Pretend relationships were a relative thing.
And now, sitting in his silent house, on the edge of his empty bed, he understood the lure of a virtual relationship. If one was lonely, sometimes a conversation could mean more than a quick roll across the sheets. He smiled grimly. Well, at least as much.
He stretched out in his empty bed, but again, sleep would not come. He tossed and turned. And when he finally did fall asleep, he dreamed again, this time of Eve in an ambulance, while paramedics brought her back from death with the paddles.
His eyes opened and he stared at his ceiling. That wasn’t a dream. He’d read it online in a newspaper archive. She’d died twice on the way to the hospital after having been discovered by her guardian, Dana Dupinsky, who saved her life.
Greer the Guardian. The name took on new meaning. Eve’s real-life guardian had protected battered women and in working with her, so had Eve. Now she protected the subjects in her study who were being stalked by a man they thought was fantasy.
Noah’s sigh echoed off the walls of his empty room. He’d been given the role of guardian and protector once, so long ago now. He’d failed his family, abysmally.
And now you’re alone. He did, however, have purpose. He had a badge. He’d catch this killer, then he’d do the paperwork and move on to the next homicide.
A depressing future. He’d been sober for ten years, but at this moment wanted a drink so badly he could taste it. He rolled over, grabbed his phone, hesitated.
I hurt Brock last night. He couldn’t do that again. Wouldn’t.
The phone in his hand rang, startling him. It was Brock. “What’s wrong?” Noah asked.
“Nothing. I, uh, didn’t see you at Sal’s tonight and I got worried.”
“I’m working a case. Besides, I said I wasn’t going back,” Noah added, annoyed.
“Well, forgive me if I doubted you really meant it this time,” Brock flung back. “Eve wasn’t behind the bar tonight. Sal said she had an emergency.”
Subtlety had never been Brock’s strong suit. “I know. She was with me.”
“That’s good then,” Brock said cautiously. “Isn’t it?”
Noah’s temper flared. “No. She’s got a goddamn target on her head. And she wasn’t with me. In fact she told me she wasn’t with anyone, including me.”
“Ouch. You need another bout in the ring?”
Noah thought of the harm he’d wreaked the night before. “No, but can you meet me for coffee? I need to get out of my house.” Out of this empty shell of a house.
“Of course,” Brock said. “Usual place?”
“Yeah. In a half hour?”
Tuesday, February 23, 2:00 a.m.
That Hunter guy was still there. Sipping coffee in the frozen seat of his SUV, he glared at the red pickup truck with Illinois plates from a block away. They’d turned out the lights in the living room. It appeared David Hunter was staying the night. No matter. It would be easier to shoot him in bed anyway.
Webster had come, then gone again. What did Eve tell him? What did she know?
It doesn’t matter, he told himself. Even if she knows about Shadowland, she can’t know about me. Still, the clock inside his mind was ticking. He needed to move.
But carefully. Hunter had hidden something behind the bush next to the door to Eve’s building. Let’s see what it was, shall we?
He approached from the side of the building, grimacing when snow went in his shoes, wet and freezing. Another pair of shoes, ruined. He came up on the bush, his head down, the lapels of his coat pulled around his face.
Whatever it was, it was pink. He picked it up then furiously turned it lens down, grateful he hadn’t approached from the front. Stay calm. The camera had not captured his face, only his thumb as he’d grasped it. And he was wearing gloves. It’s all right.
He placed the camera in the snow and ground it under the sole of his shoe. What the hell kind of surveillance camera comes in pink?
He’d put his hand on the downstairs building door when he heard something inside. Footsteps, muted murmurs. Someone was coming. Hunter and Eve. So? Kill them.
Finger on the trigger, he retreated to the shadows, waiting for them to emerge. But they did not. He crept as close as he dared. Through the door’s leaded-glass side panels he could hear arguing in loud whispers, but he could see no one.
“Call 911.” It was Hunter. “Just do it. For God’s sake.”
“Okay, okay, I’m dialing, but don’t go out there. David. No.”
“I thought you said it was just a dog,” Hunter hissed. “Stand back and let go.”
“Maybe it is. If it’s not, I don’t want you hurt. Hello? We may have an intruder outside.” She gave the address. “Yes, I’ll stay on the line… No, we won’t go outside.”
“Give me your phone and take mine,” Hunter demanded. “Call Webster and tell him to get his ass over here. I’ll hold with 911.”
He couldn’t see them unless he stood straight in front of the leaded glass, where he could be seen as well. If they took even a few steps toward the stairs, they’d be in range. Just shoot the glass, break the window, then you can see.
And wake the neighborhood? That would be the best way to get caught. The police were on their way. Dammit. He was running away for the second time tonight. Hating Hunter, he crept back the way he’d come, destroying his footprints as he did so.
Unfortunately, now Eve would be watched all the time. Protected. He had to lure her away. Climbing into his SUV, he was two blocks away when he saw the cruiser in his rearview. He gripped his steering wheel and twisted viciously. It should have been Eve’s throat in his hands.
He jammed one hand into his coat pocket and felt the syringe that had been meant for Eve. His mind was racing. He’d been all primed. Ready. I’ll never sleep tonight. Just one. One to take off the edge.
He turned the SUV toward the city. He knew where to find what he wanted.
Chapter Nine
Tuesday, February 23, 2:25 a.m.
Noah received Eve’s call as he and Brock had finally gotten around to the topic he’d really wanted to discuss. Eve. He’d sent Brock back to Trina and a warm bed and with a combination of dread and anticipation, he’d come back here. Again. For the third time in one night.
Noah looked up at the pink camera over her door. There would be an interesting story to that. The door was opened by the officer who’d responded to the 911. Eve was sitting in her chair, arms around her knees. She met his eyes with weary resignation.
“Thank you for coming,” she said. “David made me call.”
Hunter was on the sofa, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Damn straight I did.”
“Who put up the pink camera?” Noah asked.
“I did,” Hunter said grimly.
“Why are you here, Detective?” the older officer said. “This isn’t a homicide.”
Noah flicked a glance at Eve. “It’s personal. Did you find evidence of an intruder?”
“Somebody was out there,” the younger cop said. “Footprints were wiped out. One of the other cameras was pushed into the mud. Should we go door to door?”
“CSU will check the perimeter at first light. We may do door to door then. Send me a copy of your report.” The cops left and Noah closed the door. “What happened?”
Hunter told the story while Noah examined the pink video receiver.
“The system triggers an alarm,” Hunter finished, “if the camera loses a signal. When the guy ground it into the mud, the alarm woke me up.” He hesitated. “Eve has a registered gun. She’d given it to me. I started down the stairs, but she followed.”
“It’s my apartment,” Eve said stubbornly. “My problem and my goddamned gun.”