Kiss The Girls Part 5

I was still waiting for an answer to my direct question.

"I can't tell you as much as you'd like to hear," Burns finally said. "I will tell you that we don't know if your niece was taken by this sick Johnny. He leaves very little physical evidence, Alex. He's careful and he's good at what he does."

"So I've heard. Leads us into some obvious areas for suspects. Policemen, army vets, amateurs who study the police. That could be misdirection on his part, though. Maybe he wants us to think that way."

Burns nodded. "I'm here because this has become a high-priority mess. It's large, Alex. I can't tell you why at this time. It's cla.s.sified cla.s.sified large." Spoken like a true FBI honcho. Mysteries wrapped in more mysteries. large." Spoken like a true FBI honcho. Mysteries wrapped in more mysteries.

Burns sighed. "I will tell you one thing. We believe that he might be a collector. collector. We think he could be keeping a few of the young women nearby... a private harem maybe. His very own harem." We think he could be keeping a few of the young women nearby... a private harem maybe. His very own harem."

It was a scary, startling idea. It also gave me hope that Naomi might still be alive.

"I want to be in on this," I told Burns, holding eye contact with him. "Why don't you tell me everything?" I gave him my terms. "I need to see the whole picture before I start giving out any theories. Why does he reject some of the women? If that's what he's doing."

"Alex, I can't tell you any more right now. I'm sorry." Burns shook his head and closed his eyes for a second. I realized that he was exhausted.

"But you wanted to see how I would react to your collector theory?"

"I did," Burns admitted, and finally had to smile.

"A modern-day harem would be possible, I guess. It's a common enough male fantasy," I told him. "Strangely, it's a prevalent female fantasy, too. Don't rule that out yet."

Burns catalogued what I'd said and left it at that. He asked me to help again, but was unwilling to tell me everything he knew. He finally walked back to be with his own people.

Sampson came up beside me. "What did His Rigidness have to say? What brings him to this unholy forest with us mere mortals?"

"He said something interesting. Said that Casanova might be a collector, maybe creating his own private harem somewhere near here," I told Sampson. "He said the case is large. large. His choice of words." His choice of words."

"Large" meant it was a very bad case, probably worse than it already seemed. I wondered how that could be, and I almost didn't want to know the answer.

Chapter 16.

KATE MCTIERNAN was lost in an odd, but nicely illuminating, thought. When the strike of a hawk breaks the body of its prey, When the strike of a hawk breaks the body of its prey, she considered, she considered, it's only because of timing. it's only because of timing.

That was the insight from her latest kata in black-belt cla.s.s. Exquisite timing was everything in karate, and also in so many other things. It also helped if you could bench-press almost two hundred pounds, which she could.

Kate dawdled along busy, funky, rambunctious Franklin Street in Chapel Hill. The street ran north and south, bordering the picturesque campus of the University of North Carolina. She pa.s.sed bookstores, pizza shops, Rollerblade rentals, Ben & Jerry's ice cream. The rock group White Zombie was blaring from the icecream store. Kate wasn't a dawdler by nature, but the evening was warm and pleasant, so she stopped to window-shop for a change.

The college-town crowd was familiar, friendly, and very comfortable. She loved her life here, first as a medical student and now as an intern. She never wanted to leave Chapel Hill, never wanted to go back and be a doctor in West Virginia.

But she would go. It was her promise to her mother-just before Beadsie McTiernan died. Kate had given her word, and her word was good. She was old-fashioned about things like that. A small-town mensch.

Kate's hands were thrust into the deep pockets of a slightly wrinkled hospital medical jacket. She thought that her hands were her bad feature. They were gnarled, and she had no fingernails to speak of. There were two reasons for that: her job as slave labor at the cancer ward and her avocation as a second-degree black belt, a Nidan. It was the one tension releaser she allowed herself; karate cla.s.s was her R & R.

The name pin on the upper left pocket of her jacket said K. McTiernan, M.D. K. McTiernan, M.D. She liked the tiny irreverence of wearing that symbol of status and prestige with her baggy pants and the sneakers. She didn't want to seem like a rebel, and she really wasn't, but she needed to keep some small individuality inside the large hospital community. She liked the tiny irreverence of wearing that symbol of status and prestige with her baggy pants and the sneakers. She didn't want to seem like a rebel, and she really wasn't, but she needed to keep some small individuality inside the large hospital community.

