Dream Man (40 page)

Again, it wasn’t time for words. Not yet. They slept again, entwined together, and twilight became dark. Marlie woke first. Her body ached deliriously, and she felt the hunger growing for more of what had caused the ache. Dane still slept, but when she began caressing his shaft, both he and it stirred immediately. He rolled over onto his back and closed his arms around her as she slid on top of him.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, and closed his eyes in delight at the way the hot silk of her body so snugly enveloped him.

She hesitated, then felt him throb within her. “All right,” she whispered in return, and gently began to move. It wasn’t much, but after the ferocity of their lovemaking, she didn’t doubt his sincerity. He hadn’t been a cop, trying to catch a killer; he had been simply a man, wild with need for his woman. He hadn’t committed himself yet, at least not with words, but the bond of the flesh had reassured her. She could wait for the rest of it.

Carroll Janes had thought it over very carefully. He had to get the bitch alone, so that meant he had to get Detective Hollister to leave.

He didn’t call 911, which would give the dispatcher the telephone number he’d called from. He called police head-quarters directly.

He knew himself to be a very good actor. He was proud of the frantic tone of his voice when he said,

“There’s been a woman killed! There’s been another—it’s him! I swear to God it had to be him. Blood—she’s cut everywhere! Butch-ered! I saw him leaving, bald head just like in that sketch!”

“Slow down, slow down,” the authoritative voice said. “I can’t understand you. Repeat that, please.”

Janes drew in deep, audible breaths. “Another woman’s been killed. I saw a bald man run. She’s cut all to pieces, there’s blood—” He made gagging noises in the phone.

“Calm down, sir. Where are you? Can you give me an address?”

Janes rattled off an address he had looked up, on the opposite side of town. He stumbled over the street and numbers a couple of times to make it realistic. Then he hung up and waited. He was at a phone booth two blocks from Detective Hollister’s house. The telephone rang. Dane snatched it up. After listening a minute, he said, “I’m on my way.” He rolled out of bed and began pulling on his clothes.

Marlie raised herself on her elbow. “What?”

“Another murder,” he said tersely. “They think it was him.”

She shook her head. “No.”

He paused, remembering. “That’s right. You didn’t feel anything, did you?”

“Not a thing. It wasn’t him.” She got out of bed and began dressing, too. He sighed. “It’s probably another copycat, damn it. I’m sorry, baby.”

“It isn’t your fault,” she said. “You’re on the task force; you have to go.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against him. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

She rubbed her face against his chest, enjoying the heated scent of him. “I’ll watch television and wait up for you.”

He tilted her face up and leaned down to kiss her. “If you happen to go to sleep, I’ll wake you up.”

“It’s a deal.”

“We have a lot to talk about,” he said, determination in his voice.

“I know. Go!”

He started toward the door, then turned back. He pulled open the top drawer of the bedside table and took out a pistol. He checked it, made certain the chamber was full and that the safety was on. “Keep this handy. Do you know how to use it?”

She nodded. She wasn’t exactly experienced, but she knew how a pistol worked. After all, she had lived alone in the mountains; it had seemed only smart to teach herself the basics. He kissed her again. “Okay. Be careful, keep the pistol with you, and don’t open the door to strangers. I’ll radio in and have a patrolman over to watch the house; one should be outside within five minutes. I’ll call you when I’m on the way home, so you won’t shoot me by mistake.”

“I said I’ll wait up for you,” she said, smiling.

“A man can’t be too careful. Or a woman,” he added sternly.

“Gotcha.”

He left, and she turned on the television, settling down on the couch to run through the channels and look for some-thing interesting.

Dane had been gone for less than five minutes when she sat bolt upright, her heart pounding. A cold chill chased over her skin, roughening it. A powerful sense of alarm filled her. She felt the blow of recognition as an image flashed through her mind, blotting out her own thought: black-gloved hands, one of them holding wire cutters, tugging at a group of wires. She panted, trying to draw in enough oxygen from air that suddenly seemed to suffocate. Dear God, so he was striking after all! And Dane had left. Had the call been a false alarm, to draw them away, so the killer could get at Beverly? The policewoman would be all alone.

