“She agreed to an interview?” She wasn’t sure which bothered her more. The fact that he’d talked to her daughter, or that she’d trusted him enough to grant an interview.
“I’d interviewed her previously for another article.”
“Don’t you think it’s wrong to bother the poor woman right now?” A maternal protectiveness she didn’t know existed kicked in. “You’ll do anything for a story, won’t you?”
“Susan doesn’t mind publicity as much as you do,” he countered, the barb obvious. “She’s a smart woman who knows the importance of media coverage. The more people who learn about the kidnapping, the more likely someone might spot Polly and report it.”
She hated that he was probably right. “So what did she tell you that makes you think the man is coming here?”
“The first nursery rhyme clue she received spelled it out. The clue referred to both Sin City and you.”
“What exactly did it say?”
He pulled his notebook from his shirt pocket and flipped through pages until he found it. “Goosey, goosey gander, where do I wander? Uphill and downhill and straight into Sin City. There I’ll see a woman who’s not what she claims to be. So I’ll bring her another child and wait for her to see.” He paused and looked at her. “Angie, this is ‘Sin City’ and you’re the one with the ‘sight.’”
Her uneasiness grew. Leaving him standing in the middle of the room, she paced the floor. “How could he know that I moved to Vegas? It’s downright creepy.”
Brian shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure.”
“And why go to the trouble of including me in his sick game? Last time he didn’t want me involved. In fact, he even threatened to harm me if I did.”
“I remember his threats, Angie. That’s why I’m here.”
She stopped pacing and stared at him. His words sounded sincere and his concern moved her. However, she’d been deceived by his supposed sincerity in San Diego. “Your thoughtfulness is touching, but you don’t fool me. The real reason you’re here is because your story is here. That’s why you left San Diego and braved the trek through inclement weather.”
“I know you don’t believe me, but I do care about you and your safety.”
Did he
? She recalled his compassion after Tucker’s son died. No, she told herself. He was good with words, but that didn’t mean they were genuine. “I don’t understand why the kidnapper is coming here. If he knows I’m no longer in San Diego, he should be happy.”
“It looks like he wants to challenge you. Why else risk the long trip across the desert with his victim? The kidnappings are a game to him. He’s decided a psychic participating will only increase his fun.”
“Shit.” She raked her hand through her disheveled black hair.
Brian walked over to her and she stepped back. “Last time he didn’t know you were getting involved. It caught him off guard. This time he’s planned the game with you in mind.”
“What if I won’t do it?” With her grandchild’s life at stake, she wanted nothing to do with the sicko’s game playing.
“I don’t think that’s going to be an option.”
A shudder ran through her.
“As I said, I’m worried about you.” Moving closer, he reached out to stroke her cheek. Without meaning to, she leaned into his touch, then quickly backed away.
“No, you don’t. I fell for your charm once before and found my name smeared all over the front page.”
He remained silent, his green eyes studying her. Then he said, “You can’t deny your psychic ability.”
“Let’s not go down that road.”
“You’ve attempted to shut it out since childhood, only allowing it to blossom while working with Ray.”
“And we both know that was a mistake,” she replied.
“You’re having visions about this case. You can’t run away. Your mind won’t let you.”
She shook her head. “I won’t do it again.”
“You can’t let a child die if you can help save her.”
“It’s better if I stay out of it. My fuzzy visions will confuse the police.”
And my grandchild will be killed.
“You don’t know that. Because of what you saw last time the police almost nabbed the bastard. I know you can do it. Focus hard on every vision you receive. Write down every detail and give your notes to the police.”
“We already discussed this on the phone. I told you no then and I’m telling you no now.”
“But that was before we learned the kidnapper is coming here with the child.”
And before she knew the identity of the victim. Why bring this particular little girl to Vegas? A horrifying thought struck. Did he know Polly was her granddaughter? Was that part of his sick desire to taunt her, threaten her? But how could he possibly know?
“There’s no choice. Not if you’re experiencing visions.”
“I can choose to ignore them.”
But could she?
He headed toward the kitchen. “I need coffee and we need to talk this through.”
“I don’t need coffee, and I’m through talking,” she called out. Hearing cupboard doors banging, she marched into the kitchen. Damn, the man could be stubborn.
He looked at her for a minute and grinned. “I’ve missed you.”
Ignoring his seductive grin, she glared at him. No, he wouldn’t charm his way back into her life. His article about her turned her life into hell, and she wasn’t about to go through that again. Strangers called her a witch. Because of all the bad publicity centering on the tabloid piece she’d been fired from her accounting job.
“Okay, no coffee. Did I tell you that before San Diego, I worked as a reporter here in Vegas?”
“No, you didn’t, nor do I care.” Her words were tinged with sarcasm.
“There’s a friend who’s a Metro cop. I’m going to talk to him about you.”
“Without checking with me first? Dammit, Brian.” She shook her head. “You don’t understand my need for privacy, do you?”
He ignored her question. “You can work with him.”
“How many times do I need to tell you I’m out of the psychic business? Let the authorities work this one without me.”
Someone knocked on her door. “Who now?” she muttered going to answer it. “I feel like I’m in Grand Central Station.”
“Angie, are you talking to yourself in there?”
“Rita.” She opened the door and blinked against the early morning sunlight and the tropical blaze of color. Her red-headed next door neighbor always boasted that brighter was better. Today she sported an off-the-shoulder silk poncho dripping in yellow hibiscus paired with bright yellow, tight-fitting Capris.
“I’m going to the store and wondered if you—” She stopped mid-sentence and stared at Brian who now stood next to Angie in the doorway. Bright yellow plastic bracelets clattered together as she placed her hands on well-shaped hips. “And who is this? You been keeping something from me, girlfriend?”
