”
She patted his shoulder. “It’s okay. You were right about us.”
He had been right, but he’d hurt her just the same. She’d been there for him, helped him through some tough times, and now he wanted to end the romantic side of their relationship. “You’re important to me.”
“And you’re important to me,” she assured him. “But it was time we faced the facts.” Her cool hands closed around one of his. “I wouldn’t have given you up for the world, Edward, but now that I’ve had time to think about it, I know it was the only way.”
She cupped his face with her hands and kissed his lips. “You’re a beautiful, cursed prince inside a very angry frog. I’m just not the right princess to break the spell.” Her eyes twinkled. “To me you’ll always be a frog.”
He smiled and kissed her palm. “You’re making this too easy on me,” he said.
“No,” she said. “I’m looking at the facts. It was over a long time ago. Don’t beat yourself up about this. Face the facts. You did the only thing you could.”
Edward nodded as she released him. He looked back down at his notes. Facing the facts was his strong point and he’d had to be honest with Sara. She was a good woman, a good lover, and the absolute best at her job, but that’s where it ended for him.
This job was Sara’s life. She lived for the hunt, for putting together the little coincidences and anomalies that revealed a trail to the killer. She got a sparkle in her eye whenever she was about to interview a victim or suspect. It was the chasing and the catching that motivated Sara, not the justice.
And for Edward, justice was all there was, the only reason to do this job. Once he had that justice he wouldn’t be in this job. At least he hoped not. It wasn’t fair to Sara to pretend they had a future together. When The Deliverer was caught, Edward didn’t know what would be left of his life to offer a woman. Cold facts and hard justice didn’t keep a woman warm at night.
The drive for justice was the only thing left inside him. The only thing he could cling to when he woke up in a cold sweat with his fingers shaped into claws for the digging he did in his dreams.
The dream always started the same way. Edward was on his knees, digging through broken glass, bits of concrete splattered with blood. Usually the dream played out just as life had. He found nothing alive below the surface of the rubble. But sometimes, some sweet and rare times, he found what he was searching for.
Miraculously a little hand would reach for him. And he would reach into the shattered reality of his life and pull out his salvation. A perfect little angel with dark hair and eyes. But he always woke up just as he pulled that little body free. He never got to hold his angel in his arms.
On those nights Edward would rise from his bed and remember the dream not with sorrow, but with a grateful heart. Grateful for the reminder of why he was still alive and what he had to obtain.
Justice.
Sara tapped his knee. “We’re here.”
Edward raised his head and looked up at the hospital outside his window. Maybe this time, there was more than a wisp of smoke to follow to The Deliverer. Maybe this time, there would be justice.
CHAPTER TWO
Cedrie looked at the three people surrounding her hospital bed. All day she'd been lying here answering questions for strangers. She'd spent hours answering the same questions again and again. She'd looked at thousands of mug shots and answered more questions. The police, the media and even Tim's insurance company had questions, but no one seemed to have answers.
Answers. She pondered them all day. Day after day she searched her own mind for answers. Why her? Why Tim? Why a bomb? Why in front of her apartment building? Answers never came during the day and the nights were even worse.
At night she hugged her pillow and listened carefully to every sound. Each time Cedrie heard a male voice her heart pounded until her brain could reassure her that her stalker wasn't there.
Frightened didn't begin to describe how she felt. No one could tell her how badly her building had been damaged. No one knew if there were other fatalities besides Tim. They all seemed to be waiting. Waiting for something or someone before telling her anything.
Cedrie knew the wait was over when these three arrived.
She dismissed the blond and cordial Sara as the good cop. Jack Sutcliff, the man with silver hair and keen gray eyes, was the bad cop. But the other man, the one standing at the foot of her bed, staring at her without saying a word? He was the man with the answers.
He stood at least six feet tall. Long arms were folded over a wide chest. His navy blazer fit snugly over his muscular shoulders. Lean hips gave way to legs that appeared to go on forever. He kept his dark brown hair cut short enough to expose his ears, as if he couldn't be bothered with a blow dryer in the morning. His face was clean- and arrogant.
His size alone intimidated Cedrie, but his intense stare made her want to cringe. She kept looking at his eyes. She couldn't tell if they were brown or blue. They looked black in the fluorescent light of her room. Sharp cheekbones left shadows on his face and drew her gaze to his mouth. It was a nice mouth, and as she stared at it, he stuck his bottom lip out just a bit.
She'd yet to hear him speak a word. He hadn't been included when introductions were made. Cedrie suspected that oversight to be an intentional tool to unsettle her, and it was working.
They'd depended on Sara to break the ice, of course. Calm, maternal affection oozed from her every pore as she sat beside Cedrie's bed. Lying her ass off.
"Cedrie." Sara cooed. "Let us help you. All we want to do is keep you safe."