Marlie stumbled toward the phone. A vision flashed, halting her. In her mind, she saw the wire cutters biting through plastic and wire.

And the lights went out.

Marlie. Froze, blinded by the sudden darkness, paralyzed by terror and the crashing knowledge. He wasn’t after Beverly, he was after her—
and he was right outside.
She closed her eyes, squeezing them tight, trying to hurry her night vision. She should try to get out, but by which door, front or back? Or was he at a window? Which one?
Which one?

—Gently he cut a screen, snipping the tiny strands one by one—Desperately she fought off the vision. Oh, God, she wouldn’t let herself be swamped by the vision.

She would be helpless. But she had never been able to resist one for long, never been able to block it, or control it. They rolled over her like tidal waves.

—He knew she was in there. He could
feel
her, the bitch. He could already taste the triumph, the power—“No,” Marlie moaned in a whisper. Desperately she summoned up an image of the mental door she had learned how to open and close. All she had to do was close it, and keep him on the other side.

—He’d see how smart she was when she felt the blade biting into her—It was washing over her in black waves. The evil was so strong, she couldn’t breathe. He was so close, the power of it was crushing her. She couldn’t fight him off.

—The damn lock on the window wouldn’t budge. White-hot fury roared through him at this delay. Snarling, he smashed his gloved fist into the glass—

She heard the crash and tinkle of breaking glass, but the vision was roaring through her, blotting out everything else, and she couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It could have been right behind her, but he was sucking all the strength out of her, and she couldn’t even turn around.
Dane. Oh, God, Dane
! She didn’t want him to have to see this. As soon as he got into his car, Dane radioed in and told the dispatcher to send a patrol car to his house immediately.

“Ten-four,” said the dispatcher. “It’ll take ten, fifteen minutes, though. It’s a busy night.”

“Do it faster than that,” Dane said, iron in his voice.

“I’ll try. Depends on when a patrolman gets free.”

Dane hesitated, reluctant to leave Marlie alone for that long, but his job was to be on the crime scene, copycat or not. The detectives who had worked the other scenes had to make the call, decide if it was the same perp. He had given her his pistol, and a patrolman would be there soon. She would be okay. He told himself that for several miles, but finally pulled to the side of the street and stopped. This didn’t feel right, damn it. Something was wrong. He felt a sense of dread that had grown stronger with each passing mile and minute, but he couldn’t pin down the cause.

It was a copycat killing, no doubt about that. It wasn’t unusual; they had already had one. But something was
wrong.

He keyed the mike. “Dispatch, this is Hollister. Has a patrolman gotten to my house yet?”

“Not yet. A car is on its way.”

Frustration welled in him. “Any further information on that knifing that was just called in?”

“No further—wait.” Dane listened to static, then dis-patch came back on the air. “That’s affirmative. A squad car is on the scene, and the patrolman just radioed in. It looks like a false alarm.”

Dane’s sense of dread increased. His mind raced as he went through the angles. “Dispatch, was it a male or a female who called in the initial report?”

“A male.”

“Shit!” He keyed the mike again. “Dispatch, contact the stakeout immediately! Verify that everything is okay. The false alarm may have been deliberate.”

“Affirmative. Stand by.”

Dane waited tensely in the dark car, sweat rolling down his face. Within a minute his radio crackled.

“No problems at the stakeout, Dane. Everything’s as quiet as a graveyard.”

He shook his head. There was trouble and he knew it. But where?
Where
?

The false alarm had been deliberate, in an effort to draw off Marlie’s protection. But Beverly had taken Marlie’s place, and the ploy hadn’t worked—

He froze, horror exploding in his brain. It had worked all too well. Marlie!

More glass shattered as he punched the window again. Desperately Marlie pictured the door, pictured the vision pressing against it, all black, loathsome evil. She pictured herself shoving against the door, forcing it shut, closing out the vision. She had to control it; she would die if she didn’t. Her only chance was to control it, as she had the knowing.

She was stronger now than she had been before. She could do it.

