her to this whole damn nightmare for nothing.
Wiley’s frown deepened, but he led the way into the cell. Rees and Trent followed him inside. The guard who had escorted them remained by the door.
Kane’s cell was small and nearly barren, with a built-in cot on one wall, a storage unit on the other and a toilet with a sink above on the third. The hall had smelled a little like sweaty gym socks, but Kane’s cell reeked of something harsh and slightly minty. “Disinfectant. Kane has been up to his usual compulsive cleaning, I see.”
Rees piped up from beside him. “He talked about it often. He cleaned his cell several times a day. He also said he found nothing as clean and pure as fresh, flowing blood.” Her voice quavered with the memory.
Trent clenched his teeth at the tone of fear in her voice. Damn. Cleanliness was only part of Kane’s compulsion. Only part of the fantasy of control he lived each time he killed. The main part of Kane’s fantasy—the vital part—was the fear he caused in his victims. Their panic as he chased them through the woods. Their screams as he plunged in the knife.
The bastard would have relished the fear in Risa’s eyes when he’d talked about clean, flowing blood. He would have devoured it. And hungered for more.
What the hell had Rees thought she was doing interviewing Kane? Why had she left herself open?
He knew the answer before he’d finished asking himself the question. She’d wanted to understand why Trent had withdrawn from her while working on Kane’s case. Why he’d broken their engagement a short time later. And she’d gone to Kane to find the answers.
He’d delivered her right into Kane’s waiting arms.
And now he was about to bring her deeper into the sordid labyrinth. Deeper into Kane’s twisted mind. Deeper into the world of pain and fear and human evil.
And unless he was willing to risk lives, he couldn’t do a damned thing to stop it.
He turned to the gray wooden storage structure on one wall of the cell. Comprised of shelves, cubbyholes and a writing surface, the unit was filled with stacks of letters, neatly folded magazine pages and a few trinkets. Trent glanced at Wiley. “Has anyone gone through this?”
Wiley shook his head. “When I heard you were on your way, I thought I’d better wait to get your interpretation. I certainly wouldn’t want to step on delicate toes.”
Trent ignored the jab and turned back to the cubbyholes. He reached in, drew out the magazine pages and unfolded them.
Rees peered around his shoulder to get a good look.
The most vile, sadomasochistic pornography Trent had seen in a long time stared back at them. A small gasp escaped Rees’s lips.
Trent zeroed in on her, searching her face with a pointed gaze.
She drew herself up. Deliberately wiping all traces of abhorrence from her face, she met his eyes. “It just surprised me, that’s all.”
Surprised her, hell. She knew the kind of reading material Kane favored. She hadn’t been surprised, she’d been horrified. As well she should be. This kind of filth would horrify any normal person, whether she expected to see it or not. Unfortunately he’d seen more depraved things than this. And not just in pictures. The real scenes were worse. Much worse.
Rees swallowed hard and turned to the detective. “How did Kane get this…stuff?”
Wiley glanced at the pages. His mouth quirked with distaste. “It had to have been smuggled in. Probably by your sister.” The venom in his voice was clear.
Trent tensed. Wiley definitely had some sort of problem with Rees. And whatever it was, he wasn’t about to listen to any more.
But before he could come to Rees’s defense, she nailed Wiley with a challenging stare of her own. “You obviously don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Detective. Dixie would never have anything to do with filth like this.”
Wiley shrugged. “She married Kane, didn’t she?”
“Yes. She married him after he convinced her that her love made him into a better person. I doubt he could continue that charade if she saw this garbage.”
So much for defending Rees, Trent thought. She could do it just fine herself where Wiley’s barbs were concerned. He made a mental note to find out exactly what Wiley’s problem with Rees was and directed his mind back to the real threat—Kane.
Setting the pornography aside, Trent plucked a stack of letters from one of the cubbyholes and began paging through them. He scanned each page individually, handing it to Rees when he’d finished reading.
Most were from Dixie, long opuses declaring her undying love for the serial killer, her unflagging belief in him and her bitter resentment of her older sister.
“She always has to be right, always has to be better than me…Miss Ph.D. thinks she’s so smart, but she has no idea…”
Trent almost flinched at the hurtful words in the letters. Dixie was envious of Rees, that much was clear. Envy was probably normal for a troubled younger sister like Dixie. But he knew Rees wouldn’t write these cruel words off as mere sibling jealousy. Not Rees. She would accept them like tender flesh accepts a sharp blade. She would internalize them. She would bleed over them.
Gritting his teeth, he kept handing her the pages.
She bit the inside of her bottom lip as she read, her expression carefully neutral, her breathing carefully even, but her eyes shone overbright.
Trent dragged his attention to the next pile of letters. To his relief, this stack wasn’t from Dixie, but from a woman named Farrentina Hamilton. Where Dixie’s handwriting was loopy and childish, the hand that composed these letters was pointed and bold. But save the jabs at Rees, the content of the letters was similar. Declarations of love. Promises of care packages. Plans for Kane’s future outside prison—a future his multiple life sentences were supposed to prevent.
Trent held up the letter he was reading and focused on Wiley. “What do you know about a woman named Farrentina Hamilton?”
“Widowed. Inherited a pile of dough from hubby. Visited Kane regularly. Several detectives are on the way to her house now.”
Trent nodded. Handing the last pile to Rees, he homed in on the trinkets still left in the storage unit. He fingered a lock of platinum hair, Dixie’s probably, and a small pile of cigarettes. Then his hand moved to a stack of photographs lying facedown in one of the cubbies. He picked up the pile by the edges and turned the photos into the light. The first photo was a wedding shot of Kane and Dixie. The bride was dressed head-to-toe in frothy white, the groom in his prison jumpsuit.
Rees leaned in close to see the pictures. Close enough for him to catch a wisp of her gentle lavender scent over the sharp stench of disinfectant. Close enough to feel the warmth of her skin.
Her body tensed when she saw the reminder of her sister’s union with Kane. A reminder she surely didn’t need.
Trent hurriedly moved on to the next photo. The next three were snapshots of a brunette posing seductively in red lace lingerie, complete with garter belt and stockings. Uneasy tension descended over his neck and
