Love me to death

THIRTY-SEVEN

Sean and Kate pounded on the glass door of the florist shop. It was five after seven and they had closed.

He’d screwed up. Why hadn’t he pushed the florist earlier for a positive ID? He could have come back with Lorenzo’s picture and verified the receipt that showed that he’d bought the roses. Why had he believed it so readily? Because Lorenzo was obviously still in love with Lucy? Because he was her ex-boyfriend?

Mallory could be lying through his teeth about not being Lucy’s stalker, but Sean wasn’t taking any chances. There was too much doubt, and far too much at stake.

Kate called out to the woman behind the counter. “FBI-we have an emergency.” She held her badge up to the glass.

Lucy hadn’t answered her cell phone, but she’d probably silenced it during Mass. He sent her a text message and hoped she’d read it.

Dillon is on his way to Holy Trinity. Don’t leave the church under any circumstances. Text me back, let me know you’re okay.

If Noah had called thirty minutes earlier, Sean wouldn’t have left Lucy at the church. He’d have stayed with her, even though she told him not to. But he’d thought she was safe. Mallory and the others were behind bars and no one was going to hurt her.

He pictured her hurt and scared, and his mind snapped into focus. Self-pity wouldn’t help.

He needed to think clearly.

“Dammit,” Kate muttered when the woman frowned at them and didn’t come to the door. Kate pounded harder. “Police! Emergency!”

“Maybe she doesn’t speak English,” Sean said.

“She speaks English,” Kate said. “She just doesn’t want to be bothered.” She hit the door one last time. “Police!”

The woman shuffled to the door. She unlocked it and cracked it open. “We’re closed.”

“FBI, we have some questions about a customer.”

The woman frowned. “I can’t help you.”

“Yes you can. You have security tapes.” Kate pointed to the cameras. “Were you working Monday morning?”

“Yes, but-”

“I have a couple of pictures for you to look at. Please let us come in.” It sounded more like a command than a request.

The woman hesitated, then sighed and let them in. “My daughter said someone was asking about a delivery. She’s not supposed to talk about our customers.”

Kate strode to the counter. “On Monday, you had a customer calling himself Cody Lorenzo, who ordered a dozen red roses to be delivered to Lucy Kincaid on Volta Place.”

“Yes. He paid cash.”

“I need you to look at some pictures and tell me if one of these men said he was Cody Lorenzo.”

She frowned. “I don’t know if I can help you …”

“You can,” Kate said. “This is important.”

The woman shrugged, and Kate showed her first the picture of Lorenzo. The woman showed no sign of recognition and shook her head. “No,” she said. “The guy who came in here was white, not a Mexican.”

Sean tensed.

Kate showed her the picture of Mick Mallory. The woman again shook her head. “This guy is too old-the guy who came in didn’t have gray hair.”

“He could have been wearing a wig or hairpiece,” Sean said.

“It’s not him. This guy looks Irish-round face, blue eyes-but the guy who came in had a skinny face. Average, under forty. Short.”

“How short?”

The woman frowned and looked from Sean to Kate. “Shorter than you,” she said to Kate.

Kate was nearly the same height as Lucy, about five foot seven. That put the guy at five and a half feet.

Kate frowned. Her last photo was of Biggler, and he was five foot ten. Kate flipped the picture.

“No,” the woman said. “None of them. Now what’s going on?”

“We need your security tapes from Monday.”

When the florist went in the back, Kate turned to Sean and said, “Mallory must have another partner.”

Sean wasn’t so sure.

“Sean, what are you thinking? You’re unusually quiet.”

“This has nothing to do with Mick Mallory.”

“Cody being killed by the same man who sent Lucy flowers? It has everything to do with Mallory.”

Something didn’t feel right to Sean, but he didn’t know what it was. He looked at his phone for the tenth time since he’d sent Lucy the text. Lucy hadn’t responded to his message. He sent another message.

Luce, let me know you’re okay.

“Sean, talk to me,” Kate said.

He couldn’t explain it to Kate, so he didn’t try.

“I have to go,” he said. “I need to get to the church.”

“Sean-”

Kate’s comment was interrupted when the florist returned with a DVD. “This is everything for the last week. It’s set to record over every Sunday night.”

