Chapter Eighteen - The Long Goodnight

Their shoulders bumped as they darted toward the dining room window that looked out onto the porch and afforded a clear view of the side of Kate's house.

"W-what," Kate stammered, pressing her arm fully against Jaxson's side, "is she doing?" Even after days and hours and years of dreaming about Mira Rathe, and the brief history they shared, the one and only time their paths had crossed, it felt … wrong, somehow, to be speaking out loud about her. Who was she kidding? It wasn't only that. It was referring to Mira as if she were a live person that made the hair on the back of Kate's neck practically stand on end. Mira was dead. Light shone from a downstairs window, then winked off, only to appear in another window. The kitchen, the porch, the second-story room that was missing a window. Kate shivered. Mira Rathe was dead. Another crash sounded, and the light flashed rapidly now.

But she was far from gone.

"She wants us to come back to the house," Jaxson answered, glancing sideways at Kate.

"Why?"

He shook his head and returned his attention to the spectacle next door. "I don't know."

"Oh. She isn't … talking?"

"No. Only…"

"Only what?" she prompted when he fell silent. "Jaxson, what is it?"

"Nothing. Come on," he said, abruptly turning from the window and propelling her deeper into the house. His grip delivered an edge of pain, and Kate wrenched her upper arm free of his grasp, glaring at him when he rounded on her. He'd snatched his cell phone off of one of the lace-doilied end tables in the formal living room.

"Tell me what she said."

"She said 'come here,'" he told her after a moment's hesitation.

She studied his face, the way his fingers curled tightly around the sleek black cell phone. "You're lying."

But Jaxson was already talking into the phone. "Jake," he said, turning away from Kate and lowering his voice a few octaves until she could only make out every other word or so.

She took a step forward, but Jaxson retreated a few more paces, closer to the staircase, and finally she gave up, crossing her arms over her chest in irritation but otherwise keeping silent. There would be time enough to corner him as soon as he was off the phone. A moment later, she dropped her arms to her sides and stared, open-mouthed, at Jaxson as he slapped his hand against the eggshell-white wall.

"Goddamn it, Jake! He saw her with me. Don't you get it? He didn't stop the car until he saw her over here, with me. He's going to come after her. What do you— Jake, you don't—" Jaxson exhaled and curled his hand into a fist as Kate watched, her stomach tightening. "Because I know. He wants her. I don't know. Because she's blonde, because she was with me, who the fuck knows, but he'll try and take her. She's next. I need to get her out of her," he snapped. "No, that's not enough. Fuck!" he growled, abruptly hanging up and sending his phone sailing across the living room.

Kate blinked when it was stopped by the wall. Then she rounded on Jaxson. "Do I even want to know?" she asked, tapping one foot against the plush carpet beneath her toes.

One corner of his mouth quirked up without humor. "Probably not. Come on, we're getting out of here," he said, crossing the room and looping one hand around her wrist in a firm grip. But Kate dug her heels in and held firm.

"No," she protested. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

"I will," he promised, staring down at her with a pained expression on his face. "But later. Tonight. When we're far away from this godforsaken hell hole," he muttered, turning toward the door again and propelling her along behind him. Again, she stopped him in his tracks.

"Damn it, Jaxson. Stop," she demanded, ignoring the glare he leveled on her as he swung around impatiently. "What. Is. Going. On. You're telling me now, right here, or else I walk out the door. Explain."

"It's not good."

"Yeah, I gathered that," she said wryly.

"It's really bad, Kate," he warned.

"Worse than my house being haunted by a ghost who probably wants to kill me?" she asked dubiously, her blood chilling in her veins as she briefly wondered if Mira Rathe could actually kill her. Considering what she'd done to the window earlier, Kate figured that was a line of thought she didn't want to examine further.

Grimly, he nodded. "Yeah, it's worse than that." He started for the door.

Kate tugged on his arm. "Jaxson."

"I screwed up," he said hoarsely.

"You screwed up," she repeated, searching his face. "Okay."

"Not just now, although I've managed to fuck this up, too," he said, ramming his fingers through his hair and cursing when he knocked his wig askew. "I'm not an exotic dancer at a club—well, I am, right now, but I'm undercover."

"You're a cop?" Her eyes widened.