"Uh-huh."
"We're the best. Each person in our firm is an expert in these situations."
Sighing, Cedrie looked at Sutcliff. "Cut the bull. You already know everything I do. You want something more; something only I can give you, so just tell me what it is. Why are you interested in me?"
Sutcliff blinked, and Sara cleared her throat. The devil grinned, just barely, as if she'd done something he expected. Cedrie did her best to ignore him, giving her full attention to Sutcliff.
"As Sara told you," Sutcliff said, “we specialize in this type of problem. We want to help you. We want you to help us gather the information needed for the police to catch the man who killed your fiancée."
"We were just friends." Cedrie looked down at her bandaged hands and then used them to push away fresh tears. She'd cut her hands on the broken phone without even realizing it. Poor Tim.
Sara patted her arm. "Tell us about it, Cedrie. You'll feel better if you do."
Cedrie laughed harshly. "I just bet!" She took a hard look at the three of them again, ready to trust her instincts and draw her own conclusions from their faces.
The silent devil she only glanced at. He wasn't about to reveal a thing. Sutcliff studied her the same way she must be looking at him. He watched her every move with a keen, chop-licking anticipation. Sara kept her shoulders and breathing relaxed, but she clenched her teeth behind her benevolent smile.
"Wait a minute." Cedrie shook a gauze-covered finger at Sara. "This isn't about me or Tim at all, is it?"
Sara's hand tensed.
Cedrie turned to see Sutcliff's eyelids twitch.
She looked at the devil. He looked as if he were about to doze off, damn him. Two out of three was close enough.
"This is about him, not me. He's at the top of your most wanted list and you think I can hand him to you, don't you?"
No one moved, spoke or even breathed. Cedrie put a hand to her forehead and laughed. "Help me? Protect me?"
A double-broiler of rage consumed her. "Don't you mean use me?" She snatched an empty glass from her bed tray and threw it toward the other side of the room.
The devil's hand shot up, catching the glass in midair. So quiet, so fast, so intimidating without saying a word.
As his gaze locked with Cedrie's he tossed the glass to the bed by her feet. There was challenge in his dark eyes. A look that clearly said, "What else have you got?"
Not up to his dare just yet, Cedrie turned back to Sara. "I'm bait," she said, wishing she could just get up and leave. She'd give anything to be able to just go home and pretend the last three days never happened. "You can't catch him without me, can you?"
"He's going to hurt you, Cedrie," Sara said, her words faster, her tone urgent. "We're the only ones who can stop him."
"Then stop him." Leaning back against the pillows, Cedrie crossed her arms over her breasts. "But don't offer me up like a carrot in a rabbit trap."
Sara stood up and left the room, her part in the little drama obviously complete. Sutcliff nodded toward the devil. "Ms. Lang, this is Edward Washten." Then he left, too. Just like Sara, Sutcliff walked out without another word.
When the door closed behind them, Washten lowered his hands to his hips, still staring at Cedrie. Even though the intimidating move had to be unconscious, Cedrie felt like pulling the blanket up to her chin. "So, are you my punishment for not buying Sara's bull?"
"Punishment?" His voice was almost as deep as her tormenter's, but laced with a drawl that said, "Southern Charmer." He stepped to the side of the bed. "I'm your best friend right now."
"How's that?" She hoped he didn't plan on coming any closer.
He did. He took another step and then another. He didn't stop until his thighs were less than a foot from her hand. "I know how he thinks."
"So think like him, catch him, and leave me alone."
Shaking his head, Washten sat down on the bed with his hip close to her waist. "He's not just any stalker. You know that."
"Do I?" Cedrie tried to scoot away from him without being obvious about it.
"Yes." He smiled again, a real smile, one that made him handsome enough to startle her. All she could do was stare at the transformation his smile brought about. He went from ominous to sexy with a simple curling of his lips. Only the cold look in his eyes kept her from accepting the charming friendship he offered.
"That's why he wants you. You're not easy to intimidate, or control. You excite him."
"I realize that." Cedrie looked down at the blanket. "What do you know about him?"
"You first."
At least he actually did know something, Cedrie thought. No sense in being stubborn about who went first.
Sighing, Cedrie leaned forward. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "His voice is deep and very smooth. I'm sure he doesn't do much to disguise it. I get the impression he's too vain for that."
Washten nodded. "James Earl Jones smooth or Sean Connery smooth?"
"Edward Washten smooth." Cedrie felt a quick spark of satisfaction when his eyes narrowed. He didn't like being compared to the bomber. "Without the southern charm, of course."
"What else?" She'd managed to give him a dig, but it didn't last long.
"He's intelligent," she said. "I'd say brilliant. He's managed to find out the number to my phone no matter how many times I have it changed. He can get around Caller ID, so I gave up on screening him out. Whatever he uses to keep his calls from being traced has worked perfectly. Wherever I go, he knows about it. He knows what I've done, what I ate, who I was with."
