Heartbreaker (Buchanan-Renard #1)

Heartbreaker (Buchanan-Renard #1) Page 9

He didn’t miss a beat. “When you brush your teeth, I’ll squeeze the toothpaste.”

Once again he switched back to the topic of her past. “Eleven months later you were on the cover of one of those fashion magazines, and when Tommy showed it to me, I couldn’t believe it was the same scrawny little kid with skinned knees.”

He was giving her a compliment, but she didn’t know how to respond, and so she said nothing at all.

“You and I are going to be inseparable,” he said.

“Do you mean that first thing in the morning you’ll be standing on my doorstep before I’ve even gotten dressed for the day?”

“No, that isn’t what I mean. I’ll be getting dressed with you. What side of the bed do you sleep on?”

“I beg your pardon?” He repeated the question.

“The right side.”

“Then I’m on the left.”

“Are you joking?”

“About the bed? Yeah, I am. But I’m going to do whatever is necessary to keep you safe. I’m going to blatantly invade your privacy, and you’re going to let me.”

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes.”

“What happens when I take a shower?”

“I’ll hand you the soap.”

“Now I know you’re joking.”

“Laurant, I’m going to be close enough to scrub your back. That’s just the way it has to be. You need to understand that I’m going to be the first thing you see in the morning and the last thing you look at before you close your eyes at night. You and I are in this together.”

“But if you’re spending all your time with me, how are you going to catch him?”

“I work for a powerful organization, Laurant, remember? They’re already investigating. Leave it to us to catch him. It’s what we’re trained to do.”

She rested her chin in the palm of her hand. She didn’t say a word for a long minute, and then she straightened up again and looked him right in the eyes.

“I won’t let him scare me. I want to help. I promise I won’t do anything stupid,” she hastened to add. “No, I’m not scared now. Just angry. Furious, in fact, but not scared.”

“You should be scared. Fear will keep you coiled, focused, on your toes.”

“But it can also paralyze, and I won’t let it paralyze me,” she assured him. “This man . . . this monster,” she corrected, “tells my brother how much fun he had torturing and killing a poor, innocent woman, and then he tells him the craving’s come back and that he’s chosen me for his next amusement. He’s so clever, he knows Tommy wants to see his face, so he waits for him to come outside the confessional and then he hits him on the back of the head. He could have killed him.”

“He didn’t want to kill him or he would have,” Nick said quietly. “He’s using Tommy as his messenger now.” He saw the look that crossed her face and immediately sought to reassure her. “Don’t worry about your brother. We’re going to keep him safe too.”

“Night and day,” she demanded.

“Of course,” he agreed.

She nodded. “Doesn’t it seem to you that this man is calling all the shots now? He tells Tommy to notify you and make you take me away and then maybe he won’t follow. And my brother wants to do just that. Hide me.”

“Of course he wants to hide you. He loves you and he doesn’t want anything to happen to you.”

She rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “I know,” she said. “And I would probably react the very same way.”

“But?”

“I know my brother, and right now he’s in agony worrying about something else that man said to him in the confessional that neither you nor Tommy has mentioned in front of me.”

“What’s that?”

“He told Tommy he would try to find someone else to amuse himself with.” Her voice shook as she continued. “For whatever reason, he decided to warn me so I could get away, but this other woman won’t have any warning, will she?”

“No, she probably won’t,” he agreed. “But you’ve got to—”

She interrupted him. “Running away isn’t an option. I’m not going to give anyone that kind of power over me. I won’t be scared.”

“I think we should discuss this later, after Pete’s had time to go over the tape with the profiler.”

Nick tried to get up from the table, but Laurant grabbed hold of his hand. She didn’t want to wait. “I know that you must have some theories. I want to hear them. I need information, Nick. I don’t want to feel powerless, and right this minute that’s exactly how I feel.”

