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“Yup.” Ryan was pulling on his clothes. “I’ve got to get back to my lair and get on it.” He hesitated for a second, studying Claire in an oddly protective way. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I’m fine.” She waved him toward the door, gathering up the rest of her clothes. “I’m going to jump in the shower and come into the office, too. I’ve got more than enough to start reviewing things with Casey.”
“And you’d better do it fast, because the minute she gets the green light, she’ll be driving up to Auburn.” Ryan walked over, raised Claire’s chin and kissed her. “That’s for later, when we’re killing each other.”
Chapter Fifteen
Casey had gone out for a long walk with Hero—and, of course, one of her bodyguards. She was so tense that even playing tracking games in the dog park with Hero didn’t release her excess energy. She felt as if she were circling Glen Fisher and his plans, making narrower and narrower rings, but not quite getting close enough to grab him.
The clock was ticking. And another woman was going to die.
It didn’t take a psychic to figure that one out. The killer had made it crystal clear. He hadn’t said when or where, but Casey sure as hell knew why. And, irrational or not, she felt guilty and responsible. The rapes and murders might fulfill some sick fantasy, but she was the psycho’s ultimate target. His other victims were selected to taunt her, to drive home his absolute control and dominance.
There was no such thing as a copycat killer. Hutch had taught her that a long time ago. There were only killers who wanted to establish themselves as bigger, better, craftier—even if they did view the original offender as a hero. So who was this psychopath who’d chosen—or been chosen—to take over for Glen Fisher?
She returned to the brownstone just as tense and edgy as when she’d left. She unleashed Hero, who took off for the living room.
Puzzled, Casey followed him to see what the attraction was. She found Claire waiting for her, perched on the edge of the sofa, with Hero now sitting at her feet, a captive audience. Claire reached into her pocket and pulled out a dog treat.
“Here you go, boy.” She offered it to Hero, who gobbled it up without hesitation. Well aware of who the softie of the team was and who was therefore his meal ticket, Hero settled himself against Claire’s leg. Claire looked up. “Hi,” she greeted Casey. Her voice was high and thin, and her expression was haunted.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Casey demanded at once. “I would have come back sooner.”
“I’ve only been here for a few minutes.” Claire scratched Hero’s ears as she spoke. “I was pacing around my apartment, hoping to put the horrifying images in my mind in some kind of understandable order. I couldn’t. And then I got this wave of darkness—we’re almost out of time, Casey. The next murder’s already been planned.”
“Dammit.” Casey dragged a hand through her hair. “You have no idea who? Or when?”
“No.”
“What did you see?”
“A redhead. College-age. I didn’t see a face. Only a shadow hanging over her, closing in until it hid her from view. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bring the shadow into focus. I couldn’t see him.”
Claire’s eyes welled up with tears, and she kept talking, faster and faster, as if by blurting everything out, she could empty herself of the evil, make the images go away.
“I’ve spent the past eighteen hours focused on the black, black energy that’s Glen Fisher. I’ve felt him torturing women. Pinning them to the cold, hard ground until rocks or branches tore at their flesh. I could feel him raping them and then choking the last breath out of their throats. I could see their faces at the end, the terrified panic in their eyes as they realized they were dying. It made me sick.”
She dashed away the tears with the backs of her hands. “I wish to God I could get the gory details out of my head. They’re forever etched in my brain. I threw up twice on my way over here.”
“I’m sorry,” Casey said gently. “What about this next murder?”
“It’s outside Glen Fisher’s realm. He’s on the periphery, but not at the heart of what’s going to happen. I don’t know who is.”
“Whoever’s taken over the killings.” Marc had come into the room, and he was studying Claire through intense, knowing eyes. “If you’re really living inside all these brutal killings, you’re going to have to talk to someone.”
“I know,” Claire said. “But not now. Not until we’ve caught this monster.” She leaned forward and picked up the pad she’d placed on the coffee table. “I wrote down everything I saw and felt—about Fisher and about the next victim. I only pray there’s something here to help us.”
As she spoke, Hutch walked into the room, his concentration on rereading a text message he’d just received. He raised his head and focused on Casey. “It’s a done deal,” he announced. “We’re on Glen Fisher’s visitor list. Throw some clothes in a bag and let’s hit the road. If we leave now, we can be in Auburn after dinner, catch some sleep and meet with Fisher tomorrow morning.”
“We?” Casey did a double take. “I don’t remember asking for an escort.”
“You didn’t. But law enforcement isn’t happy with your going alone. Neither am I. Not under these circumstances. You’re a targeted victim, and Fisher has potential ties to the killer. They don’t want you facing him by yourself.”
“So they’re sending a Fed in with me? Do they honestly think he’ll spill his guts with you sitting there?”
“They don’t think he’ll spill his guts at all.” Hutch gave it to her straight. “But I’ll make the ultimate call. If I think it would be beneficial for me to take a stroll to the vending machine, I’ll do that, and you can have a crack at Fisher alone.”
“How gracious of you.” Casey was pissed. “I’m not a child who needs a nanny, Hutch. As it is, I have a security team surrounding me 24/7. Now I’ll have a guard dog accompanying me to the prison.”
