Act III

 

…Martha regarded them cautiously, her eyes never leaving the two men who carried the body into the bedroom and strategically placed it in the middle of the bed.

 "You're a good girl." Pete crouched down in front of her, reaching out a hand to pet her. She allowed the touch, but showed no sign of either enjoying or disliking it. "Clever." The dog was too damn intelligent; as if she knew one wrong move and he'd slit her throat in a heartbeat. Hell, it didn't even depend on her at all.

 "Damn dog," Billy muttered.

 Pete chuckled. "Don't say that, she's a princess. Aren't you, Martha?" The smile slid off his face to be replaced by a grin that was less friendly or amiable. "And now we're going to call your mistress."...

 *******

 

He knew it was risky to call the station, but damn it, he needed to hear her voice. He needed her to know. Not being able to reach her the night before had fueled his anger; he didn't need his imagination to figure out why, and what happened once the lights were turned off in Cindy Thomas' apartment.. He had visual proof from the months before, before Lindsay had found the camera. Then again, she was at the Hall, which meant she couldn't stay away any more than he could. It was something.

 *******

 

“Hello, Lindsay. How's the love of my life?”

 “Don't bother,” she said coldly, although the sound of his cheery voice made her insides churn. “I know who you are.”

 Pete chuckled. “I knew you'd figure it out eventually. I just wanted to tell you it won't be long now.”

 “What the hell are you talking about?”

 As if she didn't know. He was fantasizing about some final stand off. In a way, she had too in the past few years. If his priorities hadn't changed, hers definitely had. She would bring this to an end, but it wasn't all her life was about any longer. She gave Cindy what she hoped was a reassuring gaze. Cindy looked scared and angry at the same time.

 “But isn't that obvious? I want you, Lindsay. I've been patient with you to get over this stupid fling, but frankly, it's getting ridiculous. Are your colleagues listening now? Of course they are. I bet they're all eager to see those tapes.”

 “You went too far with that.” Lindsay kept her voice level, didn't let any of her anger color her tone. He'd love that, knowing he was getting to her. Which he was.

 “Oh, but it was necessary. I know what you like now. I've seen it all.”

 There was a deadly silence in the bullpen save for their conversation. Lindsay knew he was taunting her, as he had the whole time, but she felt bad for Cindy who had turned bright red. One of these days, they both knew, those tapes would turn up. And they'd be evidence.

 “That's okay, Pete, you've had your fifteen minutes of fame. I get it. Just tell me something, why Darren Spencer? What's your beef with him?”

 There was a small pause, then he said, not so much the amiable guy she had dated once, “I'm taking out your garbage.”

 “Hey,” a tinny female voice drifted through the phone line, protesting in the background. “I resent that remark.”

 Lindsay froze, the tide of nightmarish memories nearly taking her over. Elaine Lewis. Corinne Stevens, her father. Fearing for Jill and Cindy. There was probably a reason she had come to the conclusion that she couldn't do this anymore.

 Not like anybody was asking her. She fought them back once more.

 “Pete, I'm wondering. If it's me you want so badly, who is that woman with you?”

 “Oh, I almost forgot.”

 He must have held the phone closer to her, because the voice sounded loud and clear. “Lindsay Boxer? This is Drew Caplan. I'd appreciate it if you did your thing right now, because this guy is really crazy and--”

 Her scream came across just as clearly before the call was disconnected.

 *******

 

She was familiar: sports agent Drew Caplan, who had been a suspect in the murder of NFL quarterback Joe Donovan. The killer who had abducted her, was just as familiar. Kiss-Me-Not was back, and he had a new victim.

 “Where do you think you're going?” There was no way that Lindsay could be on the scene of this bust, for professional reasons and otherwise. Whatever redemption she was looking for, here and now wasn't the time; Tom was convinced of that. That, and he had a responsibility. To the case. And to her.

 “You heard what he said.”

 “Clearly,” Tom returned. “You are staying here, Inspector. That's final.”

 Lindsay seemed too stunned to react, but she spun around angrily when Jill touched her shoulder. “What?”

