Secret Admirer

  “Now the gun,” Tiffany whispered. “You have to get rid of the gun now. He can see it.” No more screams. Just a rough, muffled plea.

  Alice didn’t put down the gun.

  “He sees you. He’s always watching,” Tiffany continued, voice husky with tears. “He has a knife at my throat right now, and I can feel it cutting me. Please…please…put the gun down. Just put it on the headstone beside you.”

  But Alice hesitated. If the perp had a knife at Tiffany’s throat, and if he was watching… “You’re here, aren’t you?” In the cemetery. The perp wasn’t going to lure her to another location, like the FBI suspected. The perp was there. The FBI was supposed to be watching the cemetery from all angles. They’d thought for sure that she would be taken to another location.

  But they’d been wrong. The killer was there. He was inside with her.

  “The gun, Alice!” Tiffany’s voice broke. “Put it down, he’s—ah, he’s hurting me!”

  Dammit. Alice put down the gun. She lifted her right hand in the air, showing that she wasn’t armed any longer. Her tracking device was gone, but the FBI was still monitoring her phone. They’d hear everything that was being said. They’d rush inside.

  “Now walk forward,” Tiffany told her, voice low and thin. “He says…F-forward twenty feet. Turn at the broken angel. D-don’t pick up your gun. H-he’ll kill me…” Her breath heaved out. “And drop your phone. He says…l-leave it there…” The call ended.

  “I hope to hell you got all of that,” Alice muttered. The FBI had better have gotten that. She dropped her phone onto the ground and hurried forward. Twenty feet? She wasn’t sure where—

  The broken angel. Beneath the moonlight, she saw the statue. The wings had fallen away, and the angel seemed to be grieving as he looked down into…an open grave.

  A large hole had been dug into the earth. The hole was the perfect size for a coffin. A deep and wide hole, one that disappeared far below. Alice stopped right near that massive opening, her gaze sliding into the darkness that waited below.

  Footsteps rushed toward her. Alice spun around just as Tiffany appeared from the darkness. The woman’s face was twisted and desperate, and she hurtled right at Alice. Alice reached out her hands, trying to grab for the other woman—

  And Tiffany shoved Alice. Shoved her hard, and Alice slipped on the loose dirt. She tumbled back, falling into the gaping hole. Falling right into the open grave that waited for her. Alice hit hard, landing on her back, and the wind was knocked from her lungs. For a moment, she didn’t move, a moment that seemed to last forever. Then Alice looked up.

  Tiffany stood on the edge of the open grave. She had a gun in her hand. “Hello, bitch,” Tiffany told her, triumph thick in her voice. “You’re finally where you belong.”

  ***

  “Close in!” Zander snarled into the headpiece. “Fucking swarm, now. He’s in the cemetery. Get agents inside!” Zander didn’t hesitate. He hurtled over the old fence and landed easily on the other side. Alice’s phone call had been fed into his listening device, and he’d never been more grateful for the techs that worked at the FBI. He rushed through the darkness, looking for the broken angel. And it was right there. Up ahead. He could see it—

  He advanced without a sound, his gun up and ready. I’m here, Alice.

  A dark-haired woman stood a few feet away. She lifted a gun and aimed into what looked like an open grave. The wind blew her hair back—

  Not Alice. Not my Alice!

  “Stop!” Zander yelled. “FBI!”

  She didn’t stop. She fired. The blast echoed around him.

  He bellowed, “Drop the weapon! Drop it fucking now!”

  Laughing, she spun toward him. Tiffany Shaw. “Too late!” She didn’t drop the weapon. She pointed it at him. “She’s gone. Dead in the grave, just like he is.”

  No, dammit, no!

  “She never deserved him. Alice wasn’t perfect. Alice wasn’t good enough. She didn’t appreciate him.” The moonlight showed Tiffany’s features so clearly—she was smiling. “I read the stories. Realized the Secret Admirer was looking for me. Me. I’m the woman he always wanted. I have the dark hair. I have the blue eyes. I’m perfect. Perfect for him. Alice was just in the way. So I put her where she belonged.” Tiffany took a step forward. “Alice is in the ground. Dead in the grave.” Tiffany’s voice took on a sing-song quality. “Alice is in the ground. Dead in the—”

  “Drop the fucking gun, or I will shoot you.” Fear had iced Zander’s veins. Alice couldn’t be dead. Hell, no.

