SEE HER DIE (16 page)

Who was she kidding? She always froze—at first. It took a great deal of trust just to dive in, and she simply didn’t trust any man that much. She’d trusted her father, but he was gone now, then she’d put her faith in Brian, and look where that had gotten her. Her sister had trusted her husband and she’d paid dearly for it. So had Elizabeth. She’d almost gone to prison after taking that knife to her brother-in-law to stop the son of a bitch. Hadn’t it been another man who’d taken their mother away from them? She’d fallen so desperately for the guy she’d deserted her husband and two small children, never to be heard from again.

According to Ned, it was that abandonment that had set the stage for Elizabeth’s current phobia. She wasn’t entirely sure that was true, since she’d long ago blocked all thought of her mother. But maybe it was true.

One thing was certain, she couldn’t trust MacBride. He was an FBI agent who considered her a suspect in his current murder investigation. Even if she could muster up the courage to trust him, he would use that trust to prove her guilty.

No matter how attracted she was to him—and she was definitely attracted—she couldn’t let down her guard. Ned had offered some fancy name for her little trust issue, but she didn’t necessarily agree with his conclusion. Sure, with a guy she was attracted to she could work up enthusiasm for sex eventually—
eventually
being the key word. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to her knees. Brian had called her frigid. They’d fought so many times over her lack of sexual ambition that eventually she’d learned to submit to his needs a little more quickly, but only with conscious effort. Ned had known all the right words to coax her into cooperation. But no one, absolutely no one, had ever made her
want
to jump in with both feet.

Except MacBride.

Oh, she’d gone through the usual routine of freezing up at his first touch. But in mere seconds she’d wanted to throw her arms around him and climb his hard male body. The only thing that had stopped her had been that damned lack of trust. Yet for the first time in her life, she was certain she could have dived straight in, ignoring the whole trust issue. Just her luck to find the one man who set her on fire with barely a touch and he wanted to charge her with murder.

She uncurled and rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling, noting the cracks in the old plaster and the fact that the ceiling, as well as the rest of her apartment, needed a fresh coat of paint. She harrumphed. Painters were like hairdressers. They always needed a makeover but were too busy taking care of everybody else to find time to do their own. That was the story of her life. Always wishing for what she couldn’t have.

Her cell rang, cutting short the self-pity session.

Her heart took a breath stealing dip. It was scarcely daylight. Who would call her at this hour? Her sister? Something could have happened to one of the kids. She snatched the phone from the bedside table. Didn’t recognize the number. “Hello.”

“Elizabeth?”

Not immediately able to identify the woman’s voice, Elizabeth frowned. Something like a moan and then a grating attempt at clearing a throat echoed across the line. “Yes,” Elizabeth ventured.

“Elizabeth, it’s Annabelle.”

The ache of hopelessness in the woman’s voice propelled Elizabeth into a sitting position. Fear ripped through her at her first thought—Gloria. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s been another murder.”

Elizabeth went numb.

“I heard the call go out on the police scanner,” Annabelle explained solemnly. “I checked the address they called out against Ned’s patient log.”

A tense beat of silence sent Elizabeth’s heart into warp speed.

“It’s Marissa Landon, it has to be.” Another of those moan-like sounds. “Is this ever going to stop? Why can’t the police do something?”

“I’ll call Gloria.” Elizabeth scarcely recognized the stone-cold voice as her own. Thank God it wasn’t Gloria. But still, another woman was dead...
murdered
.

“We have to talk,” Annabelle urged. “I think there’s a new pattern developing here. Did you get to Ned’s office yet?”

Elizabeth was already out of bed and searching for clothes. The question stirred the dread that had settled like a rock in her stomach. “We can talk about that when we’re all together. Where should we meet?”

“My office.” She gave Elizabeth the uptown address. “I’ll be waiting.”

After disconnecting, Elizabeth punched in Gloria’s number and jumped into her clothes as she waited out the rings.

Four murders. Ned had been dead for just over a week and already four of his patients were dead.

Dear God, who would be next?