Kate had just picked up a paperback copy of Cormac McCarthy's All the Pretty Horses All the Pretty Horses at the Intimate Book Shop. First-year interns weren't supposed to have time to read novels, but she made time. At least she promised to make time tonight. at the Intimate Book Shop. First-year interns weren't supposed to have time to read novels, but she made time. At least she promised to make time tonight.

The late April night was so fine, so perfect in every way, that Kate considered stopping off at Spanky's on the corner of Columbia and Franklin. She might sit at the bar and just read her book.

There was absolutely no way she would let herself meet somebody on a "school night" -which meant most nights for her. She usually had Sat.u.r.days off, but by then she was too bushed to deal with pre- and post-mating rituals.

It had been that way ever since she and Peter McGrath had severed their on-again, off-again relationship. Peter was thirty-eight, a doctor of history and close to brilliant. He was handsome as sin and way too self-absorbed for her taste. The breakup had been messier than she had expected. They weren't even friends now.

It had been four months without Peter now. Pun intended. Not good, but not in the top ten worst things she'd had to deal with. And besides, she knew the breakup was really her fault and not Peter's. Breaking up with lovers was a problem she had; it was part of her secret past. Secret present? Secret future?

Kate McTiernan raised her wrist.w.a.tch to her face. It was a funky Mickey Mouse model that her sister Carole Anne had given her, and it was a swell little timekeeper. It was also a reminder to herself: Never get a big head because you're a DOCTOR now.

d.a.m.n! Her farsightedness was getting worse-at Her farsightedness was getting worse-at almost almost thirty-one years old! She was an old lady. She'd been the grandam of the University of North Carolina Medical School. It was already nine-thirty, past her bedtime. thirty-one years old! She was an old lady. She'd been the grandam of the University of North Carolina Medical School. It was already nine-thirty, past her bedtime.

Kate decided to pa.s.s on Spanky's and head back to the hacienda. She'd heat up some fourth-degree chili, and maybe have hot chocolate with about an inch topping of Marshmallow Fluff. Curling up in bed with some junk food, Cormac McCarthy, and maybe R.E.M. didn't sound half bad, actually.

Like many of the students at Chapel Hill-as opposed to the wealthier crowd up Tobacco Road at "Dook" -Kate had a major cash-flow problem. She lived in a three-room apartment that was the top floor of a frame house, a North Carolina "country" house. All the paint was peeling, and the house looked as if it were molting. It was at the a.s.s-end of Pittsboro Street in Chapel Hill. She had gotten a good deal on the rent.

The first thing she had noticed about the neighborhood were the exquisite trees. They were old and stately hardwoods, not pines. Their long branches reminded her of the arms and fingers of wizened old women. She called her street "Old Ladies Lane." Where else would the old lady of the medical school live?

Kate arrived home at about a quarter to ten. n.o.body was living downstairs in the house that she rented from a widowed lady who lived in Durham.

"I'm home. It's me, Kate," she called to the family of mice who lived somewhere behind the refrigerator. She couldn't bring herself to exterminate them. "Did you miss me? You guys eat yet?"

She flipped on the overhead kitchen light and listened to the irritating electric buzz that she hated. Her eyes caught the blowup of a quote from one of her med-school teachers: "Medical students have to practice humility." Well she was definitely practicing humility.

Inside her small bedroom, Kate pulled on a wrinkled black polo shirt that she never ever bothered to iron. Ironing clothes was not a priority these days. It was one reason to have a man around, though-someone to clean, maintain, take out the trash, cook, iron. She was fond of a particular old feminist line: "A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle." "A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle."

Kate yawned just thinking about the sixteen-hour day that would start for her at five the next morning. Dammit, she loved loved her life! Loved it! her life! Loved it!

She fell onto the creaking double bed that was covered with plain white sheets. The only flourish was a couple of colored chiffon scarves which hung from the bedpost.

