Killer Takes All

CHAPTER 30

Friday, March 11, 2005

9:20 a.m.

Stacy awakened to the sound of the toilet flushing. Spencer. Moaning, she rolled onto her side to see the clock. She stared at the numbers a moment, struggling to think.

Today was Friday. Malone’s shift probably started around 7:30 a.m., standard for most P.D.’s detective units.

She flopped onto her back. What did she have today? Professor Schultze’s class. Introduction to Graduate Studies in English. About as exciting as watching grass grow.

She might as well head back to Texas. She was probably going to be booted out of grad school.

Stacy stared at the ceiling. A long crack ran diagonally across it, nearly from corner to corner. Should she? Tuck tail and run back to Dallas?

And do what? She’d given up her job. Sold her house. She could move in with Jane and Ian for a couple of weeks, then what? And to what end?

She believed what she had told Spencer, that the White Rabbit would follow her. That he not only knew her identity, but that he knew her. She based that belief on nothing but her gut-and what she had been told about the game.

Who was the White Rabbit? Why was he playing the game? Most murders were motivated by love or hate, by greed, by a desire for revenge or jealousy.

The serial killer, on the other hand, was a different animal. He usually preyed on strangers; he killed to fulfill some sick need within himself.

Who were they dealing with? And why had she been included in his game?

For a specific reason, she was certain. One other than the fact that she had poked her nose into what he considered his private business. She interested him. He wanted to play with her.

Hide and seek. Cat and mouse.

She frowned and sat up, her head filling with the image of the beheaded cat. Its obscene grin.

Was she the cat? Stacy brought a hand to her throat. Did he mean for her to die in that gruesome way?

If the Allen murder set the pattern for more to come, the answer to that question was yes.

They needed to get into his head, Stacy acknowledged. Figure out what made him tick.

There was only one way to do that: play the game.

She scrambled out of bed and slipped into her robe before heading to the kitchen. She found Spencer, his back to her, making coffee.

She gazed at him a moment, remembering her tears of the night before, wondering what he thought of her now. If he would be able to take her seriously.

Like a dope, she had revealed how badly the White Rabbit’s visit had shaken her. How upset she was.

She’d revealed that she was a big fake. Hard as nails Stacy Killian was like one of those Tootsie Roll Pops-hard shell, soft, chewy center.

Once a guy knew the center could be chewed, that’s what they did. Chewed you up and spit you out. Or swallowed you, bite by bite. Goodbye respect. Goodbye self-esteem.

She had been down this road before. It didn’t lead anywhere she wanted to go.

Though Malone seemed different. He could be funny. And kind. Certainly not the Bubba she had first pegged him to be.

Which meant exactly nothing. Cops were off-limits, period.

As if sensing her presence, he looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Morning. I was going to let you sleep a bit more.”

“I have a class.” She returned his smile. “But thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” The coffeemaker sputtered as it finished brewing and he turned back to it. She saw that he’d found the mugs already; she watched as he filled two.

He held one out for her. She crossed to him, took it and went about adding milk and sweetener. That done, she took a sip, then looked at him over the rim of her mug. “It occurred to me that we’re going about this the wrong way.”

“Going about what the wrong way? Our romance?”

For a moment she couldn’t breathe. She shook it off and crossed to a chair and sat. “Get a grip, Romeo. Catching the White Rabbit.”

“Last I checked, you were a civilian and I was the detective. There is no ‘we’ in that scenario.”

She ignored that. “It seems to me, if we played the game, we’d have a better handle on what we’re up against. And who we’re up against.”

“Get into this Rabbit’s head.”

“Exactly. If the killer really is someone who’s begun playing the game for real, what better way to predict his moves?”

He gazed at her a moment, then nodded. “I’m in. So’s Tony.”

“Good. I’ll talk to Leo about setting it up. After all, who better to help understand the White Rabbit than the man who created him?”

He nodded again, drained his mug and set it on the counter. He started for the doorway, stopping and looking back at her when he reached it. “Call me when you have the details. And Stacy?”

“Hmm?”

“If you don’t get that door fixed, I’m sleeping over again tonight. That’s a promise.”

She watched him go, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She had to admit, a part of her would like to test that promise.