The Tease (The Darling Killer Trilogy) (22 page)

Maybe I could get him to talk.

“I know you don’t want to hurt anyone,” I said as gently as I could. “So why would you write ‘darling’ on her, if it was an accident?”

“I panicked,” he said ruefully. “I just… I was so angry… I saw red, and then I wanted to take it all back. I just thought… if they thought it was someone else… I didn’t mean to.”

“Then Tish… wasn’t you?” I asked.

“No,” he said, tightening his arms. “No, I would never – not like that.”

“That hurts,” I said.
Damsel in distress
, I thought.
He liked it when I was a damsel in distress.

It worked. He relaxed his arms a little.

I had no idea whether to believe him or not. Kevin lied, Josh lied, Grant lied. There were too many lies to sort through.

So I lied.

“I believe you,” I said.

I was a dancer. A performer. I could pretend to be sexy and carefree even when I was in a whirlwind of panic.

“I just wanted someone to love me,” he said. “I would never hurt you. I would never do… what he did.”

“I know,” I said softly. I turned my head to press my lips against his neck, bile rising in my throat. “I’m sorry I panicked,” I whispered against his neck. “I’ve just been so scared.”

I felt his pulse speed up under my lips. “We’re ok?” he asked.

“We can work through it,” I said. “It was just an accident.”

“It was,” he agreed, but his grip didn’t relax.

“I’ll keep your secret,” I said. “I keep secrets for a living.”

“I want to believe you,” he whispered.

“Let’s run away,” I whispered back. “Like you said. Just forget all of this. Start over somewhere else. Just us.”

“Do you mean that?”

“We’ll figure it out,” I said. “I just want you. I just want to be with you, Grant. After all this time, we’re finally together. Don’t you want to be with me?”

He relaxed his arms enough for me to turn around. I pressed my body against his and kissed him, running my hands over his shoulders. He kissed me back eagerly, pulling me close to him. Nausea roiled in my stomach, but I kept my breath deep and passionate. I reminded myself of my training, of how I put on a good show even when Max was in the audience staring at me – but Max wasn’t touching me, making little sounds of pleasure, stomach chest and hips insistent against mine.

Any kind of sex?

Panic is a very different feeling from revulsion.

What you do is no different from dancing on tables you look like a slut—
Josh’s voice echoed. I shuddered, pretending it was a shiver of passion.

I pulled him to the sofa, falling in a tangle of limbs and mouths. I reminded myself of what I told my clients at the women’s’ shelter: you did what you have to do to survive.
The worst has already happened. Now I just need to survive. Now I just need my muscle memory.
He made an intense, hungry sound in his throat. I rolled on top of him, tracing his jaw with my fingertips, and smiled down at him.

His dark eyes shone. “Thank you for not judging me,” he said.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” I said. “I’m not making the mistake of letting you go.” I leaned down and kissed his lips softly, moving my fingertips down his jaw and the sides of his neck, feeling over the sternocleidomastoid muscle, over the scalenes, and over the carotid artery.

I pressed. Hard. His body slackened as he lost blood supply to his head. I only had a second, so I leaned over him for a heart-stopping moment, grabbed the lamp from my nightstand, and smacked it down over his head.

He growled, his mouth twisted with rage, and he sat up, grabbing for me. I brought the lamp into his head sideways, connecting with his temple. It shattered as he knocked me back into the coffee table. It drove all the air out of my body so I couldn’t exclaim. I rolled over it and ran for the hallway. He got up and grabbed at me, catching my leg.

I fell hard onto my arm. I started crawling away, kicking to get rid of the hand gripping at my ankle.

It had come down to speed and force, and I had no weapon. My pepper spray was in my purse, still on the floor near the door. I’d have to get through Grant to get to it. My phone was still on the table. The knives, which gave me a sick feeling to even consider, were in the kitchen.

He pulled himself up and dove for me. I rolled away and sprang to my feet, ignoring the pain in my arm.

His legs were a lot longer than mine. It wouldn’t take him long to get to me. While he was still off balance, I grabbed the heavy Buddha statue from its shelf and smashed it into the side of his face. Something crunched and cracked.

Grant fell.

I shuddered, retched, and suppressed it. “It was an accident,” I whispered.

