He hadn’t planned on the two goons who showed up either. The bait he set with the fake Sinnerman in custody had all been for naught. Why hadn’t her protection been called off like he thought they’d be—didn’t they think they had their killer? It didn’t make sense. She should have been in his possession now, locked up in a room in his basement that he’d prepared just for her, his most prized possession. But his plan had failed, and he wondered how long it would take for it all to unravel. Now there were loose ends to take care of, and he cringed at the thought of it. One of those loose ends was Sloane, and Sam wanted to make her pay. He’d make them all pay.
CHAPTER 37
I sat on a sofa in a room the size of my entire house that was embellished in warm shades of burgundy, brown, and gold. Every wall was adorned with at least one piece of art, many were works by famous artists, but unlike so many replicas I’d seen in other homes, I had no doubt these were originals.
In another room a group of men were enthralled in a parley of some kind. From what I could hear, it was Giovanni, Sal, and Lucio. Giovanni tried to muffle his voice and keep a sense of composure, but his tone was tense, and his words—sharp. He reprimanded them for letting me out of their sight and for the fact that Sinnerman was still out there somewhere and what that reality meant for me, and what that would mean for them if anything happened to me because of it. His voice conveyed genuine concern, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. A minute later the only sound I heard was the persistent twitch of the clock that hung on the wall in front of me. The front door closed, and Giovanni joined me in the living room.
“I know it doesn’t change things,” I said, “but they tried to protect me.”
He sat down next to me and remitted a cup of tea.
“I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”
“For whatever reason, lately I’ve felt like the girl in school who gets all the boys in trouble. I didn’t know I was still being shadowed by your men, or I never would have gone up there in the first place and put them through all that. I’m sure they drained themselves just to keep up. There’s no way they could have been expected to—”
He placed his hand on my leg which stopped me mid-sentence. Why did I lose all concentration every single time he got anywhere near any part of my body? It bugged me.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you, Sloane,” he said.
That type of sentiment was too much, too soon, and I wished for an eject button on the side of the chair that would hurl me toward the sky before I felt any more out of my element than I already did. Giovanni just sat there and stared into my eyes with such tenacity, a confidence that I almost always had, but right now, for whatever reason I didn’t. Instead, I pointed at one of the paintings on the wall and said, “Which one is your favorite? They’re all so different from each other.” Lame.
“All of them. I have a deep appreciation for art which I attribute to the fact that I cannot draw to save my life. And I’ve found that when I’m unable to do something, I either learn how to, or in this case, I gain a much deeper respect for it.”
“That’s the way I feel about books,” I said. “I never did any good in English class in school, and the grades I received on my essays were even worse, so it was easy for me to pick up a book and get swept away with how the words are articulated on the page. It’s a feeling I can’t describe. Reading brings me so much happiness. I can pick up a book and become so engrossed in the story, I forget everything that’s going on around me.”
“We have a great deal in common.”
“I think so too,” I said.
“We should talk about what happened to you today.”
I sat back and crossed my legs and took a sip of my tea.
“It was him,” I said. “Sinnerman.”
His face turned from playful and soft to grim in an instant.
“You’re sure?”
I nodded.
“He approached me from behind with a needle, and we’ve already determined that he sedates his victims when he takes them,” I said. “It’s his M.O.”
There was a knock at the door. He looked at me and said, “Will you excuse me for a moment?”
A minute later Giovanni’s brother and the chief entered the room. The chief looked like he’d had about twenty cups of coffee and all the added sugar he could stand.
“Sloane, are you alright?” the chief said.
I nodded.
“I’m doing fine.”
I felt like I’d been shaken and stirred, but I didn’t want everyone else to know that. Just being in the presence of the man I’d hunted for the last few years aroused all kinds of emotions inside me. I was so close, and now all I could think of was whether I’d get another chance or if I’d blown it all together.
“You got something for me?” Agent Luciana said.
I nodded and rose from the chair and walked over to a small round table at the corner of the room. I reached into my bag that rested on top and pulled out the needle that took Lucio about twenty tries before he freed it from its home on high.
“I didn’t have any plastic with me,” I said. “So the only thing I could do was fold it in a napkin I had in my car.”
Agent Luciana took it and thanked me. It was always all business, all the time with him.
“I doubt you’ll get any prints off it, he was wearing gloves,” I said.
He nodded.
“Just what in the hell is this guy after anyway?” Agent Luciana said.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I said. “Me.”
The chief and Agent Luciana exchanged looks and then sat down on the sofa. I sat across from them. Giovanni stood in the corner of the room, leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed.
“Go on,” the chief said.
“This is the way I see it—for whatever reason, Sinnerman wanted everyone to believe he’d been caught. He framed a guy for the murders, planted evidence in that same guy’s car and had every last detail organized; it was a well-choreographed operation. And he was so good at it, you all believed you’d caught the killer, and who knows, maybe you still think that. All I know is he went through a lot of effort to pull this off so that everyone would stop looking for him. And when he thought he’d succeeded, the first thing he did was to come after me.”
“What does he want with you though?” the chief said. “All his other women have been random. Why single you out—I mean I get there’s a sister connection, but…”
I shrugged.
“Maybe because I called him out, who knows. No other woman has been bold enough to do that. But to put all this together just so he could get his grips on me…”
“I’ve seen this type of thing before,” Agent Luciana said. “Not in this exact way, but I believe he’s become obsessed with you, and I’d be willing to bet that there’s no avenue he won’t consider in order to get what he wants. There’s a term for his behavior: erotomania.”
“Eroto what?” I said.
“It’s when a person suffers with a form of delusion where they believe the other person is in love with them. They live in some type of fantasy until they feel betrayed, at which point, they can become violent. I believe he’s been stalking you for some time.”
“Why me?” I said.
Giovanni walked over next to me and sat down.
“Because of who you are,” he said. “You’re gutsy; you let him know you were coming after him. You told me yourself that you believe this guy gets his kicks from a challenge, and I’ve never known a better one than you.”