 “He's right,” Jill said. “They traced the call, they're going to find him this time. You were right, Lindsay. If you go along, you're only giving him what he wants. Let's see what we can do from here.”

 “Thanks,” Tom said, having expected the glare from his ex-wife.

 It didn't take them long to get to the place; the GPS helped them to locate the cell phone precisely. Tom Hogan couldn't believe his eyes at the sight of children playing in the yard of an elementary school. Not Mission Day, not the scene of his worst nightmare, but it was close enough to bring up some memories.

 He was very sure that it wasn't a mistake, and as it turned out, he had been right when not much later the phone was found in the backpack of a little girl, who stared up at them with big, frightened eyes.  No one could say how it had ended up in there.

 The image stitched onto the pink bag was Snow White.

 Tom suppressed a curse.

 “I hear this guy likes to tell fairy tales. Not very subtle,” Inspector Snow commented.

 “Subtle, not his style,” he told her.

 *******

 

Pete was pacing frantically in the small room, the vivid images once again on his mind. They were a lot of the time, as he kept watching the tapes over and over again, but with this woman here reminding him who should be in her place, it was even worse.

 He turned back to the sports agent, taking in the defiance in her gaze she held on to despite the bruise on the side of her face. It seemed to bother him more than her; he liked their faces unmarked except for the black X's of surgical thread.

 “I bet she's not going to come,” she said. “If she's in her right mind.”

 “Shut up,” he yelled at her, angry at himself for losing his temper. He never did. Corinne had been frightful and docile. Not this one, though. She was beginning to annoy him. “You don't know her. Not like I do.” Too bad he had to keep her alive for now, because Lindsay would well remember the trick they'd played on her with Billy. He had to give her an incentive.

 “If you say so.”

 She wasn't taking him seriously. Her arms and legs had to be cramping from all the time she'd spent in that chair, and Pete hadn't given her anything but water so far, but she still wasn't taking him seriously.

 While at home, Lindsay... he couldn't let it go on like this.

 He had to move things up a little.

 *******

 

“Nothing the bastard ever does is coincidental. Not Spencer – if he did it, and I think we agree that it's very likely. Not Caplan. There are the fairy tales, but there's got to be more.”

 “There already is a lot the fairy tales are telling us,” Cindy reminded her. “A stereotypical view of women. Lilacs mean innocence. He dressed Melissa in a white dress, like a bride. Copper, like the tub, is associated with Venus.”

 “They're perfect until they screw up in his eyes, and then he thinks he needs to punish them. But not Caplan.” Pacing the length of the room, Lindsay had to keep herself from reaching for the wall beside her. The call had shaken her more than she wanted to let on in front of her friends; knowing had been one thing, audible proof – something entirely different. Especially now that he'd taken another woman.

 “We want to go with the favor theory? He took her because of me.” What she'd once told Claire,  her relief about finally being able to put a name and face to Kiss-Me-Not had lost its meaning the moment she realized it wasn't Billy Harris, but a man who had watched her all these years like a jealous lover. Her jealous lover, alright. He hadn't just turned into her stalker when she broke up with him; he'd been there all the time.

 “Now come on,” Jill protested. “He took her because he's a killer with a sick compulsion.”

 “Semantics I'm sure Drew Caplan isn't interested in,” Lindsay said darkly. “You're still looking at the last projects he was working on, right? Any old, abandoned buildings, or ones being renovated--” Jill avoided her gaze for a moment, and Lindsay didn't need to ask to determine she was thinking of St. Vincente's. She touched her friend's arm in silent apology.

 “In the stories, the buildings often have towers,” Cindy reminded them. “Killing David Arnold in a church was like crossing their M.O.'s. The house where you found Elaine Lewis had this oriel window.”

 “There was nothing like that at the other crime scenes.” Lindsay didn't like to brush off her theory, but it seemed like a reach.

 “There could have been a building like that before the parking lot where you found Sarah Rice.”

 “And Corinne Stevens?”

 “He had Billy Harris working for him at the time.”

