sound of Jackâs cell phone ringing in the living room permeated the room, followed by the low murmur of his voice.
With a determined sigh, Larsen pushed away from the door and grabbed the borrowed sleep tee off the bed. She was just pulling it on when she heard the rap on her door.
âLarsen, that was my partner on the phone. Come watch the news. There may be a break in the case.â
Her pulse leaped with a bone-deep if fragile hope. âThank God.â She wrenched the door open and followed him into the living room as the newscasters appeared on the television screen.
âIn our top story, two congressional interns are missing tonight. The young women were last seen leaving a pharmacy on Dupont Circle this morning with an unidentified male. The event was caught on the storeâs security camera.â
Larsen watched the screen change to the grainy black-and-white videotape, then gasped as she saw him. The albino. His back was to her as he stood in the middle of the tape, but she was certain it was him. The same stark white hair, the same odd clothing.
Her heart began to pound. She hadnât imagined him.
In the background, the two young women chatted as they walked into the store. Neither seemed to pay any attention to the white man standing feet away.
The albino lifted his arm and the pair stopped abruptly, going suddenly, unnaturally, still. The purse one carried dropped, unnoticed, to the floor.
Chills raced over Larsenâs skin as she watched the evil man step around them and leave the store, the two women turning to follow. As the three exited onto the sidewalk outside, two small figures emerged from the right and followed them out the door.
The station cut back to the newscasters, but not before Larsen got a look at the last two. Though she wore a baseball cap and a different T-shirt, one of them was the cancer girlâthe girl who had shot her.
She heard the click of the remote and the television screen went dark. Larsen turned toward Jack, suddenly afraid she hadnât hidden her reactions. Her heart sank when she met his gaze. Gone was her friendly companion of a minute ago. In his place stood an angry, hard-eyed cop.
âI want the truth, ladyâ¦and I want it now.â
Chapter 4
J ackâs sugar-spun fantasy of spending his life with the one woman who could cure his madness crumbled beneath a slug of hard reality. How could he have forgotten Larsen Vale was a liar?
She stood beside him, her fingers gripping the back of his leather sofa, her face pale, her eyes wide with guilty dismay.
Heâd called her into the living room to ID the bald girl Henry had seen at the end of the tape. Instead sheâd visibly jerked at first sight of the prime suspect, the latter-day Pied Piper who seemed to have led the little group right out the store.
âYou know him.â The implications ricocheted across his brain.
âWhat?â
âThe Pied Piper. The leader. Youâve seen him before.â
Something pained moved through her eyes. âNo.â She unhooked her fingers from his sofa and turned to face him, raising that stubborn chin. âI recognized the cancer girl.â
She looked so damned innocent standing there in her soft pajamas, her golden hair damp and curling under her jaw. Another man might have believed the act of innocence, but not a cop. Not him. Beneath those soft golden lashes, her wide eyes crawled with guilt.
Jack slammed the remote on the table. â Donât. Donât lie to me. You nearly came out of your seat when you saw him.â
Larsen crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze sliding away. âIf I reacted to him, it was only because of his weirdness.â
He stared at her, feeling the fragile connection between them fray and split. âHow stupid do you think I am?â
She froze, then seemed to shake herself loose, her gaze shifting to the blank television screen. âI swear to you, Jack, Iâve never
Lightnin' Hopkins: His Life, Blues