The pistol. It had been beside her on the couch. She opened her eyes and lurched in the direction of the couch, but the vision had already sapped her strength, and her legs gave way beneath her. She fell heavily to the floor, but her outstretched hand brushed the couch, and she forced herself to her hands and knees, crawling to it and groping along the cushions for the pistol.

There it was, cold and heavy, reassuring in her hand. With wildly trembling fingers she fumbled the safety off.

—He was in. It wouldn’t be long now. The knife glinted in his hand, long and lethal, the blade honed to a razor’s edge—

The door! Mentally she slammed it shut once more. Keep him out. She had to keep him out. She could hear her own breath coming in strangled sobs. Quiet. She had to be quiet. Weakly she crawled toward the corner, to put a wall at her back so he couldn’t come at her from behind. The darkness in the house was almost total, with the blinds closed. She had the advantage there; she knew the house, knew where she was. He had to hunt her. She had to be very, very quiet. Keep the door closed.

But where was he? She couldn’t hear over the roaring in her ears, deafened by the thunder of her own blood racing through her veins.

She used both hands to steady the heavy pistol. Dane. Dane, who never went anywhere unarmed.
Thank you, Dane, for this chance. I love you.

Where was he?

She closed her eyes and mentally opened the door a crack.

—Where was she, the bitch? He could turn on the flashlight, but not yet, not yet. So she thought she could hide, did she? Didn’t she know how much he enjoyed the chase? Of course she did. Sweet bitch. Was she in the bathroom? He pushed the door open. The white fixtures gleamed in the darkness like enamel ghosts. No bitch here—

She slammed the door. She could feel the pressure of his mental energy, pushing against her. She opened her eyes and forced herself to look toward the hall where the bathroom was.
Don’t stare, Marlie. Don’t
let yourself stare. You won’t see him if you do. Keep your eyes moving, don’t let them fix. You’ll
see his movement.

Was that him? Was that a darker shadow, coming toward her? She didn’t dare open the door again, not now. If it was him, he was too close. He would be on her before she could react. But was he really there, or was it her imagination?

A bright light exploded in her face, blinding her, and a ghastly voice crooned, “Well, hellooo there.”

She pulled the trigger.

Several cars converged on the house almost simultaneous-ly. Dane had given orders for them to go in with lights flashing and siren blaring, hoping against hope that they would be in time and scare him off. He drove like a maniac, praying as he had never prayed before. He didn’t care if they missed this chance to catch him.
Please, God, let them scare him off. Don’t let him be in the house. Don’t let him have
already been and gone. God, please. Not Marlie.

He slammed the gear into park, the car rocking violently on its springs. He was out and running before the motion stopped. The house was dark.
God, no.

Something heavy hit Dane in the back, sending him sprawling on the ground. He roiled to his feet with a savage snarl, his fist drawn back. Trammell picked himself up, as fast as Dane, and grabbed his arm.

“Get control of your-self!” Trammell roared, his face as savage as Dane’s. “You won’t help her by going in blind! Do it the way you know it’s supposed to be done!”

Uniformed officers were swarming around the house, surrounding it. All Dane could think of was Marlie inside. He shook Trammell off and plunged at the door. It was locked. He threw himself at it like a maddened animal, the force of his weight making it shudder in the frame. It was a solid door, reinforced with steel. The dead-bolt lock was one of the best made. It held. The hinges didn’t. The screws ripped out of the wood with a tortured shriek, metal twisting.

Seeing he couldn’t stop Dane, Trammell added his con-siderable strength to the task, and helped him wrench the door out of the frame. Hoarsely screaming Marlie’s name, Dane pitched himself into the dark bowels of the house.

He stumbled over something soft and heavy, and crashed to the floor. His heart stopped beating, for a long, agonized moment that froze in time.

“Oh, God,” he said, the voice not recognizable as his. “Get a light.”

One of the patrol officers took his long, heavy flashlight out of his belt and thumbed the switch. The powerful beam illuminated Dane, crouched on the floor with a look of frozen horror on his face, and Trammell, who looked almost as bad. In the center of the beam sprawled a black-clad figure, the shaven skull gleaming dully. He was on his back, and his sightless eyes stared upward. The stench of blood and death was overpowering. A black pool of blood had gathered around the body.