Silent Victim - C. E. Lawrence [117]
She heard footsteps on the floor above her, and the sound of a door opening. She struggled to move, but it was no use. There was a rustling sound; then a yellow band of light washed across the floor. He had turned on a light, perhaps at the top of the stairs. She held her breath at the sound of the footsteps coming down stone steps—he was coming! There was the sound of something falling, then a muffled curse. He had dropped something—a flashlight, perhaps, or something more sinister?
The heavy wooden door opposite her was flung open, and a figure stood silhouetted in the hall light from behind. Elena blinked, trying to make out his face.
“Hi there,” he said in a surprisingly mild voice. He took a step into the room and clicked on the overhead light, giving her a clearer view of his face. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the limo driver from the night before, but she was certain it was him. He had a delicate face, not handsome, but … pretty. Yes, that was it; he was pretty. She felt she had seen him somewhere else, too, but couldn’t think where. He leaned over and removed the gag.
“What do you want from me?” she rasped, her voice tight and dry.
“I’ve come to make you a bit more comfortable,” he said, holding a bottle of water out to her.
She gazed at the bottle longingly, saliva gathering in her mouth. She shook her head. She was so thirsty, but she couldn’t take the chance.
“Don’t worry—it’s not drugged,” he said, smiling. “I don’t need to drug you anymore.”
She didn’t reply.
“Look,” he said, holding it close to her face, “the seal isn’t broken. Tell you what—I’ll take a drink myself first, okay?” He unscrewed the lid and took a long swallow, then offered her the bottle.
She was so thirsty; her throat burned.
“Come on,” he said, placing the mouth of the bottle to her lips. She leaned forward and drank, sucking greedily at the sweet, clear liquid, until the bottle was empty.
“There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he said. “I’m really not such a bad guy—you’ll see.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
He studied her, as if considering the question for the first time.
“Not right now, anyway,” he said. “I like you. Of course, not as much as Matt liked you, but then Matt is a whore.”
Matt … Matt? Where had she heard that name before? And then it came to her: Matt was the young man she had been flirting with in the bar. She looked at her captor again, and it suddenly became clear to her. He was the young tranny who had attacked Matt for flirting with her! So, she thought, the killer is a transvestite.
“Frankly, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” he said. “I wasn’t even planning to capture you, but I was on my way home, driving up Sixth Avenue, and—well, there you were. It felt like fate was calling the shots.”
“I’m a cop,” she said.
He gazed at her with pity in his eyes.
“Oh, that’s too bad. Now I really will have to kill you.”
He took a step toward her.
A black mist began to descend over Krieger’s eyes, but she fought the growing panic. “No—wait!”
He stopped and looked at her. “What?”
“If they find my body, you’re dead.”
He laughed softly. “I’ve evaded them so far. What makes you think you’re so special?”
“No, you don’t understand,” she rasped, trying not to let the fear seep into her voice. “Right now they have a small task force looking for you. The minute you kill a cop they’ll call in—”
“—the National Guard?” He gave a dismissive snort. “I don’t think so.”
“Everyone and anyone they can spare. They will hunt you down—and if they can, they’ll kill you on the spot.”
A narrowing at the corner of his eyes expressed the tiniest seed of doubt. Hope blossomed