“Because the guy has connections in the FBI, strings that he no doubt pulled to get down here,” Ross answered. “And he’s the only profiler who has spent three straight years poring over Valentine’s life.”
Dane’s brows climbed. “Even when he wasn’t officially on the case?”
“The guy’s like a bulldog. He doesn’t give up, and yeah, you need to take that as a warning.”
He would. Dane turned away from Ross and hurried into the interrogation room.
The woman didn’t even know she was in danger. She walked out of her apartment. Took the elevator down to the parking garage. And never even glanced up from her phone.
Too busy texting.
Too busy to be afraid.
Her mistake.
Most of her neighbors had already cleared out for the day. Too bad for Amy Evans—she was running late.
She thought she was alone.
Her keys slipped from her fingers. Hit the cement floor of the parking garage. She swore and finally stopped texting. She bent down and swiped up her keys.
She was making this too easy. Five steps, just five, and Amy was close enough to touch.
One, two, three, four…
Amy never even had the chance to scream. Her body slumped forward on the ground. Her head slammed into the cement.
Amy’s dark hair had fallen over her face. Such lovely, thick hair.
Hair just like Katherine’s.
No, she hadn’t been given the chance to scream. Not then. But there would be plenty of time for screams later.
When Katherine saw Marcus Wayne enter the interrogation room, she felt her heart stop.
His eyes were the same small, beady brown that she remembered. Judging eyes. Suspicious eyes.
Plenty of others had been suspicious of her before, especially once they learned who she was, but Marcus had been the only one to ever just flat-out say, I think you’re a killer, and, sooner or later, I’ll prove it.
He didn’t buy that she hadn’t known the truth about Valentine. He said she fit the profile too well.
She knew just what the guy could do with his profiles. She might not have any fancy degrees, but she’d spent the last three years doing her own research.
You’re wrong. I’m not a killer. And I’ll prove it.
“Hello, Kat,” Marcus said as he came into the room and pulled out the chair across from her. “You’re looking well.”
Kat. She knew he’d used the name deliberately. With him, everything was deliberate. “And you’re looking the same, Marcus.” Same stuffed shirt. Same narrow view that only he was right.
He cleared his throat. “I’m going to be working with your detectives on this case. I thought we could all begin by going over Valentine’s profile.”
Was she supposed to believe that she was one of the team?
Katherine glanced up as Dane came into the room, but she couldn’t read anything past the veil of his eyes. His partner was still in the room, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. She had no clue what Mac was thinking. Mac. He’d told her to call him that when he’d entered the interrogation room. He’d seemed friendly.
Now Marcus was trying the friendly routine with her, too.
The atmosphere just made her more tense.
Then Marcus began to talk.
“Michael O’Rourke is highly intelligent, charming, and without any sense of remorse or compassion,” he said flatly. “He’s a chameleon. He can blend, mixing perfectly in nearly any situation—and has. He graduated at the top of his college class. Did a stint in the military—picked up demolitions training with his unit—and even received a Purple Heart when he was injured while saving two men on his team in Afghanistan.”
A hero. A killer.
“He saved men?” Mac asked, his brows wrinkling. “Why the hell would he do that if the guy just gets off on killing?”
“Because those men didn’t fit his victim type,” Marcus answered. “They weren’t the ones he was going after.” A pause. “But being around that level of violence, I believe, encouraged the darker instincts within Michael.”
He came toward me, flashing a wide smile. “Hi, I’m Michael. Michael O’Rourke.” His eyes were so green. “And I think I’m in love.”
“To truly understand him, we have to look at Michael’s origins.”
Katherine fought to keep her breathing slow and steady.
“Michael O’Rourke grew up in a single-parent home. His mother was a drug addict who sold her body whenever she needed some cash. She generally forgot about her son, and when she did remember him, she spent her time slapping him around.”
That didn’t match up with the story Michael had originally told her…
My mother? She died when I was just six. Such a beautiful lady, inside and out. She had the biggest smile…but one night, a man came for her. He attacked her in an alley. She was just going to get groceries for us. He was high on drugs. He killed her quickly, so she didn’t suffer—or at least that’s what the cops told me.
“When he was twelve, Michael’s mother overdosed. He was the one who found her body.”
Her funeral was beautiful. So many flowers. Roses were her favorites, too. She loved them just like you do. I like to think she was smiling down from heaven when she saw those roses.
“No father was ever in the picture,” Marcus continued. His nasal tone was like nails on a chalkboard. “I doubt his mother even knew his name.”
My father took care of me until I was nineteen. Then he passed away. A heart attack. But if you ask me, I think his heart stopped the day my mother died. He loved her so much…as much as I love you, Kat.
Her palms flattened on the smooth surface of the table. She’d believed everything Michael had said about his life. Why doubt him? Falling for him had been so easy.
Because he’d been perfect.
“Michael O’Rourke probably began torturing and killing animals when he was a small child.”
She remembered how Michael had seen a man kicking a dog one day and rushed over. Stopped the man. Demanded, “How would you like to be kicked?”
He’d never liked to see animals hurt. Her eyes narrowed as she stared down at her hands and saw her memories.
“He is a sociopath. Not able to form any sort of lasting relationship with anyone or anything. He suffered so much abuse as a child that he now believes the only way humans actually express emotion is through abuse. So when he attacks his victims, he’s both showing his control, his complete dominance over them, and he’s also showing…well, the only emotion that he can.”