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Dani shuddered at the implication.
“You see, without the object of his obsession, an erotomanic feels as if a part of himself is missing. That’s why his delusions are so tenacious. Without his object—without you—he’s nothing.”
Dani wanted to put her hands over her ears and block the whole bizarre conversation, but she couldn’t do that. She had to face the reality of what was happening to her. Her family’s safety depended on it. “Why me? What did I do?”
Dr. Gaines made a helpless gesture with his hand. “It could have been something as simple as a smile or a kind word that captured his fascination. In all likelihood, he’s someone who has had little or no real contact with you, but he’s so deluded that he actually believes he’s having a relationship with you.”
“So he had to kill Paul and Michael?” Dani cried in horror. “He had to hurt my father?”
“He felt threatened by them. Erotomanic stalkers can be very vindictive. They believe their victims love them, and they can become violent when they perceive obstacles that are keeping them from that love.”
Dani closed her eyes. “Then why aren’t the police looking for him? Why do they think I’m the one who did something wrong?”
“Because most police departments, particularly those in small towns, still don’t know how to deal with stalkers. Until recently, stalking wasn’t even a crime in most states. Your case is particularly complex because your secret admirer isn’t just delusional and violent, he’s also extremely cunning. He planned those murders very carefully. He even taught himself to mimic your handwriting so precisely that if you took those letters to the police, they could only conclude that you’d written them yourself. And in each case, he made sure that you were the one who had the most to gain from the victim’s death. He made sure that you had both motive and opportunity. There wasn’t enough evidence to arrest or convict you, but certainly enough to cast doubt upon your character, and therefore, your credibility. It’s another way he has of gaining power over you. Not only has he isolated you from your family and your community and even from future relationships, but by planting your necklace near that fuel tank, he’s also proven how easy it would be to frame you. In essence, he now has total control over your life.”
“What can I do to stop him?” Dani asked desperately.
“The truth?” Dr. Gaines glanced away. “Nothing. There’s nothing you can do to stop him.”
LYING IN HER DARKENED BEDROOM, Darian felt the old panic well inside her again, but she shoved it away, reminding herself she was safe here. She’d regained control of her life. She had a new name, a carefully chosen identity. Only one person in the whole world knew how to find her, and he would never tell. He would never betray her because he was the one who had saved her. Yes, she was finally safe. Her family was safe. She didn’t just have a new name, she had a new career, a whole new life. The inheritance from Michael had allowed her to start over, and she’d used it to buy herself security.
When she’d first moved to Houston, she’d selected her town house because the complex was ensconced behind eight-foot walls, and both cameras and guards monitored the electronic security gate around the clock. No one could get in without proper authorization.
Darian had chosen her particular home because it was wedged between two other units, and she liked knowing who was on either side of her. And for the past five years, she’d had the same neighbors—to the right, the Lindermanns, a young, professional couple, and to her left, Mr. Delgado, a retired oil executive.
Darian hadn’t gotten to know the Lindermanns or Mr. Delgado well, but she’d been comforted by their presence. Then, a few weeks ago, Mr. Delgado had decided to move to Phoenix to be near his daughter. He’d left abruptly, and now his empty town house made Darian uneasy.
Slipping out of bed, she stole across the room and eased into the hallway to check the upstairs control panel on her security system—just as she had countless times on countless sleepless nights.
Reassured that it was set and working, she returned to the bedroom and walked over to the window to glance out, reminding herself that this was one of the safest areas of the city.
But as Darian drew back the curtain, she gasped. A man stood across the street, smoking underneath a streetlight.
What was he doing out there? she wondered in panic. It was a little late for someone to be out for a stroll or even to be walking a dog.
As Darian watched, the man lifted his cigarette, took a long drag, then threw the butt to the pavement and ground it beneath his foot. There was something familiar about that action. Something…symbolic…
She put a hand to her mouth. Did she know him? Had she seen him do that before?
He tilted his head slightly, as if staring up at her window, and Darian jerked away, letting the curtain fall back into place.
Thoroughly unnerved now, she wondered if she should call the front gate and alert the guard of the man’s presence. But…he wasn’t doing anything illegal, and besides, he had to be a resident of the community or he would never have been allowed inside the gate.
She had nothing to worry about. Nothing to be afraid of. Not even her own family knew where she was. She was perfectly safe here.
Still, Darian had an almost overwhelming need to connect with someone who could reassure her. Someone who wouldn’t ask a lot of questions.
Opening her nightstand drawer, she removed the disposable phone she’d purchased several days ago. The throw-away wasn’t as anonymous as using a calling card at a pay phone, but it was a lot more difficult to trace than a landline or a regular cell phone.
Punching in her brother’s phone number, she waited through several rings before he finally picked up. It was the dead of night, but he sounded wide awake when he answered.
“It’s me,” Darian said softly.
“Dani?”
“Don’t call me that.”
