Killing Fear

deny the picture exists. I scanned it high res, it should withstand scrutiny.”

“What else did he say?”

Trinity motioned for Charlie to follow her into her office. She had a small closet with a tiny window, just enough for a chair, desk, and computer, but it was all hers-she had earned the door.

Charlie put his hands up on either side of his head. “‘Award-winning reporter held captive by escaped convict,’” he said, dropping his hands. “How does that sound?”

“It would be bigger news if I were dead,” she said, trying to laugh it off, but her heart wasn’t in it. She kept replaying the conversation between her and Theodore over and over in her head.

“We have to get this on the air. ASAP.”

“The police don’t want to give him airtime. Detective Hooper thinks that will only encourage him. Charlie, he killed his own sister.”

Though Trinity pushed envelopes whenever and wherever she could, she also prided herself on maintaining a good working relationship with the police department since she specialized in reporting on crime and punishment. She’d covered every major trial, interviewed both killers and cops, and had an exclusive program with the district attorney himself, Andrew Stanton, which aired pre-prime time the first Wednesday of every month. That show alone had brought the attention of bigwigs in L.A., who’d offered her a show and more money if she’d sign a five-year contract. But she didn’t want to go to L.A. for five years, and they wouldn’t agree to a year-by-year, so she stayed put in a position where she could leave whenever an opportunity arose. And she was looking for one.

She wouldn’t go against Hooper’s orders to lay low on this, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to do something. She had reams of paperwork on this case, access to the files, and interviews she’d conducted with detectives Hooper and Sturgeon, the victims’ families, and the strippers who had worked with the dead women. Then there was the trial transcript itself.

The only thing she didn’t have were the sealed records of what had happened in the judge’s chambers. She couldn’t simply trust Theodore Glenn’s word that evidence was tossed out because of police or lab error. But there might be someone else she could go to.

“You sent me that photo-a cop sleeping on the job when he was supposed to be watching a suspect? That’s news. I’m not sitting on it.”

“Charlie, I need a few days to pursue this story.”

“Then why did you send me the picture?”

“Because I knew I had to turn it over and I’d never see it again. This way, we have it for when we go big.”

“This is television, baby. We go big now, and make it bigger.”

“Yes, there’s a story, but the cops aren’t going to talk about one of their own. You know that. We have to dig deeper and then hit them all hard.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I should never have sent it to you.”

“Don’t clam up on me now, Trinity.”

“I’m not. I need to do some research, some more interviews. No one else has this, Charlie. No one is going to scoop me.” She hoped.

“You’re not going to try and contact Glenn, are you? The man is insane.”

“He’s not insane. Dangerous, yes. A sociopath, probably. But he knows exactly what he’s doing. I’m going to be careful. The police are watching my place, and Glenn isn’t going to try anything in broad daylight. Not with the Feds, the CHP, and the San Diego Police Department all looking for him. He’ll probably lay low during the day. He’s smart.”

Charlie raised a brow. “Smart, yes, in that he’s having you do his work for him.”

“But what if he’s telling the truth? What if he didn’t kill Anna Clark? It doesn’t make him any less a murderer, but it does mean that someone else got away with murder. And that doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Not to mention it would be the story of the year if you uncovered it,” Charlie said quietly.

“There’s that,” she agreed. She loved San Diego, but Charlie knew she wanted a national gig. She was good enough. Smart enough. Pretty enough.

She just needed something to make her stand out. And this story would do it. She was as certain of that as anything.

“All right,” Charlie agreed, “but you check in with me twice a day, do not attempt to contact Glenn, and do not do anything stupid. If he contacts you again, call the police. Watch your back, kid.”

“I’ve already gotten the lecture from the detective in charge,” Trinity said. “I don’t have a death wish. I’m not going to antagonize Glenn, and I definitely don’t want to see him again, but I can’t get this out of my head. There’s no reason for him to admit to killing three women, and not the fourth. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe he wants to have the conviction overturned. If he was wrongfully convicted, that could happen.”

“But he admitted to me that he killed those three women.”

“I doubt it would hold up in court. Beyond that, you need to be doubly careful. You’re the only one he confessed to.”

Robin wanted to stay in bed all day, door bolted, gun under her pillow. Loaded. Or better yet, in her hand, with the safety off.

Fear ate at her. A real, physical, gnawing presence that started in her mind, slithered along her nerves, until she was nearly paralyzed.

Staying in bed felt safe, but it was also wrong. She couldn’t let Theodore Glenn destroy her independence. She couldn’t lock herself away until he was caught. What if the police didn’t catch him? What if he taunted them for years? Or he came to town for a few high-profile murders, and then went down to Mexico? He could be next door… or a thousand miles away.

For a year, she had danced for a killer, served him drinks, smiled and flirted, because it was her job. When she’d realized he’d killed her friends, she’d been physically sick. When she’d learned what he did to them, when she’d slipped in Anna’s blood and fallen on her body, she’d nearly lost her sanity.

One minute she had been safe in Will’s arms, the next minute she had walked into a waking nightmare.

Will had kissed her in the foyer of her apartment building. It was nearly three in the morning and they’d spent the last hour in the bar. She wanted him to come up, but at the same time she knew he had a job to do.

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he said.

“I have an alarm. I’m okay.”

He frowned, touched her chin. “Robin-”

The dim yellow light made his eyes darker. He looked at her as if he really cared. As if, maybe, he loved her. The thought lifted her up. He knew she was a stripper, yet he treated her with respect and affection and intelligence.

He tucked her hair behind her ears and kissed her lightly, but with more intimacy than their frantic coupling in the bar earlier. She melted against him. “Good night.”

She felt him watching her walk up the stairs. She waved at him from the landing at the top, and he left, double-checking that the door that led in to the common entry was secure.

Maybe they had a future. There was something different about their relationship, something that Robin hadn’t had before. Powerful. Passionate. Special.

She unlocked the door, reached for the alarm to put in the code and reset it. The keypad was lit in faint green, so she didn’t need lights to see, but she wished she had left the kitchen light on or something. It was pitch-black with all the drapes pulled.

“Meow, meow, meow.”

Anna’s cat brushed against her legs. “I fed you early because I had to work, you just forgot, silly cat.” She picked him up.

Pickles was wet. Sticky. “Now what did you get into?”

She smelled bleach, and while her mind started to send her a warning, her first thought was for the cat, that he was going to get sick if he knocked over the bleach and inhaled too many fumes.

She took two steps forward feeling for the lamp she couldn’t see but knew was on the end table right there on the left of the door, but she tripped. The cat jumped from her arms as she fell, her hands falling into