“I think so. The FBI didn’t want anyone knowing he’d set his sights on me. The lead agents thought they could use me to trap him.”
“So, a serial killer sent you letters, ran past you every day, and you didn’t think to tell me any of this? That guy is dead and you now think a copycat took Rory? Is he targeting Rory because of you? To try and draw you out?”
She licked her lips, looking nervous, and he realized she’d already reached that conclusion. “I think it’s possible that’s exactly what he’s doing. He chose my boyfriend’s sister as his next victim. He chose my cousin’s club to send a message. And he wasn’t trying to hide. He looked right at the camera when he signaled eight.”
“Wait. What message? What signal?” What was she talking about? He realized he was missing some threads. How had she come to the conclusion that this guy was the Latin Lothario or a copycat or whatever?
“You know when they were walking through the parking lot? Well, he made some sort of signal with his fingers. At first, I thought it was nothing. But last night in bed I must have been running over it in my dreams and when I woke up I had the number eight playing in my mind. That’s why I texted Travis to meet me this morning at the club. Jace managed to zoom in on his hands and enlarge them. He signalled VIII. The Latin Lothario killed seven women.”
“Eight. So what does that mean? That Rory is going to be victim number eight?” His stress level soared. He started to pace. “And you think this message was aimed at you? It’s too much of a coincidence not to be.” He stopped and looked over at her. “Does he fit your profile?”
She blinked. “Yes.”
“So, it’s possible the cops got the wrong guy. This guy could be the real Latin Lothario and he targeted Rory because of you.”
Because of you.
The accusation was like a blow to her stomach, and tears of pain welled in her eyes. She blinked them back. “Yes, I suppose that could be the case.”
She should have told him. But she’d thought the Latin Lothario was dead. It was possible it was all some big misunderstanding. But she knew it wasn’t. She could feel it in her gut. And even though she’d been questioning herself these last few months, ever since everything went wrong with the Latin Lothario case, she felt she was right.
He’d come after Rory because of her. Gray had every right to be mad.
“And you didn’t think to tell me any of this before? You didn’t think I should know that you’d been targeted by a serial killer?”
His face grew cold. “You didn’t share any of this with me. The man you supposedly love.”
There was no supposedly about it. She blinked rapidly. “I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” he snapped. “And now my sister pays for your lies.”
She didn’t see it that way. Even if she’d told him everything, Rory might still have been targeted. This case was supposed to be over. The Latin Lothario was dead. But she didn’t think Gray wanted her logic right now. He wanted someone to blame.
“I didn’t know the case wasn’t over. That this would happen.”
“No. But these lies make me wonder what else you could keep from me if you could so easily hold back something this big. You know I can’t stand lies. A relationship can’t survive miscommunication. I have to be able to trust you to be with you.”
And he couldn’t trust her anymore. She got it.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your suspicions this morning?”
“Because I wasn’t sure.” She’d wanted to be wrong.
He slammed his hand down on the desk. Hard. She jumped with a cry as fury lit his face. “And this is the problem with our relationship. You don’t share. You don’t tell me the important stuff. This can’t go on.”
“You’re right. It can’t. I’m sorry. Really sorry.” Turning, she fled the room. As she raced down the passage, she heard someone yell her name, but she didn’t know who it was and she didn’t care. Running out into the street, she sped across the road and into the park that lay opposite. She sprinted down the path, uncaring that it was dusk and probably not the safest place to be on her own.
He was right. This was all her fault.
Idiot. Why hadn’t she told him? She’d meant to. She’d been going to, but it never seemed like the right time.
But when was the right time to tell someone you’d been stalked by a serial killer?
Her breath heaving in and out of her burning lungs, she dropped to a walk. Sobs wracked her body. She’d finally done it. She’d ruined the best thing that had ever happened to her. It had been inevitable she supposed, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.
Unable to carry on, her legs burning with pain, she stopped and leaned over, panting.
“Got change, lady?”