Killing Fear (26 page)

Sara smiled, bit her lower lip. “This is my idea. Friday night we drive to Mexico…”

Theodore listened. And for the first time was impressed with the intellect of another human being.

He leaned over and kissed her. Spontaneously—an odd gesture for him.

Her plan just might work.

In fact, it was brilliant.

What a shame he would have to kill the person who came up with it.

“Can you drop me off at the hospice?” Carina asked Will. “Nick is there, he’ll take me home.”

Will hit the steering wheel. “It’s Patrick’s birthday.”

“You remembered.” Her smile was strained.

Will glanced at the clock. “Barely. It’s ten minutes to midnight.”

If Patrick were fully here, he’d have been part of their team. He would have used his extensive skills and easygoing manner to manage their overall security and track Glenn’s financial potential. Patrick didn’t need a committee, his mind was wired differently. He saw connections where few people saw them.

But it wasn’t just his value as a cybercop, it was Patrick’s good nature that Will missed most of all. They’d been friends, and Patrick was one of the few people Will talked to about stuff. They’d kick back, drink a few beers, shoot the breeze. Patrick had been his best friend. Will missed him.

Patrick’s life was in limbo—it had been eight months since an explosion put him in a coma—Carina was getting married, Dillon had moved to Washington…everything was changing, growing, dying, and he was just walking around doing a job.

The job certainly couldn’t keep him warm at night.

Will pulled up in front of the hospice. “I was thinking earlier that we could use Patrick about now.”

“Well, think hard on that. Maybe it’ll bring him out of never-never land.” Carina gave Will a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks. You’re not just a great partner, but a good friend.” She started to get out of the car, then paused.

“You love her.”

He didn’t have to ask who Carina was talking about. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It certainly does.”

“All that matters is that she’s safe. I said things—” he shook his head. “I was wrong.”

“Tell her.”

He laughed bitterly. “You think I haven’t tried? I’ve apologized so many times I sound like a broken record. I said I was sorry then, I said it now. Being sorry isn’t enough. I hurt her. Deeply, irrevocably hurt her.”

“Will, we’ve known each other for more than a decade. You’ve never intentionally hurt someone. You’re one of the most compassionate men I’ve ever met. I’ve teased you about your women, but the truth is, you never hurt them.”

“My track record sucks. I never—I just didn’t want to put my wife second. I couldn’t put any of them in that position again, not after Wendy.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“It was with my father.”

“You’re not your father.”

“How do I convince her to forgive me?”

“You can’t,” Carina said. “But honesty usually works.”

“I’ve been honest.”

“Have you?” Carina took his hand. “If there’s one thing that Patrick’s coma should have taught you is that life is too unpredictable to not fight for what you want. If you love her, Will, fight for her.”

He didn’t say anything. Carina was more right than he wanted to admit.

He closed his eyes and saw the dead bird again on Julia’s kitchen table. Heard Glenn’s courthouse threats. Thought about what Hans Vigo said, that Glenn would take Robin out even if it meant getting himself killed.

If Robin died, he’d never forgive himself for not at least trying to make it work. He’d never put her out of his mind. Robin had been in his thoughts—or his dreams—every night for the last seven years.

“Tell Patrick to get back to work. It’s an order,” Will said.

She smiled thinly. “Yes, sir.”

Will watched Carina walk into the hospice, the night guard letting her in. It was after hours, but being a cop opened many doors.

He started for his house. He wanted to go to Robin. He wanted to see her, talk to her, touch her.

Tell her one more time that he was sorry.

He pictured Patrick in his coma. Life was too short, too unpredictable…he hung a U-turn at the same time his cell phone vibrated.

Damn. He was off-duty, unless it was related to Glenn.

“Hooper.”

“Detective Hooper, Sergeant Fields here. There’s a 911 call at 101 Fifth Avenue, number 301.”

Will’s heart quickened.
Robin.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, exactly, but Robin McKenna—who’s on your Glenn list—called it in. Then hung up. We tried calling back, but no one answered.”

“I’m on my way.” Will hung up and dialed Mario Medina’s cell. “What happened?”

“What do you mean, what happened?”

“Robin just called 911! Where the hell are you?”