"How long has he been calling you?"
"Two months." When he just nodded, Cedrie frowned. "Don't you tape these interviews?"
"No. It's been my experience that people worry so much about how they'll sound on tape that they leave out things they'd normally say.
"Shouldn't you take notes or something?"
"I won't forget anything."
"How reassuring."
"Anything before two months ago?" Washten asked, his voice impassive as he got back to business. "Post cards? Letters?"
"Nothing."
Washten's dark gaze bored into her. "What aren't you telling me, Cedrie?"
"I told you everything."
"Don't lie to me or yourself."
The letters. The gifts. Cedrie didn't want to think about them or the danger they implied. She clenched her shaking hands around her knees. "He sends me things."
"Such as?"
How could she say this without letting her terror show? How could she talk about this without breaking down? She looked at Washten's face and wished for some small expression of understanding. All she saw was cold efficiency. It would have to do.
She took a deep breath. "Nightgowns. Expensive and tasteful, but . . .”
"Sexy?" Washten's dark brows rose.
"I guess." The skin on her cheeks warmed. "He put notes in them, but they were printed by a computer, nothing special about them, nothing the police could trace."
"What did the notes say?"
She couldn't go there. She couldn't go back to the day a letter reduced her to a little girl who slept with the lights on all night. "Listen." Cedrie shrugged and tried to smile. "It could be anybody. I get stuff like that from a lot of men. I once got a bright yellow bra from a guy in
"What did the notes say?"
Cedrie shook her head. She could still see those dark, vague words promising terrifying things. "The police have them. Wouldn't it be better if you just read them?"
"He wrote them to control your emotions. What you noticed is important." Washten's long fingers caught her chin. "He wants specific reactions from you--just you. Tell me about the letters, just the way you remember them."
For some stupid reason, Cedrie believed him. The way he was looking at her, as if every tiny detail meant the world to him, made her believe him. His hand slid away. "Tell me."
"Nothing obviously threatening or pornographic." She tried to find the right words. "You see. He reads my books. Unless you read the same books he did, you wouldn't find the notes suggestive."
Frowning, Washten nodded. "Give me an example."
"For instance, in my first novel the hero makes love to a woman in a rather unusual way."
"How?" He asked.
"In a confession booth at a cathedral."
He blinked. "And?"
"Well, he sent me a light green nightgown."
"Because of your hair."
"What?"
"Light green," Washten said, his tone even, his eyes unflinching. "It would highlight your hair. He'd notice that."
"I guess," Cedrie said, frowning as a new thought occurred to her. "You think he's after me because of my hair?"
"It's one of a million possibilities."
The first thing she'd do when she got home was dye her hair.
"What about the note?"
"The note inside the box said something about wearing the nightgown to confession and that he would save me."
"Save you?" His eyes narrowed again. "As in Savior or Deliverer?"
"I think."
"What else do you remember?" Washten leaned toward her just a bit. "What about when you were trapped in the stairwell?"
"He's strong. He carried me from the stairwell to the lobby very quickly. I thought I saw his hair. It was black, so black it was almost blue when the lights hit it. His eyes were green. Dark green."
"What else?"
Memories of a cool, gentle kiss brushing her temple made Cedrie shiver with revulsion. She pushed that memory away and closed her eyes. "I'm tired of your questions." She fell back to the pillows. "That's all I remember. It's your turn now."
"If you want me to help you . . . "
His smooth voice, so much like the one she heard on the phone, snapped her temper. "I don't!"
He just sat there looking at her for a long moment, clearly trying to disturb her with his silent regard. Cedrie lifted her chin and stared back. His brows met in a frown. He probably wanted to strangle her. Seconds ticked by as they stared at each other. He was sizing her up, testing her. Then he shrugged those big shoulders and the battle of wills ended.
As if forcing himself to relax, he leaned away from her. "Your stalker and would be lover is an international terrorist who calls himself The Deliverer." He nodded when Cedrie shook her head. "I've been after him for quite some time. Six years ago he blew up part of an elementary school. Two teachers and more than twenty kids were killed."
"Oh, God." Cedrie put her bandaged hand to her lips. It was even worse than she thought. How could she escape such a demented killer?
"He's been quiet since then. Small jobs here and there, in different cities using different explosives, but nothing major. He's never stayed in one place very long." Washten stared intently at Cedrie. "Until now."
He stood up.
Cedrie swallowed as she tilted her head to keep eye contact with him. "Go on."
Washten looked at his watch and then at Cedrie as if he had no time to give her facts he thought she should have figured out for herself. "He's obsessed with you . He started with phone calls, moved on to suggestive lingerie, and now he's killed for you."