  But Tiffany shook her head. “No, how about I shoot—” Her words ended in a scream because someone had just grabbed Tiffany. Hands had shot out of the open grave. Hands that locked around Tiffany’s ankles and yanked her, hard. Tiffany twisted and slammed face-first into the ground. Then she rolled, screaming, and she crawled for the grave, trying to aim her gun again, trying to shoot into that hole—

  Trying to shoot at Alice.

  “Stop!” Zander yelled.

  Tiffany didn’t.

  So he fired. The bullet blasted into Tiffany’s back. She’d just shoved to her knees as she took aim, and the bullet plunged into her. She let out another scream, and her upper body spun toward him as she took aim at Zander—

  He fired again. A shot to her chest. Her eyes bulged. She gasped. Shuddered.

  Then she fell. Her body sagged back, then slipped right into the open grave.

  Zander ran forward. He could hear the frantic rush of footsteps as the other agents closed in. “Alice!” Zander roared her name. He fell to his knees at the edge of the open grave, his gaze flying below—

  Tiffany was in the grave. Bleeding. Twitching. And Alice was crouched beside her. Alice’s hand was on Tiffany’s cheek. It looked like Tiffany was talking.

  Zander jumped into the grave.

  “I-I…was…p-perfect…” Tiffany’s voice slurred.

  Alice shook her head. “No one is perfect.”

  But Tiffany didn’t hear her. Because Tiffany Shaw—

  She was dead. Her eyes had sagged shut, and her body had gone still. Zander put his hand to Tiffany’s throat, just to be sure. No pulse.

  “She wasn’t a victim.” Alice’s soft voice.

  He caught her hand in his. Lifted her up. “Baby, I saw her shoot—I thought she’d killed you!”

  Alice was still staring at Tiffany’s face. “Bulletproof vest. She knew I had the tracker on me, but she didn’t know about the vest.” She rubbed her chest. “Hurts like hell, but I’m okay—”

  He yanked her into his arms. Crushed her against him. Held her as tight as he could.

  “I don’t want to be in a grave,” Alice whispered. “Please, get me the hell out of here. I managed to jump up and grab her legs, but I couldn’t get out.”

  He pulled back so he could stare at her beautiful face.

  A tear slid down her cheek. “I don’t want to be in a grave,” she said again, voice ragged.

  He lifted her up. “Randall!” Zander yelled. “Get Alice’s arms!”

  And his partner was there. His partner, four other agents, some deputies—they’d all come running. They’d all been ready to take out the Secret Admirer.

  Randall caught Alice’s arms and lifted her out of the grave.

  “She wasn’t the victim,” Alice said again, her words drifting back to Zander. “I thought…I was helping her. But Tiffany—it was her. Her all along.”

  Zander glanced down at the body once more. Tiffany Shaw’s eyes were closed, but it sure as hell looked as if a faint smile curled her lips.

  Chapter Twelve

  “A crime scene team made an interesting discovery at Tiffany Shaw’s place.” Zander paced around the small conference room at the sheriff’s station. “I had a hunch, and they followed up on it…The woman was wild for the Secret Admirer, so I thought she might be imitating him in other ways.” And he’d been right. “There was a loose floorboard in her bedroom closet.” Just like there had been one in A
lice’s closet. “When they pulled it up…” He pointed to the evidence bags on the table. “They found that shit.”

  Newspaper clippings. Magazine stories. Tales that seemed to glamourize all of the Secret Admirer’s kills.

  “She was obsessed,” Randall added. He sat in one of the chairs near the small table, a line of shadow covering his jaw. “She got hooked on the killer. I’m sure the shrinks will say she developed some fancy disorder or had some dissociative episode, but the truth is—”

  “She was a killer.” Alice’s voice was flat. Her cheeks were too pale, and her grip on the cup of coffee in front of her seemed too tight. Alice’s gaze darted to Zander. “She killed Cara McCoy, didn’t she?”