He snorted. "No, sweetheart. I'm not a cop. I'm an ex-con. Before I came to Florida, I was an accountant. I did some business with the wrong people, and I got arrested—"

"Arrested? What sort of business?" she interrupted, taking a small step closer, curious.

"Financial business," he said, deliberately vague. "Racketeering. Gambling," he finally explained, hanging his head and exhaling slowly.

"Oh." She nodded, hoping her expression was neutral.

Jaxson's head came up, and his eyes were questioning before they became shuttered again. "One of the people I handled some financial … business … for was a man named Roger Klein—the man you saw outside earlier. The blue car," he added when Kate remained silent.

She took a deep breath. "What does that have to do with me?" she asked, though she could more or less connect the dots. The picture that was beginning to take shape wasn't pretty.

"After my arrest, the FBI came to question me. Roger Klein is more than just some shifty club owner. He's also the sole suspect in the murders of at least three women. All young—all blonde."

Kate recoiled, even though she'd seen that coming. "So they had you dress as a blonde woman to try and, what, trap him in some sort of cop show sting operation?"

Jaxson nodded, looking almost relieved for some reason. "The other man you saw here, the one that drives the Buick, is a cop, back in New York. He's my uncle Jake. At first, I was a suspect in the murders. Once they determined that I wasn't Roger Klein's accomplice in anything besides money laundering, they started to pump me for information about him, about his club."

"And the other dancers in the club, do they dress like you?" she asked, not even sure why she was curious about such a thing at a time like this. Maybe she was going into shock again, she mused, still focusing on Jaxson's tense face.

He nodded. "Transvestites? Yes. And no, this isn't my normal style of dress."

"I didn't think it was," she murmured, promptly closing her mouth. "So, your uncle?"

"Right. He came up with the idea of the sting operation starring yours truly. The next thing I knew, I was being offered a plea bargain. My full and total cooperation in exchange for a suspended sentence on the racketeering charges. I took it. And now here we are."

"Roger Klein has been baited to come after you," she said, breathless and slightly nauseous again. The idea of Jaxson being dangled in front of a serial killer was enough to make her see red. She didn't stop to question when her feelings for her quirky, screwed-up neighbor had developed into something deeper, something she was hesitant to name. Then again, the tipping point didn't really matter, did it? Her entire acquaintance with Jaxson Green had been bizarre—and kind of wonderful.

"Yeah, he's supposed to come after me. And I think it would have worked. Until he saw you." Jaxson shook his head and leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers and closing his eyes. "I should have followed my own advice and stayed away from you after that first night. Fuck, I practically led him right to you."

She raised one hand to touch the side of his face. Beneath her fingertips, his skin was hot, bordering on feverish. "You don't know that he's after me. He could have stopped the car earlier to stare at you," she pointed out, stroking her fingers down to the tense line of his jaw. "And, anyway, we live next door." She sighed. "Assuming he saw me and I … fit his type, you wouldn't have had anything to do with that. I could have walked out of my house to go to the grocery store, or to go to work, and he could have driven by and seen me then, all the same."

He brought his hands up to frame her face. "Sweetheart, you don't understand. He doesn't just want you because you're young and blonde. He thinks you're mine. It's a competition for him. It's about the chase. He wants to take you away from me. The thought excites him."

"You can't know that," she gasped, allowing him to pull her from the room. They both paused at the front door to stare silently at her house. The crashing sounds had stopped, for the moment, anyway, but the lights still flickered crazily from one room to the next.

"It's true, Kate. He's going to come after you next."

"But how—" Abruptly, she stopped, her gaze shifting from her house to Jaxson's grim expression. "She told you all that, didn't she? Or you heard it in her thoughts."

He nodded. "I'm—"

She held up one hand. "Don't you dare say you're sorry again," she said absently. "I already told you it's not your fault. Damn," she swore. "Are you sure about all of this?"

"I'm sure. Now come on, I've got to get you out of here," he told her, shoving the screen door open and steering them both across the porch and down the steps to the damp lawn below.

Kate shielded her eyes with one arm, only vaguely aware of leaving her sunglasses on Jaxson's dining room counter. "Hold on. Where are we going?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It doesn't really matter. Right now, we focus on getting as far away from Florida as possible. We'll figure it out on the way and worry about the rest later."

"But if we run, what then? You'll go to jail, won't you? And when does it end? When is this Roger Klein person going to give up?"