She heard a muffled voice, then a second later, a door closed in the background. Evidently her brother wasn’t alone.
As if to confirm her poor timing, Nathan said impatiently, “What the hell am I supposed to call you? You won’t tell me your new name or where you live. I can’t even get in touch with you if there’s an emergency. I’m at the mercy of your calls, which are damn few.”
Darian sighed. “We’ve been through this, Nathan. You know why I can’t tell you where I am.”
“Because you think my phone could be bugged or the call could somehow be traced. That’s why I gave you my cell phone number.”
“Cell phones can be monitored.”
“Do you know how paranoid that sounds?”
“Of course I do. And do you have any idea how nightmarish it is to know that two people died because they loved me? Because—”
“Someone else wants you,” Nathan finished. “So badly he’ll kill to make sure no one else has you.”
Darian was still trembling from the dream. She slid out of bed and walked back over to the window. Parting the curtain, she peered out. The man was gone.
“Are you still there?” Her brother’s voice sounded so strong he might have been in the next room.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“So why did you call, Dani?” He said her name almost defiantly.
She closed her eyes. Her brother’s lingering resentment was still something she didn’t understand. “I’m…lonely, I guess.”
“Then come home.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can. Come home and we’ll go to the police together. We’ll make them listen.”
“It wouldn’t do any good,” Darian said. “I tried that before, remember? They didn’t believe me when Paul died, and they won’t believe me now. He’s seen to that.”
Nathan’s voice hardened. “Has it ever occurred to you that your little disappearing act only makes you look guiltier? Maybe that was part of his plan, too.”
Darian closed her eyes briefly. “It doesn’t matter. He can’t find me here. And as long as I’m out of the picture, Mother and Dad are safe. And so are you.”
Nathan said nothing for a moment, and in the ensuing silence, Darian heard another door open and close somewhere in his house. Then a whisper. Someone had come back into the room with him. Someone who was trying very hard not to make her presence known.
“I’ve interrupted something,” she murmured. “I should let you go.”
“No, no, I was up. I do my best work after midnight.”
Darian climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. “So how was the latest exhibit?”
“Not bad. I sold four paintings, and the gallery has commissioned a dozen more.”
“Nathan, that’s wonderful.” Darian was still astonished by the way her brother had turned his life around. The troubled young man who’d dropped out of college at nineteen, who’d refused back then to even consider his future, was on the verge of becoming a phenomenon in the art world. Dani had even read a write-up about him in Art in America.
She had to admit that at times she envied him. She’d once wanted to be a journalist more than anything in the world, but she’d had to give up that dream when she disappeared. Dr. Gaines had advised her that the first thing her stalker would look for was her professional affiliations.
“I’d offer to send you a painting, but you’d have to give me your address. And you can’t do that, can you?”
“No.” Darian didn’t mention the fact that she’d already acquired one of Nathan’s paintings. She’d bought it from a local gallery, but she couldn’t tell him because that knowledge might give him a clue to her location.
Sometimes all the deception and subterfuge got to her, but she always tried to keep in mind that her isolation wasn’t just for her own protection, but for her family’s, as well.
“I’m sorry, Nathan.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, of course, but it’s still hard. Especially on Mother.” He sighed. “I drove out to see her the other day.”
“How is she?”
“The anxiety attacks are getting worse. She can’t leave the house at all these days. Or won’t. She doesn’t even keep her appointments with Dr. Gaines anymore.”
Her father and brother were confused and frustrated by her mother’s agoraphobia, but Darian understood it. Sometimes she wished she had the luxury of remaining behind the same four walls. It was a scary world out there. No one knew that better than she.
“And Dad? How’s he doing?”
Nathan gave a harsh laugh. “You know Dad. He makes a point of keeping himself busy when I come around.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that.” Nathan sounded almost angry with her. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. I hope you know that.”
“I do.” But sometimes Darian still wondered what she had done to bring all this on her family? Had she smiled at the wrong person? Led someone on?
Dr. Gaines had made it clear from the start that her stalker could be someone she didn’t even know. Or someone with whom she’d had only the briefest of contact. Someone who’d seen her in the store one day perhaps. Or someone who had sat behind her in class. Someone who was now convinced that she belonged to him.
“It’s late,” she said. “I’d better let you go. I…just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Promise you’ll stay in touch?”
“As often as I can.”
“And call Mother. She misses you.”
Darian swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “I miss her, too. I miss all of you. I love you, Nathan.”
“I love you, too…sis.”
The line went dead then, and Darian tossed the phone into the trash can where she would get rid of it first thing in the morning, just as she’d disposed of all the other connections to her past.
Turning off the bedside lamp, she snuggled down under the covers, but it was a long time before she fell asleep. Sometime after she finally dozed off, she was jerked awake by a strange sound.
Darian lay listening in the dark, her heart pounding in fear.
The noise had come from Mr. Delgado’s empty apartment. It was an odd, muted rasp that sounded as if something was being pulled through the walls.
