Dark Pursuit

Kaitlan had experienced way too much deceit in the past. She knew it could look you in the face and swear it was one thing when it was totally another. Hadn’t she manipulated enough people herself?

But Craig couldn’t be so deeply deceptive. Never him.

She needed to call 911.

Kaitlan retrieved her phone once more and stared at the keypad. She clutched the cell until her knuckles went white. In her mind rose Chief Russ Barlow’s wide, flat-nosed face—on the day they’d first met.

“So you’re Kaitlan.” The chief had slapped a protective hand on his son’s shoulder. “Craig’s told me a lot about you.”

Kaitlan flicked a nervous look at Craig. Just how much? “He’s told me a lot about you, too, sir. Good things.”

“Well.” Chief Barlow had given her a half smile that somehow managed to chill her. “Be good to my son now, hear? I’m watching out for him.”

Kaitlan bit her lip. How could she call 911 now? She’d just lied to a police officer. How to explain that? And what would they say when she tried to tell them Craig had been here?

If he really did this, no one would ever believe her.

She threw a glance over her shoulder, as if the dead body might lurch through the doorway any minute. Craig could be patrolling—close. What if he was on his way back here right now?

Panic took over her body. She had to get out of here.

Kaitlan threw the cell in her purse, shoved to her feet, and ran for the door. There she pulled up short. Eased the door open and stuck her head out. Checked right and left.

No one.

Heart slamming around in her chest, Kaitlan slipped outside and into her car. She started the engine, thrust the car in reverse to turn around, and flew down the driveway.

Two minutes later she was headed up Freeway 280, on the run to nowhere. Who could she possibly go to for help?

Images of the woman’s silently screaming face pulsed in her head.

She’d left a body in her apartment. She should call 911.

But—Craig. His pen on her floor. His detailed knowledge of the previous murders. The black silk fabric with green stripes.

Craig and his strange phone call. Craig and his continual intense focus on that suspense manuscript of his. Writing scenes about his fictional killer in first person …

Manuscript. The word shot light through Kaitlan’s dimmed brain.

There was one place she could go.

Kaitlan blinked at her surroundings. She wasn’t that far. In fact she’d automatically headed north from her apartment, as if in her subconscious she already knew. North toward the one person who had spent his life immersed in crime, who could see through this horrific puzzle and tell her what to do.

If he didn’t meet her on his porch with a shotgun.

OBSESSION

five

She died so easily.

Sure she fought. And I had a time getting her where I wanted. But when it comes right down to choking the life out of them, I’ve learned something. The line between death and life—that final breath—is painfully thin.

Frightening, this reality.

As before, the days leading up to it were intense. I was going about my business, then wham. Days ago the fabric called to me once more. It called with a need—no, a yearning. Reached deep down in the pit of me, rattling my chains.

This time I knew it would be different. And I couldn’t ignore it for long.

The call never comes at a good time. As if the fabric cares I have enough worries already. Family, friends, job. It seems to feed on these things, my daily challenges a sugar-water IV into its vein.

The yearning wouldn’t die. I wanted to break something.

Where did this thing inside me come from?

The killers in movies are too self-assured. Too well informed. They all seem to understand the “why.”

I understand nothing.

Logistical concerns terrify me. All the forensic details. DNA and fingerprints. A certain rare leaf stuck in my shoe. Victim’s hair on my shirt. These things can convict you. Send you to jail for life. Or death.

I should know.

In the past few days the yearning became unbearable. I would explode if I did not let it out.

When I was a kid I caught the end of my finger in a collapsible chair. It hurt so bad I thought I was going out of my mind. My mom finally took me to the doctor. He punctured a hole in my fingernail. Instantly all the pressure from the swelling was released. It was amazing. The pain went away so fast. I could function. I could breathe.

And that, you see, is what killing is like. A heart-swelling, mind-blowing relief. I can breathe again.

Usually.

But not this time.

six

Kaitlan exited Freeway 280 onto Highway 92 west. She drove over the reservoir and wound up into the mountains. At Highway 35 she turned left and within a half-mile came to her grandfather’s long private driveway. Guarding it was the heavy black gate she knew so well—a symbol of what her grandfather had become. Removed from the world. Not needing anybody.

During the drive she’d tried to convince herself Craig knew nothing about the murder.