No, I deserve to not be trapped in a room with a butcher.
“So…you’re going to let me walk out of here?” Jane lurched toward safety.
“Absolutely. You’ll notice, I haven’t threatened anyone. In fact, I’ve promised not to. You have no reason to disclose my confession to the authorities.” He moved closer, and her back hit the door. “I know my secret’s safe, so I won’t harm you.”
All the pieces snapped together.
“I can’t tell anyone, or I’ll be disbarred.” Oh, God, he’d offered her a confession and evidence—and she couldn’t tell a soul.
Oscar Valentine wasn’t the first guilty client she’d defended, and Jane saw the shades of gray built into the law. There’s a difference between being legally guilty of a crime and actually guilty.
Their blood was on her hands too. In the eyes of the law, Valentine was an innocent man, and she’d inadvertently helped him get away with his crimes.
“Correct. These indiscretions are in the past, and they’ll stay there.”
Indiscretions?
He made the murders sound like flings. Valentine had killed at least six women in cold blood, and Jane bet there were more bodies, which hadn’t been found yet.
“I’m not being charged with anything—thanks to you. I’m going to use this opportunity to get my life together.”
Fury overcame her fear for a moment. These women wouldn’t get another opportunity to live again. He’d snuffed out their lives for the pure pleasure of killing. She’d never met anyone so evil, and given the nature of her clientele, that was saying something.
“Jane…?”
“What do you want me to say?”
Her life depended on her poor people skills. While he’d promised he wouldn’t kill her, Valentine could easily change his mind if he thought she’d turn him in to the authorities.
“I want to know what you think.”
“I’m overwhelmed.” It wasn’t a lie but not quite the truth—she was also revolted and scared out of her mind.
He considered her words and then nodded.
Jane sagged in relief; she felt dizzy and light-headed. She had the oddest urge to laugh. In relief? Nervously?
“As I suspected. You need some time to adjust. Like I said, with you at my side, I won’t give in to the darker aspects of my nature. I’ll rise above them, become a better man.”
Jane knew better. Valentine would always have the urge to kill. All of the research indicated he’d murder women again—unless someone put him in a cage.
“I enjoyed our evening together. May I kiss you goodnight before you go?” Valentine planted a hand on either side of her head, pinning her against the door frame.
Nowhere to run.
“I….” Her mind blanked, and she couldn’t focus. She was too scared to move, let alone speak.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” After placing a fingertip on the bridge of her glasses, he pushed them back up her nose.
Jane gasped.
And then he cupped her cheek, his thumb smoothed over her lips, stroking her.
Valentine had killed with those hands—sliced women open, bled them. Held them down and drowned them. He pushed a hand into her hair. His palm felt hot—like his touch burned her. “I still think you’d look better as a blonde.”
And then he leaned down, capturing her mouth with his own.
At the last moment, she crossed her arms over her chest as he pressed his mouth against hers. Jane went utterly still, motionless, like a statue. The kiss went on forever—there was no moisture—his mouth was dry, skin ghosting over hers.
Jane resisted the urge to gag.
The contact was overwhelming. She rarely let people into her physical space, and after his revelation, this invasion was too much to process.
Panic threatened to close her airway. People with Asperger’s often equated overstimulation with pain, and right now it felt like her mouth was burning. Black spots danced before her eyes, and Jane worried she’d pass out.
And then he stepped back, and a smooth smile spread over his face, like nothing had happened.
“I have to go.” She clutched the doorknob with chilled fingertips. Jane cracked the door open. So close to freedom. “It’s late and I have another meeting.”
With another murderer. Won’t that be fun? I’m losing it.
She backed out of the room, and he stood still, surrounded by pictures of the women he’d killed. Her legs felt heavy, like her shoes were made of concrete. Each step took so much effort.
“I’m going to call you in a day or two. We’ll set up a dinner this week.”
“Sure, okay.”
Jane vowed to never be alone with him again, but she’d agree to anything as long as he let her leave in one piece.