I looked down at the blood-stained Buddha in my hand. A strand of his dark hair stuck to it.

I could finish him. I could finish the lying bastard. Saying he’d protect me, saying he loved me, saying he’d—

But is it really him you’re mad at?
asked the reasonable part of my mind.

Well. Yes.

I raised the Buddha overhead. I wanted to crush Grant’s skull, crush Josh’s skull, Katie’s sadistic ex-boyfriend, and then—

You’re a yoga-doing pacifist
, Monica’s voice said.

“Dammit,” I said. I looked at the Buddha’s serene face. “Sorry.” I looked around the room and saw the roll of duct tape still on the end table.

I pulled Grant’s hands behind his back and taped them, making a sticky Mobius strip around his wrists. I ran it through several times, then moved on to his ankles. He stirred. I hastily tore off a piece and taped it over his mouth, accidentally catching a few strands of his hair in it. That was going to hurt. I didn’t look at the gory mess on the right side of his face

I ran to my sink and threw up, and that started the tears.
Dammit
. I’d cried more in the past few days than I had since my mother died. I rinsed out my mouth and picked up the phone to call Detective Santiago. My lips were sticky and salty as I told him I’d just incapacitated an intruder. The call waiting kept beeping with numbers I didn’t know. More reporters. I had to keep repeating myself to him.

Then things got really confusing.

• • •

I have no idea how long it took them to get there. I sat on the sofa, hands clasped around my phone, not answering it. When the knock sounded at the door, I opened it.

Detectives Brack and Santiago arrived shortly after the paramedics. Brack’s eyes widened fractionally and her lips parted, which was probably her equivalent of jaw hitting the floor. Later I realized it was the blood on my face and nightshirt. The forensics team was going to have a hell of a time. It was all over me.

“He’s still out there,” I told her, and stepped back to let them in.

Then there was a maelstrom of photographs and measurements and questions. “He’s still alive,” one of the paramedics said.

“We’re sending an officer in the ambulance with you,” Detective Santiago said.

Detective Brack approached me. “Miss Zendel, tell me what happened.”

“He’s still out there,” I said, and slumped onto the sofa. My bloody pink night shirt plastered against my chest, and strands of my hair stuck to my face. “He’s out there. Grant only killed Lisa.”

“I need you to tell me what happened, ma’am,” she said.

An evidence technician wearing latex gloves examined the Buddha statue, the blood and hair on its corner. “My dad gave me that,” I told him. Everything was so fast and bright.

“Miss Zendel.”

“Sleight of hand,” I said. “Grant does stage magic. He slipped the stocking into Max’s pocket. The killer is still—”

She crouched down, her eyes level with mine. “Anna,” she said quietly.

I started as if she had slapped me.

“Let’s talk about what happened,” she said.

Two people in uniform followed the paramedics wheeling Grant out on a gurney. The food on my counter was going to spoil if I went to jail. It was self-defense.

Any kind of sex?

“Yes,” I said. “He’s still out there. Let’s get this over with.”

I
folded the empty sweetener packet in half, then half again. A nervous, fluttery feeling hovered in my chest.

I’ve always hated breakups, even when I knew the time was right.

I hated ambiguity in relationships even more.

Kevin came into view in the coffee shop window. He waved, half-smiled. I was certain he’d gotten the message: meeting in a public place, taking separate transportation. I felt a funny constriction, a fist around my heart.

I wasn’t angry anymore.

He swept into the room, managing somehow to look dashing against the brown and neutral tones in the diner. Tiny raindrops glistened on his shoulders before soaking into the fabric of his dark coat.

“Hi,” he said, leaning down to give me a hug.

“Hi,” I replied.

He kissed my lips lightly. It felt… good. And I felt awful.

He sat down across from me and took my hand. The waitress came by with her coffee pot, and he accepted a mug. I was so aware of his long white fingers enveloping mine. I felt a stir of regret tinged with desire and the confused sort of exhaustion that comes with a hangover.

“I’m sorry to coordinate this via email,” I said. “My voicemail keeps filling up.”

“No problem,” he said. “How are you holding up?”

I shrugged. “It’s been rough,” I said. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you sooner.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “I don’t know what normal is at a time like this.”

