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Yeah. Hearing it out loud doesn’t seal the deal for me, either. But it’s all I have to work with. And I have to keep my conjectures close without giving anything personal away. I nod assuredly. “It might not be romantic at all, actually. He could think that he’s one of Bathory’s accomplices. That he’s carrying out her work in tribute. But yes, ultimately, he would believe that the Countess has true affection for him. Whether he thinks her to be dead or alive, that’s irrelevant. In his delusion, he could’ve created a conspiracy around the vampire legend. He may think she’s come back from the dead…” I trail off at Quinn’s grimace. “Look, his reasoning isn’t as important as the clear fact that he’s striving to impress someone. He probably believes that she’s been sending him secret messages, telling him how to fulfill her will.”
“Jesus,” Quinn says. He groans and turns to unlock his Crown Vic. He opens the door and lays his neatly folded coverall on the floorboard. “Can we just go get some food?” he asks, spinning to face me, his arm braced on the hood of the car. “I can’t deal with this on an empty stomach.”
So I guess he doesn’t want to hear the part where I profile the UNSUB’s next move.
At least Quinn’s looking where I want him to, and not in the one place where the answers lie. The perpetrator very well could suffer from erotomanic delusions, only it may not be the deceased Countess he’s trying to impress.
There are now too many variables I have to consider before I come to a firm conclusion—but I need a safe place to sort through them. Quinn reads me too well, and I’m shaken. I admit it. I’m the one who analyzes the killers…not the other way around. And this UNSUB is most definitely invading my head.
As I reach for the car door handle, I hear my name being called. I turn to see Avery flagging us down. We meet her away from the crowd. “What do you have?” Quinn asks.
“Hell, good to see you too, Quinn,” she remarks.
Despite my unease, I smile. I hope she has something solid; some evidence that will lead us in the right direction. I’m through being a chess piece maneuvered around a board. I want to make the next move.
She looks at me. “Got that update on the rope,” she says, and I actually hold my breath. “First of all, it’s made entirely of jute fibers. Secondly, it is handmade. But it’s the third variable that’s the kicker. The origin.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “Vienna.”
My breath expels.
Quinn looks between us, hands fisted on his waist. “Am I missing something?”
Yes, Quinn. With this case, you’re definitely missing it all. But I don’t clue him in. Instead, I focus on what I can reveal. I shift the rumpled suit under my arm and reach into my bag. Pulling out my tablet, I select the most recent eBook on my virtual shelf, then hand him the device.
“The section is already highlighted,” I tell him.
He reads aloud. “She tortured them by binding their arms with Viennese cord.”
Avery’s head jerks back, her shock evident. “Then you already have a suspect.”
Handing me back the tablet, Quinn scoffs. “Yeah we do. If you count four hundred year-old dead countesses.”
Avery looks to me for clarity, but then she holds up her hand. “You know what, not my field. You guys handle the perps.” She digs out a folder from her satchel and hands it to Quinn. To me, she says, “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of doing a bit of my own investigating. I was curious about why someone would select a specific rope from a specific country; like Vienna. It just seemed too particular.”
As Quinn flips the file open, his eyes scanning the document inside, he says, “Where did you find this?”
She beams. “The Internet. Simple search pulled it right up. Pretty strange, don’t you think? I’m not sure if it has anything to do with your case, but it seemed worth mentioning.”
Curious, I move closer to Quinn’s side and take a look at the page. “Viennese Rope Gala,” I say, and look up at her.
“It’s an annual bondage and rope fetish event. I checked it out; it’s pretty intense. For the rope enthusiast in us all.”
But her words are starting to fade as I’m drawn within myself, my mind linking aspects together. Bondage. Rope. Suspension. An image of the vic inside, hung from the ceiling, merges with memories of last night at the club. I hear Quinn’s voice, but can’t discern his words.
“Shibari,” Avery says, bringing me out of my musings, and suddenly a vise-like grip squeezes my chest as the puzzle piece rattling around my brain slides home. “It’s the main attraction, why the hardcore bondage patrons attend the event. It appears there’s a whole subculture within the bondage world centering around it.” She shrugs. “Anyway, I just thought it was interesting. It may not tie back to your UNSUB at all.”
“No, this is good, Avery,” Quinn says as he closes the file. “Some good detective work.”
She laughs. “I’ll tell the Internet you said so.” Her gaze sweeps over me, her pretty features drawing together. “Sadie, are you all right?”
I’m calling attention to myself. Don’t. I school my face into what I feel is a neutral, calm expression, even though my heart is battering my chest. Stomach acid is rising to my throat. I can only focus on my breathing; in, out. Even breaths. In, out.
“I’m fine,” I say, nodding. “I’ll look more into this. Thanks, Avery.” I start to walk away, but Quinn catches my arm.
“Where are you going? The car’s that way.” He motions in the opposite direction.
Avery saves me the interrogation by cutting in. “I hear I have a lot of work waiting for me.” She gestures toward the apartment building. “I’ll get back to you on my findings as soon as possible.”
Quinn offers her a faint smile and his thanks, then his attention is back on me. Moody hazel eyes assessing me closely. I just can’t do this right now—I can’t be here.