"Tim was just a friend." Cedrie felt helpless and alone. "We'd known each other for years."
"It doesn't matter. Not to him."
"Men don't become obsessed with women like me, Mr. Washten." Cedrie said. "I'm as ordinary as whole-wheat toast. All this stuff about being in love with me is his bid for attention from the press or the police for some wild cause he probably has."
"He has much better ways to get attention." Washten said. "It's you he wants, Cedrie."
"Then why all the phone calls and intimidation? Why not just walk up to me at a book signing and ask me out for coffee?"
Washten's brows arched. "How do you know he didn't?
"I'd remember his voice." Cedrie said. Washten's flippant attitude started to grate on her nerves. "He's never spoken to me except over the phone."
"Yes, he has," Washten said. "He waited for you to run into the stairwell just so he could touch you and feel your skin under his fingers."
A shiver of self-preservation chilled Cedrie's temper. No one touches you but me. Closing her eyes, she said, "I think he kissed me."
"Then he'll be back for the rest and very soon."
The rest? Cedrie opened her eyes and met Washten's stare. "You mean sex?"
"He'll kidnap you. Play out his little fantasies, whatever they are. No matter what you do you won't live up to his expectations." Washten leaned over her, his dark eyes indifferent. "If you fight him he'll be angry, but you're no hothouse rose. You're tough, aren't you, Cedrie? You'll fight anyway. For a while."
"I've heard enough." Cedrie looked away.
Washten ignored her. "When you stop fighting he'll still be angry, because the challenge will be gone."
"Stop."
One long finger reached out and pushed against her jaw until she looked at him again. "Then he'll punish you for disappointing him."
She pushed her fear away and concentrated on being angry with Washten. "How do you know all of this?"
"It's my job to know about him."
"So, what's the name of this agency?" She lowered her voice to imitate Jack Sutcliff. "That specializes in problems like these."
The right side of his mouth tilted up as if he were trying not to smile. "We're an investigative support group. Jack is retired from the F.B.I. and an expert on criminal investigation. Sara is a victim counselor and psychologist. I'm a suspect profiler. We've solved a number of murder and rape cases. We've also helped several women get enough information and evidence on their stalkers to have charges filed and get them to court."
"I've never heard of you before today."
"I've never heard of you, either." He shrugged. "But I'm here, and I can help you."
"What does a suspect profiler do?" Bickering with Washten kept her mind occupied and her fear under control.
"What do you think I do?"
"You sit around trying to figure out what makes nuts crack?"
He lowered his eyes and covered his mouth with his hand. Then he looked at her again, studying her very closely as he stoked the sides of his face with his thumb and forefinger. "Basically."
"I'm assuming you're fairly good at it." Tilting her head to the side, she asked, "Are you?"
"Yes."
"How long have you been doing this suspect profiler stuff?"
"Off and on for five years. It started as a hobby, but then I started taking courses and actually solved a few cases. I turned out to be pretty good at it. Jack Sutcliff hired me full-time three years ago."
"Five years?"
"Yes."
"Doesn't my case warrant someone with a little more experience?" She asked bluntly.
"I wouldn't be here if Jack Sutcliff didn't think I could find your man, Ms. Lang." He showed absolutely no irritation at her lack of confidence in him. "I'm very good," he assured her.
"So why haven't you caught Mr. Deliverer?"
"He's special."
Cedrie nodded. "Smarter than your average stalker?"
"He's not a stalker," Washten said. "He's never shown the slightest interest in a woman before." Shrugging, he added, "I thought he was gay."
She knew she must look like a catfish with her mouth gaping open, but she didn't care. "You thought The Deliverer was gay and yet now you think he is the man harassing me?"
"Yes."
The way he said, "yes," with such robotic indifference, made her want to put her fist in his face. "Then what's the connection? Why do you think it's the same man?"
"The device he used on your friend's car. The showmanship he displayed by being at the scene to play white knight to your damsel in distress." His gaze shifted and he looked at the pillow behind her as if thinking of a way to explain. "The way he's controlling you."
"He isn't controlling me."
"Yes, he is."
"How?"
"He's studied you, Cedrie. He knows what you like to eat, where you like to go, what you wear to bed, and what makes you cry. He knows you'll do almost anything, including sacrifice yourself, to keep other people from being hurt."
"I'm no masochist." Cedrie shook her head.
"No. Not a masochist," Washten said. "A nurturer, a protector."
"What?" She had no idea what he was getting at.
He held up his thumb and forefinger as if measuring a short distance. "Not a masochist, but this close to being a martyr."
Laughing, Cedrie said, "You don't know a thing about me."
"You're an only child. When you were nine your mother took off to parts unknown with the local minister, and your father jumped into a bottle of Jack Daniels."
Cedrie blinked, but hid her reaction to his insight.