His eyes bored into hers for several seconds before he made up his mind. Then he nodded. “All right, I’ll tell you what we know. To begin with, my superior, Dr. Peter Morganstern, already has listened to a copy of the tape. He’s a psychiatrist who heads my department and he’s the best there is. If anyone can get into this creep’s mind, he can. Just remember, Pete hasn’t had time to sit down and analyze every word.”

“I understand.”

“Good. First, let’s talk facts. The most important fact is that this wasn’t random. You were specifically chosen.”

“Do you know why?”

“We know he chose you because he’s . . . dedicated . . . to you,” he said, searching for the right word.

“What does that mean?” she asked impatiently.

“It means you’ve got a fan. It’s what we call them . . . fans.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. I’m not a movie star or a celebrity. I’m just an average person.”

“Look in the mirror, Laurant. There isn’t anything average about you. You’re beautiful. He thinks you’re beautiful.” He hurried on before she could interrupt. “And most victims these guys select aren’t high profile.”

She took a breath and then said, “Go on. I need to know exactly what I’m up against. You aren’t scaring me,” she added so he wouldn’t continue to choose his words so carefully. “I want to know everything so I can fight back, and by God, I am going to fight back.”

“Okay, here’s what he’s telling us. He’s been stalking you for a long time now. He knows everything about you. Everything. He knows what kind of perfume you wear, what your favorite foods are, what kind of detergent you use in your laundry, what books you read, what your sex life is like, what you do every minute of every day. He wants us to know that he’s been inside your house at least a couple of times, but probably more. He sat in your chairs, he ate your food, and he went through your drawers. It’s his way of getting to know you,” he explained. “He’s probably taken something from your underwear drawer to keep, something you wouldn’t miss right away. Think about it, and you’ll remember some old nightgown or T-shirt that you haven’t been able to find lately. The garment has to be something you wear close to your skin.”

“Why?” she asked, shaken by Nick’s description of the man he called a fan. She didn’t want to believe that anyone had gone through her house uninvited and searched through her things, and the thought that she was being watched made her skin crawl.

“It has to have your scent on it,” he explained. “It makes him feel closer to you. Whatever it is, he’s sleeping with it,” he added, remembering the man’s words about wrapping himself in her fragrance.

“Anything else?” she asked, surprised at how normal she sounded.

“Yeah,” he said. “He’s watched you sleep.”

“No, I would have known,” she cried out.

He tapped the cassette player. “It’s all there.”

“What if I had opened my eyes . . . what if I woke up and saw him?”

“That’s what he wants you to do,” he said. “But not yet. He’d be upset if you forced him to hurt you now.”

“Why?”

“You’d be speeding up his agenda.”

“Go on. I’m not scared,” she reiterated.

“What I just told you . . . that’s what he wants us to know. Here’s what we’re theorizing at this point. He lives in Holy Oaks, and he’s someone you come into contact with all the time, maybe even on a daily basis. You’re friendly with him, but like I said before, he’s reading all sorts of other messages. Pete says he’s in the adoration stage. That means he thinks you’re pretty damned perfect, and he wants to protect you. The guy’s obsessing now, and he’s clearly at war with himself. He wants us to believe he is anyway. He might genuinely like you, Laurant, and in that case he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he knows he’s going to because no matter what you do, you’re going to disappoint him. In his mind, there’s no way you can live up to his expectations—he’ll make sure of that—and there’s no way you can win.”

“You said he’s in the adoration stage but that’s going to change. When do you think it will happen?”

“Are you asking me how soon? I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I don’t think we’ll have to wait long. You could already be . . . tarnishing . . . in his mind. Look, he’s got to find something wrong with you so he can feel betrayed. Maybe it will be the way you smile. All of a sudden, he’s going to think you’re mocking him, or maybe he’ll believe you’re coming on to some other man. That would definitely enrage him. He’d like us to think he’s tormented. Remember, he promised Tommy that if you ran away from him, he might not follow you. But he also boasted that he is brilliant and that he wants more of a challenge.”

“Maybe he’ll get tired of this . . . obsession.”

