Bitten by Cupid (22 page)

Damn. All she’d wanted was a freelance job.

“Thanks,” she managed, as he held her coat for her.

She slid into it, belting it at the waist and searching the crowd for the face that went with those horrible thoughts. It was her. The killer had definitely targeted her. There wasn’t another woman wearing a pink scarf in the whole place. The blood fled her face as she stepped out into the cold.

Maybe Adrian’s walking her out was a good thing. She could read his thoughts once they were out of the din of the café.

“I’m taking the subway,” she said, nodding toward the entrance from where she’d come.

“I’ll walk you. It’ll give us a chance to talk more.”

She took one last look inside the café. Owen was watching them, that flat look on his face.

“Your business partner is your childhood friend, right?” she asked.

Out in the sun, she could see faint freckles across Adrian’s nose and cheeks. It was somehow endearing on such a rugged guy.

“Since third grade.”

She wanted to know more about why he’d been so determined to bring her on board. Not to hear accolades about her writing. In the small magazine she’d been published in recently, they always ran her picture. She didn’t want to think Adrian had fixated on her, really didn’t want to consider that he might be Kiss and Kill Cupid.

“It’s hard to imagine. You and he are so different.”

She tried to tune in to his thoughts between their banter. Nothing.

“I guess that’s what makes our friendship and the magazine work. He’s the analytical, business type. I’m the adventurer.”

She gave him a lopsided grin. “Beauty and the Brain.”

He rolled his eyes. “The write-up I’ll never live down.”

She found herself laughing at his chagrined expression. “But great publicity, you have to admit.” Of course, it would help if she wasn’t wishing he’d gone ahead and done that nude layout.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of the city: a hot dog vendor on the corner, spicy Indian food wafting from a restaurant, and cologne that smelled familiar. She picked up the random thoughts of passersby: to-do lists, the kind of mundane stuff she was surprised to find muddled most people’s minds a lot of the time.

Except…nothing from Adrian.

She paused as she reached the entrance and turned to him. “Thanks for accompanying me.”
Thank goodness, not a trip or stumble.

“My pleasure. Call me when you’ve got the articles ready.” He held out his hand, and when she shook it, hers became lost in that gentle grip. She imagined herself enfolded in his strong arms, her body against his, feeling completely protected, safe, and…she pushed away her own intrusive thoughts and focused on his.

But no. Absolutely nothing coming from him. She realized she was still shaking his hand and let go. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch soon.”

“The sooner, the better.” At her surprised look, he added, “I’d like to start working together for the next issue.”

She nodded, still stunned she could hear nothing from him. Was it a fluke? Or was he the only person whose thoughts she couldn’t hear? She needed more time with him to be sure.

Chapter Two

Once Kristy got on the subway, her mind started racing. She’d put in her earbuds and cranked the tunes. She had enough to deal with, like her own whirlwind of thoughts. The man sitting across from her with a wide berth around him talking to himself…she did
not
want to hear what was going on in his head.

She’d spent one scary week with people like that. Just before the whole thought-hearing thing started, Kristy had been trying to prove to her younger brother that she wasn’t afraid to climb the big oak tree at the park. When she’d reached the top and raised her arms in triumph, she lost her balance and fell. She wasn’t hurt, but they had a mother who ran her two children to the doctor at the slightest sniffle.

The doctor confirmed that her brain was fine. Then she’d started hearing voices. After seeing numerous doctors, she’d been taken to a psychiatric facility. It scared her to think she was going crazy. She’d been evaluated, questioned, and while she’d waited in that terrible place, she’d heard real craziness. The patients lived in a haze of paranoia and nonsense. Then she could hear the doctors’ thoughts about the patients. That was when she’d realized she was hearing their thoughts.

She sat on the hard plastic bench on the train and thought about what to do. At least she knew what was going to happen. She could prepare for it, protect herself. Not like those other women she remembered seeing in the news. Not like her friend Patsy in college. If he couldn’t get to her, though, would he abort his plan for the year? No, he would find another victim. No way could she let that happen. She had to go to the police and convince them she wasn’t nuts. Yeah, that was going to be easy.

