Chapter Thirty-One
Sliding into consciousness, River bit back a moan. Damn. The back of his head throbbed like a bitch where some asshole had bludgeoned him. He shifted his hand, intent on checking the damage to his skull, but he couldn’t move his arm. Aw, hell. The bastard had tied him to a chair. Instinct cautioned him to remain still. No sense alerting the psychopath I’m awake. The games’ll just start that much sooner. After seeing the blood-smeared floors, River wasn’t anxious to play.
Cracking his eyelids, he risked a glimpse of his surroundings through his eyelashes.
Vicki sat strapped to a chair half a dozen paces away, the rope cutting into her arms, her legs secured together at her ankles. Unconscious, she sat slumped forward, her thick blonde hair covering her face. Blood matted a swath of her tresses. Did the bastard hit her on the head, too? He clenched his jaw. Why the hell did I think bringing her to the crime scene was such a good idea?
Between them lay the bloodied waitress, her wavy red hair fanned out creating a halo. He scanned her mutilated body, searching for any sign of life. When her chest moved with the slightest breath, hope surged through him.
He cut his eyes toward the front of the house. Anger and fear twisted and rolled, a tangle of barbed wire in his gut. Where’s the damn ambulance? Where the hell is Dauscher?
River tested the ropes holding him captive. The coarse braid cut into his skin with each move. Shit. The asshole trussed me up like a damn calf at a rodeo.
He gave the room a furtive scan. At the rear of the house, a couch and loveseat sat in front of a bank of picture windows that reflected the interior, but during the day would’ve revealed the marsh beyond. The French doors opening onto the deck had a piece of cardboard taped over the broken pane where the killer had broken in the first time. Craning his aching neck, River caught sight of an immense bookcase behind him. To his left, the kitchen and bar.
Something on top of the granite countertop snagged his attention. River leaned forward for a better view and gritted his teeth. Damn it. His Glock rested on the counter half a dozen feet away. The asshole had not only disarmed him but also left his weapon in plain sight as a taunt. Close enough to see but too far to reach.
Positioned at the opposite end of the bar sat an oval yellow vase with a spray of white lilies. His pulse skittered. What the…? He squinted in disbelief. Yellow oval. The next symbol Vicki said she’d seen in her vision. His brain worked to make sense of what was clearly not coincidence. Well, hell. According to her, I still have a black spiral and a bright gray circle before the big, bad, pointed capital D kicks my ass. At this rate, I guess I’m not destined to win the lottery and retire on a tropical island.
A slight movement brought his focus back to Vicki. Her finger twitched against the chair’s curved armrest.
“Vicki,” he whispered, and she moaned in response. “No. Shh. You’ve got to be quiet.”
A strange clicking sound came from the room behind her. His gaze darted toward the doorway to what appeared to be a formal dining room. Dim shadows danced over the back wall.
Click.
More light emerged. He narrowed his eyes. Is the bastard lighting candles?
On the large bank of windows, light and shadow writhed. Squinting, he tilted his head, but a lamp stood between him and the reflections on the glass, obscuring his view of the killer’s activities. The movements he could see were deft, indicating the killer prepared for something monstrous.
A soft whimper slipped through Vicki’s lips.
“Shh.” Icy tendrils of dread curled around the knots in his gut and squeezed. He glanced toward the dining doorway. The room beyond blazed with light.
The shadows on the back wall shifted. River sucked in a hasty breath. Oh, shit. He’s coming.
Dropping his chin to his chest, he forced himself to relax. Even so, every sense, every nerve stood on high alert. His heart pounded so hard it seemed his entire body jerked with each beat. Trussed up the way he was, if the bastard wanted to kill him, there wasn’t a damn thing River could do to stop him. Sorry, cowardly son of a bitch.
With the stealth of a panther, the killer padded into the room, his movements fluid and assured. He strode to Vicki, and River tensed, anger at his inability to protect her raging through him. The dark-haired monster reached out, drove his filthy fingers into her golden locks, and yanked her head up. Leaning over, he scanned her soft, angelic face.
River stared through slitted eyes and surprise streaked through him. The murderer wasn’t Matthew as he’d suspected. The guy across from him was too young. But there was something familiar about him. The dark hair. The long fingers. The wiry build. He’d seen him before—he rarely forgot a face. But where?
With a snort, the killer released Vicki’s hair, letting her head drop back to her chest. A small shudder of relief passed through River. She would remain safe a little while longer.
Pivoting, the guy stepped over the dying waitress and stood at River’s side. He leaned down. River fought to remain limp as hot breath wisped across his cheek. It would be so easy to turn his head and bite off the killer’s nose or take a chunk out of his cheek. But then what? Ropes still bound him to the chair.
Fingers grasped his hair, jerked his head up. River let his eyes fall closed and focused on keeping his breath even.
“Still out?”
A hand swatted his cheek twice, but he remained passive.
“Damn shame.” The killer released River’s head and stepped back. “We’re gonna have us some fun. Yessiree. But I can’t wait for you to come ’round, Riv. There’s work to be done.”
A chill skittered down his spine. The killer knows me.
As a copycat, the guy would know almost everything about the Valentine Killer. The details were what made his emulations work for him, what tripped his trigger. He would know River worked lead on the investigation.
But his voice. The cadence of his words. A definite Texan drawl. His skin crawled at the idea the guy originated from somewhere near Austin. He peeked through his lashes, trying to catch a glimpse.
The killer reached down, grabbed the waitress’s wrists, and dragged her across the floor. A thick trail of blood remained. River’s stomach turned. He’d seen firsthand the Valentine’s handiwork, and this son of a bitch planned to recreate it to a T. Thank God the redhead was unconscious.
The bastard took her into the dining room. Candlelight shadowed his movements as he lifted her. The sound of ropes snaking around wood told River he’d tied her to the table.
Her feet. God. Red-enameled toenails. Heels sitting on top of the dining table. Blood-smeared feet.
He swallowed the acid rising in his throat. The rest of her lay thankfully hidden behind the partition wall. But his gaze remained riveted to those feet. He didn’t want to watch, didn’t want to know, but someone needed to witness the last moments of the waitress’s life.
The killer spoke. Syllables floated from the dining room, the rhythm hypnotic. River strained to make sense of the garbled sound then realized there wasn’t a distortion. The words were a foreign language.
With all the satanic markings surrounding the case, it’d been theorized Latin verbiage had been used in the rituals. At the time, River had dismissed the idea without a second thought. Spells spoken in Latin? Hooey. It was all just window dressing used in conjunction with murder.
He’d been wrong. Details. The copycat believed otherwise.
But how did he learn all of those details, nuances? The skin on River’s arms prickled with a new consideration. Did the bastard work the case, too?
He thought back to those eighteen months in Austin, of all the people who’d been involved in the case. It’s possible this guy was at every crime scene, working in the background. Might be why he seems so familiar. Hell, my own partner turned out to be the Valentine Killer, and I didn’t have a clue. What makes me think I’d notice a paramedic or a—
The killer moved into the dining room doorway.
Or a coroner’s assistant.
River’s jaw clenched, his molars grinding together. Holy shit. The coroner’s assistant? The new kid who fainted, dropping Kent’s dead body?
A cruel smile twisted Jamie Bennett’s lips. “You’re awake.”