I had déjà vu for the second time today. This reminded me of the phone call from Theo the morning he’d taken Hope. The little jerk-off had called me, warning me about all the horrible things he planned to do to my pregnant sister if I didn’t follow his instructions.
Oh, I’d followed his instructions. And then I’d killed him.
Did Sheldon know that, no matter how tough he played this, he was just as dead as Theo? No one threatened my family and got away with it. No one.
I looked around. When had he put my house under surveillance? I doubted he’d installed cameras in here-too obvious, too much money, and too time-consuming. Which meant right now, he was close enough to see into the house. I suppressed a shudder and steeled myself for a conversation with a madman. “Fine, Sheldon. I’m listening.”
“Good. But I want you to ask me questions.”
What the fuck was with psycho killers wanting to keep a running dialogue with me? Theo. Iris. Saro. Sheldon. Did I give off some trust-me-with-your-twisted-secrets vibe?
Maybe it’s because like recognizes like.
No. No. No. I was not like any of them. Not at all. “What kind of questions?”
“Like how long I’ve been involved in this sideline?”
“I’m betting… about five years, since you first realized you could get away with killing women and making their deaths look like accidents.”
“You really were doing your research in my archives, weren’t you? I’m impressed. But you didn’t know I was the one you were looking for, did you?”
“No. You had everyone fooled.” I paced. “So why change now and kill Arlette in such a public way? No one knew what you were doing. You could’ve gotten away with it for many more years.”
“I got bored. There’s very little premeditated murder on the rez. Usually, it’s one Indian killing another in a drunken fit at three o’clock in the morning. So I wanted to up the stakes. The death of the new tribal president’s niece carried an air of political intrigue.”
Political intrigue. In South Dakota? “So Arlette wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“Give me a little credit,” he said tersely. “One time I asked her about a book she carried around, so she assumed I was interested in her reading habits. She went on and on about the stupid world of vampires. Staking her was my own little slice of irony.”
I ground my teeth at the pride in his voice. “How did you abduct her?”
“I didn’t have to. That was the beauty of it. She’d skipped school to do a research paper. I knocked her out, put her in a big garbage bag, then drove up to the back door and loaded the garbage into my car. Even if anyone had been watching me, they’d never have suspected because I dump the garbage once a week.”
“Handy. I wondered how often you used the doors. So with the political-intrigue angle, you intended for Rollie to take the blame for Arlette’s and Verline’s murders.”
“Yes. Arlette went on about Junior. But I suspected something was going on between Verline and Junior when they came in to register the baby. What a sick love triangle, with father and son. Anyway, Verline was easy to get to.”
“Why cut off her hand?”
“I figured that would send the FBI profilers into a tailspin.” He sighed. “I overheard a phone conversation when you were in the archives, and I was very disappointed that you considered Saro a suspect. That man is a common thug. He has no imagination whatsoever.”
“That’s what you call what you did to Penny? Using your imagination?”
“Of course. I hadn’t intended on Penny Pretty Horses to be part of this, but her valiant struggle with cancer and her going against her family’s wishes to live on her own terms touched me. I had to do something to end her suffering. I picked her up on my lunch break when she was out walking. Instead of fading from people’s memory as just another cancer victim, Penny Pretty Horses will be remembered a lot differently.”
Let him feel superior. Let him ramble.
“Did you see me there? At the scene?” he asked.
“No, I was a little busy dealing with grieving family members and crime-scene containment.”
“You really should be more observant. Then you would’ve figured out that you were supposed to be the third victim, not Penny.”
“Me,” I said dully. “Why me?”
“I saved the best for last. You’re a worthy adversary. I’m done talking. It’s time to discuss the rules of the game.”
“You actually believe I’ll play some game with you?”
His genial, albeit psychotic, demeanor vanished. “You will play. Look under the place mat.”
I didn’t want to. So help me God, I didn’t want to. A ball of fear inched up my throat. I eased aside the quilted place mat and saw a stack of photos. Copies of the ones I’d taken from Sheldon’s garage, different from the ones he’d left in my truck.
“I especially love the one of you in your bathrobe as you’re feeding the dogs.”
I’d especially love to feed you to the fucking dogs.
The last photo was of Dawson and me together, standing by his pickup in a private moment. It appeared as if the photographer had been within a few feet of us. Dawson’s head was annihilated by an X, and red covered my face.
“The last one is my favorite,” Sheldon said cheerfully. “Can you imagine how horrible it would be to feel your lover’s warm blood coating your skin? Having bits of his brain matter and chunks of bone in your hair? Watching his life end as he falls to the ground like another bag of meat?”
My vision swam, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the gruesome images clogging my rational thought. Imagining Dawson dead.
Stay focused. He’s distracting you from talking about what he did with Sophie.
“I know why the FBI was so hot to snap you up-other than the fact you’re a woman, a vet, and a minority.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re a killer. See, that’s where we’re alike, Sergeant Major.”
He had no fucking right to use my rank with such familiarity. No right.
“But you think you’re better than me. I saw it in your eyes that night at Stillwell’s. You think that because you went to war and I didn’t, you know how to win a battle. I’ve studied thousands of offensives. I know ops inside and out. I’m your equal in tactical maneuvers. I’m your equal in everything. And I’ll prove it.”
“How?”
He paused. “I want to test your skill as a soldier against mine.”
“And if I refuse?”
“You won’t. After I kill Sophie I’ll move on to your sister. I’d get her worked up by placing my gun against her temple. Maybe I’d put the barrel in her mouth. Or between her legs. I know how she feels about guns. She might be one I try to literally scare to death.”
The blood coursing through my veins like lava instantly turned ice cold. “Fine, I accept your challenge. But I have a condition.”
Sheldon sighed again. “I thought you might say that. What is it?”
“I want to talk to Sophie to make sure you haven’t already tortured and killed her.”
“Are you questioning my honor?”
“Honor, intent-whatever you choose to call it. I need proof.”
“Or what? I’m holding all the cards.”
“Not so. If you don’t prove she’s alive, then I’ve got nothing to fight for. I’ll assume you’re a liar. I’ll assume you killed her. I’ll call the Eagle River Sheriff’s Department, the FBI, and the tribal police right now. I’ll have my sister and our family in protective custody before you can touch them.” I stormed to the kitchen window and looked out.
A laugh burned my ear. “Glaring out the window seems overly dramatic for you.”
And he just gave himself away. He wanted me to know that he was someplace close and I still couldn’t get to him. He had to prove he was aware of my every move.