~*~

Mac was at the office when the call came in. He hadn’t been able to sleep, so he’d come in to dissect what he had on the murders that had been dubbed the
Socialite Murders
, since all the victims had been Manhattan society elite.

All three of the women were young, all were beautiful and wealthy, but other than that the only true connection among them was that they’d been patients of Ned Harrison. After the second murder, Brannigan had started checking female victims against Harrison’s patient log as a matter of course. Mac hadn’t asked for lead on this case, but he’d asked for cooperation. Detective Brannigan seemed happy to give it, since he was more than aware Mac could take the case if he wanted it.

Each victim had been bound to her bed and gagged with a pair of her own panties. The ritual was the same each time—she was sexually assaulted and then murdered with a single slash to the throat. No sign of a struggle in any room other than the bedroom where the victim was found. Who was this man that the women would allow him into their homes without question? Did he force his way in with a gun?

At each scene numerous prints were lifted, but it would take forever to crosscheck them all. The killer’s seminal fluid was left behind in each case. DNA testing and cross-matching with CODIS—the FBI’s bank of DNA profiles on convicted offenders—was in the works. Mac had made all the right calls to ensure a speedy response on the DNA results.

But now there was a fourth victim. It wasn’t that Mac hadn’t anticipated additional victims. Unfortunately, he had. Whether Brannigan was ready to admit it or not, this was the work of a serial killer. And somehow the killings were connected to Harrison. Being a current patient of the deceased psychiatrist and a star in one of his sex videos appeared to be the common links. NYPD would have its hands full warning the potential victims as well as offering some level of protection to those who needed it.

The one thing about the latest killing that startled the hell out of Mac was the location. The victim was found in her home less than six blocks from Harrison’s office—where both Elizabeth and Novak had been the night before. According to the ME she’d been dead long enough to be in full rigor mortis, which indicated the victim had been dead twelve to fourteen hours.

Mac glanced at the digital clock on his desk as he prepared to head to the crime scene. It was seven now. That would, roughly speaking, put the time of death at sometime between five and seven the previous evening. He’d discovered Elizabeth and evidence of Novak at Harrison’s office at approximately seven-thirty. He was still furious that the surveillance team monitoring Harrison’s office had somehow missed Novak’s presence. They’d spotted Elizabeth and called him immediately, but they’d missed Novak entirely. The wily bastard couldn’t be that good. Catching someone with motivation to get inside Harrison’s office had been the whole point of surveillance versus locking down the damn place. They needed a break in this case. With the proper surveillance he could have pinpointed Novak’s exact time of arrival. Hell, maybe he’d just beat it out of the guy.

Mac was still investigating Novak, but there were several things he already knew about the man. He’d been born to wealthy parents who were still movers and shakers in the financial world. His father had been immensely disappointed when his only son chose to go into architecture and design, rather than mergers and takeovers. Novak had never been in any real trouble, other than one petty drug bust in college and a charge four years ago of soliciting. Like Harrison, Novak had a sick little obsession with the seamier side of sex.

Until now Mac hadn’t had any evidence to warrant the subpoena of DNA evidence from either Novak or Elizabeth, but things were different now. They had both been in the vicinity of the crime, were guilty of breaking and entering at the office of a recent murder victim whose case was ongoing, and the two were definitely hiding something.

One way or another, Mac intended to know what that something was.

He would push Elizabeth until she broke.

Before he could stop it, the memory of kissing her erupted inside him, yanking the rug right out from under him and sending his senses reeling all over again. He’d worked hard every waking moment since that damned kiss not to think about her that way or to recall the taste of her lips. To forget the insane move he’d made kissing her. But he couldn’t seem to keep it pushed away. The taste of her, the smell of her, kept haunting him.

He shook his head as he exited his office and headed for the elevators. He couldn’t stop thinking about her when what he needed to be focusing on was the facts.

Fact one: Elizabeth Young was supposed to meet Ned Harrison the night he was murdered.

Fact two: the murder weapon was a gift from Elizabeth.

Fact three: an illicit affair between Elizabeth and Harrison had ended badly. Already several of their mutual friends had given statements to that effect.