“Standing right outside her door. I’ll call you back.”

Why didn’t Robin pick up the damn phone? Oh, God, what if Glenn got to her? What if he was there right now? What if the Descario prank—the allusion in the letter that he was going to go after the former D.A.—was a diversion?

“If you touch her, I’ll kill you,” Will said under his breath.

He screeched up to Robin’s building at the same time as two patrols.

Then Mario called that she was alive.

TWENTY-THREE

When Will burst through the door, Robin had never been so relieved to see anyone. She found herself rushing to him, then she hesitated at the last minute.

What was she doing?

Will grabbed her by the arms and pulled her the final two feet. Held her so tightly that she would have protested except that he was shaking. She breathed in his all-male scent, held on to him as if she were drowning. She never wanted to let him go. She never wanted him to let her go.

Everyone else, go away. Just go away and let me be at peace. With Will…

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” Will whispered in her ear. She tried to speak, but couldn’t.

Will gently pushed her back. In his eyes was fear. Fear, concern, and something more. Something that had been there seven years ago, something she’d ignored when she walked away. Because he’d hurt her and she didn’t want to see anything else.

But he was back.

“Sit down,” he said, escorting her to the couch. “Are you okay?”

She nodded.

“How about some water? Wine?”

She shook her head. “I have some tequila in the cabinet next to the refrigerator.”

“I’ll get it,” Mario said from his perch next to the door. She’d felt like such a fool when he burst into her loft, cracking the doorjamb. She hadn’t been able to answer his shout from the hall. She’d called 911, then slid down to the floor, her chest tight. The simple act of breathing had been a chore.

You’re not helpless, Robin! Why are you acting like such a stupid, weak girl?

She swallowed, gathering her strength, her eyes on Will. “I—”

“Why didn’t you call me? I got the call from dispatch. I didn’t know—you didn’t even tell Mario. What’s the use of having a bodyguard if you don’t tell him when Glenn contacts you?”

She looked down at her hands, which were clenched in front of her, knowing she’d allowed her fear to get the best of her after she’d read the letter from Theodore.

Will knelt in front of her, took her tight fists in his hands. “Robin, I’m sorry for yelling. But listen to me.
Look
at me.”

She did, her breath catching in her lungs. “Will—” She swallowed. “I just didn’t expect it. I’m not as strong as you think I am.”

“Like hell you aren’t. You’re stronger. God, Robin, you’re the strongest woman I know. Down here”—he hit his chest—“where it matters. Who wouldn’t crack under Glenn’s scrutiny? Who wouldn’t be scared when a sociopathic killer has them in their sights? If you
weren’t
scared, then I’d worry.”

There was a knock on the door, and Mario looked through the peephole, then let in a forty-something man Robin had never met. He was shorter than Will, a tad on the pudgy side, but with a warm, handsome face and sparkling pale blue eyes framed with crow’s-feet. Attractive, in a comfortable, best friend sort of way.

Will nodded at the stranger. “Robin, this is FBI Special Agent Hans Vigo. He’s out of Quantico and helping us on this.”

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. McKenna,” Hans said, taking her hand.

She gave him a half smile.

“I called him after speaking with Mario. He’s a criminal profiler with the Feds, someone who probably understands Theodore Glenn better than anyone.”

“I don’t know about that,” Hans said. “Will had him pegged early on. But I’ll help in any way I can, and right now, we need to brainstorm and try and predict his next move.”

“Which means we need your help, Robin.”

She blanched. “Me?”

She felt trapped like a bug caught in a spider’s web, waiting, waiting, waiting for the spider to cross the web and swallow her, kicking and screaming. Devour her alive…

Then she looked at Will and drew in his strength. This was a man she could count on.

A man who’d also thought the worst of her.

But he’d always been there when she
really
needed him.

Except that one time.

“Ms. McKenna,” Hans Vigo said, “let’s sit down.”

She nodded and sat on the couch. Will sat next to her, his leg touching hers. Mario put a bottle of tequila on the coffee table with a glass, but she didn’t touch it. She was surprisingly calm.

Vigo sat on the love seat across from them, leaning forward. He put a letter on the table, obviously a photocopy, turned it so she could read it.