"You went to school, pretended everything was fine at home, and babysat your father. Never went to the prom, never had a boyfriend, never had a date. After high school you went to work in a doctor's office, answering phones. Then you moved to an apartment, took writing classes at night, and worked as a receptionist for a construction company during the day. You were twenty when you lost your virginity to the guy who lived in the apartment below you."
He paused to watch her reaction then shrugged and went on, "Your father committed suicide three weeks after your first book hit the shelves. You made the bestseller list the day you buried him and you've been there ever since."
Cedrie was horrified by such a lack of privacy. If Washten could find out so much about her then so could her stalker. "He knows all that?"
"Yes."
Push it away, Cedrie, she told herself. Don't think about it. Think about Tim. "And what does all that have to do with Tim? The phone calls? The nightgown?"
Sitting back down on her bed, he asked, "You know a little psychology, right?"
"I like to think so." She nodded.
"This is a game or a play to The Deliverer. He escalates the action and builds on your fear, raising the stakes each time. The next time he calls and just talks to you won't be so upset because at least he didn't kill anyone."
"Desensitizing me to his involvement in my life?"
"Very good." Washten nodded. "But not just that. He's teaching you that what he does is your fault. When Cedrie stands up for herself someone else pays the price. If you don't like his presents he'll be angry. You'll let him send you nightgowns so he won't kill anyone. If he can't touch you he'll be angry. You'll let him touch you so he won't kill anyone."
Washten was good, very good. Cedrie felt as if he'd just torn out her soul and examined it under a microscope. "And you figured all this out by investigating my childhood?"
"And by comparing it to what I know about The Deliverer."
"You snooped into my private life, just like he did?"
"Yes."
Her fingers curled into a fist. "How did you go about that, Dick Tracy?"
He smiled as if to give her extra points for that barb. "It's my job."
"Well." She chuckled. "Better do some overtime, Boy Wonder, because you don't know it all."
"I don't?" His tongue slid over his bottom lip. "What did I miss?"
"Lots." Sitting up straighter, she faced him squarely. "You left out that after my first book made me a millionaire my mother suddenly reappeared. She was a regular poster child for repentant parents. She said she loved me and never gave up hope of being with me again. I called her a bloodsucking leech and threw her out. Did you know that?"
"No."
"Well, how about the time my best friend's husband beat her so badly that she had a miscarriage and almost died?" Cedrie tapped Washten's shoulder to make her point. "Did you know I had to threaten to shoot him with his deer rifle?"
Washten's eyes widened just a bit.
"Did you know I had to sit on the floor with her and try to stop the bleeding with bath towels while we waited around for the ambulance?"
"No."
"Well, hell, Washten." Cedrie laughed. "Get to work!" She poked him again. "Did you know I'm nuts about Elvis?"
"No." He grinned at her.
Cedrie wanted to kick herself when she saw him smile. He'd provoked her into telling him much more than he already knew. She knew she should shut up and not say another word, but she couldn't. "Did you know I put lemon juice in my Pepsi?"
"No."
"Then you don't know everything do you?" Cedrie glanced at her bandaged hands. "I find it fascinating that no one really gave a crap about this guy bothering me before yesterday. Oh, sure, I got my phone tapped and an extra patrol car driving by my apartment building now and then, but nobody really listened when I explained how dangerous he is, how absolutely brilliant and driven he is."
She rubbed her temple with a gauze-covered hand. "Now here you and your friend Sara are trying to tell me how dangerous he is. Since he's done exactly what I claimed he would--killed people--now everyone wants to help catch him"
She looked up at Washten as contempt filled her heart. "Excuse me if I don't give a darn about what you do or don't know about him now that Tim is dead."
He caught her hand and Cedrie could feel the warmth of his skin through the bandages. "I don't know everything," he said. "About you or The Deliverer." Without letting go of her hand, he leaned closer. "But I'm the only one who can catch him. I'm the only one who knows how he plans things, how he sees things."
His grip on her hand tightened. "I won't lie to you, Cedrie. You're the best lead I have to The Deliverer. Without you, I don't have a chance in hell of catching him."
She tried to pull back her hand, and he released her after a second. A second was all it took to show her he was stronger and could hold her if he wanted. "Just like I said, you want to use me."
"Yes," he admitted. "And at the same time, I'll keep you safe."
That seemed too easy and too reasonable. "So what can you do?"
A fleeting expression of triumph passed over his features making Cedrie's pulse quicken. "I can stop him."
"How?"
"Leave with me."
Cedrie's heart stopped beating for an instant and then pounded against her chest. "What?"
"You heard me." He held out his hand--palm up. "Take my hand, get out of that bed, and leave with me. Right now."
"That hardly seems like regulation procedure for a suspect profiler."
"It isn't," he admitted. "I've taken a leave of absence so I can protect you and catch The Deliverer."
