Allison Brennan - Killing Fear

“You didn’t kill in self-defense,” Trinity couldn’t stop herself from saying.

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Why did you kill them?”

He chuckled. “Because I could. To see if I could get away with it.”

Because I could. The cold calmness in his words terrified her almost as much as knowing what he had done to those poor women.

“But you didn’t get away with it. Doesn’t your life mean something to you? You had everything-a high-paying job, a million dollar house, a nice family-and you killed for what? A game?”

“I would have gotten away with it!” His anger vibrated across the room. Trinity couldn’t help but think he was playing a game with her, right then, and that he would kill her if she asked the wrong questions.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” she mumbled.

He spoke, his voice tight and clipped. “Don’t you see? They couldn’t have convicted me. Not on the first three murders. The evidence from my first kill was thrown out by the judge. The jury wasn’t allowed to consider that evidence, they never even heard it! You didn’t report on it, and you probably didn’t even know that the cops fucked up! It was the evidence from Anna’s murder that they used, and tied the other three to that. But I didn’t kill Anna, and therefore I should never have been brought to trial! I would have walked away. I had only planned to kill three, unless-” He stopped.

Trinity had to ask. “Unless what?”

He didn’t answer, but stood. “You have what you need. Find out who killed Anna Clark. Exonerate me.”

“You’ll still go back to prison when they catch you.”

He laughed. “ If they catch me.” He started for the door. He was going to let her live!

For now.

She shivered, her mind running through everything he’d said. “Mr. Glenn,” she said.

He stopped. In the faint light, she made out his shadow by her bedroom door. “More questions?” He sounded humored.

“Who? Who would frame you for Anna Clark’s murder?”

“Why don’t you ask William Hooper?”

“Hooper?” Will Hooper was a solid cop. Trinity couldn’t see him planting evidence.

“Something didn’t come out at trial, but is relevant to this case. While Anna Clark was murdered, Mr. Hooper was fucking Robin McKenna.”

Robin McKenna was the stripper who had been Anna’s roommate. She had testified against Glenn. Robin had since bought the strip joint where they worked, and The Eighth Sin was now one of the hottest nightclubs in San Diego. Trinity had been there a couple times. Urban, chic, with trendy music, lots of dancing, good drinks, and an attentive staff.

Robin McKenna herself was gorgeous, but Trinity sensed at the trial that she was also smart and savvy. It didn’t surprise her that she could turn a fledging strip joint into a high-class nightclub. Had she been involved with Will Hooper? Hooper was a stud. He had a long list of girlfriends. His reputation was no secret among cops and reporters.

Years ago, she’d slept with Will Hooper. He was cute, funny, attentive, and smart. What woman wouldn’t fall for him?

But the relationship had just…evaporated. That last date when he took her to a lovely restaurant on the coast outside Coronado, she thought they might be moving to the next level, then he kissed her good night on her porch and she never heard from him again. Every time she saw him he smiled and was polite, and not once had she heard from any cop that she’d slept with Hooper. He told no one. She doubted his partner Carina Kincaid knew, because Carina was an easy read and protective of Hooper. She’d have said something, even just a snide remark. Nothing.

Will Hooper did not kiss and tell.

She could picture how Will and Robin McKenna met over tragedy. Forging a relationship. How had it ended? Had he taken her to a nice restaurant and kissed her good night? A quiet good-bye…

“You know William, don’t you?” Glenn’s voice was mocking, almost a laugh.

“How do you know he was involved with Robin McKenna?” Trinity asked, gathering her thoughts.

The killer chuckled. “I followed every step of the police investigation.”

“No one is going to believe you didn’t kill Anna Clark.”

“That is your job. I don’t know how they did it, but I didn’t kill that bitch. The truth is in the evidence, but do you think they would show me? Do you think that they’ll just open their books, even when they have to? Go ask William Hooper, or the D.A., or the fucking crime scene investigator!”

He stepped away from the door and paced. She shouldn’t have set him off. She couldn’t see him except a darker shape in the shadows, but his movement was frantic. Fear ran over her, but she suppressed it. He said he wasn’t going to kill her.

Damn, was she going to believe him? After he admitted to killing three women?

“William didn’t kill her,” Glenn said as if thinking out loud. He stopped at the end of her bed and stared at her, the whites of his eyes almost glowing. Chills ran down her back and she shivered. “He was screwing Robin McKenna. I watched. Robin. She was supposed to be next, but she wouldn’t go out with me. All the other whores let me wine and dine them, but that bitch was cold. Liquid fire onstage, but in person…” his voice trailed off.

“I watched them. They were in the club. It was two in the morning. Robin sat in the bar. Crying. William Hooper walked in. ‘What’s wrong?’ And they were on each other like animals. Couldn’t even walk across the damn street to find a bed. If they had, maybe Anna would still be alive. But while they screwed, poor little Anna Louisa Clark died.”

It was after midnight when Will came home. He couldn’t sleep, so he lifted weights in the second bedroom, his iPod loud enough to drown out both thoughts and memories. An hour later, sore and drenched in sweat, he showered, then fell onto his bed wearing only boxers, the cold February night breeze coming in through his open windows. The last time he saw the digital clock it mockingly glowed red: 2:01.

Then he dreamed. Remembered.

Will watched Robin from the shadows. She picked up her glass-a martini, straight up-and sipped. The stress of the investigation was getting to her. Three of her friends had died and he knew who the killer was, had interrogated him twice, but that wily bastard gave nothing up. Even three days in prison hadn’t fazed Theodore Glenn.

Will didn’t know what was going on with him. He didn’t mess with victims. He didn’t get personally involved with witnesses. But Robin McKenna was no ordinary woman. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Every morning he woke with her in his thoughts, every night he wasn’t with her he was lonely, empty, incomplete.

Six weeks ago they’d acted on a mutual attraction that began when he first interviewed her after Bethany Coleman’s murder. He’d have forced her to stay in his bed to keep her safe, but Robin wasn’t a woman to run. She faced the fear. But he’d been watching her. Worried. They’d argued the night before. “Quit,” he’d said, knowing he had no right. It wasn’t that she was a stripper, it was that being a stripper put her on the killer’s hit list.

Though he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that her job bothered him on more than one level. Because he felt more for her than he could say out loud.

She’d shaken her head. “Someone else will die. You have to find him, Will. Stop him. Only then will I-we-be safe.”

Now watching her, he saw her fear and her beauty, her vulnerability and her strength. He walked over to her. “Robin, honey, what’s wrong?”