The letter looked exactly like the letter she received from Glenn. Except it was addressed to “William.”

She looked at Will, panic rising. “What happened?”

“He delivered a package to me as well.”

She read the letter to Will, hands shaking. She read it twice, three times.
The only time you were really scared was when you thought Robin was dead.

I will kill her.

I may leave for a while. Or not.

Hans said, “He’s trying to scare you both. Threatening Will with your death, threatening you with Will’s death.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice a squeak. She cleared her throat. “Dammit, why? Why does he care? Will and I are long in the past. It’s over and—” she stopped. What was she saying? She glanced around the room. Two cops and Mario, discreetly trying not to look at her.

Oh, God, what was she doing?

“Robin,” Will said quietly. “Robin, look at me.”

She did, lips trembling. She took a deep breath, calmer.

“I told Hans about us. He’s heard the conversation you recorded.”

“It’s not about me,” she whispered, closing her eyes, knowing she was lying as the words came out.

“Robin, don’t.”

She breathed deeply. “God, Will, they died because of me.”

“They died because of
him.
”

She shook her head. “You heard him. On the phone. Th-the letter. I—why? If only—”

“Stop!” He squeezed her hands. “Robin, stop it. Glenn is a sociopath. He enjoys hurting you. Emotionally torturing you. He wants you to feel guilty. It’s part of his game, to make you so scared you’ll do something stupid. You’re anything but stupid, Robin.”

“Why me?” She glanced from Will to the FBI agent. “Why me? You’re a criminal profiler, why does he want to hurt
me
? I never did anything to him.”

Hans answered. “You didn’t jump when he said jump. You didn’t do what he expected you to do. Somehow, you saw him for exactly who he is. That both scared him and excited him. He may have thought that initially he’d found a soul mate, someone as cold and calculating as he is. Later, he realized you simply didn’t like him; perhaps acted superior to him. That angered him, because he’s used to getting what he wants. Manipulating people. His parents. His sister. At work, friends, colleagues. But he couldn’t get to you. You didn’t react to him.”

“So it
is
my fault!”

“No!” Will exclaimed. “Dammit, Robin, if you think anyone other than Theodore Glenn is to blame, you’re letting him win.”

“He knows where I live. Why didn’t he kill me earlier?”

“He couldn’t get to you. You hired security, you have an alarm system, and we had cops out front,” Will said. “It would have been suicide for him, and he doesn’t want to die without—” He cut himself off.

“Without what?”

“Finishing everything he started.”

“Exactly,” Hans said, “and that may be his Achilles’ heel.”

“Pardon me?” Will asked.

“He’s not going to be reckless, which actually plays into our favor,” Hans said.

“Why send the letters?” Robin asked. “Why try to scare me?”

“Because he wants
you
to act recklessly.”

“He’s watching me,” Robin said. She glanced at Will, almost embarrassed to tell him, but said nonetheless, “He wrote to me from prison.”

Will was furious. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you file a complaint?”

“I burned all the letters,” she said. “After the first one, I knew they were from him. He wanted to keep me scared so I didn’t read them.” She glanced down. “But I had nightmares after every letter arrived.”

“He sent them here?” Hans asked.

“No, to the club. It’s no secret that I own it, he could have found the address online.”

“But this letter”—Hans held it up—“was delivered here.”

She nodded. “But there’s no postal mark on it. No stamp. He brought it by, put it in my mailbox.”

“Shit,” Will muttered.

Hans said, “I think it’s clear that you both are the primary target of this killer—you and Will. The way I see it, we have two options. Either you can go into federal protection, or you can help catch him.”

“No,” Will said. “Robin isn’t going to be bait.”

“Let’s go back to the beginning.”

“Read the transcripts.”

“I have. Several times.”

“So you know that Theodore Glenn stalked the women he killed. Manipulated them. Seduced them. Then he killed them.”

“Except for possibly Anna,” Hans said.

Robin jumped up. “Oh, please! Don’t tell me that Trinity convinced you that Glenn didn’t kill Anna? I can’t
believe
you’re listening to a woman who’s helping a killer. An escaped convict who killed two cops.” She looked to Will, feeling betrayed all over again when he avoided eye contact.