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1:45 P.M.
Sloane had been fighting traffic for a while now. She was very relieved to emerge from the other end of the tunnel and finally be in Manhattan. Now she just had to crawl her way up to John Jay.
Twenty minutes and two blocks later, her cell phone rang.
Using her hands-free, she answered. “Sloane Burbank.”
“When were you planning on telling me that our serial killer had broken into your house and tried out your bed?” Derek demanded without preamble.
The last thing Sloane was up for was one of Derek’s macho tirades.
“I didn’t realize I was subject to house rules,” she replied. “I handled the problem. I also made sure you got a copy of the report—which you obviously did. By the way, don’t blast Hank. I told him not to contact you. I can take care of myself—as I always have. And it’s not as if the DNA results are any great revelation. You’re the one who’s been suspicious of my stalker from the start, dead set on the fact that I’m at the heart of his crime spree. This proves you were right. I figured you’d be gloating, not biting my head off.”
“Well, you figured wrong.” Derek still sounded miffed. “Are you okay?”
“Except for the fact that I had to wash the comforter and the rug three times each so the hounds would stop their incessant sniffing, I’m unscathed.”
“Good.” Derek blew out a breath. “Sloane, I know we’ve beaten this conversation to de
ath, but you don’t seem to get the fact that this psycho’s ultimate target is you. I want you out of that house. Move to a hotel or to a friend’s place. Move in with me. Stop being so damned stubborn.”
“Moving in with you would guarantee violence,” Sloane returned drily. “The minute you started ironing my bras, we’d kill each other.” She maneuvered her car around a BMW, simultaneously trying to put an end to this ongoing debate. “As for the rest, I told you, I’m not letting this Unsub scare me off. I won’t turn my whole life and my dogs’ lives upside down to move somewhere that’s no safer than home. This psycho’s not interested in my house; he’s interested in me. Wherever I go, he’ll find me. At least I know my own turf. I sensed someone had broken in the instant I opened the front door. I grabbed my pistol—and, yes, I would have used it.”
“I believe you. But you don’t carry your pistol when you go for your daily run. Don’t you think the Unsub’s memorized your route?”
“I’m sure he has. And, if I changed it, he’d memorize the new one. I have to keep things business as usual. He’s fixated on me. We’ve already cut off his ability to reach me by phone—which I’m sure he’s figured out. I don’t want to do anything else to rock the boat and push him even further over the edge.”
“Yeah, right. And if you happen to draw him out of hiding while you’re keeping things business as usual, all the better.”
“If it results in us capturing him, I’d be thrilled.” Sloane rushed on, nipping the rest of Derek’s argument in the bud. “Tell you what. From now on, I’ll have Hank check out the house before I go inside. He already follows me with binoculars during my run. Now, do you have any news for me?”
Derek’s grunt indicated he knew she was placating him, that he didn’t like it a bit, and that this conversation was far from over. But he let it go—for now. “This Unsub of ours is a real Houdini. He diverts attention from himself so no one notices when he strikes. I headed down to Eldridge Street on the Lower East Side and questioned a few people. The victim’s roommates barely speak a word of English. Hell, they wouldn’t talk to me even if they were fluent. They’re way too scared. After that, I ran into a couple of teenage junkies, who think they remember a guy in a hooded sweatshirt hanging around the resting house. Of course they never saw his face. Plus, they were high as a kite. So I took what they said with a grain of salt.”
“Wise decision.” Sloane honked her horn as a taxi driver cut her off. “I’m on my way over to John Jay. I’ve got an idea I want to pursue. Then I’m off to Larry’s hotel for the next round of ‘Sloane Burbank, this is your life.’”
“What’s the idea you’re pursuing?”
Sloane’s lips curved. Trust Derek to never miss anything, no matter how casually it was mentioned. “I’ll tell you if and when it becomes a reality. In fact, given this particular idea, you’ll be the first one I call.”
“Ah, I sense I’m being used.”
“Maybe a little. Then again, if you come through for me, I could arrange to use you in ways you’ll really, really like.” Sloane could almost hear Derek’s body react.
“Now, that got my attention,” he announced. “Although you do know that you’re blackmailing and sexually harassing a federal agent.”
“True. But I’m also giving him an amazing fantasy to savor. And, trust me, the reality will far exceed it.”
“Promise?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“Then I’m putty in your hands.”
It was just before three when Sloane knocked on Elliot’s office door.
“Come on in,” he called in his usual distracted, working voice.
Sloane walked in. “Hey, stranger.”