  He nodded. “We’re waiting for a ballistics match, but…” He yanked a hand over his face. “Tiffany had a bag stashed near the grave she’d dug at the cemetery. We found a rifle in that bag. Same type of gun, same type of bullet used at your cabin, so yeah, I think she killed Cara.”

  “And Julianna Stiles,” Randall added with a sad sigh. “Because we found a picture of Julianna shoved in with all of the newspaper clippings that Tiffany had in her closet.”

  Alice shook her head. “Why? Why kill Julianna? Why come after me? Why do any of this?”

  Zander knew Randall was right. The shrinks would come up with a reason. An explanation as to how and why the woman’s life had broken apart and she’d turned to murder, but from where Zander was standing…from what he’d seen with other cases… “When Randall said she was obsessed, he’s right. We’ve seen others get obsessed with killers. Tiffany Shaw was fixated. She knew the Secret Admirer was looking for perfection, and she wanted to be his perfect match. And if she was going to be that person…”

  “Then Julianna had to die,” Randall muttered.

  “Because she had dark hair and blue eyes?” Alice asked, her lower lip trembling.

  “Because she was a test. A practice run.” That was what Zander thought, anyway, and he hated to say it, but—

  Alice’s eyes widened. “Julianna was a practice kill…because Tiffany was working her way up to me?”

  Yes.

  Her shoulders slumped. “Can I go home now? Is it all over?”

  No, it was far from over. There was a shit ton of evidence to still collect and bag from Tiffany’s home and from the cemetery. There were reports to write. People to interview—people who’d lived near Tiffany. People who’d worked with her at the hospital. She was dead, but the case wasn’t closed, not yet.

  “I’m so tired,” Alice added. And she looked it. Exhausted.

  He hurried to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get a deputy to take you back to our place.” Our place. It wasn’t, but saying the words felt right. He could imagine having a place with Alice. He could imagine a whole life with her.

  Maybe now, they’d get that chance.

  “Thank you.” Her hand rose and curled over his. “For everything, Zander—just, thank you.” Her gaze held his. “I didn’t want you to kill for me. I never wanted that.”

  There was so much he wanted to say to Alice, but his partner was watching every damn thing. Zander turned his head and glared at Randall.

  Randall blinked. “Hey, um, you know what? I think I need to check on some files. Right now.” He saluted and hurried from the room. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

  Then Zander did what he’d been aching to do. He pulled Alice out of the chair and into his arms. He buried his face in her hair, and he just held her.

  She’d been shot. The vest had stopped the bullet, but his Alice had one hell of a bruise. The EMTs on scene had checked her out while he’d watched, unable to leave her side. Too fucking scared to leave her.

  “You don’t get shot again,” he told her gruffly, as he finally forced his head to lift. “You don’t stalk into cemeteries at night, and you sure as hell don’t put your gun down before a face-off with a killer.”

  Her head cocked to the side. “She was so believable on the phone. I thought the killer had her. That he was going to hurt her.” A faint line appeared between her eyebrows. “All of those phone calls—they were really always her? Because I could have sworn…” Her words trailed away.

  “It makes sense,” Zander told her because he’d thought about this, too. “She used the voice distorter because she didn’t want you to know you were talking with a woman. She used the gun on Cara, used the stolen sedan to come after you—all of that was different from the original Secret Admirer.” His lips curled down. “She was a disturbed woman, Alice. But she’s gone, and she will never hurt anyone else again.”

  Alice shivered. “Why doesn’t it feel over then?”

  Because she’d lived with fear and pain for too long. Because he knew she’d spent the last year always looking over her shoulder. Always waiting for something else to happen. “Where do you want to go?” Zander asked, trying to distract her. Just wanting to make some of the shadows leave her eyes.

  “Go?” She blinked. “I-I thought you were getting a deputy to take me home—”

  “I mean on our date. You did promise we’d date, right? So you pick the place. Any place you want, I’ll take you there.” Baby, I’ll take you anywhere. I’ll give you anything.

  Her lips curved a little bit, even if the smile never reached her eyes. “A promise is a promise.”

