Leslie Parrish - Pitch Black

He glanced in, watching their reunion for a moment, realizing Tricia, while weak, was conscious and able to talk. He’d need to question her, but wanted to give the women a few minutes alone. In the meantime, he had other things to do.

“Can you direct me toward the man who brought her here?” he asked.

The officer pointed toward a nearby waiting area. “You can’t miss him.”

Something about the officer’s tone warned him, so when he walked into the room and saw Tricia Scott’s rescuer, he wasn’t entirely taken by surprise. Because the Good Samaritan, who immediately rose as he entered, was one of the most intimidating-looking people he’d ever seen. Truly huge, he dwarfed Alec in height, and had enormous shoulders, thick hands, and a shiny, boulder-size bald head. He was the kind of man who made nervous women cross the street on sight. But right now, he looked genuinely concerned, worried about the one he’d rescued last night.

This guy broke every stereotype the Professor had relied on.

Alec extended his hand to the man. “I’m Special Agent Lambert, and I want to thank you for doing what you did.”

“She gonna be all right?”

“I think so. But I hear it was a close call. You really saved the day.”

“Those asswipes were too drunk to realize she’d been attacked and was drugged out of her head. Like any woman would really write something like that on herself.”

“The note?”

“I gave it to the detective who was here earlier.”

“What did it say?”

The other man growled in disgust. “ ‘ My boyfriend dumped me. I need to be fucked bad.’ ”

Every muscle in his body flexed. Alec wanted to hurt the Professor. Wanted to take the bastard’s neck between his hands and squeeze the life right out of him.

But arresting him and throwing his ass in jail was the best he could do. So he’d damn well better get to work doing it.

Thanking the other man again, and asking him to wait a little longer until his colleagues could show up for a more thorough questioning, Alec went in search of the detective. The guy was in a nurses’ station, sipping coffee from a foam cup, yawning between each sip.

“You the FBI?” he asked.

“Yes. Can I see the note?”

The man reached for a satchel, retrieving a plastic sheath in which a single sheet of paper had been placed. Despite Alec’s first impressions, the guy seemed to be at least somewhat professional. He’d had the common sense to treat the evidence carefully.

Holding the plastic by a corner, Alec lifted it in the air and read the hand-scrawled words. But they were hard to read because light shining through the cream-colored paper made writing on the other side bleed through.

He turned the page around. Realized what he was looking at. And his heart stopped.

“Looks like a page torn out of a book,” the detective said, not noticing Alec’s shock. “Autographed. Maybe we should talk to the person who signed it, the Sam Dalton guy.”

“That’s a good idea,” Alec whispered. “A very good idea.”

Though Alec let her spend a half hour alone with Tricia, Sam knew he needed to question her. She had been loath to leave her poor, bruised, battered friend, but at least knew she’d be in good hands. Still, before she could leave, she’d needed to apologize, to explain as well as she could why she was partially to blame for what had happened.

“Bullshit, girl.” Tricia showed a hint of her usual spirit and her no-nonsense attitude. “Nobody’s to blame for this except the prick who did it.”

“I provoked him.”

“If you hadn’t provoked him, maybe he’d have stayed underground a little longer, slaughtering a few more people along the way before he popped his slimy head up out of his hole.” Tricia’s voice was weak, but her grip pretty strong as she clenched Sam’s hand. “Don’t you regret this. I’m fine. A little banged up, but”-Tricia released her hand and glanced at her own lap-“the doctor says I wasn’t, uh, violated in any way.”

Thank you, God .

“I know that’s all my parents will care about,” Tricia added. “They’ll be here in a couple of hours-they’re driving up from North Carolina.”

Sam bent to kiss her cheek, whispering, “I know you’re all tough and bad, but I also know that your mind was raped even if your body wasn’t.”

Thick tears fell from her friend’s pretty eyes, confirming what Sam had suspected: Tricia wasn’t as okay about this as she was trying to pretend.

“I’ll be there for you,” Sam added. “I promise. As soon as you get out of here, I’m coming over to take care of you, nurse you back to health.”

Tricia’s bruised mouth quirked. “You? Leave your cocoon?”

“No more cocoon for me. This caterpillar has become a butterfly at last.”

“It’s about time. I gotta meet this guy.”

“You’ve met him,” Sam said, not surprised at how well her friend knew her, either.

“Sex on a stick?”

“Uh-huh.”

Tricia’s wan smile and murmured, “You go, girl,” revealed how tired she was.

Regretting keeping her from sleep, Sam stood, kissed her forehead, and left the room. Tricia would be okay; she was a survivor. But oh, God, had it been another close call.

Hearing Alec’s voice, she wandered toward the waiting room. Most of his coworkers were there: Jackie Stokes, Mulrooney, and Taggert. They were huddled together, talking in whispers.

“What is it?” Sam asked.

As if they were being jerked by the same string, all four immediately focused their attention on her. “Sam, I need you to look at something.” Alec lifted a clear plastic Baggie that contained a single sheet of paper.

Seeing a few scrawled words, she swallowed hard and crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that the note?”

“Yes, it is.” He flipped it over, showing her the other side.

She had to look twice before she grasped it. Then she realized what it was. Somehow, she felt no surprise. Nothing this psychotic madman did could surprise her anymore.

“He’s met me,” she said flatly.

“Apparently so.”

The sheet was the inside title page from one of her books. It had been torn out; the top area, where she usually personalized inscriptions, was missing. All that remained was the title, and her cheerily scrawled, Stay safe in cyber land! Below it was her signature.

“I know it will be next to impossible for you to remember whom you signed it to, but if you could give us information on any of your book signings…”

She shook her head. “No.”

“You can’t?”

“I mean, no, it’s not impossible.” A bitter pleasure rose up within her. “That bastard may have made the mistake that will lead you right to him.”

All the other team members listened closely.

“I have a special brand of pen I use for my signings. Very specific, smooth, just the right texture and consistency.” She nodded toward the page. “And it’s not red. Not ever .”

“This is a forgery?” Jackie Stokes asked.

She shook her head. “It’s mine. I did a signing after giving a guest lecture right after my book came out, almost a year ago. My trusty favorite pen sprang a leak and got black ink all over my skirt. Someone stuck a replacement in my hand so I could finish the autographing.”

Alec muttered a triumphant, “Yes! A red pen.”

“It gets better. The event was part of an attendees-only legal symposium at a local college, for the police, lawyers, judges, and the like. Uncle Nate was involved; he brought me in to talk about cyber crime.”

“Excellent.” Mulrooney chortled. “We’ll get hold of the list of attendees.”

“And your unsub’s name should be on it,” Sam said.