“I don’t either,” I said. It had only been three days since Grant attacked me. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his arms pinning mine. When I thought I could drift off to sleep, the memory of his kiss came back, his tongue like a cold leech in my mouth.

“What can I do?”

Tears stung my eyes, and I blinked. “Dammit,” I whispered.

He waited quietly, his thumb running gently over my hand.

“Kevin, I really like you,” I began.

He winced. “Ouch,” he whispered.

“I’m kind of a mess,” I said. “I feel like I don’t have anything to give you right now.”

“I’d be kind of a bastard if I argued,” he said, half-smiling. He was hurt, that was clear, but I didn’t see any anger in his face.

“I… want to explain,” I said.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “It’s all over the news.”

“Some is,” I said. “What have you seen?”

“I saw that Tish was murdered, and that you and Grant were questioned,” he said. He had already offered his condolences on the phone. “I saw they arrested one of your patients, and let him go. I saw that Grant’s in a coma, and they’ll probably charge him with murder if he wakes up.”

“That’s a start,” I said. I decided to start with the easier stuff, even though I flinched, thinking of Jeff’s too-kind face when he delivered the bad news. “I’m suspended from my work,” I said. “We’re too exposed in the media. Me being a burlesque dancer, a client’s confidentiality being compromised – it looks bad.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know how much you love your work.”

“I do,” I said. “So… there’s an investigation about whether or not there was any misconduct. I’ll probably have to face the American Counseling Association’s ethics committee.”

“Yikes,” he said.

“I know.” I shuddered. “I asked my boss to contact them.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Being investigated is scary,” I admitted. “It is. But Jeff is a good guy, and I didn’t want any shadow of wrongdoing on the practice. If I’m going to work there or anywhere, I need to be cleared of any misconduct. Though I don’t know if I can get my clinical license now, because having a high moral character is important for that. My conscience is clear, but I’m not a conventional person, so I’m not sure what they’re going to say.”

He nodded. “I can see that. But doesn’t it bother you?”

I frowned. “I can’t talk to Max,” I said. “Legally. I can’t. And I feel like I let him down.” There was no use in avoiding his name; it was all over the news. Detective Brack’s face flashed through my mind, the fluorescent lights making her face even more feral, as she explained the terms of the restraining order.

I never thought I’d be a person named on a restraining order.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s not your fault,” I said, as the leaden feeling constricted me again. That was the worst: that Max came to me for help, and I ruined his life when he hadn’t done anything. Maybe it was just karma that mine was in shreds too.

“And then…” I sighed. “I saw you with Tish.”

He looked puzzled. “With Tish…”

“I saw you kiss her. The other day, on Irving Park.”

“Oh,” he sighed. “You saw
her
kiss
me.
”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

He looked at the table, and then back at me. “I’ve known Tish for a while,” he said. “She can be…. kind of territorial.”

I thought of our argument about Lynne. “Yeah.”

“She was never interested in me before you and I started dating,” he said. “She even made that comment about how you were single, to introduce us.”

I nodded.

“I think she felt threatened by you,” he said. “You’re smart, pretty, talented… You’re even the one they mentioned more in the reviews. If she had kissed me a year or two ago, it would’ve been different. I was attracted to her. Most guys would be – she’s – I mean, she
was
, pretty and fun and all that. But I’ve seen her do this before. She liked it when a guy liked her, even if she didn’t want him – but the second he noticed one of her friends, she had to get his attention back. She wasn’t someone I felt I could trust in a relationship.”

“So you two didn’t…”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I was leaving a store, and I heard her say ‘Kevin!’ and she ran up and kissed me. It was kind of odd. I… detached her as nicely as I could and said I was flattered, but I was seeing you.”

I didn’t see any lies in his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

He sighed again. “The next day, I saw that she’d been murdered. I was too concerned about you to put so much energy into explaining a… a weird interaction that I didn’t feel anything about. Obviously, if she hadn’t been murdered, I would’ve wanted to talk about it, because it could be kind of awkward being around her later. I just… I don’t know. I felt like I was speaking ill of the dead or something. Tish wasn’t perfect. She had a lot of good traits, and I generally liked her, and she wanted to get me involved in some of her personal drama, but I decided not to.”