CHAPTER SEVEN
GREG MELCHER ANXIOUSLY checked his watch. It was already after midnight, and he still had another hour or so before his plane touched down at Bush Intercontinental Airport in Houston. He’d hoped to be on the ground by now—checked into his hotel and plotting his next move—but a severe storm front had delayed his flight out of LaGuardia.
His pulse quickened with excitement. Seven years of searching was about to come to an end, and he couldn’t wait to see Dr. Darian West’s face when he confronted her with what he knew.
But that meeting was still hours away, and Melcher had more pressing concerns. Like getting off the damn airplane in one piece. As he watched lightning flicker in the distance, he gripped the armrests. The bad weather had followed them south, and he hoped like hell the storm wasn’t some kind of omen.
Like a lot of other Americans, Melcher hadn’t really enjoyed flying since 9/11. Before that, he hadn’t thought twice about getting on a plane, and had usually been able to sleep through most flights. Nowadays, he was a nervous wreck during takeoffs and landings, and he never fully relaxed until the plane taxied up to the gate.
As his gaze remained fixed on the window, he decided the lightning was getting closer. The flashes seemed to be just beyond the wing tip now, and the plane dipped ominously as it hit a patch of turbulence.
Damn, he needed a drink. He was flying first class, so he could have whatever he wanted. All he had to do was press the call button, but he suppressed the urge. As soon as he landed, he’d have to get behind the wheel of a rental car, and he remembered from prior trips to Houston that the heavy traffic didn’t abate much after midnight. He’d need all his faculties to navigate the clogged freeway systems that crisscrossed the city.
Besides, Melcher had learned the hard way that drinking and driving didn’t mix. If two broken legs, a broken back and a fractured skull hadn’t taught him that lesson, then nothing would. Luckily, he’d wrapped his car around a tree instead of another vehicle, and had managed to avoid, through a complicated series of back-room negotiations, a license suspension. He was six months on the wagon and counting. He could do this.
Closing his eyes, he gulped in several deep breaths and tried to relax. Tried to remind himself that he’d escaped death once before, and he could do it again.
What he had to do was get his mind off his present predicament. He had to forget the fact that he was riding in the equivalent of a giant tin can, completely at the mercy of the weather. And fate. Couldn’t forget about fate. That bitch always seemed to bite him on the ass when he least expected it.
Okay, so what was his next move going to be? he wondered, as he consciously tried to loosen his grip on the armrests. God knows he hadn’t taken the time to formulate a plan before leaving New York. When he’d opened the e-mail attachment from an anonymous sender, Melcher hadn’t taken the time to do anything except grab a cab and race back to his East Village loft, where he quickly packed a bag and then headed straight for the airport.
Funny how that photograph had brought it all back when he honestly hadn’t thought about Danielle Williams in years. It wasn’t like he was obsessed with her or anything. His life certainly hadn’t come to a screeching halt just because he hadn’t been able to solve Paul Ryann’s murder eleven years ago. Quite the opposite.
He’d left Allentown shortly after Danielle had. While she’d headed North to Drury University, Melcher had gotten a job with the San Antonio Express, and from there, he’d gone to the Boston Globe where he’d stayed until landing his dream job in New York.
During the five years he’d worked the police beat for the Times, Melcher had seen some rough shit. The crimes he’d covered ran the gamut from gang rapes to ritualistic murders. He’d even won a Pulitzer for his reporting on the Asian mafia and the murder of a prominent U.S. prosecutor. He’d written three novels, two had become bestsellers and one had been optioned by Clint Eastwood for a major motion picture. He’d become an expert guest on the talk-show circuit, providing commentary on everything from the latest celebrity trial to government corruption, and he’d appeared on such widely divergent programs as Live with Regis and Kelly to The O’Reilly Factor.
Melcher had money, he had prestige, and he had a beautiful ex-model girlfriend who wanted to marry him. By every account, he had it all, but there was still one thing that eluded him. Peace of mind.
He’d never been able to put that old murder behind him. He’d never been able to forgive Danielle Williams—a seventeen-year-old kid—for pulling something over on him.
The death of Paul Ryann and his family still niggled at Melcher. Still made him wonder, when he woke up in the middle of the night, just which piece of the puzzle he’d missed.
And then seven years ago—four years after Paul Ryann’s death—Melcher had heard about the dorm fire at Drury University. He’d still been working in Boston when the report had come over the wire, and recognizing the name of the school, he’d immediately hightailed it up to Connecticut to nose around for himself.
He’d learned within hours of arriving on campus that Danielle Williams was connected to yet another fiery death. However, the Hanover Police Department, along with the campus police, had closed the case almost immediately, insisting that Michael Farmer’s death was an accident. The case remained closed even when Danielle inherited half a million dollars from her dead lover’s estate. Even when she disappeared without a trace two weeks after Michael’s death…