 Harris, the suspect served to them on a silver platter. The man who had killed her father.  It was time for each of them to free themselves from the past curse. They had to succeed this time. They had to find Drew Caplan alive.

 “The business Pete had been working for is across the street. I'll do some work now quietly and go over there on my break to ask around. Also I'm gonna use Inspector Snow's guilty conscience in my favor and grill her some more.”

 “You think she has one?” Claire asked dryly. “Alright, ladies, I'll take a look at the reports, all of them, and see if there's anything hinting at a location.”

 Jill sighed as she got up. “I guess for me it's mountains of files again. He sure did a lot of work aside from murdering people.”

 “I've got to run too. There's one of my special sources I've got to meet.”

 At Lindsay's suspicious look, Cindy leaned over to kiss her quickly. “Nothing dangerous,” she assured. “I swear.”

 Lindsay had no choice but to believe her; at times like this, an unnecessary risk could prove to be fatal. She looked into the faces of her friends and lover, heartened by what she saw.

 She felt responsible for the latest killings, maybe more than she could admit to even herself, but they didn't blame her, and for the moment, it would be enough to keep her going.

 “Let's get him,” she said.

 *******

 

“Hey, Red. Long time, no see.”

 Cindy smiled wistfully at the older woman pushing the shopping cart filled with her meager belongings as she handed over the bag with food. “I'm sorry, Lola.”

 “Some pretty boy been distracting you?”

 “More like some pretty girl.”

 “I see.” Lola grinned, pinching her cheek. “She treat you right?”

 “She sure does, but life hasn't treated her so right. Lola, have you been hearing something about strange things happening in empty buildings?”

 “Honey, strange things always happen in empty buildings. You mean those Goth kids drinking red wine and blaring music about the eternal sadness?”

 Cindy couldn't help but laugh at that, even though the reason for her to visit the homeless woman was far more serious than youth rebellion. “Not like that. Have you seen anyone around lately who's stood out to you, or have you heard about anyone?”

 Lola shrugged, waiting for her to go on.

 “Have you seen anything unusual, stuff left behind, anything that could be associated with fairy tales?” Cindy knew she had to be sounding just a bit desperate. The thought that Pete was somewhere in the city, preparing a place for – she aborted the idea hastily.

 “You think he's out there? The guy who offed the killer in the church?”

 Cindy didn't ask how she knew about that. That was part of their mutual agreement. “He's a killer, too,” she said.

 “Do red roses count? You don't usually see so many around here. I've been wondering about that.”

 Cindy took a deep breath as her heart began to beat faster. “Can you show me?”

 *******

 

The floor in the corner of the old warehouse was littered with blood red roses that looked like they'd been torn from a hedge. Lindsay picked up one of them with a gloved hand, uncannily reminded of bouquet after bouquet of white roses she had thrown into the garbage. Were they all about to become paranoid?

 Denise said aloud what had been on her mind ever since Cindy had called. “We need more than that to find Drew Caplan. Searching this building is on legal shaky ground as it is.”

 “If I'm not mistaken, I'm the one you should be telling this to.” The both turned to see Maggie Snow approach them. “I don't know if you've been informed that I am still working this case.”

 “Well, thanks,” Denise murmured. “Always glad to be kept up to date.”

 Maggie glanced at the torn flowers incredulously. “That's all? I don't think we--”

 “No, it's not,” Lindsay interrupted her as she brushed aside the scrub carefully. She held the sliver necklace with the leaves as pendants up for everyone to see, the same as the crown Elaine Lewis had worn in her cold, wet grave.

 *******

 

“It might be the time to put names out there – Caplan's. And Pete's.”

 “Cindy, absolutely not. He'd kill her.”

 “He might have already.” Cindy almost regretted her words when Lindsay flinched, but it wasn't up to her to put time on hold. “It could help. Someone might recognize him. He can't be hiding forever.”

 “I'd rather have you not be the person who pisses him off,” Lindsay said dryly, and Tom nodded in agreement. They had retreated to his office to discuss further strategies. Normally, Cindy wouldn't be present. Without her though, they wouldn't have found the warehouse belonging to the same owner as the building where Elaine Lewis had been found.