For one painfully long moment Cedrie wanted to do it. She wanted to take that big strong hand and just go. She wanted to let someone protect her and keep her safe. He waited, his gaze locked with hers as if he could will her to put her hand in his. Cedrie swallowed and raised her bandaged hand.
A bang of trays and loud off-key whistling announced the arrival of the dietary aide.
Cedrie jerked her hand back. "You're insane."
"He's insane," Washten said. "When it comes to you he's insane and weak. I can make him sloppy and then I'll catch him." The look in his eyes turned predatory. "You make him weak, Cedrie. If he thinks he's lost you he'll come after me." He leaned closer. "You'll be safe, and I'll be ready for him."
"There has to be another way." Cedrie shook her head. "I don't even know you."
"Better the devil you know than the one you don't?"
"That's not what I meant." The urge to punch him was stronger than ever. "Why can't you just protect me?" Her voice became demanding. "Just keep the bastard away from me. That's all I want. Just make him leave me alone."
"How?" He smiled, but his sarcasm was obvious. "What do you expect us to do if you won't help us trap him somehow?"
"The police said something about protective custody."
"He's patient, Cedrie. He can wait for years for something he wants. Can you hide for that long?"
"No," Cedrie admitted. The thought of hiding like a hunted doe was enough to make her grind her teeth together. The thought of putting herself under Washten's formidable thumb made her even more nervous. "But I can't just take off with a total stranger. It's ridiculous. How do I know you aren't as crazy as he is?"
"You don't."
Cedrie swallowed and drew her courage around her. "Think of something else, Space Ghost. Something that doesn't involve me being at your mercy."
He slowly shook his head. "If you want my help, Cedrie, you have to agree to whatever I say, no questions, no turning back. It's the only way I'll help you."
"Forget it." She snorted.
"It's your decision." His hand closed and returned to his side. "I hope you can live with it."
"Very funny." Cedrie rubbed her arms to control an unnatural chill.
Washten stared at her gauze-covered hands moving over her arms. "Don't worry. He's made a very public move. He's not stupid enough to try to take you right away. You should have a breather before he comes for you." Washten's gaze swept down her prone body. "You can recuperate without fear. He wants you strong, I'm sure."
"Why?" A coil of ice wound its way through her insides.
"More challenge," Washten said softly. He handed her a card with nothing but a phone number printed on it. "Call me if you change your mind."
She watched his long legs carry him to the door, feeling her sense of safety evaporate with every step he took.
Cedrie spent another restless night in the hospital, but this time she saw the dark eyes of Edward Washten in her dreams instead of the cold green eyes of The Deliverer. She awoke restless and filled with nervous energy. Thank goodness she was released from the hospital and allowed to attend Tim’s funeral.
But when she arrived at the cemetery, a deep sense of unease crept over her. Someone was watching her.
She looked across Tim's casket at the peaceful countryside of the cemetery. The cheery songs of birds mingled with the sound of a plane flying overhead and the soft weeping of Tim's mother. The morbid question of exactly how much of Tim was actually in that casket flashed into her head. He'd been dead for four days and she still wasn't ready to believe he was gone.
Around Cedrie stood her friends, Tim's family, and everyone who could possibly bring her comfort. They wanted to be close to her and help her.
She wanted to pull off her smothering black suit and run.
No one said a word. No one gave her accusing looks, but the facts surrounded her like tall specters with pointing fingers. Fourteen people were recovering from injuries, her apartment building was filled with investigators, and Tim was dead. Tim was dead because of her.
The minister asked everyone to join hands and recite The Lord's Prayer.
Taking the hands that reached toward hers from either side, Cedrie cringed at the slight pain shooting through her lacerated palms. The pain reminded her that she wasn't alone. People were in danger when she was around. She wanted to run, she wanted to hide, but she couldn't. She had to stand still.
She could feel his eyes watching her. He was out there, watching her, taking note of her every move. Planning.
The prayer ended, and Cedrie looked to her left and then her right. Tall willow trees swayed in the breeze. Squirrels raced between the granite headstones. Bright sunlight illuminated every corner. She saw nothing unusual, but a prickling itch crept along her skin.
The Deliverer was out there somewhere just waiting for an opportunity to grab her.
Panic seized her, clutching her heart. Who would he kill this time? Tim's cousin, Michael, who stood on her left? Would he kill Tim's uncle for hugging her when she arrived? Who was next? Where was he? Again, her gaze swept the cemetery with frantic precision. God! Where was the bastard?
Cedrie started to tremble.
"Cedrie?" Michael whispered, his arm going around her shoulders. "Are you all right?"
"Don't touch me!"
The minister stopped speaking and fumbled with his Bible. Astonished silence surrounded Cedrie as Michael blushed and stepped back.