Fact four: Elizabeth had a record of drug possession and felony assault with a knife, no less.

Fact five: she had no alibi for the night of Harrison’s murder.

Finally and the most damning of all: Elizabeth knew he was attracted to her. She’d said as much.
I see the way you look at me.
Which meant he wasn’t being objective where she was concerned.

Even in light of all those glaring facts he still wanted her. The idea that she could have been the one murdered last night when she’d given his partner the slip turned his blood cold.

He was in trouble here.

~*~

Elizabeth sat adjacent to Gloria in one of the matching wing chairs flanking Annabelle’s desk. The office was nice, not quite as luxurious as Ned’s, but on that order. She had an uptown address that spoke of money and prestige.

Elizabeth had no idea what kind of attorney Annabelle was, since she hadn’t met her until yesterday, but if accommodations were any indicator, she must be doing well for herself. Elizabeth appreciated any time a woman could flourish in a man’s world.

“Look at the last names.” Annabelle pointed at the list she’d made of the victims, all former patients of Ned’s.

“Damn,” Gloria breathed the word. “They’re in alphabetical order.”

Annabelle nodded in confirmation. “Bumbalough, Dell, Fowler and now Landon. I checked the log of patients and there are four more, including the two of you.”

Elizabeth scrubbed at the frown creasing her forehead. “I’m sure Ned had a lot more than eight patients.”

“Definitely,” Annabelle hastened to agree. “But these are the ones who had a more personal relationship with him.”

Elizabeth and Gloria exchanged uncertain glances.

Annabelle sighed. “Yes, I’m aware that Ned sometimes broke the rules with his patients.” She folded her hands atop the clean blotter on her desk. “I didn’t really have a problem with his less-than-savory involvement with the Association and the darker side of sexuality.” She paused, her expression intent, thoughtful. “But I fear this Association business and crossing the line with his patients delved into far more dangerous territory than he intended.”

“How did you figure out he had become sexually involved with,” Elizabeth swallowed tightly, “some of his patients?”

Annabelle leaned back in her chair and fixed her gaze on Elizabeth. “To be perfectly honest with you, I suspected as much months ago.”

“What did you do?” Gloria seemed to steel herself in anticipation of her answer.

“I confronted him, of course. Gave him my professional opinion whether he wanted to hear it or not.”

“But he didn’t want your advice,” Elizabeth said, knowing how Ned would have reacted to being told what to do by anyone. He was far too arrogant to allow anyone to rule any aspect of his world.

Annabelle looked down for a moment before saying more. “He was my friend,” she said when she again met their gazes. “I didn’t agree with what he did, but I couldn’t just walk away, either.”

Elizabeth blinked back the tears that blurred her vision. Ned had used them all. Furious with herself, she glanced at her cell. Nine-thirty already. Boomer would be wondering where she was. He knew to get started without her, but she couldn’t put off leaving for the job site much longer. Getting behind wasn’t an option. She needed to fulfill this contract. She needed the money.

“Did you find the hidden door?”

The unexpected question startled Elizabeth back to attention. With the news of another murder, she’d completely forgotten about the previous evening’s mission, even though she’d promised Annabelle an update and had expected the question.

She shook her head. “Brian followed me there or stumbled upon me there, and I couldn’t do anything.”

Annabelle straightened, clearly surprised. “Brian Novak?”

Elizabeth nodded. “He...” She frowned, trying to remember his exact words. “He accused me of killing Ned and then urged me to tell him what I know.” Her gaze connected with Annabelle’s. “Do you think he was talking about the Gentlemen’s Association?”

“Brian was watching Ned’s office?” Gloria asked, her voice, as well as her expression, revealing her shock.

“Apparently.” Elizabeth couldn’t think of any other explanation for why he was there at precisely the same time she was. The whole encounter had been way creepy. “He kind of scared me.” As furious as it made her that MacBride had her under surveillance, the sight of that nondescript sedan parked outside her place this morning had been reassuring. It hadn’t been him, but it was one of his men.