 “The person that's most pissed off at me is my editor, and he's right. I haven't given him anything since I've been back. Honestly, I don't think you'll be able to hold this back for much longer.”

 “Well, we do it as long as it takes then,” Tom returned.

 “I can keep Lindsay's name out of it. No one else will promise you that.”

 There was a heavy silence. Cindy was sure they knew just as well as she did, if the word was out about an investigator having been involved with someone who turned out to be a serial murderer, the media would have a field day. “If you work with me, we'd have some control.”

 Lindsay shook her head. “I'm sorry. I'm okay with risking the wait if there's a chance I won't find another dead woman in my bed.”

 Cindy put her hand over Lindsay's under the table, feeling sad for all the things she couldn't change.

 Before they could resume the conversation, with barely a knock Maggie Snow entered the office, a stormy look on her face. “Lieutenant?” she said. “Can I have a word with you?”

 “Sure you can,” Lindsay said quickly, taking Cindy's hand and all but dragging her out of the office. “He's all yours.”

 Back down at her desk, Jill and Claire were waiting for them for a brief gathering before they were all about to go separate ways. “Better let Tom deal with her,” Lindsay explained. “I have a suspicion that it has to do with me being on the scene.”

 Jill shook her head. “She's really not that bad.”

 “At what?” Lindsay asked suspiciously, earning herself a dirty look from her friend.

 “And she was right on with the theory about Spencer.”

 “Inspector Snow has a lot of theories.” Lindsay leaned forward to cover her face with her hands tiredly. “I could just ask Pete the next time he calls. Guess what, the people who have worked with him have nothing but nice things to say. I can't believe it took us years.”

 “For years, we had nothing on him,” Claire reminded her. “No DNA, no hint, nothing.”

 “The hints were there all the time. We didn't see them.”

 … With his second victim they knew of, Melissa Paquin, the killer had been escalating. He'd made her suffer for much longer.

 "Sixteen hours. Goddamn it."

 Under normal circumstances, Claire would have flinched at the blasphemy, but after the week they'd all had, she probably couldn't bring herself to care much. She looked at Lindsay who was trying to uphold a determined stance while she was, like all of them, exhausted, struggling with the weight of failure.

 The only thing they knew for sure: They were dealing with the same monster who had left Sarah Rice in a bed of lilacs. He'd kill again, sooner or later, presenting them with a meticulously prepared scene, no DNA, no traces of him. He was laughing in their faces.

 Jill stood in the corner of the morgue, seemingly stunned into silence by this horrible suggestion.

 "Still, he timed it just so she was still alive for his Kiss-Me-Not message."

 Claire's choice of words made Jill swallow hard. Lindsay scowled. "What did you just say?"

 "She was still alive when he sewed-"

 "No, not that. Kiss-Me-Not."

 "I just said--"

 "What did you mean by it?"

 Frustration was showing in Claire's tired features. "I don't know what I mean by it. I hate to tell you, but I can hardly see straight, and I bet the same goes for you. We have nothing on that monster."

 "I am aware of that." Lindsay was slightly taken aback by Claire's harsh answer.

 "Okay." Claire sighed. "There must be a metaphor in there somewhere, right?"

 "Right. Silencing them." There was a surge of adrenaline with the familiar anger that made her a lot more awake all of a sudden. "What else?"

 "Jealousy," Jill suggested. "He wanted them for himself." She shuddered. "Ex-boyfriend maybe."

 "Could be, but maybe he wasn't with either of them at all,” Lindsay picked up the thread, starting to pace once more. “He just wanted to be. They rejected him, or weren't even aware of him, and he was punishing them for it. I need to go over the interviews again. There's got to be something."

 Lindsay didn't miss the look Jill and Claire shared. "What?"

 "Lindsay, it's 4 AM. My family is about to forget what I look like. We should all go home now, because I don't see us cracking this case if we get delusional from a lack of sleep."

 "But—"

 "Claire is right," Jill said softly. "This is horrible, and we need to catch this guy. Soon. But it won't happen tonight."