Looking around her, Cedrie caught the wide gaze of every person at the graveside. Even Tim's mother turned to stare at Cedrie with a look of horrified concern.
"I'm sorry, Michael." Cedrie said. "The scrapes, and cuts. My shoulders still hurt."
A collective sigh of understanding filled the air and sympathetic smiles replaced stunned frowns. "Forgive me, Cedrie," Michael said. "Did I hurt you?"
"I'm fine." Cedrie lied. "I'm fine."
The service ended and several people approached Cedrie. Even though she did her best to control her fear, she wanted to scream each time a man touched her hand or bent to kiss her cheek.
No one could touch her or show her any concern without dying. They had to stay away. Unconsciously she started to put up her hands and push people away before they could embrace her or offer comfort.
Then she saw him.
Washten stepped into the light from the doorway of a mausoleum. He stood directly in her line of vision, as if loaning her his strength. Dark glasses hid his eyes, but Cedrie didn't need to see them. She knew his predatory glance was sweeping the cemetery, keeping her safe. His tall figure blocked the sun, blocked her terror. Knowing he was there dissolved her fear.
The Deliverer was there, too. She could still feel his presence, but Washten wouldn't let anyone be hurt. Cedrie felt it instinctively and believed it without question. That belief allowed her to open her arms and hold Tim's mother close.
"This wasn't your fault, Cedrie." The old lady patted her cheek. "Stop blaming yourself."
Tears streamed down Cedrie's face. "Thank you.".
As the group dispersed, Cedrie looked over at the limousine and back at Washten. The last thing she wanted to do was get into that car alone. Slowly she turned away from his watchful figure and headed toward the car.
Within seconds he was at her side, taking her elbow.
One of the officers assigned to protect Cedrie stepped up and put his hand on Washten's shoulder. "Do you know this man, Ms. Lang?"
Washten stood still, but didn't release Cedrie's arm as he waited for her to answer the officer. He looked somewhere between amused and annoyed.
"Yes," she said. "He works for me."
Now Washten definitely looked amused and he arched one dark brow. "Do I?"
Cedrie frowned at him then turned to the policeman. "Give us a moment alone?"
"Yes, Ms. Lang." The officer touched his cap and backed a few feet away.
With his hand still on her arm Washten nodded toward the limo. "I'll walk her to the car, okay?
"Fine," the policeman said.
"So do I work for you or not, Cedrie?" he asked when they were relatively alone.
"I want to know what you know about The Deliverer, but I don't want you getting me or yourself killed." She looked him straight in the eye. "We'll do things my way, not yours."
"No," he said without the least bit of hesitation.
"Fine." Cedrie nodded. "Then consider yourself fired."
"No."
"No?" She gaped at him with her mouth open.
"This case is too important to me. I've been after The Deliverer a long time. I will not be denied access to you. You're going to help me catch him"
"Great!" She threw up her hands and turned away. "Now I've got two mental cases stalking me."
He caught her arm again and headed toward the limo. "You'll get used to me."
"Let me go." Cedrie tried to pull away as they moved toward the car, but Washten held her tighter. "He's here,” she said.
"I know."
"He'll see you."
"I know."
"Are you crazy?" She looked up at him, but couldn't see his eyes and read his expression. "Take those glasses off."
He grinned. "Why?"
"So I can see your eyes." Cedrie reached up and took the glasses off his face. She shouldn't have bothered. His dark eyes revealed nothing. "What are you doing here?"
"My job."
"Which is?"
"Baiting your admirer."
"If you so much as pat me on the head, he'll put you on a slab." Cedrie couldn't believe his arrogance. "Go away, Batman."
He kept following her. "Why are you always referring to me by the name of some cartoon character?"
"Because you're one-dimensional?" She gave him a dazzling smile.
"I'm as real as they come, Cedrie." Washten said. "Just ask your admirer."
Cedrie frowned. "What would he know about you?"
He shook his head. "Let's not talk about it while he's watching."
"Fabulous, but it's a little late to be careful,” she said. "Speaking of him, and the fact that we both know he's watching--back off before he decides to kill you."
Washten opened her door for her. "You have a police escort." He indicated the patrol cars parked in the narrow street and the policemen walking around in the cemetery. "Don't you feel safe?"
"You know I don't."
"Why?"
"He's everywhere." She knew that sounded insane. "I never know what he's thinking or planning."
"I do."
"Well, whoopee for you." Crossing her arms over her chest she studied him closely. "Shouldn't you be out frightening people with your buddy Sara?"
"Sara's working on another case with Jack. Like I said before, I took a leave of absence so to speak."
Cedrie blinked and shook her head. "Why?"
"So I could devote all my time to you."
Did he have to make that sound so personal? "I'm flattered, really, but I'd rather not have your death on my conscience."
"I'm not that easy to get rid of." Washten said with a straight face. "He'll have to work pretty hard if he wants me dead."
