She nodded. No tears, no regrets, no sighs that he was walking out on her right in the middle of their first night together.
Damn, he liked her.
“Call me when you have more news.”
“I will.” He kissed her again, more gently this time. Stroking her soft, almost-dry hair, he murmured, “Be careful. Keep your head down and leave this alone until you hear from me, okay? I don’t want you doing anything to attract this bastard’s attention.”
“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt the case.”
“I don’t mean the case, Stacey.” He cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I mean you. Just because we’re friendly lovers doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you. I want to know who the hell left that hateful message for you on the porch.” Frowning because he wouldn’t be around to help her deal with that situation, he quietly added, “The box is in the trunk of your squad car.”
“Thank you. And don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’m sure that isn’t connected to the Reaper case.”
“I know. It’s not his style.” He offered her a grim smile. “Believe me, if I thought it was that bastard, I wouldn’t be leaving you here alone.”
She nodded, completely understanding, not arguing. She saw the sense in what he was saying without his having to explain a thing or justify himself. What a rarity.
Damn, he could love her.
Which was the last thing he could afford to think about as he said his good-byes and left to go try to find the Reaper’s latest victim.
For the first several hours after receiving that anonymous e-mail message, the Reaper lost himself in the Playground. He disappeared from the dirt world, the one some people called real, but which he considered only dark, drab, ugly, and colorless. No life at all, just existence.
In that world, someone was trying to do him harm. Someone actually believed he could be blackmailed. Unacceptable.
He needed to escape in order to think about it and decide on a course of action. He couldn’t panic, couldn’t allow rage to make him do something stupid. Only one location calmed him now; only one provided any real escape. In the sunlit, warm, beautifully colorful world that was the Playground, no one could ever touch him. He’d never be betrayed. Never criticized. Never hurt.
He did all the hurting, of both the game-generated ’bots who inhabited Satan’s Playground, as well as personalized avatars created by those who wanted to see what it would feel like to be murdered.
And now it was even easier to do. He had lots of new toys to try out. He’d just bought some new custom-made weapons and implements to enhance the torture chamber that existed in the dungeon of his cyber castle: vises and blades, whips and chains, a stretching rack, gallows, and a spike-lined box. All perfect.
He’d filled a pit of snakes and rejoiced as a dumb bitch had broken her ankles and been devoured after he’d tossed her in. He’d finally experienced the excitement of seeing someone drawn and quartered. How wonderful a death; and how weak and pathetic people were to have stopped using it so long ago.
He loved his new toys. Worshiped them. He couldn’t stop touching them, testing each one several times as he acknowledged just how perfectly equipped he was to do his job now.
And he did it. Throughout most of the night, he gave free rein to his violent fantasies. Walking among the others, he plucked victims randomly, bringing them back to his lair and spending hours doing things to them.
If life were fair, he could have such a chamber in this cold, ugly world. Hearing the real cries, smelling the blood, tasting the fear that dripped from every pore of his victims, that would be heaven on earth. Acting furtively in the night no longer gave him enough satisfaction. He longed to take his time and enjoy it, to play and play, as he could in the Playground.
And now, even that could be lost.
Which was why he finally said his farewells with a few more swipes of his scythe and emerged from the light back into the darkness. Damp air assaulted his nostrils, and from within the walls he heard mice skittering around. Whenever he’d gone on a long visit away, his senses were always heightened upon his return. Even his eyes saw clearly into the darkness of his basement hideaway, and he couldn’t help picturing it laid out as a second dungeon.
There would be no room for the gallows, or for the pit. But a table with chains at the head and foot, a spike-covered board, those would be just fine.
“I will,” he whispered. If he got through this new threat to his safety and security, he’d do it. Somehow, he’d bring prey here and enjoy them for hours. Even if it meant removing others who might stand in his way.
Starting with the blackmailer.
Because in the long night of violent pleasure, when his mind had been washed clean with blood, the truth had come to him. He’d seen with utter clarity what he should have realized right away.
He knew who’d sent the message. There was only one person it could have been.
Warren Lee.
Everyone knew the crazy man had cameras protecting his house. That he’d have them along the perimeter of his property, seeing into the adjacent woods, should have come as no surprise. He should, in fact, have expected it and done something about it before Lisa. But he gave himself a break. After all, it had been his virgin experience.
The black-and-white photo was fuzzy, and shot from above, probably the top of the whacked vet’s fence. Lee must not have realized the significance of what he had. But he’d held on to it, knowing it meant something.
Then the FBI had started poking around, looking for Lisa’s body. And Lee had put two and two together and come up with murder.
“He won’t be easy to get to,” he muttered, his own voice stark against the silence. “Not easy at all.” The man lived in a fortress of his own. And he would defend it. Violently, if necessary.
“Damn him.” Why did that old bastard have to go putting his nose into it? What did Warren Lee need with money, anyway?
Someone should teach him a lesson about minding his own business. In fact, a few other people in this town might be due for lessons, too.
It could be done, taking Lee down. But he might not be able to do it soon enough to meet the deadline. Which meant he had to have a plan B.
Coming up with the money and using it to pay off Warren Lee long enough to get him alone and take him down. That was plan B.
He knew of only one way. That way both thrilled him and terrified him.
He’d have to hold a very special auction, where the potential gains could be huge.
But where all restrictions were off.
Stacey probably should have gone into work on Sunday, but after the week she’d had, and mindful of her promise to Dean to keep her head down until she heard from him, she didn’t. Instead, she drove out to her dad’s, gave him a carefully edited version of the news, and helped him bury Lady’s body. God, how it hurt to see the sadness in his eyes.
Stacey hadn’t kept a secret from her father in years, and she hated to start now. But causing him pain, and making him fear for her, would be much worse.
Afterward, she drove back to town, focusing her thoughts on the one case she could investigate. She’d promised Dean she wouldn’t do anything involving the Reaper case. But she hadn’t promised not to try to find out what had happened to Lady.
She desperately wanted to know which sick bastard had slaughtered that poor, sweet dog.
It occurred to her for only a moment that the cases were connected. Psychos like the Reaper didn’t waste time scaring off small-town sheriffs with sick pranks. Even Dean had realized that right away. Whoever had done it probably hadn’t even intended to scare her. He’d just wanted to hurt her. To pay her back for something. To call her a bitch and to underscore the point as graphically as possible.