Free Die for Me: A Novel of the Valentine Killer by Cynthia Eden Page B

princess, but he knew the ice was just on the surface. And the ice was cracking.
    He could also see the pain in her eyes. Hear it in her voice. The jerk from the bureau had pushed her too much. Stirred memories that had ripped into her.
    I should have ripped into him
.
    When women were hurt in any way, his protective instincts became difficult to control.
    “I’ve studied serial killers.” Katherine’s confession was hushed.
    Dane glanced at Mac and saw that his partner had lifted his brows.
    “When you realize you’ve been sleeping with one, you’ll do anything to make sure you never get fooled again.”
    He had to unclench his fingers from the edge of the table.
Sleeping with one.
A surge of jealousy caught him by surprise.
    “In some ways, I think he was like Bundy,” she said. “So charming on the surface. So smooth. He always seemed to know just what to say or do in order to put people at ease.”
    That must have been how he’d lured in his prey. Back in Boston, he’d killed four women in all. Four women they knew about. Three before he met Katelynn Crenshaw, one after.
    Her breath whispered out. “He told me once that I was his chance to be better.” She looked down at her hands. “Valentine was a gifted artist. He could paint anything, sculpt anything. He could create so much beauty with his hands, but he seemed to be drawn to death.” Her gaze rose once more. “That’s why the marks with his knife were so precise. Not because he was a surgeon, which is what the cops in Boston first thought when they discovered the bodies, but because he was an artist.”
    The dead women might have been his art. His twisted art.
    “Valentine was always punctual, never late for a date or a meeting, always well dressed, and he had perfect manners.” Katherine lifted a shoulder in a weak shrug. “Some folks would say he was obsessive-compulsive, but maybe that’s why he did such a good job of cleaning up the crime scenes.”
    “Except for the last one.” Mac finally spoke as he stirred from his position near the wall.
    “He didn’t have a chance to clean up. I came home early.” Her voice dropped. Dane saw the delicate movement of her throat as she swallowed. “And don’t you know, I’ve asked myself a thousand times, what would have happened if I’d worked later? Would I be married to him?” Her fingers were trembling as she shoved back her hair. “Would he still be killing women who could have been me?”
    Yes
.
    “Serial killers don’t just stop. I learned that.” She waved toward the interrogation mirror. “Agent Wayne, watching in there, he will tell you that. They can have dormant periods, but they never totally stop. They never stop unless they are
made
to stop.”

    Amy Evans was tied to the table. Duct tape covered her mouth. Her eyes were opening.
    Her gaze quickly filled with terror. Helplessness. Tears.
    The tears fell quickly. Behind the tape, Amy was moaning. Trying to talk. Trying to beg. Trying to plead for mercy.
    But there would be no mercy for her.
    The tip of the knife slid over her skin. The blade didn’t cut her. Not yet, anyway. There was a pattern to the kills.
    A method behind the madness.
    The method had to be followed.
    Amy had been stripped, and now the knife lifted to the middle of her chest. Carefully, still not breaking the skin, the knife eased over her flesh, creating the sloping pattern of a heart.
    Amy thrashed. Struggled to get free. She was fighting more than expected.
    “Don’t make me rush.”
    The terror deepened in Amy’s eyes.
    The tip of the blade moved toward her left arm. Sliced into Amy’s skin. Blood ran down her flesh.
    There is a method…
    Though not all murders are about madness.

    “I know why the killer chose Savannah Slater.”
    Dane had left his chair and walked around the table to Katherine’s side. At her quiet words, he tensed, then asked, “Why her?”
    Her gaze slanted toward him, then Mac. “I didn’t tell you at first because you