Stepping up to the car, Cedrie put the door of the limousine between them and curled her fingers over the top of the window. Washten did the same as he stepped closer. His long fingers rested close to her hand.
"I'm not sure which of you is the bigger nutcase," she said. "Take comfort in how hard he worked when he blows you to bits."
Washten leaned closer, making the space too narrow for Cedrie to escape into the car. "Why would he do that?"
What game was he playing with her? He knew why she had to be alone. "You're standing too close. You've talked to me for more than a minute." Cedrie shook her head. "Leave me alone, Washten."
"Edward."
"I like Washten better."
"Keeps me at a distance?" He smiled and took his sunglasses out of her hand, making Cedrie realize she still clutched them. "Does keeping people at a distance make him happy, Cedrie?"
"Yes," she admitted. "It keeps him happy and keeps other people safe."
"I don't want to stay safe. I want to push his buttons and make him careless."
Cedrie laughed and shook her head. "And to think I was truly glad to see you." She pushed the door toward him, hoping to catch his groin with the handle. "I thought you came today to protect me."
The door barely moved, and those long legs saved his future offspring as his thighs stopped the door handle. "I am protecting you, Cedrie."
"No, you aren't." She couldn't believe how eager he was to lose his life. "You're making it worse. All you want is to get a reaction out of him when he sees you standing close to me."
"No." He slowly shook his head. "I know what he'll do if he sees me talking to you. He'll call you, scare you, and tell you to stay away from me."
Biting her lip, Cedrie searched his face. He stood there, letting her look at him, knowing his expression revealed nothing. Nothing but strength, resolution and courage. Regardless of how much he aggravated her, he did make her feel safe. And he knew things. Things about Tim’s killer that no one else could tell her. "What will he do next?"
"Come after you."
"How?" Cedrie waved a hand to indicate her police escort. "I don't even know where they're taking me when I get in this car. How can he get to me?"
"By waiting, being patient and letting what he knows about you work for him."
"And what is that?" She demanded. "What's my weakness?"
"You can't stand being cared for."
Boy did he have that wrong. There were many times she longed for someone to just take care of her for a change. She just never got any offers. "
"No." His thumb brushed the side of her hand. It could have been accidental, but she didn't think so. "Not thinking you're worth caring about is a flaw."
"I don't think that."
"Yes you do." He nodded. "You think if you don't take care of everyone else you don't have any worth."
"I know what I'm worth."
"So do I." Stepping to the side, he pulled the door open. Without being obvious about it, he'd managed to completely shield them from the two policemen standing behind the car.
Cedrie stumbled forward, and he pulled her close. "Let go," she said. "He'll see us."
"I want him to see us." His hand went to her hair, the fingers curling around to cup her head. His body was hard and warm against her breasts. "I want him foaming at the mouth to get to me."
"Please," she said softly as she looked up at his face. "Don't touch me."
"Another man touching you is what he can't stand. I want him to know that no matter what he tells you, I won't stay away. I want him to know he can't stop me unless he faces me one on one."
Staring into his eyes, she saw a determination that went too deep for her to fight. Catching The Deliverer obsessed him as surely as she obsessed The Deliverer. "He'll kill you." Cedrie whispered.
"He'll try." His head came down and his lips closed over hers.
Twisting, she tried to get away, but Washten pulled her closer. He slipped his hands under her arms and lifted her right onto her toes to deepen the kiss. His tongue slid into her mouth, and for a second Cedrie touched it with hers. She breathed in the clean smell of the soap he used and let the heat of his body warm her frightened soul. The sensitive pads of her fingers slid over his short hair, memorizing the shape of his head. She let him kiss her and start a fire of wanting inside her. She scraped her teeth over his tongue.
He made a low sound of approval in his throat, the tone so primitive and male that Cedrie snapped to her senses. What was she doing? What the hell was she doing kissing Washten? She grabbed his hair with both hands and pulled--hard.
"Ouch!" He chuckled as he released her mouth. "It's short enough, honey."
"You suicidal bastard." Cedrie tried to push him away. "Whatever little game you're playing with him, leave me out of it."
Edward smiled and gently set her back on her feet. "That should do it." He touched his abused scalp with one hand and wiped her lipstick off his mouth with the other. "I doubt if he missed that."
"Stay away from me." Cedrie all but dived into the car, and Washten closed the door behind her. "Let's go," she said to the driver. She pressed her fingers to her lips, still wondering what had come over her.
She was right in the middle of a life-threatening situation. How on earth could she have forgotten that and thrown herself into kissing a man? She didn’t go around kissing anybody let alone big dangerous men like Edward Washten.
The limo sped away, the police car followed behind, and only then did Cedrie look back to see Washten standing at the edge of the cemetery with a satisfied smile on his face.