 Rationally, Lindsay knew they were right. She'd been running on caffeine and adrenaline since the moment she'd taken a first look at Melissa Paquin's body; it was bound to take its toll sooner or later. Well, it already was. She'd been short-tempered and irritable lately, more than the usual – but it was because she couldn't make herself see past the fact that he'd been out there, nearly two years since Sarah Rice, and had been patiently looking for his next victim. He'd found her, and made her die a long-suffering death. Sixteen hours. The bastard was learning – and escalating.

 Serial killers tended to perfect their MO. Were those really the only victims of Kiss-Me-Not?

 "Lindsay?" Jill prompted. Another of those concerned gazes between her friends.

 "You two go home," she said. "There's something I forgot to check. I promise after that I'll leave here." For the moment, it was a necessary lie...

 Lindsay shook herself out of the memory when Cindy touched her arm lightly.

 “I need to go and placate my editor now,” Cindy said. Lindsay felt slightly guilty about that, but she still stood by her decision. Kiss-Me-Not didn't kill right away; there was a small window of time left for them. And it was true, she didn't want Pete to be reminded of Cindy more than necessary. Wishful thinking as it might be.

 “I'm sorry.”

 Cindy shrugged. “I still think it could have helped. I'll see you later. If you're home early, you could start dinner – oh, and don't let Maggie in the club while I'm gone, right?”

 Lindsay promised both.

 *******

 

It was beginning to get to her. She tried to deny it, but the feeling of being caged grew stronger all the time. Lindsay had been fantasizing for a while about the home they'd be sharing eventually, but then it would have been up to them to control the time and place.

 She could recall some wonderful nights spent at Cindy's apartment, but now that she had literally nowhere else to go, it was all different. It couldn't be easy for Cindy either. Both of them had lived on their own for years, and the lack of opportunity for retreat made it difficult.

 It was just as disconcerting as the intermittent impulse to just hold on and never let go.

 These thoughts kept Lindsay awake for a long time, and so she nearly slept through the sound of her cell phone ringing early in the morning.

 “Have you seen the front page of the Register?” Jacobi asked without preamble.

 “Not yet.”

 It couldn't be good. Becoming more aware of her surroundings, Lindsay noticed that Cindy was in the kitchen, taking what seemed to be frustration out on innocent cabinets and drawers as she set the table.

 “How bad is it?” Lindsay asked, trying to shake the remnants of sleep.

 “Bad,” her partner simply said. “Go look for yourself.”

 “I will. I'll talk to you later,” she sighed and hung up.

 “Good morning.”

 Cindy didn't turn from where she stood at the stove; she didn't say anything either.

 The paper lay on the table, the reason for the temperature in the room having dropped several degrees practically screaming at her. Kiss-Me-Not: A Killer Keeps Haunting San Francisco. And a little further down... she couldn't bear to read this now. She walked up to stand behind Cindy, unsure whether to touch.

 The sudden sound of the glass breaking when it slipped from Cindy's hand and shattered in the sink startled them both.

 “Damn it,” Cindy swore, unacknowledged tears in her voice.

 Lindsay finally leaned forward, running her hands up and down Cindy's bare arms and embracing her from behind. “I'm so sorry about that.”

 “You'll be even more sorry after you read it,” Cindy predicted. “Scott didn't have any qualms about naming people. Linz, I could have prevented this from happening!”

 “I know.” Lindsay held her tighter, relieved when Cindy finally started to relax in her embrace. It was enough for her. She wouldn't obsess on this now, not with Claire being confronted with Spencer  and what he'd done once again, and Jill still coming to terms with what she'd gone through at the hands of David Arnold.

 Not with Drew Caplan possibly still alive.

 *******

 

The breakthrough came sooner than any of them had expected, through one of those impossible hotline tips, and it felt sudden and surreal. The woman who had called them had been walking home from work when she had encountered him. He'd passed her by, greeting her cordially. The only other house down the road was empty, though renovated and for sale since the beginning of the year.

 Tom shook his head before she'd even said anything.

 “You can't deny me this!”