“He isn’t going to go away.” Nick’s voice had a sharp edge now. “The fantasy’s controlling him. He can’t stop. It’s a cat-and-mouse game to him, and you’re the mouse. He likes the hunt. The more challenging it is, the more fun. The game won’t be over until you have begged for mercy.”

He leaned forward and studied her closely. “Well, Laurant? Are you scared yet?”

CHAPTER 7

What a delightful time he’d had toying with the priest. Delightful indeed. He really hadn’t expected that he would have so much fun, because he’d learned from past experiences that sometimes the buildup—the planning stage in his schedule, as he liked to call it—turned out to be far more rewarding than the actual event—like when he was a boy and he was building his fort in the backyard. The joy was in the anticipation for what he was going to do inside his isolated cocoon where no one could spy on him. Oh, he’d spend hours and hours getting ready, a busy little beaver sharpening the kitchen knives and scissors he’d stolen from his mother’s drawer, and meticulously preparing the burial sites for the animals he’d trapped and caged. The killings always turned out to be anticlimactic though. The animals never squealed enough to satisfy him. But in this instance, good old Tommy boy hadn’t let him down. No, no, he hadn’t been disappointed in the priest at all.

As he was driving down the highway, he replayed the conversation in his head over and over again until he was laughing out loud and tears were streaming down his face. There wasn’t anyone around, and so he could be as loud and raucous as he wanted to be, but then, come to think of it, he could pretty much do whatever he wanted to do these days, anytime, anywhere, as long as he was careful. Just ask pretty little Millicent. Oh, nope, you couldn’t do that. No, sirree.

Father Tom’s tortured cry when he realized the next victim was none other than his precious sister kept echoing in his mind. “My Laurant?” the priest had shouted.

“My Laurant?” he mockingly imitated. Priceless. Really priceless.

It was a pity he had had to leave so abruptly. He would have enjoyed tormenting Tommy a bit longer, but there simply hadn’t been time, what with all those wasted minutes spent on that nonsense about not being able to tell anyone what had been said inside the confessional, even after he’d given him permission. By God, he’d ordered him to tell. It hadn’t made any difference to the priest though. No, sirree. It hadn’t. Oh, he’d known about the church’s precious regulations guarding their sacraments—he always did his homework—but he’d misjudged Tommy because he hadn’t counted on him being such a stickler for the rules. Who would have thought the priest would be so stubborn, when spilling the beans would save his own sister’s hide? Who would have thought? A priest who wasn’t morally bankrupt. My, oh my, what a dilemma that turned out to be. Had he been an ordinary man, his plans would have been ruined, and he would have had to start over again. But he wasn’t ordinary. No, no, of course not. He was brilliant, and he had, therefore, anticipated every possibility. He’d almost blurted out, right there in the confessional, that he was taping the conversation, but he’d decided to let Tommy be surprised. He had hoped he wouldn’t have to share the tape though, not yet anyway. It would be added to his impressive and certainly eclectic collection. Millie’s tape was getting plumb worn out. Some insomniacs listened to the soothing sounds of the ocean or gentle rainfall when they went to bed; he listened to Millie’s sweet voice.

The priest had forced his hand with that stupid confession rule, and the only way to get around it had been to break the rule himself by letting the police have a copy of the tape. Always thinking ahead, that was the ticket. One quick trip to Super Sid’s Warehouse to pick up a three-pack of blank cassettes, a couple of manila envelopes, and he had taken care of the problem.

He would not allow anyone or anything to interfere with his schedule, which was why he always had an alternative plan of action in mind. Anticipate and respond. That was the key.

He let out a loud yawn. There was so much to do in preparation, and because he was meticulous to a fault in everything he did, he needed every single minute of the next couple of weeks to get ready for his own special Fourth of July celebration.

It promised to be . . . explosive.

Now he was on his way to St. Louis, thanks to his helpful friend, the Internet. What a wondrous invention that was. The perfect accomplice. It never whined, complained, cried, or demanded. And he didn’t have to waste precious time training it. It was like a well-paid whore, giving him what he wanted, when he wanted it. No questions asked.