Because Bernie would find out if she got a boyfriend. He had ways. She knew he kept tabs on her, even from the state pen. His letters contained sly references to her routine, to any promotions at work. To the flu she’d just gotten over. Anything to let her know he watched her, that he hadn’t forgiven her.
Discovering Shadowland had been the best damn thing that ever happened to her. She could be herself, not worry about what anybody told Bernie. She could fuck twenty guys in a night online and nobody would ever know. Sometimes you wanna go where no one knows your name. Ain’t that the truth. Looked like that was where she’d end up tonight. I should stop for batteries on my way home, she thought glumly.
She searched for her keys, then looked up to find the bartender giving her a pitying look. Smug bastard. “First sobriety test, ma’am. You gave me your keys when you sat down. That you forgot is a good sign that you shouldn’t be driving. I’ll call you a cab.”
She knew better than to argue. She also knew she needed her car to get to work in the morning. She had a key hidden under her car. “Fine. But I’ll need my house keys.”
“All right.” He fished her keys from a bowl, then dropped her key ring on the floor. When he bent to retrieve it, she saw opportunity and deftly grabbed one of the bottles he’d clustered on the bar as he did inventory and put it under her coat.
Second sobriety test, she thought smugly. If the customer can steal from you, they’re not that drunk. Besides, the extra booze would help her sleep. She’d planned to have a man in her bed for the first time in five years. Sleeping alone wouldn’t be fun.
The bartender wrestled with her key ring. “Here’s your house keys.”
She took them with a level nod. “Thanks. I’ll wait outside for my cab.”
“It’s five degrees outside, ma’am.”
“I know. I need the air. Have a good night.”
Wednesday, February 24, 1:02 a.m.
Rachel hadn’t wanted to meet in a coffee shop. She hadn’t been out on a date in five years, she’d said when they’d made the arrangements online. She’d suggested this bar and it was fine by him. The cameras in their parking lot hadn’t worked in years and it was a house of rather ill repute where patrons liked their privacy, so anybody coming here was unlikely to talk about anyone they’d seen waiting here.
He’d gotten a good bit of work done, as he’d been waiting for quite a while. Rachel Ward had outlasted all of his previous victims at nearly two hours and holding. But it was last call, so she’d be stumbling out soon.
And there she was. He frowned. She appeared to be drunk. He hoped she made it home. Having her pulled over for a DUI would be enormously inconvenient, especially as he’d gone to the trouble of readying her house for the evening.
Rachel stumbled across the parking lot in a pair of very high heels. He loved to see women in heels, the higher the better. It kept them hobbled and, he hoped, in pain. She stooped to fish a spare key from beneath her car, got in, and pulled onto the highway.
A minute later, he followed.
Wednesday, February 24, 1:40 a.m.
“Is Rachel there yet?” Noah asked and Eve looked up from the files she’d been reviewing to check her laptop screen.
“No.” Rachel’s avatar was still AWOL from the stage and Natalie was winning again now that Dasich had quit for the evening. “And she should be.”
“I’ll send a cruiser to her house,” he said. “Give me her address.”
Eve found it on the participant list. “And if she’s not home?”
His eyes sharpened. “Then we assume he’ll be following her home. I’ll assemble a team and we’ll be waiting to take him down.” He made the call to Dispatch, then returned to the stack of graphs he’d been plodding through a page at a time. “Are you finding anything here? Because I’m not, except that grad students generate a lot of data.”
After devouring a sandwich, he’d asked to see the logs Eve kept of her subjects’ Shadowland play time. They’d been sitting on her sofa, poring over data for an hour. Eve stifled a yawn. “You can take this with you. You don’t have to read them here. Just call me when you get word on Rachel.”
He frowned, surprised. “You don’t have to stay up. Go to bed if you’re tired.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re sitting on my bed.”
He looked incredulous. “You were planning to sleep on this torture device?”
“I have one bed and David’s in it. Which you knew because you were awake.”
“This is a two-bedroom apartment. What’s in the other bedroom?”
“Boxes full of more data. I’m sorry, Noah, but you can’t stay here tonight.”
“Where were you going to sleep when you thought I was sleeping?”
“In my chair. Look, you were supposed to change my deadbolt, then leave. No offense intended and I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I’m in no danger. David put in a new security system this afternoon and he’s here with me. And I have my gun. Besides, you promised you’d check on Kathy, the lady in the wheelchair, and Rachel.”
“A cruiser went by Kathy’s house and could see her through her front window. She was on her computer, totally alive and safe.”
“How do you know? Nobody called you.”
“Abbott texted me. But I did promise, so I will check on her and Rachel on my way home, even if the cruisers say everything is normal.” He lifted a brow. “I also don’t make promises I don’t keep.”
“Point taken. But you never said you would leave.”
“I’ll move to the chair so you can stretch out.” He moved himself and the files to her chair and sat with a satisfied sigh. “Much more comfortable. Give me your gun.”
“Why?”
“So I can check it out. When did you last fire it?”
“Three weeks ago when I went to target practice with Sal. If you’re satisfied with my gun, will you leave?”
He just held out his hand. Rolling her eyes, she dug in her computer bag, finding the gun where it always was. Except it wasn’t as she’d left it. As soon as her hand closed over it, she knew something was wrong. She drew it out, her heart pounding yet again.
Noah took it from her hand, then met her eyes. “You’d have a hell of a time hitting a target with this thing, considering it’s not loaded. I’m guessing this surprises you.”
Dread tightened her gut. “It had a full clip when I left the house tonight. I was so rattled by Buckland and Jeremy Lyons following me to the Deli that I double-checked.”
“Someone had access to your bag. Where do you keep it when you’re working?”
“In Sal’s desk drawer in the back office. To answer your next questions, the only people working tonight were me and Sal, but there is a door to the alley, for the trash.”
“Give me your bag.” He put on a pair of gloves and pulled out a manila envelope with her name written in block letters with a thick marker. “Feels like photos.”
Her blood went colder. “That’s the envelope Buckland tried to make me take.”
“Then let’s find out what he wants you to see so badly.” He slit the envelope open with his penknife, then uttered a hoarse curse. “Sonofabitch. Sonofafuckingbitch.”
Eve looked over his shoulder. And went still. In Noah’s hands were photos of himself and a petite redhead, locked in an embrace as they stood on a front porch. The number on the house matched the address on the piece of paper still in Eve’s pocket.
“Trina,” she murmured. Trina’s arms were around Noah’s neck, his around her back. Her face was pressed against his neck and he looked like he was holding on for dear life. Not good. Not good at all.