Before she could reply, Rita stepped up to him. “Hi, I’m Rita Wilder,” she bubbled, extending her hand. “And who are you, gorgeous?”
Angie couldn’t help chuckling at Brian’s startled expression.
Quickly recovering, he accepted Rita’s outstretched hand. “I’m Brian Murphy, a friend of Angie’s from San Diego.”
Rita leveled a look at her. “So you are keeping something from me. A handsome beau like this and you didn’t tell me. Shame on you! Now I understand why you haven’t been dating.”
It was Angie’s turn to be embarrassed. First for Rita thinking Brian and her were an item, and second for implying she was a dateless wallflower.
“Rita, he’s a friend.”
She’d never told Rita about the San Diego case. When she’d moved to Vegas, she’d left the past behind her.
At least, she thought she had.
Rita’s look said she didn’t believe her. Thankfully, she decided to change the subject. “How’s our little Clancy doing?”
“Better,” she replied.
“Who’s Clancy?” he asked.
Rita laughed. “Do I detect a note of jealousy, Mr. Murphy?”
“No.”
Rita continued to smile. “The fellow in question is a pet cockatiel. Your friend rescued him the other day.”
“More like he chose me as his rescuer,” Angie said. “He’d obviously escaped someone’s cage and was living here in the courtyard. When I unlocked my door, he landed on my shoulder. I’m not sure what he likes more, my air conditioning or me. Apparently cockatiels don’t do well in the heat.”
Brian grinned. “And this from a woman who once said even a pet goldfish crowded her?”
“Well, I couldn’t leave him outside to die.”
“And you named him Clancy,” he said, continuing to smile. “Interesting. Clancy’s was my favorite pub in San Diego. Didn’t we eat lunch there several times and even a candlelit dinner once?”
“Don’t read anything into it, Murphy,” she replied.
“I’ve got to run,” Rita announced. “Let me know if you need a birdie sitter. You might decide you don’t want to come home some night.” She then studied both of them and winked before departing.
Angie noticed that Brian didn’t miss one shake of Rita’s curvaceous backside as she left. And she wasn’t sure she liked it.
“That’s one hot momma.” He grinned. “You have interesting neighbors.”
“She works at the San Francisco Casino as a showgirl. I think she’s on stage even when she’s off.”
“I see.” His grin broadened.
“You can wipe that silly smirk off your face, Murphy. She goes through men like chocoholics go through candy.”
“Candy, did you say?” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “I’ve always liked candy.”
“Stop it, you idiot. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
“Do I detect a note of jealousy?”
“In your dreams, Murphy, in your dreams.”
Was she jealous? No. Why should she be?
He needed to leave. “I’m closing the door now. I want you on the other side of it when I’m done.”
“But I haven’t met this Clancy fellow yet? Where is he?”
“In my bedroom.”
“Really.”
“Goodbye, Brian.”
He reluctantly moved out of the doorway. “You can’t be rid of me that easily. You should know that by now. I’ll be back.”
“Your stubbornness is such an endearing quality. How could I forget?”
“Such sarcasm.”
“Goodbye, again.”
“Hopefully, you’ll be in a better mood when I return.”
“Don’t count on it,” she replied.
“Yep, I’ve definitely missed you.” Grinning, he leaned in and planted a quick kiss on her lips before she could stop him. Then he quickly departed. Damn him, she thought.
Remembering the kidnapper en route to Vegas, she shut the door, locked it, and secured the chain. However, even that didn’t quell her uneasiness.
****
The low-rise adobe house clung to a desert slope overlooking Las Vegas. A tall adobe wall surrounded it and towering palm trees added more privacy to the compound. It proved the perfect place to hide an abducted child. The fact that the small house with few windows lay at the end of a rutted desert road pleased him. No one could hear the kid’s cries.
Smiling, he reached for his battered duffle bag. Time to dig into his trusty suitcase of tricks, tricks that had worked countless times before and should again.
He thought of Angela Martin and what he’d delivered to her doorstep. It was meant to throw her off balance. He was going to love playing his game with her. Each move should leave her more distracted and upset, bringing him closer to what he yearned for. When he ended his little game, he’d be the winner and she’d be the loser.
****
She leaned against her closed apartment door for several minutes after Brian left. When they first met, she’d been attracted to him. With his charming, easy-going manner, he won her over. It wasn’t long before he’d desired more in their relationship, but she’d kept him at arm’s length for the most part. Considering what happened, she was glad she had. It only proved to her that the wall she’d built around herself after her divorce remained important.
Sighing, she walked over and picked up the newspaper from the coffee table. A single sheet of paper fluttered out. Probably a promotional flyer, she thought. Curious, she unfolded the 8 ½ by 11 sheet. Staring at the colorful jumble of cutout words pasted on it, she gulped back a dose of fear. It read, “Who gets the clue? Maybe you? Play the game or you’ll be through.”
Sometime earlier that morning, he’d stood outside her door. She attempted to squash the fear continuing to well up, but she couldn’t. The killer was in Vegas and knew where she lived. No amount of locks would keep him away if he wanted to get to her.
She’d been privy to the clues in the last case, but the kidnapper never personally delivered them to her. His game had changed. This time he wanted her participating.
Brian was right. She didn’t have a choice, and she didn’t like it.
Chapter Four
Sunday night
Thinking about Angie, Brian made his way across the casino floor to a bank of elevators. He bypassed the cars designated for the lower floors, a mixed-use area of shops, restaurants, and hotel rooms, and took the elevator leading to the upper-floor condo units.
A writer friend, on the road much of the year, had given him a key to his place and told him he could use it anytime. Unlocking the door, he entered, switched on the light, and emitted a low whistle. He knew his former reporter buddy turned novelist had done well for himself, but he’d never realized how well. He dropped his duffle bag and surveyed the room.