 “Linz, I can't tell you what to do in your spare time or who to meet --” He shot a pointed look at Jill who winced, “but don't you think your colleagues can handle this?”

 “Like you handled the tracing of the phone?” Ouch. She shouldn't have said that.

 “I'm beginning to see why you taking a break was a good idea. Besides, if you took a look at the paper today, you'd know that I don't have a choice.”

 “I'm sorry, Tom.” Lindsay knew she had to make amends, and fast. “I just want to be there. I want to be there when whoever puts the cuffs on the bastard. No one deserves it more than I do.”

 “She does have a point,” Jill added, earning herself a glare from Tom.

 He sighed. “I know that. Okay, but you are not going to take the lead on this. You know that Jacobi and Snow are.”

 Lindsay nodded. “Agreed. I'm not looking for any more of my name in the paper. I just want him caught.” This was not the moment for vanity.

 *******

 

The house was a one-family unit, one story. The 'For Sale' sign was displayed on the front lawn. It looked like no one had been here in a while. Lindsay knew better. No one could cover his tracks better than he could.

 There was no hint of a tower or anything like it, but Marilyn Holt had ID'd Pete Raynor from his picture in the Register without a single doubt.

 Lindsay had every intention of keeping her promise to Tom; if she was the one to take down Pete in the end, much as she longed for it, she'd play into his fantasies forever. She watched Maggie Snow exit her car, wearing Kevlar over a white shirt and blue jeans, and a baseball cap. Despite almost being blown to pieces not so long ago, she held her head up high.

 Lindsay remembered that kind of confidence.  She'd have it back once this killer was out of the picture. She hoped.

 They approached the house carefully. The attack on Ashe and Maggie had shown them clearly the varied arsenal of weapons that was available to Kiss-Me-Not.

 *******

 

2005, The Golden Key

 Why couldn't she be the one to make him stop? It was all her fault. Melissa was supposed to be the wife, and she'd failed. No matter how often she'd begged him to end it, he couldn't let her die before she realized her mistakes, with each time he brought down the blade gleaming with her blood, hour after hour. Until it was time to pick up the needle and thread, because it had to be done when she could still feel it.

 His mind was frantic when the last bit of life had left her. He was breathless with anticipation.

 He would see her again. And this time she would know that it was him, and that he was waiting for her. He could be a patient man when the prospect was worth it.

 The Golden Key was for the last wife to find. She'd be here soon.

 *******

 

Dust particles danced in the late afternoon sun as they entered the eerily quiet house. Upon closer look, Maggie seemed tense, and Lindsay wondered if she was thinking of the day she and Ashe had been planning to search her apartment.

 As they searched room for room, the uncomfortable feeling grew that it just couldn't be that easy. A part of the puzzle maybe, but not the end. Billy Harris had been careless, kicking the Steven's neighbor in the head – but this was Kiss-Me-Not they were talking about. He was much too efficient to be caught like this – but if he wanted to lead them there, why?

 The last door was leading down a dozen stairs into a cellar.

 It was unfamiliar and unsettling not being right on front, especially with those thoughts on her mind. What did he want from them – from her?

 The dark hallway reminded her of the tunnels under the building near St. Vincente's. They always hid in dark places like the rats they were. Lindsay couldn't believe that in a matter of seconds, they might come face to face with--

 She saw Maggie reach out and try the handle of the door at the end of the corridor.

 It wasn't locked.

There was no explosion or gunfire; instead, someone yelled “get an ambulance in here!”

 Lindsay ran behind them, entering the room behind Maggie and Jacobi, stopping cold at the sight. In the middle of the room, there was Drew Caplan, tied to a chair, gagged.

 Alive.

 Maggie met her gaze briefly, and they shared a smile, all competition meaningless in this moment.

 As soon as she could speak again, Caplan remarked, “I see the PD's been hiring more hot chicks. Took you long enough to get here, though.” Then she started to cry.

 At the same moment, Lindsay's cell phone rang, and she knew who the caller was even before the familiar hated voice said, “Hello, Beautiful.”