  “Damn straight it is.” He had no intention of letting Alice go. He was about to begin the biggest operation of his life—getting her to stay with him. Forever. Because he didn’t want anything less from her. Zander kissed her. A slow and tender kiss. Unfortunately, when he kissed Alice, things never stayed slow. They got hot. Fast. And he got hungry for her. “Go home,” he rasped against her mouth. “Soak in a hot bath. Relax. And I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Her hands pressed to his chest. “I’ll go home, but I’ll wait on that soak…until you can join me.”

  The woman knew exactly how to twist him up. Zander walked her out of the conference room. Their fingers twined together. They headed toward the general area of the station—

  “Alice!” Jonathan jumped up from his chair as soon as he saw her. He rushed forward and pulled her into a big, tight hug. “Oh, God, is it true? That woman—she faked her own kidnapping? She tried to kill you?”

  Zander sure as shit didn’t like the way the guy clung so tightly to Alice, but he was trying to keep his cool.

  Alice pushed against Jonathan’s body, easing out of his hold. “It’s true.” Her voice was brittle, and she was still far too pale. “She’s…she’s dead, though, Jon. Before she could shoot at me again, Zander stopped her.”

  Jonathan’s gaze flew to Zander. The other man stiffened but inclined his head as he said, “Thank you, Agent Todd. Alice is the only family I’ve got left. I couldn’t lose her.”

  “I’m okay,” Alice told him quietly. “Just…I’m exhausted. I want to get out of here before the reporters start attacking.”

  Face grim, Jonathan told her, “They’re lined up out front. I had to fight my way past them to get in the station.”

  Zander motioned to the avidly watching deputy. A familiar fellow with bright, red hair. “Deputy Ross, I want you to take Alice back to my cabin—”

  “I’ll take her!” Jonathan immediately offered. “The reporters will swarm on any official vehicle that leaves this place.” He slanted a fast glance at Alice. “I’ll move my car around to the back. You can slip out that way, and I’ll take you to the cabin.”

  Zander tensed. “That’s not necessary. The deputy—”

  Jonathan’s chin lifted. “I’m not my brother. I get it—you don’t trust me. Not one bit. But I’m not Hugh. And, shit, he wasn’t the man I thought, okay? I’m dealing with that the best I can. He was a monster. I didn’t want to see it, but that’s what he was.”

  “It’s nothing personal,” Zander told him. And it wasn’t. This was about Alice’s safety. Her safety came before everything else. “But until this case is offic
ially closed, I want Alice to have either a deputy or an agent keeping watch on her.”

  Alice’s eyes widened. “But—”

  “There are a few questions left. Just a few.” He also couldn’t shake the knot of fear in his gut. He pointed to the deputy. “Deputy Greg Ross will take you to the cabin. He’ll stay with you until I get there.”

  A muscle flexed in Jonathan’s jaw. “Then I’ll be following them because…” Now he turned to look at Alice. “We need to talk. To really talk. It’s been too long. And I just—you’re right. I need to stop pretending and face the past.” He straightened his spine. “Hugh Collins was a murderer. He killed six women.”

  “Five,” Randall corrected as he approached their group. “Your brother killed five women.”

  Jonathan blinked. “Five?” He shook his head. “That’s right. Just five.”

  The deputy had collected his keys. He nodded to Alice. “You ready, Ms. May?”

  “Yes.” Her gaze lingered on Zander. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Zander pulled her into a hug. “Hell, yes, you will.” He held her a moment, then let her go. “Take her out the back,” he told the deputy. “I’ll go address the reporters and keep them busy so you can slip away.”

  He watched as the deputy led her away. Then he took a step toward the station’s entrance.

  But Jonathan moved into his path. “You…love her?”

  He wasn’t going to deny that. He’d never deny Alice. “Yes.”

  Anger flashed in Jonathan’s gaze. “You lied to her. You tricked her, and you think you get her now? You think that is how things will work out for you?”

  “I think it’s not any of your business.” He gave Jonathan a cold smile. “Now, excuse me. I have reporters waiting.” Because if he didn’t distract them, they might find Alice. So he marched for the front glass doors. He shoved them open. Raised his hands. “The FBI would like to make an official statement…”

  Immediately, the reporters rushed toward him.

  ***

  “I’ll be right outside if you need me, Ms. May,” Deputy Ross said as he ducked his head and shoved his hands into his pockets.