"When he's fucking caught." Jaxson scowled.

"And then you'll go to prison," she repeated, glaring back. "You will, won't you?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"So, no."

"Kate, you don't understand. The police aren't going to help us. My uncle can't get you out of here. You can't rely on the cops to get you to someplace safe. This is the only way."

She exhaled, agitated and scared at the same time. "Then I'll go alone. Okay? I'll get in my car right now and take off. But I can't let you go to jail."

His arms closed around her in the next instant, and he buried his face in her hair. "I can't let you do that."

"I'll be fine," she argued, her heart thumping.

"Yeah, but I won't be," he said, brushing his lips over hers. "I can't let you go alone. I can't just sit here. Don't ask me to do that."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't go alone," she demanded, feeling breathless and off kilter.

"Because this is partly my fault. And because I can't let you walk away from me," he said quietly. "I don't … I know this is crazy, and you don't need me, but when I think of you going off on your own, I can't—" He shook his head. "If anyone gets near you, I'll fuckin' take him apart. I'll keep you safe, Kate."

She stared up at him until her neck ached. He stared back, his breathing shallow. He was tense, his expression guarded as he waited for her response. The thought of walking away from him felt … wrong, but— "Your plea deal—"

His features softened. "Shh. Let me worry about that, okay? Jake's not going to let me go to prison. Not for keeping a civilian safe."

"Okay," she finally said, not believing him about that for so much as an instant. If he left with her, he would be rearrested. But it was also clear to her that he wasn't going to agree to do this any other way. So, she'd take his advice and worry about the rest of the mess they were in—the legal mess he was in—later. "Okay, we'll go now," she relented, not stopping to question why it was so easy to think of herself and Jaxson as a "they." Why she felt safe with him. She paused, turning in his arms to stare up at her house. "But we can't leave without Gollum."

"Your cat?"

She nodded. "He's still in the house. Poor baby, he's got to be terrified."

"He's probably hiding," Jaxson said, releasing her and planting his hands on his hips. "Are you sure about going in there? I think he'll be fine, really."

Kate gulped, but squared her shoulders. "You said she won't hurt me, right?"

"I'm ninety-nine percent certain she won't hurt you."

She froze halfway up the walkway. "Ninety-nine?"

"Well, she is a ghost. They're not known for being predictable. Or rational," he added. "You're sure you won't leave without the cat?"

"Positive," she said, plunging ahead, up the porch steps and through the front door, with Jaxson hot on her heels. He eased her forward a few inches so that he could shut the door behind them. Inside the house, all noise and activity came to an abrupt halt. Around them, silence reigned supreme, broken only by the ticking of a clock in the front parlor. Kate glanced behind her at Jaxson. When he nodded, she took a few tentative steps forward.

"Gollum," she called, clearing her throat when her voice came out sounding like a cross between a croak and a whisper. She tried again, steadier this time. "Gollum, come here, baby. You can come out now. It's okay." To her surprise, the small gray cat darted out from under the sofa in the front parlor almost immediately. She met him halfway, in the doorway of the sitting room, bending down to scoop him up in her arms. She gasped and Jaxson swore and shoved her behind him as the books began to spontaneously fall from their places on the shelf at the other end of the room. The fireplace ignited, and one by one the books were flung into the fire, as if they were being thrown by an invisible hand. Behind them, the sound of the latch on the front door clicking into place as it locked made Kate's heart practically leap into her throat.

"Come on," Jaxson ground out. "We've got the cat. Let's go."

"M-my keys," she stammered, her stare fixed on the crackling fire in the hearth.

"Where?"

"Bedroom. Upstairs. Wait—" she called out as he started for the stairs. "They're in the kitchen," she remembered. "Hanging over the chair." Then Jaxson was gone, and she was alone in the front parlor.

