SEE HER DIE Read online

  SEE HER DIE

  Debra Webb

  “Debra Webb is a master storyteller.” ~Allison Brennan, New York Times Bestseller

  “Debra Webb’s name says it all.” ~ Karen Rose, New York Times Bestseller

  This book is dedicated to my husband, Nonie Webb, who has trusted me from day one and has allowed me to follow my dream. Forever would never be long enough to spend with you.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2003, “Protective Instincts,” Harlequin

  Copyright 2013, Pink House Press

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Prologue

  “Now who’s in control, Ned?”

  The razor sharp edge of the dagger she held glistened in the light. Ned tried to speak... to beg, to tell her he would do anything she asked, but he couldn’t. He could only mumble through the scrunched-up panties she’d forced into his mouth.

  Why had he allowed her into his apartment? He should have realized something was wrong but she’d distracted him.

  He’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.

  “Oh, that’s right,” she said, her voice condescending, as she trailed the metallic tip down the center of his chest. A creeping, crawling shiver followed its path. “You can’t talk right now, can you?”

  She smiled a sick, sinister smile—one he wouldn’t have associated with her. He tried to swallow, gagging on the silk choking him. His eyes burned. He was a grown, man and he was going to cry.

  Why the hell was she doing this?

  Sweat coated his skin. His heart pounded harder, making his chest ache, as she walked all the way around him. Please, please, he prayed, let this be just another of her games. He didn’t want to die like this, naked and tied to a chair.

  He didn’t want to die at all.

  “If they found you like this,” she continued, her tone casual, as if tying up a man at gunpoint and then waving a dagger in his face was an everyday affair, “maybe they’d recognize you for the pervert you are.” She checked the rope binding his wrists behind his back. He tried to pull away.

  Ned closed his eyes and fought another sting of tears. Surely she couldn’t mean to—

  “Look at me, Dr. Harrison.”

  He opened his eyes. She stood in front of him now, the tip of the blade pressed against the flesh directly over his heart. It thundered savagely. So hard he could scarcely draw a breath.

  What had he done to her that was so bad? She’d enjoyed the sex just as much as he had. He’d ended the brief affair, as he always did, on an upbeat note and she hadn’t complained. Why now?

  “All those women, Ned.” She shook her head in disapproval. “You’re a user,” she snarled. “You strike when your prey is the most vulnerable. You’re nothing but scum.”

  He whimpered, the sound small and desperate. No! He refused to play the victim for her. He wanted to scream. To remind her that she had come to him! They’d all been willing. He hadn’t forced any of them. They’d liked it... wanted it!

  The tip of the blade pierced his flesh. He felt the warm blood bloom, then ooze down his chest. Felt the tears spill from his eyes. Something like a sob escaped his aching throat. This couldn’t be happening to him. Not now.

  She laughed, the sound brittle and harsh. “You bastard. You’re not a man, you’re a coward. A real man wouldn’t have to prey on vulnerable women. A real man wouldn’t cry when faced with the truth.” She poked him a little harder, drawing blood again.

  A muffled cry emerged before he could stop it.

  “You’re sick. That’s what you are. What’s next for the great doctor? Little girls waiting at the bus stop?”

  He stilled. The realization hit him like a bus barreling down Sixth Avenue. So that was what this was all about. She was pissed off because—dear God, could it be that simple? He snorted, then laughed as best he could with those frigging panties shoved halfway down his throat. What a stupid bitch. What the hell had she expected?

  Fury darkened her face. “Are you laughing at me?”

  He tried to control himself, but he just couldn’t stop. If he hadn’t been tied to the chair, he would have doubled over with the laughter bubbling up inside him.

  “You son of a bitch.”

  He laughed, then coughed, almost choking. All this was about one stupid little slut.

  “Go to hell!” She lunged, jamming the dagger into his chest.

  His body jerked as his startled gaze collided with hers.

  She looked as surprised as he was.

  Shaking her head, she backed away from him.

  He blinked, then stared down at his chest. The jewel-handled weapon was buried to the hilt.

  Damn.

  He looked up at her one last time as the narrow focus of death closed in around him.

  She’d killed him.

  Chapter One

  Elizabeth Young imagined that Dr. Ned Harrison was every bit as good-looking in death as he’d been in life. The white linen that draped his coffin, along with the six tall candles surrounding it, made an impressive display. But the most effective ploy was the huge choir assembled behind the distinguished looking priest. The choir’s grand entrance, as well as the blessing, had been nothing short of awe-inspiring. And Elizabeth wasn’t even Catholic.