Sean took the disk before Kate could grab it. “Thanks,” he said and walked out to his car. He tossed Kate his keys. “I’ll look at this while you drive to the church.”

As soon as he sat in the passenger seat, he pulled out his laptop and popped in the DVD. The quality of the black-and-white image wasn’t stellar, and the image was slightly distorted because of the wide lens, but he could see enough.

Kate said, “Talk to me, Sean.”

“Bad feeling,” he said.

“If it helps, she said the guy came in between eight-thirty and nine.”

“Thanks.” Sean pulled down the search window and typed 8:25 for the time stamp on Monday morning. He fast-forwarded, looking for a short white guy.

At 8:39, he walked in.

The stalker admired a display near the front of the store. He had dark hair, cut conservatively, and was pleasant-looking-neither attractive nor unattractive. Average. Normal. He had a nice-guy appearance, and Sean would peg him in his mid- to late thirties.

He paused in front of the refrigerator unit, and Sean gauged him in comparison as being five foot eight. He chatted with the owner, pointed to the vase of roses-which Sean presumed were red-and walked over to the counter.

It was at the counter that they had the clearest shot. He wrote out a card and handed it to the woman.

Sean clipped the image, sharpened it in a photo-editing program, and sent it directly to both Noah Armstrong and Jayne Morgan at RCK West.

I need a name and address for this person ASAP. Noah, this is Lucy’s stalker. Kate and I are going to the church now.

Sean slammed his laptop shut and tossed it on the backseat. He itched to take over the driving; Kate was moving too slow.

“Come on, Kate!”

“It’s snowing, if you haven’t noticed,” she snapped. Her fingers were wrapped tight around the steering wheel.

“Just-” He bit off his verbal criticism. It wouldn’t help the situation. He tried calling Lucy again. No answer. He stared out the window and watched the snow falling harder. He feared they were too late.

Sean was about to call Noah to make sure he’d got the image and message, when Kate’s phone rang. He heard only her end of the conversation, but his heart froze.

“Are you sure? Did you check the bathrooms? Other rooms? … We’re two, three minutes away. I’ll call Noah.”

Sean swerved. “What happened?”

“Dillon is at the church. Lucy isn’t there.” Kate bit her lower lip.

“And?”

“Her coat is. She stepped outside to get air twenty minutes ago and no one has seen her since.”

I am pleased.

Lucy Kincaid sleeps in the back. I laugh out loud. Lucy Kincaid is unconscious on the backseat. Her wrists and ankles are bound with duct tape. She wasn’t unconscious when I tied her up. She almost knew what was happening. But the GHB-isopropanol combination I hand-crafted did the job it is supposed to do. By the time she exited the church, she was already disoriented. When she fell in the snow, I knew she would put up little fight.

I may have given her too much, but I was unsure how quickly skin absorption would work. This was the only time I’d found her alone or in a place where I could grab her. She has wasted so much of my time with her games, I couldn’t allow her to waste another minute. In case her boyfriend had been at the church, I had an alternate plan.

I’m glad I didn’t have to resort to killing another man, pussy-whipped though he is. But if necessary, I would do it, just like out of necessity, I had to kill that cop.

Lucy Kincaid must be trained. I must break her. She is the problem. I am the solution.

I do not believe she’ll be a good student. But she cannot be allowed to get away with her pathetic attempt to send me back to prison.

I have great plans for her. I already have her first lesson ready. The lesson that will teach her that I am in charge, that her life is mine and I can take it when I want. The lesson will show her that she has no power, no hope. It’s the first step but always my favorite. Endings, and beginnings.

As I drive, I keep looking in my mirror at her. Her eyes are open, but glassy. I hope she is not dead.

I worry a bit. Dead girls are no fun-and I have not had my time with Lucy. I pull over to the side of the road and turn halfway around in my seat. I pick up the whip next to me and lash out at the female.

She convulses, a cry coming from her gagged mouth. I smile. She’s alive. Of course she is. I am too good to make a mistake with dosage, even when trying something new.

I merge back into traffic. Normally, I do not like driving so slowly, even in such weather, but tonight?

Tonight, I am very pleased.