She canceled her order for chili and hot chocolate with Marsh-mallow Fluff, and she set All the Pretty Horses All the Pretty Horses on top of unread copies of on top of unread copies of Harper's Harper's and and The New Yorker. The New Yorker. Kate flipped off her lamp and was asleep in five seconds. End of wonderfully illuminating discussion with herself for the night. Kate flipped off her lamp and was asleep in five seconds. End of wonderfully illuminating discussion with herself for the night.

Kate McTiernan had no idea, no suspicion, that she was being watched, that she had been followed ever since she'd walked down crowded, colorful Franklin Street, that she had been chosen.

Dr. Kate was next.

Tick-c.o.c.k.

Chapter 17.

NO! KATE thought. This is my home. This is my home. She almost said it out loud, but she didn't want to make a sound. She almost said it out loud, but she didn't want to make a sound.

There was someone in her apartment!

She was still half asleep, but she was almost sure about the intruding noise that woke her up. Her pulse was already racing. Her heart floated up into her throat. Jesus G.o.d, no. Jesus G.o.d, no.

She stayed very still, huddled near the head of her bed. A few more nervous seconds pa.s.sed slowly, like centuries. Not a move from her. Not a breath. Bone-white slants of moonlight played across the windowpanes, creating eerie shadows in her bedroom.

She listened to the house, listened with total concentration to every creak and crack the old building made.

She didn't hear anything unusual now. But she was sure she had. The recent murders and the news stories about the kidnappings in the Research Triangle area made her fearful. Don't be gruesome, Don't be gruesome, she thought. she thought. Don't get melodramatic. Don't get melodramatic.

She sat up slowly in bed and listened. Maybe a window had blown open. She had better get out of bed and check the windows and doors.

For the first time in four months, she actually missed Peter McGrath. Peter wouldn't have helped, but she would have felt safer. Even with dear old "Peter-out."

Not that she was totally frightened or vulnerable; she could hold her own with most men. She could fight like h.e.l.l. Peter used to say that he "pitied" the man who messed with her, and he meant it. He had been a little physically afraid of her. Well, prearranged fighting in karate dojos was one thing. This was the real thing.

Kate slipped silently out of bed. Not a sound. Not a sound. She felt the roughness and coolness of the floorboards under her bare feet. It sent a wake-up call to her brain, and she moved into a fighting stance. She felt the roughness and coolness of the floorboards under her bare feet. It sent a wake-up call to her brain, and she moved into a fighting stance.

Whap!

A gloved hand came down hard hard over her mouth and nose, and she thought she heard cartilage crack in her nose. over her mouth and nose, and she thought she heard cartilage crack in her nose.

Then a large and very strong male body tackled her. All of his weight was pressing her into the cool, hard floorboards, pinning her down.

Athlete. Her brain was computing every bit of information. She tried to stay clear and focused. Her brain was computing every bit of information. She tried to stay clear and focused.

Very powerful. Trained!

He was cutting off her air supply. He knew precisely what he was doing. Trained!

It wasn't a glove that he was wearing, she realized. It was a cloth. It was a cloth. Thick with dampness. It was suffocating her. Thick with dampness. It was suffocating her.

Was he using chloroform? No, it was odorless. Maybe ether? Halothane? Where would he get anesthetic supplies?

Kate's thinking was getting fuzzy, and she was afraid she was going to black out. She had to get him off of her.

Bracing her legs, she twisted her body hard to the left and threw all of her weight away from her attacker, toward the pale, shadowy bedroom wall. Suddenly, she was out of his grasp, free.

"Bad idea, Kate," he said in the darkness.

He knew her name!

Chapter 18.

THE STRIKE of a hawk... timing was everything. Now, timing was survival, of a hawk... timing was everything. Now, timing was survival, Kate understood. Kate understood.

She tried desperately to stay alert, but the powerful drug from the dampened cloth had started to act. Kate managed a three-quarter-speed sidekick, aiming at his groin. She felt something hard. Oh, s.h.i.t! Oh, s.h.i.t!

He was prepared for her. He had on an athlete's cup to protect his mushy genitals. He knew her strengths. Oh, G.o.d, no. Oh, G.o.d, no. How did he know so much about her? How did he know so much about her?