Do it for Patsy.

She got off at the next subway stop and got back on to return to the stop close to the coffee shop. She found the nearest police station and asked to see an officer. Detective Jake Voigt came out to fetch her. He was good-looking, with short, brown hair, probably in his early thirties. Though he was clean-shaven, his weary eyes and crooked tie made him look as though he had been working twenty-four hours straight.

“You’re working the Kiss and Kill Cupid case?” she asked, just to make sure.

“One of a few. You have information?”

She nodded. “I’m going to be the next victim.”

He blinked at that. “You’d better come on back.”

She followed him into a large area filled with desks and people and thoughts. Her chest got tighter with each step. She’d envisioned talking to the detective in an office or interview room, but he led her to one of those desks and nodded for her to take the plastic chair beside it.

He sat down. “What makes you think you’re going to be the next victim, Ms….?”

“Morgan. Kristy Morgan.” She looked up, a slight grimace on her face. “You’re going to find this a bit, uh, hard to believe. And I don’t blame you, but please hear me out. I can hear people’s thoughts.”

It was hard to hear any particular thought, but she was pretty sure she heard one of his:
Oh
,
brother. Another loony.

“I am
not
a loony.” She softened her tone with a smile. Hotly denying it wasn’t going to help make her case. She was still sensitive about it, even after all these years. It didn’t help that her parents treated her with kid gloves even though she’d long ago lied and told them she didn’t hear voices anymore. “See, I knew you thought I was a loony.”

He raised one eyebrow. “That’s not a stretch.”

“I can prove it. Think of something.”

I don’t have time for this.

She gave him a shocked look. “You don’t have time to catch the killer?”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t look convinced. “I don’t have time for this weird stuff. Do you know how many psychics have come in to give me
clues
?” He did finger quotes on that last word.

“A lot?” she guessed. “But I’m not a psychic. I’m a target, and you can use me to catch him.”

He released a soft breath. “Tell me what you came here to say.”

“I was at a coffee shop four blocks from here and heard someone thinking I would make a great next victim. He commented on my hair and on my scarf.” She fingered her scarf but quickly released it.

“So I suppose you want us to put you under protective custody.” He didn’t look like he was going to do that anytime soon.

“No. I can take care of myself, lock myself in my apartment with my finger on the 9 on the phone and a kitchen knife in my other hand. What I’m concerned about is the next victim. And the next. I had a friend who was murdered. Raped. Left naked and bloody in her dorm room. The murderer was never found.” She swallowed the hitch she felt in her throat. “I want you to use me as a decoy, put me under surveillance, and catch this guy.”

He leaned forward. “What am I thinking now?”

She tried to focus in on just one thought, but there were so many. “That you don’t believe me.”

“Wow, you
can
read minds.” He feigned surprise and wonder. “Look, we can’t assign men to watch your place because you…heard the killer’s thoughts.” He shook his head. “Yeah, I can see the captain going for that.”

“If you have a chance to get this guy, keep him from killing someone else…please, you have to.”

“We are doing everything we can, ma’am. We’ve got leads, normal, sane, logical leads—”

“You have leads?”

A man about her age interjected himself into their conversation. He had a shock of blondish brown hair that fell into his eyes and a face that reminded her of a petulant five-year-old.

Voigt rolled his eyes with a loud exhale. “No comment.”

“Look, if you’ve got a suspect, people have a right to know.” He flung his hand out, indicating the world at large and nearly smacking Kristy in the face. “They’re scared out there. There are only three days until Valentine’s Day, and they know he’s planning his next murder.”

“They’re scared because you’re stirring them up.” Voigt stared at the man, whose fierce passion didn’t waver in that withering look. “I have nothing to say to you. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I came to talk to Detective Frank, and he didn’t say a word about having any leads. Imagine that.”

“I’d better not read a damned thing about us having a suspect in that rag of yours.”

The man perked up. “I’m honored you read my articles.”

“Now go away.” Voigt pointed, and the man walked away, glancing back every few seconds. He turned back to her. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can’t help you. If you hear voices, there are people who
can
help.”