 *******

 

Rachel Morrison nearly ran for the door when the bell rang, hoping the police would be there with good news regarding Drew.

 There was no one there when she opened, but on the doormat lay a bouquet of white roses.

 *******

 

Lindsay shook her head. “He isn't finished. He never takes a woman and then just leaves her alive.”

 “Maybe he was worried about that neighbor?” Maggie suggested. “I, for one, am glad that we found her in time.”

 “You think I'm not?” Lindsay shot back. “You don't know this guy.”

 “True. Not as well as you do.” There was a flicker of shame on her colleague's face. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way.”

 Sure you didn't. “Never mind. Take a look around this house. It doesn't feel right. He loves his metaphors, but in here is nothing.”

 “You're still looking for buildings with towers? Maybe he's changing his MO. Before Arnold, he only ever killed women. Now there's Spencer. Maybe more.”

 Lindsay turned to find Drew Caplan arguing with the paramedic. “I just need to see Rachel, okay? I can't reach her on the phone. After that, you can take me to the hospital all you want.”

 “Rachel...” she murmured.

 “Excuse me?”

 “Damn it, he's planned it out exactly. Rachel was the name of Billy Harris's sister.”

 “Oh, come on Linz, that's a reach,” Jacobi argued as he joined them.

 “Maybe it's not,” Maggie disagreed, and it didn't seem like she was merely trying to make amends.

 *******

 

He hadn't expected that much of a fight from the small woman, and he cursed himself for getting careless this close to the day of all days. She nearly got away, but how ironic to slip on the stairs of the porch.

 Pete hated to rush, but it couldn't be helped. She was the unworthy wife. The last one, before his true destiny would be fulfilled.

 He carried her up to the second floor where a recently added part of the building looked a little like a church tower. There was money between the two of these women.

 Then he called the cell phone number he knew by heart. Interesting really that she had never changed it. Like she wanted him to be able to reach her.

 *******

 

Later that day, Pete had called her again at the station.

 “I can't stop it, not without you, my love. I need you, Lindsay.”

 “I understand that now.” Her voice was low and soothing. “Tell me more. Tell me what you need from me so you can stop.”

 She felt the looks on her, shocked and worried. As soon as Lindsay had seen Rachel Morrison, lying on her side on the hardwood floor in the alcove of the room she used as an office – Caplan's lover had been a writer – she knew that she had to change tactics. There was a white rose in Rachel's hair, and she was wrapped in rose scrubs, the thorns having broken the skin in on her arms and legs. There was a small pinpoint of blood on her left index finger. Next to her lax hand lay a mandrel, the object that had fulfilled the curse and put the princess into a sleep of a hundred years.

 Rachel, though, would never wake up again.

 He sounded impatient, almost angry. “You know what that is. Is she there with you now?”

 Cindy flinched violently.

 “Cindy has nothing to do with this,” Lindsay said calmly. “You know that, right? This is between us.”

 There was laughter on the other end of the line. “You mean that.” It wasn't a question.

 “Yes, I do. Why don't we meet, and talk about it?”

 Tom shot her a glare. Cindy was visibly fighting for her composure.

 Lindsay couldn't care now. She had to lure him out as far as he would come, no matter the costs. She had seen Drew Caplan breaking down screaming when she'd learned what had happened to her lover. Lindsay didn't want him to ever touch another woman, and she didn't want any parent or partner to go through this ever again. Whatever she could do to stop it, it would be worth it.

 “We will meet,” Pete agreed. “We are finally coming full circle. Haven't you been waiting for that?”

 “I have.”

 He didn't seem to have noticed the edge in her voice. “That's very good. Because I have almost everything ready for you.”

 “I can't wait. You're going to tell me where and when, now?”

 “I'll let you know,” he said. “See you soon, Lindsay.”

 As soon as she had hung up the phone, Cindy stepped close and embraced her. Lindsay just held on tight, disregarding her colleagues' presence.

 Ever since it turned out that Pete Raynor was the infamous Kiss-Me-Not killer, her private life had been out there, exposed for everyone to dissect long before the Register's story. She didn't feel the need to pretend.

 *******

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