"Not nice, Kate," he whispered. "Definitely not hospitable. I know about your karate. I'm fascinated by you."

Her eyes were wild. Her heart was hammering so loudly she thought he might hear it. He was scaring the living s.h.i.t out of her. He was strong and fast, and knew about her karate, knew what her next move would be.

"Help me! Somebody, please help!" she shrieked as loudly as she could. Kate was just trying to scare him off with her screams. There was n.o.body within half a mile of the house on Old Ladies Lane.

Powerful hands like claws grabbed at her and managed to catch her arm just above the wrist. Kate howled as she ripped herself away.

He was more powerful than any of the advanced black belts at her karate school in Chapel Hill. Animal, Animal, Kate thought. Kate thought. Savage animal... very rational and crafty. Professional athlete? Savage animal... very rational and crafty. Professional athlete?

The most important lesson her sensei at the dojo had taught her broke through the numbing fear and chaos of the moment: Avoid all fights. Whenever possible, run from a fight. Avoid all fights. Whenever possible, run from a fight. There it was-the best of hundreds of years of experience in martial arts. There it was-the best of hundreds of years of experience in martial arts. Those who never fight, always live to fight another day. Those who never fight, always live to fight another day.

She ran from her bedroom and down the familiar, narrow, twisting hallway. Avoid all fights. Run from a fight, Avoid all fights. Run from a fight, she told herself. she told herself. Run, run, run. Run, run, run.

The apartment seemed darker than usual that night. She realized that he'd closed every curtain and blind. he'd closed every curtain and blind. He'd had the presence of mind. The calmness. The plan of action. He'd had the presence of mind. The calmness. The plan of action.

She had to be better than him, better than his plan. A saying of Sun-tzu's hammered through her head: "A victorious army wins its victories before seeking battle." "A victorious army wins its victories before seeking battle." The intruder thought exactly like Sun-tzu and her sensei. Could it be someone from her karate dojo? The intruder thought exactly like Sun-tzu and her sensei. Could it be someone from her karate dojo?

Kate managed to reach the living room. She couldn't see a thing. He had closed the curtains in there, too. Her vision and sense of balance were definitely way off. There were two of just about every shape and shifting shadow in the room. G.o.dd.a.m.n him! G.o.dd.a.m.n him!...

Floating in the soft drug-induced haze, she thought of the other women who had disappeared in Orange and Durham counties. She'd heard on the news that another body had been found. A young mother of two children.

She had to get out of the house. Maybe the fresh air would help to revive her. She stumbled to the front door.

Something was blocking her way. He had pushed the sofa against the door! Kate was too weak to shoulder it away. He had pushed the sofa against the door! Kate was too weak to shoulder it away.

In desperation she screamed out again. "Peter! Come help me! Help me, Peter!"

"Oh, shut up, Kate. You don't even see Peter McGrath anymore. You think he's a b.l.o.o.d.y fool. Besides, his house is seven miles away. Seven point three miles. I checked." His voice was so calm and rational. Just another day at the office of psychopathology. And he definitely knew her, knew all about Peter McGrath, knew everything.

He was somewhere close behind her in the electrifying darkness. There was no urgency or panic in his voice. This was a day at the beach for him.

Kate moved quickly to her left, away from the voice, away from the human monster inside her house.

Excruciating pain suddenly shot through her body, and she let out a low groan.

She'd clipped her shin on the too-low, too-dumb-for-words gla.s.s table her sister Carole Anne had given her. It was Carole's well-meaning effort to cla.s.s up the place. Ohhh, Christ, G.o.d-dammit, how she hated that table. There was a shooting, throbbing pain in her left leg.

"Stub your toe, Kate? Why don't you stop trying to run around in the dark?" He laughed-and it was such a normal-sounding laugh-almost friendly. He was enjoying himself. This was a big game for him. A boy-girl game, in the dark.

"Who are you?" she screamed at him.... Suddenly, she thought: she screamed at him.... Suddenly, she thought: Could it be Peter? Has Peter gone mad? Could it be Peter? Has Peter gone mad?