Allison Brennan - Killing Fear

Hans paused. “There won’t be any extradition issues. Nico will bring him back. I didn’t go through LEGAT on this. If I went through the bureaucracy, they’d still be negotiating with the local authorities and Glenn would be long gone. Trust me.”

Will understood exactly what Hans was doing, and he owed him a big one. “I appreciate it, Hans. But I’m worried about Robin. I can’t expect her to lock herself in her loft for the rest of her life.”

“I gave Nico your contact information. He’ll be in touch as soon as he has information on Glenn. The local FBI office is working with your D.A. regarding a plea agreement with Cresson.”

“It was good working with you, Hans.”

“Likewise, Detective. If you need anything, let me know.”

“Catch the other bastards.”

“You got it.”

Robin went to the art gallery Saturday after lunch to talk to Isabelle about the showing the following day. She was still running high after her night with Will. Finally, her personal and professional lives were going well. She had a man she loved-who she believed with her whole heart loved her right back-and her dream of being a professional artist was within her grasp. Her club was reopening tonight and she was offering half-price drinks to bring people in. If this night went well, the two nights she’d lost because of Theodore wouldn’t hurt her business at all.

Isabelle greeted her with a hug. She was a petite version of Snow White, Robin had always thought, with dark hair and milk white skin. Her brown eyes practically glowed, and she wore her designer clothes with flair and confidence.

“I am so excited about tomorrow! I have several serious buyers who have expressed interest in commissioning you for work, and a new high-end hotel wanting two murals for their dramatic beachside entry.”

“You’ve been busy,” Robin said, outwardly calm but inwardly jumping up and down.

Isabelle laughed. “Let me show you what we’ve done.”

For the next hour, Isabelle walked through the gallery and showed how they were highlighting Robin’s work with special lights and dramatic black backdrops that made the bold colors on white canvas really pop.

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“Thank me? You’re going to help me make a name for myself as a keen eye for new talent. At least that’s what I’m hoping the art critic will say when he views your work tomorrow.”

“Oh, God, I’m going to panic.” For months, this date had been so far off. But, it was actually happening tomorrow and Robin hadn’t had time to think about it because of the hell Theodore had put her through since his escape.

“You’ll be fine,” Isabelle said. “You already have fan mail.” She reached into her desk drawer and handed Robin an ivory envelope. “This came in today’s mail. You did see that big feature in the arts section of the paper on Thursday, right? I’m expecting a fantastic showing.”

“Wow. Thanks.” Robin hesitated opening it.

“Come on, don’t I get to share in the praise, too?”

She smiled. “I’m just not used to this.”

“Get used to it.”

Robin ripped open the envelope and slid out the heavy note card.

Her stomach turned sour when she recognized the handwriting.

My Robin,

I’m leaving for a while, as I’m sure your boyfriend told you. Are you fucking William again? Of course you are. You’re a slut, like all of them. They wanted me to screw them. They loved it. You know they begged for me. They wanted me. They knew how powerful I am.

You were supposed to be mine. What made you think you were so much better than me? You’re nothing but an animal in beautiful clothes. What will you do when you find William dead? I hope you don’t kill yourself like Juliet. I want that honor.

By the time you read this, I’ll be in Mexico. Free. Think about that. I’ll be free. You’ll never be free as long as I live. Someday I’ll come for you. You’ll never know when. Tomorrow? Next month? Next year?

Sleep well, Robin. Sleep well with the lights on.

Theodore

P.S. Sara did her job very well, otherwise I wouldn’t have known you are still scared of the dark. As well you should be, because the next time the lights go out it will be William’s body you trip over.

Robin read the letter as if she were in a tunnel, everything in the periphery black. Fading.

The next time the lights go out it will be William’s body you trip over.

He wasn’t gone. He knew where she lived, where she worked, where her art was shown. He would come back and hurt her, hurt people she cared about.

Dear God, why? Hadn’t she been through enough?

“Robin?” Isabelle sounded as if she were speaking from far away.

Was she supposed to be scared for the rest of her life, thinking that Glenn could come back at any time? Certainly after a few weeks the police would have more important crimes to focus on. Glenn had money and brains. He could disappear for months, years, until he felt like tormenting her. Send her a card now and again. Keep her scared. Keep her on edge. She’d never live in peace with that bastard free.

Before she realized what she’d done, she’d torn the card up in small pieces.

“No!” she shouted. “I’m not going to live in fear for the rest of my life!”

She looked at the pieces of paper in her hands and realized she’d destroyed evidence. She wasn’t thinking straight. “Do you have a manila envelope?” she asked Isabelle, her voice tight.

With a frown, Isabelle found one in her desk. Robin dropped the pieces into it, then said, “I’m sorry. It’s him. Just trying to hurt me.”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she called Will. “Theodore Glenn sent me a letter. Dammit, Will, when is it going to stop?”

Leaving Robin at the club, even with Mario and his team keeping an eye on her, was the hardest thing Will had done, but D.A. Stanton had called him personally to come down to the station.

A plea agreement was on the table and Diana refused to sign it until she talked to Will. He didn’t want to talk to her, but had no choice. The sheriff’s crime scene unit had re-created her deleted files. She kept a computer journal of two murders, other than Anna Clark. Dillon had been right-she had killed before. But he’d been wrong about the victims.

For all Diana’s talk about her father the biologist, he was dead. She’d killed him and his young lover-a teaching assistant-and staged it as a murder-suicide. It had been ruled that the teaching assistant killed him when he allegedly broke it off with her, then killed herself in a wave of remorse.

Diana’s journal admitted to both murders.

He hated leaving Robin vulnerable only to sit across from his warped former lover who had wanted Robin dead, but Will had no choice. This was his job, and he would do anything legal to put Diana Cresson behind bars for the rest of her life.

They sat in a room normally reserved for defense attorneys and their clients, Diana across from him, in jailhouse orange, and shackled. Her face was devoid of makeup and her blonde hair hung in a limp ponytail. Her eyes, however, glowed with an appeal for something. What, forgiveness? Understanding? She would get neither from Will.

“I knew you’d come,” she said, smiling brightly.

“I didn’t have a choice. You refused to sign the agreement unless I did.”

“We always have choices, Will.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Everything I did, I did for the right reasons.”

“You can’t believe that, Diana.”

She nodded vigorously, her eyes glistening. “I’m sorry about Jim. I’m really sorry about Jim. But he knew about me.”