She pushed to her feet and turned on her blue heel, muttering, “You knew it would be this way. You shouldn’t be surprised.” But she’d had to take the chance she would get, perhaps, someone enlightened or open-minded. She looked around. Maybe one of these men would help. No, not a one of them looked any more open-minded than Voigt.

The young man who’d butted in was still in the lobby. He eyed her as soon as she entered and opened the door for her. As it turned out, it wasn’t for any chivalrous reason.

“The detective said something about them not being able to watch your place, that you heard the killer.”

She eyed him warily. How much had he heard? She paused outside the lights of the police station, not wanting to continue the conversation while walking farther away from safety. “Who are you?”

He held out his hand. “Dale Soza. Maybe you’ve heard of me?” He looked like he really, really wanted her to have heard of him.

“Sorry, no.” She couldn’t ignore his outstretched hand and gave in by shaking it halfheartedly. Not her style, but she wasn’t sure what this guy was about.

“I write for the
New York News.
It’s going to be as big as the
New York Times
someday. I’ve covered the Kiss and Kill Cupid story since the first murder. He obviously didn’t believe you. If you know something that can help this case, try me.”

Oh, great. If she told him anything—if he’d overheard more than he was letting on—she was going to be in the paper as a freak. There would go her career. And her potential new assignment. The thought of not working with Adrian made it all the worse, despite her conflicts.

Dale handed her a business card. “I’m legit, if that’s what you’re worried about. Look me up online. You’ll see all my bylines.”

“No, it’s just that…I don’t really know anything. I thought I overheard something, but I was probably wrong. Excuse me, I have to get going.”

He grabbed at her arm as she began to pull away. “Sorry,” he said, pulling back just as quickly. He walked closer, looking at her, standing too close for comfort. “I know you think I want information because I want to break the big story. And I do, of course. But I want this guy put away.” He fisted his hand. “I want to bring him down. I’ve talked to the victims’ families. I’ve seen their tears. Felt their pain. I’m supposed to be unbiased, uninvolved. But I can’t detach like that. So if you know anything, anything at all that will help, tell me. I’ll believe you.”

“I don’t. Really, I don’t.”

She tuned into his thoughts, wondering if she could believe his earnestness.

I know she knows something. If only I could get her to trust me. I could crack this case. I wonder if she knows she has lipstick on her front teeth.

She couldn’t help herself. She rubbed at her teeth as she said, “I’ve got to get going.” She walked away, relieved he hadn’t followed. For the first time since she’d moved to the city, she felt afraid. Paranoid. She watched all around her. Of course, she knew always to be aware of her surroundings. As a city girl, she’d learned to walk confidently and not look afraid while using her instincts and common sense.

Her instincts told her someone was watching her. So did the churn of her stomach and the prickle of ice across her skin. She turned, knowing she was giving away her fear. People walked by, minding their business as usual. One was rarely alone in the city, but just then she felt very alone.

Adrian came to mind. Big, muscular Adrian.

“Who might be the killer.”

She doubted that, but she wasn’t sure why she doubted it. Maybe because she didn’t want him to be, which wasn’t a good reason. She breathed a sigh of relief when she walked into the apartment she shared with another woman, who, thankfully, worked nights. She closed her eyes and breathed in the silence for a moment.

Between Kristy’s travel and Berta’s work schedule and boyfriend, the two rarely saw each other. What Kristy wanted was a place of her own, and with a regular and lucrative assignment, she could swing that.

“If you don’t mess it up by getting involved with your potential boss.”

She dropped down on the couch but sprang up a minute later. No way could she relax. She got onto her laptop and pulled up Dale’s articles on Kiss and Kill Cupid. She read in horrifying detail about the murdered women. Cupid had strangled the last one while her boyfriend slept right next to her. Fear mounted inside Kristy with each gory detail. The killer was cunning and bold and, as the article quoted the police as saying, escalating. He never raped his victims, but there was evidence he tortured them sexually. He strangled them and left his creepy message across their bodies.