As quickly as the fire was kindled, it extinguished itself, or, rather, Mira extinguished it. Kate glanced wildly around the empty room and struggled to hold on to her composure. Her gaze dropped to the single book that remained on the hardwood floor in front of the fireplace. It was small, much smaller than the other books had been, and she hadn't recalled seeing it on the shelf. Had it been tucked behind one of the others? The front cover on the leather-bound book flipped open to reveal a page crammed with handwritten notes. Even the narrow margins were full of the same surprisingly neat, tiny, block-like handwriting. Still keeping a firm hold on the cat, she crossed the room and knelt down to pick up the journal. She took it with her to the sofa, glancing around the room one more time before she set Gollum carefully beside her and placed the book on her lap. Her hands trembled as she traced one finger along the writing on the first page:

December 8th

Subject: Tanya, Age: 19

Lagoon, Sarasota, Orange ribbon

The rest of the page was filled to capacity with seemingly insignificant, minute details of Tanya's life, from the first time he'd seen her in a grocery store, to what time she'd eaten breakfast the morning of November fifteenth, to what time she got home on the evening of December seventh, and everything in between. What she ate, what she wore, her schedule, her daily routine. Pages and pages. Oh God. She flipped through the book, faster now, until she was staring at the back cover. Frantically, her eyes scanned the inside back cover for a name, but there was none. It didn't matter. This was Stan's journal. Bile rose in her throat as she thumbed back through the pages, shivering, feeling as if the invisible layer of filth that covered the book was being transferred to her now that she was touching it.

Someone touched her shoulder, and she dropped the book and screamed. It was Jaxson.

"Your purse," he murmured, setting it beside her and shooing Gollum to the other end of the sofa so he could sit beside Kate. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the journal.

Numb, Kate leaned over and retrieved the book from the floor. "It's my uncle's journal. It's his kill book," she ground out. "He stalked all these women, and he wrote it down. He fucking recorded it all—" She broke off as the faded, tattered ribbon fluttered out from between the pages of the journal and fell to the floor. With shaking fingers, she passed the journal to Jaxson and knelt down on the floor to pick the item up.

"Kate?" Jaxson frowned.

Orange ribbon.

"I think I'm going to be sick," she gasped, dropping the ribbon again and shooting to her feet, one hand clapped to her mouth. "It was hers."

"Mira?"

"No, one of the others. Tanya," she said after struggling for a moment to recall the name that had been written on the first page of the journal. "He took souvenirs … to mark his kills."

Jaxson stood and gripped her arms, forcing her to look at him. "Kate. Are you sure, one hundred percent, that your uncle died that day? Are you sure it was him hanging there?"

She nodded. "Yes. I mean, I think so."

"Was there an autopsy?"

"I don't know. I—what are you saying? What are you thinking?"

"Your uncle targeted young blonde women. Roger Klein targets young blonde women," he said, falling silent and letting her connect the dots.

"No. No way." She felt her stomach lurch again and took a step back. "No. Stan is dead. I saw him." He couldn't have staged his own death. It wasn't possible; it didn't make sense. Then again, the more reasonable part of her brain insisted, the whole Stan-Roger coincidence didn't sound all that plausible, either. What were the odds.

"Okay, come on, let's get out of here," he said, giving her arm a quick squeeze.

"Wait, I need to go upstairs and get some clothes."

"We can—"

"It'll only take a minute. I'm just going to toss a few things in a bag."

"Fine," Jaxson said. "But we need to hurry."

Kate nodded, Jaxson grabbed Gollum, and they sprinted up the stairs and pounded down the hall to her bedroom. She half expected Mira to pop out, or materialize, at any moment, around every corner, but the house was silent. Jaxson thumbed through the journal as Kate yanked a large green duffel from the top shelf of the closet and began to haphazardly stuff clothing and toiletries into the bag.

"Kate," he said after several minutes had passed.

"Hmm?" she asked, zipping the bag and straightening.

"Your uncle Stan is dead."

She frowned, slinging the duffel over one shoulder. "I know. I already told you that."

"Yeah. But he didn't work alone."

Her mouth formed a small O as Jaxson crossed the room and took the duffel bag from her. He handed her the journal, open to a page about midway through the book. "Read this."

She dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed, her heart pounding as she read the entries he'd pointed to. Jaxson was already talking, confirming what she was reading, before she'd even finished that page, then another, and another still.

"Your uncle met Roger at the club. They hooked up and discovered they had some common interests," Jaxson said, shaking his head, clearly disgusted.

"Like young blonde women," Kate said without taking her attention from the page. "And stalking."

"And murder."

