“I…can’t help it.”
“I know. That’s the problem. And I can’t help it, either.”
He started walking toward the theater’s entrance. “Wait. Our coats,” she called out.
He threw his head back in frustration. She made him crazy, made him lose control. Normally that would be a good thing. At least she thought it was a good thing. But not now. He turned around, and they walked back into the darkened theater.
Benoit and Adele were sitting in his chair, she on his lap, obviously postcoital. He was telling her he loved her, that he couldn’t live without her. He would do anything to win her heart forever.
Adrian grabbed their coats and the empty container of popcorn. He tossed it in the garbage as they headed toward the entrance. He hadn’t looked at her since he’d last spoken to her. He was going to shut her out. That would be his solution, and she wouldn’t ever see him again. The thought of that shattered her heart.
One employee was jogging to the girl who was working the ticket booth. He opened the door, and said, “Oh my God, did you hear? Kiss and Kill Cupid just struck again!”
Chapter Eight
Kristy and Adrian ran down the sidewalk until they found a bar with televisions mounted to the walls. Normally, she considered them intrusive and distracting, but now she was grateful for them.
They stood as close as they could get to the television that was broadcasting news. The headline at the bottom: HAS KISS AND KILL CUPID STRUCK AGAIN? Everyone in the vicinity was also watching.
The reporter, a woman standing outside an apartment building swarming with policemen, was saying, “Details are sketchy right now, but we know a woman was found strangled to death in this apartment. One officer confirmed the lipstick message was found on her body, but we haven’t been officially notified of this yet. Kiss and Kill Cupid usually strikes at night, though his pattern changed somewhat last year when he entered the apartment of Marcy Sturgiss while her boyfriend was sleeping over. The killer has become more daring.”
The camera turned to a woman who was standing outside the yellow crime ribbons, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “It’s kind of a relief, you know. Now we don’t have to worry about him for another year.”
Kristy thought she saw Dale Soza in the background talking to one of the police officers, but the camera panned away before she could tell for sure.
“We’ll have more details as soon as they’re released. Stay tuned.”
All around her, thoughts zinged about the killer. She, however, was stunned. She turned to Adrian, who looked as confused as she felt.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Unless, because of you being in my life, he picked another victim. Maybe you did scare him away.”
He released a long breath. “Are you relieved or disappointed?”
“Both, but mostly disappointed. I wanted to stop him. I didn’t want to see this newscast. This was our only chance to help catch him.”
“Let the professionals figure it out. That’s what they do.”
She glanced up at the television again, though they’d moved on to some other story. “But only if they have enough clues.” She looked at him. “You’re relieved.”
“You’re not in danger.” And he could abandon his bodyguard duty. “Take the car back to your place. I’m going to check on Owen. I’m worried about his state of mind.”
She nodded. “When we kissed back there…you didn’t see the vision, did you?”
He seemed to just realize that. “No. It’s over, Kristy.” He left, and she watched him walk over to the black car and instruct him to take her home. Then he walked down the sidewalk.
It’s over. He meant it. Them. Probably her writing assignment. And worse, maybe Owen’s peace of mind.
The only thing that kept her from collapsing into a ball of frenzied tears and screaming was finding out what was going on. She called Dale.
“Did you see the news?” he answered, obviously recognizing her number. Excitement permeated his voice.
“A few minutes ago. Did you…follow Owen this morning?”
“Yeah, he went down to Dirty Harry’s bar for breakfast and spent the morning nursing a whiskey on the rocks. Then I got the call. I’m here at the scene now. The crime unit is still in there doing its thing. What we know is that it happened this morning, though they haven’t pinned it down any closer than that.”
Soon, though, all the details would be splayed across the news with those adjectives about the crime—gruesome—and the victim—sweet, such a nice girl, what a shame.
Dale’s chirpy voice broke her out of her grim thoughts. “So it wasn’t you he was targeting. That must be a relief.”