skimmed the bold black letters, the hair rose on the back of his neck.
Tony Jingles. This afternoon. The Dupont Circle Rapist strikes again.
His gaze pinned Larsen. âWhereâd you find this?â
âIt fell out of the newspaper when I picked it up.â
She was lying. He wasnât sure how he knew that. The answer wasnât necessarily in her gaze, which was finally meeting his, nor her erect, self-assured stance. Nor was it in the stubborn, upward thrust of her chin. He simply felt it in his gut. And heâd long ago quit second-guessing his gut. The question was, what was he going to do about it?
He skimmed the note again. Did it matter? Didnât he have what he neededâa way to catch that son of a bitch? If he still had questions afterward, heâd interrogate her then.
Heâd know where to find her. Larsen Vale wasnât going to make another move unless he said so.
Â
Larsenâs nerves were eating her alive.
She paced Jackâs living room, her sandals clipping over the hardwood floor as she waited for word from the Tony Jingles stakeout. The Orioles game was scheduled to begin in twenty minutes unless they called a rain delay, which was a real possibility given the drizzly skies.
The woman cop Jack had sent to babysit Larsen walked through the living room on one of her quarter-hourly rounds. The woman, Sergeant OâMalley, wasnât much in the way of company. Short, stocky and unsmiling, sheâd relinquished no more than one-word answers when Larsen tried to engage her in conversation when sheâd first arrived. When the cop wasnât making her rounds, she remained firmly by the kitchen door.
Outside, two male cops kept an eye on the house. Larsen hadnât considered the fact that whoever supposedly put the note in Jackâs paper obviously knew where he lived. Of course, that person had been her, though she could never tell him that. So she cooled her heels in a protective custody with no means of escape short of outside intervention.
It wouldnât take much to get herself out of here. She was convinced of that. A phone call, maybe two. Heaven knew sheâd made enough of them already this morning, apologizing for yesterday and clearing her calendar for the next few days until the police caught the albino and ended this nightmare.
Why was she hesitating? Maybe because if she left now sheâd never know what happened. Larsen stared out the front window at the damp, gray afternoon, the trees in front of the row house wilting with the drizzle.
And maybe the problem was Jack himself. She needed to get away from him. She knew that. But it didnât change the fact that she was drawn to him in a way she hadnât been to a man, to anyone, in longer than she could remember. But staying here was foolish. She was playing with fire.
With a sigh, she turned from the window as the clock on the chest in the corner chimed two oâclock. The Orioles game was about to begin. Her heart gave a nervous kick. If she was right about the murder happening pregame, it would happen soon.
Larsen turned on the television and stared as the Orioles mascot ran onto the field exactly as sheâd seen him in the premonition. Chills raced over her skin, standing her hair on end. The murder had begun. The memory of that vision, that nightmare, replayed in her head like a horror filmâthe restaurant, the albino, every patron hypnotized but one. And sheâd sent Jack and the D.C. police into the thick of it. With guns.
A sudden, horrible thought struck her. What if he controlled them, too?
Oh, God, what have I done?
Chapter 5
âS abrinaâs in love,â Henry said, his dark head glistening from the misty rain. âSays sheâs going to marry the guy.â
Jack scanned the street outside Tony Jingles for sign of anythingâ¦or anyoneâ¦suspicious. The two men were tucked into a doorway across the street from the restaurant.
Tony Jingles. This afternoon. The Dupont Circle Rapist strikes again.
His gaze pinned Larsen. âWhereâd you find this?â
âIt fell out of the newspaper when I picked it up.â
She was lying. He wasnât sure how he knew that. The answer wasnât necessarily in her gaze, which was finally meeting his, nor her erect, self-assured stance. Nor was it in the stubborn, upward thrust of her chin. He simply felt it in his gut. And heâd long ago quit second-guessing his gut. The question was, what was he going to do about it?
He skimmed the note again. Did it matter? Didnât he have what he neededâa way to catch that son of a bitch? If he still had questions afterward, heâd interrogate her then.
Heâd know where to find her. Larsen Vale wasnât going to make another move unless he said so.
Â
Larsenâs nerves were eating her alive.
She paced Jackâs living room, her sandals clipping over the hardwood floor as she waited for word from the Tony Jingles stakeout. The Orioles game was scheduled to begin in twenty minutes unless they called a rain delay, which was a real possibility given the drizzly skies.
The woman cop Jack had sent to babysit Larsen walked through the living room on one of her quarter-hourly rounds. The woman, Sergeant OâMalley, wasnât much in the way of company. Short, stocky and unsmiling, sheâd relinquished no more than one-word answers when Larsen tried to engage her in conversation when sheâd first arrived. When the cop wasnât making her rounds, she remained firmly by the kitchen door.
Outside, two male cops kept an eye on the house. Larsen hadnât considered the fact that whoever supposedly put the note in Jackâs paper obviously knew where he lived. Of course, that person had been her, though she could never tell him that. So she cooled her heels in a protective custody with no means of escape short of outside intervention.
It wouldnât take much to get herself out of here. She was convinced of that. A phone call, maybe two. Heaven knew sheâd made enough of them already this morning, apologizing for yesterday and clearing her calendar for the next few days until the police caught the albino and ended this nightmare.
Why was she hesitating? Maybe because if she left now sheâd never know what happened. Larsen stared out the front window at the damp, gray afternoon, the trees in front of the row house wilting with the drizzle.
And maybe the problem was Jack himself. She needed to get away from him. She knew that. But it didnât change the fact that she was drawn to him in a way she hadnât been to a man, to anyone, in longer than she could remember. But staying here was foolish. She was playing with fire.
With a sigh, she turned from the window as the clock on the chest in the corner chimed two oâclock. The Orioles game was about to begin. Her heart gave a nervous kick. If she was right about the murder happening pregame, it would happen soon.
Larsen turned on the television and stared as the Orioles mascot ran onto the field exactly as sheâd seen him in the premonition. Chills raced over her skin, standing her hair on end. The murder had begun. The memory of that vision, that nightmare, replayed in her head like a horror filmâthe restaurant, the albino, every patron hypnotized but one. And sheâd sent Jack and the D.C. police into the thick of it. With guns.
A sudden, horrible thought struck her. What if he controlled them, too?
Oh, God, what have I done?
Chapter 5
âS abrinaâs in love,â Henry said, his dark head glistening from the misty rain. âSays sheâs going to marry the guy.â
Jack scanned the street outside Tony Jingles for sign of anythingâ¦or anyoneâ¦suspicious. The two men were tucked into a doorway across the street from the restaurant.
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