The Last Victim by Karen Robards Page A

saw that the layout of this house was very similar to that of the Meads’. The main difference was that the tile floors were terra-cotta and the walls were sunshine yellow. Otherwise, kitchen, dining area, living room, entry hall, stairs: everything looked to be pretty much the same.
    Charlie fought the impulse to turn and run away, screaming.
    Someone was coming down the stairs from the second floor.
    “I ordered pizza. Pepperoni. There’s plenty left.” The speaker was Kaminsky, who stopped a few steps from the bottom. Despite the hour, she was still fully dressed in her suit and heels. Her expression as she looked at Charlie was less than welcoming. “Or if you’d rather,there are some groceries in your refrigerator. Eggs, cheese, lunch meat, that kind of thing. For tonight, that’s the best you’re going to get.”
    “I’m not hungry.” The mere thought of food made her stomach cramp warningly. To divert herself, Charlie latched onto something that puzzled her. “I have a refrigerator?”
    “You’ve got the in-law suite. It’s basically a self-contained apartment. Fridge included.”
    “If you’re ready to go up, Kaminsky will show you where it is,” Bartoli said.
    Charlie was. More than ready. She nodded.
    “Get anything?” Bartoli asked Kaminsky as Charlie started up the stairs.
    “Twenty-seven men who fit the parameters living within a two-hundred-fifty-mile radius. I was working on narrowing it down when I had to stop to babysit.” Kaminsky’s gaze shifted to Charlie, who had almost reached her by that time. “No offense.”
    At the moment, Charlie was too tired to take any. She shook her head. “None taken.”
    “You’re not babysitting, you’re protecting a witness.” Bartoli’s voice was crisp. “There’s a strong possibility that Dr. Stone has seen our unsub, remember. If he knows that, and discovers she’s here helping us, there’s a chance he’ll come after her.”
    That stopped Charlie in her tracks. Her heart lurched. There’s a happy thought to top off a perfect day . She was surprised it hadn’t occurred to her. Gripping the rail hard with one hand, she turned to look at Bartoli.
    “The Boardwalk Killer knows I saw him, or at least he should,” she said. “He didn’t see me at the time, but it was all over the news. Killers of his type tend to like to follow the investigation through the media. If this is the same man, he probably has a scrapbook or some similar physical record filled with news clippings from the killings. The authorities tried to keep my identity secret at the time, but it leaked out. I’m quite sure information about me, including my picture, will be among his artifacts.”
    Bartoli nodded. “If this unsub is the Boardwalk Killer, and that’s still an if, we’re hoping he doesn’t find out you’re here. We’re doing our best to keep the fact that you’re working with us confidential.Outside of the three of us, and my boss, nobody else knows who you are, and by that I mean about your association with the previous murders.”
    “Even if he has a picture of you, it would be of a seventeen-year-old girl, not the illustrious Dr. Charlotte Stone, serial killer expert.” Kaminsky’s eyes ran over her mockingly. “I’m guessing there’s a pretty big difference. He probably wouldn’t even recognize you if he saw you.”
    “It’s possible he’s kept track of me over the years,” Charlie pointed out, although it was something she had long since forbidden herself to dwell on. For years after the attack, she had harbored the secret fear that the next time she turned around there he would be, ready to murder her just like he had the Palmers. With the help of therapy and a lot of self-talk, she’d managed to tuck that fear away into a tiny corner of her mind, where it rarely bothered her. Now it was back, impossible to ignore.
    I should have stayed away .
    “We’ll keep you safe, don’t worry,” Bartoli said, making Charlie wonder what