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He was enjoying her humiliation. Pacing from one side of the room to the other. Walking past her cot as she held the blanket over her. Coming closer with each pass. “What? No defense, Red?” And he seemed edgy. Good. This was better. Let him get agitated. Maybe he’d slip up. She said nothing and she noticed, through the shadows, a tightening of his lips, not quite completely hidden by his beard.
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“And now you’re sleeping with another scumbag.”
She felt the muscles in her back tighten. He could damned well leave Santana out of it. It was all she could do to remain quiet. Still. When she wanted to kill him.
“And you’re supposed to be so smart, Red. Clever. Able to figure things out. Save lives.” Again the clucking sound echoed through the chamber. He even chuckled, as if at her ineptitude. “But you’re a failure. Your own life’s a mess. Here you are, the captive rather than the captor. Pinewood County’s finest. Handcuffed with your own set of cuffs. Ironic, don’t you think?”
He was pissing her off but good, which sent adrenaline pouring through her veins. “Guess we’re all a bit dull here in the Bitterroots, huh?” she drawled. He stopped suddenly and bared his teeth, hands clenching. For a moment she thought he would lose the hold on his own control. She braced herself, but then, after a moment, he resumed pacing.
“It’s a wonder you were ever hired,” he shot back.
“You’re a miserable excuse for both a woman and a detective.”
As she watched him stalk back and forth she had a vision of someone she’d seen before . . . someone walking down a hallway at the department, someone . . . she couldn’t quite grab hold of the image. But she was certain she’d seen him while she’d been working. And then there were all of his disparaging remarks about cops. What was it about him and the sheriff’s department? Something in his talk suggested that he had a personal axe to grind, that the Pinewood County Sheriff’s Department was his personal source of ridicule.
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Lisa Jackson
Why?
Had he not been able to get help when he needed it? Had the department made a mistake and someone he cared about been hurt or killed? Had he been personally wounded so badly by the department or some other arm of the law that he was out to show up cops, specifically the cops of Pinewood County? Or was he just a criminal who hated all cops? He sure as hell didn’t like being needled. Carefully, she observed him pace, getting closer, silently taunting her for being chained to the cot. His confidence had returned after her jab and he was almost swaggering as he passed and she wondered . . . if he got close enough . . . could she get the jump on him? He would have to be very close because her one wrist was secured low, but she had to try. She had no doubt that the son of a bitch was going to kill her.
“But you’re not alone in your failure,” he said.
“Do you know that your esteemed team of crack deputies and even . . . yes,” he was shaking his head now at the ineptitude of the police, “even the FBI were duped recently by a copycat?”
“A copycat?”
“Chandler and Halden, they flew up with Dan Grayson to Spokane.”
This was a lie.
“They thought they were going to break the case wide open and make a big bust, take down the StarCrossed Killer,” he snarled. “And what did they get?”
He stopped in front of her, staring at her through the amber lenses of the goggles. “Nothing! A big fat goose egg.” He snorted in disdain. “They arrested a goddamned woman who was pretending to be me.”
He stared at her as Regan puzzled through his words.
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“Oh, that’s right. You didn’t know, did you? After I shot your tire out, Grayson and the dynamic duo were chasing their tails in Spokane.”
There had been a copycat killer? One good enough to fool the FBI and the sheriff’s department? It didn’t seem right and yet, her captor was so damned serious . . .
“I thought you’d like to know what your colleagues have been up to for the last day or so,” he said, nearing her. She felt all of her muscles coil. One or two more steps. “Chasing around in circles like the idiots they are.”
Her heart was pounding, but she tried to remain outwardly passive. If he would just step a little closer . . .
Her blanket slipped a fraction and she saw his attention tighten as he stopped right by her. Close enough!
She shifted, swept her legs straight out from the cot and jammed him hard. White-hot pain ricocheted up her leg as he rocked on his feet. The blanket tangled his ankles and he lost his footing and fell.