"God," she murmured, sickened as she continued to read. "It was a competition to them. A game." Page after page detailed the exploits of the two men. In his notes, Stan referred to himself and Roger Klein as kindred spirits, like minds, "hunters." And above all—competitors. The things they took from the women, from their "kills," were the trophies. The orange ribbon. An earring; a bracelet; a lock of hair. A bone. The souvenirs seemed to escalate with every kill. Sometimes they would even stalk the same quarry. Those kills were the most prized—like Mira. Her eyes quickly scanned the last entry in the journal, and her blood ran cold.

"The glass room," she uttered, forcing the words through lips that almost refused to work.

Jaxson nodded, his expression grim. "Was built to contain the ultimate trophy."

"A human soul."

"Come on, we've got to get out of here." Jaxson reached down and snagged her wrist, pulling her to her feet. The journal slid to the floor, forgotten in Kate's haste to leave the house and her past far behind. She was in full fight-or-flight mode now. The only thing on her mind was escape.

She didn't see it coming. One second, she and Jaxson were running down the hallway, heading toward the stairs, and the next, a dark figure collided with them at the top of the stairs, rushing Jaxson and swinging the hilt of a knife in a wide arc, sending the heavy bone-colored handle crashing into his temple. He went down like a stone, without a sound. Kate's scream was frozen in her throat as she tripped and fell over Jaxson's unmoving, silent form. Quickly she scrambled to her hands and knees, stumbling backward until she was in the glass room. Her gaze never left the eerie, unblinking, icy blue stare of the man who steadily advanced on her.

"Y-you're Roger Klein, aren't you?" she stuttered, hugging her arms around her midsection and frantically searching for a way out. There wasn't one. She was trapped in the glass room. The only way out was through the large, knife-wielding man who stood between her and the door. Why? She silently berated herself, fear for Jaxson and for herself making her light-headed. Why in the hell had she just allowed herself to be backed into a corner?

In front of her now, Roger smiled. "Hello, Kate. We finally meet."

"Why are you doing this?" She forced the words out through numb lips, her eyes darting left, then right. She was going to have to try to trick him somehow, get around him. And even if she managed to get around him, she would have to leave Jaxson behind—if he wasn't already dead. Moisture stung her eyes.

"Why? To win the game, of course," he said, bemused.

"But my uncle is dead. You've already won the damn game," she argued, a tear spilling over and tracking a path down the side of her cheek. Roger extended one arm, and Kate cringed as he followed the teardrop with the point of his knife. He licked the tip of the blade and smiled at her, the predator to the prey. He took a step back, running the blade along the mirrored wall beside the doorframe.

"Oh, no. I haven't won the game," he told her, regret tinging his voice. "Not yet. Didn't you know, Kate? You were Stan's ultimate prize. And now you're mine," he said, his eyes taking on an intense sheen as his gaze roamed over her body. "Nothing meant as much to him as you. He thought he was so clever. He never let on about you. Oh, he talked about you, but he refused to tell me who you were. But I was here. After Viola died, I was here." He laughed, gouging his knife into the glass, then rearing back and slamming the handle of the weapon into the wall, shattering the mirror. Large chunks of glass hit the floor, and cracks splintered, arcing beneath her feet. Kate gasped and took an involuntary step back. "I broke into the house, and I released Stan's catch. I was prepared to accept a stalemate, until I came across a very interesting journal, complete with pictures of you." He all but cackled, moving toward her again. "Stan won't win the game. Not this time."

Kate took a deep breath, held it. He was going to kill her if she didn't get out of this room within the next thirty seconds or so. She would have to rush him. There was no other way. She already knew she wouldn't make it. Silently, she counted down from ten. When she got to three, muscles tensed and ready to run, she saw her in the mirror beside the door, the part of the glass that wasn't broken. In her right hand was a blade, the same one she'd had before. Kate's eyes widened in horrified fascination as she watched Mira Rathe smile and lift the blade to her own face. Unflinching, she ran the tip of the knife down one side of her face, then the other, cutting herself, creating long, bloody streaks all the way down both cheeks. They looked like crimson tear tracks.

Mira stepped up behind Roger, and again she raised her knife. Wrapping one arm around his neck, she dragged him out of the glass room and into the hallway. She plunged the blade in deep, over and over, until Roger lay in a pool of blood beside Jaxson.

Kate remained frozen, backed up against the glass wall, afraid to move and half expecting Mira to turn on her, to come after her next. But in the next instant, Mira Rathe had vanished.