Just Past Midnight

Richard frowned. “You said apparently Danielle had no motive at first. What did you mean by that?”

“It came out later that Michael had left her a lot of money. He received a trust fund when he turned twenty-one, and he left the whole thing, nearly half a million dollars, to Danielle. A few weeks later, she up and disappeared.”

“She didn’t even tell her roommate where she was going?”

“Not that I could find out. And the roommate wasn’t shy about talking. She told me about this shrink who used to call Danielle from time to time. Dr. Gaines, she called him. He was a therapist Danielle had been seeing before she left Texas. I called him up a few weeks after Danielle disappeared, but he refused to talk about her. The guy was downright hostile, but I got the distinct feeling that he knew where she was.”

“Go on.”

The prompt seemed to annoy Kane, and he scowled. “Look, I’m not on the witness stand here. And I’m starting to wonder why I should be doing all your legwork for you. If you’ve got hundred-dollar bills to throw around, why don’t you hire yourself an investigator?”

“I did hire an investigator,” Richard said. “And he led me straight to you.”

Kane’s scowl deepened. “I think we’re done here.”

“Really? Because I don’t think we are,” Richard said slowly. “I don’t think so at all. We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet. You know, the part where you explain why the university purged your employment records and why you failed to mention any previous law enforcement experience on your HPD application. So you see, Sergeant, I’d say this conversation is far from over.”

“What the hell is this?” Kane growled. “Some kind of shakedown?”

“I told you, all I want is the truth. Your leaving Drury University so abruptly had something to do with Michael’s death, didn’t it. The school had something on you, and you cut a deal. You agreed to leave quietly and keep your mouth shut about the fire. Am I getting warm yet, Sergeant Kane?”

When the man didn’t answer, Richard leaned toward him. “Let’s get something straight here. I don’t give a damn why you left Drury. I don’t give a damn what they had on you. What I want to know is what you had on them. What scared the university and the Hanover Police Department so badly that they had to find a way to shut you up?”

“Think about it, Berkley.” Kane’s voice was hard and angry, but there was a flicker of excitement—or triumph—in his gaze. “If a murder on campus was enough to frighten off prospective students, what do you think a serial killer on the loose would do for enrollment?”

“A serial killer?” Richard was surprised by how unemotional his voice sounded. How detached he felt from Kane’s revelation. But he knew that at any moment his control could slip and he’d give himself away. He didn’t want to do that. Not yet.

He glanced up to find Kane watching him. An unexpected chill shot through Richard. “You think Danielle Williams was a serial killer?”

“Not was. Is.”

“You know where she is?”

Kane hesitated. “No. But I know what she’s done. Let’s just say, Michael Farmer’s not the only dead boy in her past.”

“Don’t hold out on me now, Kane. What else do you have on her?”

Kane eyed the money for a moment, as if contemplating asking for more, but before he had a chance, Richard brought out another roll of bills and tossed it onto the table.

“What else did you find out about Danielle Williams?” he repeated.

Kane ran a hand across his mouth, as if what he’d already said had left a bad taste. “After I talked to Dr. Gaines, I decided to do a little more digging into Danielle’s background, and I found out that she wasn’t exactly the innocent, small-town girl she tried to make everyone at Drury think she was. She was a smart, driven, ruthless student who, from the time she hit high school, had her eye on something called the Belmont Award. The prize was worth thousands in scholarship money, and according to a couple of teachers I spoke to, no one even came close to Danielle’s grades or accomplishments until her senior year. Then this rich kid moves to town who’s even smarter than she is. He outperforms Danielle in all their classes, and everyone assumes that he’ll win the Belmont. Then, get this—” It was Kane who leaned forward now. “He and his family die in a fire one night.”

“Was there an investigation?”

“The girl was questioned by the police, all right, but there wasn’t enough evidence to make an arrest. So she wins the award and heads off to Drury, where she meets Michael Farmer, who also dies in a fire, leaving her a small fortune. Now I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a pattern to me.”

Somewhere inside Richard, an old rage stirred to life. A terrible fury he’d had to keep under control during his long search for Danielle Williams. And now that he’d finally found her, he wasn’t about to let anyone get in his way. Not even a paranoid cop who might be more than a little insane.

As if reading his mind, Kane traced a fingertip down the barrel of his gun. Richard had a feeling the action was very deliberate. “There’s a name for women who kill their lovers for personal gain.”

“Black widows,” Richard said.

“That’s right. We both have an interest in spiders, don’t we? You didn’t come here to find out about Danielle Williams. I haven’t told you a damn thing you didn’t already know. What the hell are you really after here?”

Richard got up and walked to the window again. After a moment, he said, “Do you know a woman named Darian West? Dr. West?”

Behind him, Kane drew a sharp breath, but by the time Richard turned, the cop’s expression was coolly indifferent.

“No, why?”

“She’s a criminal psychologist here in Houston. In fact, she worked extensively with HPD on the Casanova murder case last summer. You were assigned to that task force for a while, weren’t you, Sergeant? That is, until you asked for a transfer. I find it hard to believe that you and Dr. West didn’t cross paths at some point.”

Kane’s gaze had grown very dark and very cold, and Richard was aware of the .45 that was still only a fingertip away.

Richard walked slowly toward Kane. “I think you do know her, Sergeant. I think she’s the reason you left Connecticut and came back to Texas. I’m willing to bet that somewhere around here there’s a big, fat file on Dr. West.”

Kane’s hand rested on the TV tray, but he didn’t pick up the gun. Not yet. “Who the hell are you? What do you want from me?”

Richard paused mere inches from the man’s chair and stared down at him. “It’s simple. I don’t know what kind of sick little obsession you’ve got going on here, but I want you to back off. I want you to drop your investigation. I want you to forget you ever heard of Danielle Williams or Dr. Darian West.”

“Yeah?” Kane’s gaze turned defiant as his hand closed over the weapon. “And why should I do that?”

Richard smiled. “Because she’s mine.”

CHAPTER SIX

DARIAN DREAMED about Michael that night. It was the same scene she’d replayed in her sleep for the past seven years, ever since Michael died so suddenly and so tragically…exactly the way Paul Ryann died before him.

In her vision, she was still Dani. She and Michael were walking across a snowy landscape, arms linked, frosty breaths mingling on the cold air. All around them, icicles dripped like diamonds from the treetops, while in the distance, sunlight danced across a frozen pond.

The campus was still and almost preternaturally quiet. The two of them might have been alone in the world, captured, for all eternity, inside a snow globe.

It was as if she had no past and no future here, Dani thought. The only thing that mattered was the present. She didn’t have to think about anything else. She didn’t have to remember the fire at Belmont House or that beseeching figure in the window. And later, those awful, awful screams.

She didn’t have to remember the suspicions, the loneliness, and the utter sense of helplessness she’d felt after her father’s accident.

Most of all, she didn’t have to remember that voice on the phone….

“I did it for you, Dani.”

But even in her dream world, she couldn’t escape those memories. They came flooding back, and Dani turned away, no longer able to meet Michael’s gaze. He wouldn’t have it. He put his hand beneath her chin and tenderly turned her face back to his.

It was his gentleness that always got to Dani. She knew she shouldn’t allow herself to feel anything for him—for anyone. But she couldn’t help it. He was so sweet and so handsome and so very persistent. In some ways, he reminded her of Paul. They had the same haunted eyes. The same melancholy smile.

A premonition crawled up her spine, and she shivered.

“What is it?” Michael asked her. “What’s wrong?”