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“I couldn’t. He grabbed me from behind. We never practiced what to do then.”
Wilkins gives Matheson a nod and takes over. “We have reason to believe that someone with considerable means hired the man you know as Charles MacNiall to find and kill whoever was murdering those women. He’s former Special Agent Gyres. A gifted detective who excelled at tracking down the most violent serial killers. Did he ever speak to you of his past?”
“Some,” I reply slowly, carefully, afraid to say too much.
“Did he tell you about his father?”
“Yes.”
“Blood Drinker,” Matheson whispers. “Do you know why we called him that?”
I shudder and shake my head.
“He always struck in the victim’s own home. He’d grab a cup from their kitchen. Fill it with the victim’s blood. And drink it, still warm from the body.”
I press my hands against my stomach, willing it to settle down. “Gross.”
Though I can’t help but remember the way Charlie licked the small wounds he put on me. Same thing, but arousing, not disgusting.
“When people found out about his father in the department, he caught a lot of abuse and suspicion. He worked hard, hoping they’d accept him, but he was too good at his job. Too damned good. People whispered it was because he was a serial killer like his father. He had that propensity for violence encoded in his DNA.”
“It’s in his blood,” I cry softly. “He said that once.”
“We never did find Clancy Gyres.” Wilkins leans forward, locking his attention on me. “And we’re pretty sure we know why. Charlie killed his father. Didn’t he.”
“Yes,” I whisper, unable to lie. Not with that kind of power focused on me. “At least, that’s what he said. Because his father killed his mother.”
“Did he admit to killing anyone else, Miss Killian?”
“Tasker.” My throat tightens, tears falling, but I can’t lie.
“Was he there last night, Ranay?” Matheson sits on the edge of the bed and takes my hand.
I nod. “I never saw him. But he was there. He promised he wouldn’t let Rusk get me.”
“Did he tell you where he’s going next?”
I shake my head.
“Say it, Ranay. We need to hear your answers. Did he tell you where he’s going next?”
“No.”
“Are you going to see him again someday?”
I freeze, squeezing my eyes shut. If I tell them, they might put a watcher on me. If they use me to track him down…
She pats my hand. “You don’t have to answer that one. We can see the truth on your face.”
I slump, letting my head hang down so they can’t see my face, but evidently it’s too late. “He promised.”
“And he always keeps his promises.”
I sniff, trying not to let out a noisy wail. “Yeah.” I jerk my head up and glare at her so hard she recoils. “And if you think to try and keep me away from him…”
“Whoa.” She laughs, shaking her head. “We wouldn’t dream of it. Would we, sir?”
Wilkins settles back in his chair, steeples his fingers together, and smiles. “We owe a debt of gratitude to Gyres. Some of us still count him as one of ours, even though we can’t officially condone his actions. In fact, we’d like you to deliver a message for us.”