  The brooding medieval architecture of the Holy Trinity Church lent a dramatic atmosphere for his final public appearance. It was the perfect sendoff for such a highly regarded, nationally renowned psychiatrist.

  No one who knew him, least of all Elizabeth, would be at all surprised to find Ned’s picture on the social page of tomorrow’s issue of the New York Times. The city would mourn the loss of a brilliant doctor, and a great number of its female inhabitants would mourn him for completely different reasons.

  Elizabeth surveyed the crowd around her as the priest continued to celebrate Mass in solemn, hushed tones. More than half of those present were women under forty, fashionably dressed, all beautiful and probably all wealthy.

  Though she was neither rich nor glamorous, she would bet her next month’s earnings the one thing all the females gathered had in common was that they had slept with the deceased.

  Including Elizabeth.

  Knowing full well there was no getting comfortable physically or mentally, she shifted on the hard wooden pew. What on earth had possessed her to come to Ned’s funeral Mass? She glanced around at the other women, all facing forward in somber attention, and wondered what their reasons for making an appearance might be. Maybe, rather than mourning or showing their respect, they’d all come for the same very personal reason—to make absolutely certain the bastard was really dead.

  Of course the visit the homicide detectives had paid her had pretty much driven the point home. The two men had been fairly cordial at first, but the questions had soon turned openly accusing, as had their attitudes. She hoped she wouldn’t have to go through that again. She had a new life here, a clean, fresh start.

  She’d almost allowed Ned Harrison to ruin everything. Her heart squeezed painfully.

  How could she have been so foolish?

  “Can you believe she wore that dress to a funeral?”

  Elizabeth snapped from her pity party and turned to the woman sitting next to her, her one trusted friend. “What?” she whispered.

  Gloria Weston angled her head to the right in a gesture that made Elizabeth want to hunker down out of sight. “Over there. The blond in the fiery red dress,” Gloria muttered under
her breath.

  Elizabeth strained to look without actually moving her head. She frowned. “Do you know her?” The woman looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place her.

  Gloria shook her head. “She looks like that model who got into trouble last year. I don’t know. She’s probably just another one of Ned’s hussies.”

  Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow. “What does that make us?”

  Gloria snorted softly. Fortunately no one seemed to notice the rude sound. “Fools,” she retorted. “Just like the rest of them.”

  Elizabeth didn’t want to think about that—or the phone call she’d gotten from Ned late Friday afternoon. The slime ball. He’d called two or three times last week, begging her to have dinner with him. Just to talk, he’d assured her. I’m not ready to let you go, he’d added in that charismatic voice of his. What a jerk. She knew what he wanted all right, and she had no intention of falling into that trap again.

  No way.

  But on Friday she’d gone to the restaurant, anyway. He’d made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Her pulse quickened at the thought of the video. It was the only reason she’d gone. And then he hadn’t shown up. She’d wanted to kill him. Elizabeth felt sick to her stomach at the memory. Who’d have thought that a few days later she’d be attending his funeral? It was eerie.

  What if the detectives had found...?

  No. She resisted the urge to shake her head. She wouldn’t think about that.

  “Look.” Gloria nodded toward another woman who sat two rows up. This one had coal black hair cut in one of those sleek, face-hugging styles. She sported a dress that defied any description Elizabeth might have attempted.

  “That’s Vanessa Bumbalough,” Gloria said, one hand over her mouth.

  The name didn’t ring a bell. The woman sat next to a man who resembled Johnny Depp in profile. He hadn’t bothered to remove his sunglasses. Elizabeth’s brow furrowed in question as she leaned closer to her friend. “Who’s Vanessa whatever-you-said?”

  The man sitting directly behind them cleared his throat. Elizabeth cringed. Gloria ignored him. “She’s a new big deal fashion designer. She’s all over the papers lately. Don’t you ever read?” Gloria made an impatient face. “Apparently her designs stole the show at this season’s big fashion debut. The whole industry’s up in arms. She’s hot hot hot.”

  Ned wouldn’t have chosen her otherwise, Elizabeth mused. The man had a reputation to maintain, after all. She winced at the idea of just how gullible she had been. How could she have thought that Ned Harrison was really interested in her? She wasn’t beautiful in the classic sense of the word, though she wasn’t exactly unattractive. Her social graces left a lot to be desired. She couldn’t tolerate contact lenses, leaving her no alternative but to wear glasses. Even worse, she’d done the unthinkable by giving up a prestigious job at a ritzy interior design firm and taken blue-collar work. Not a good thing in a city where profession was the single most qualifying factor for being a part of the in crowd.

  Screw the in crowd. Elizabeth was happy just as she was—for the most part anyway.

  She glanced at her friend. Gloria was one of the city’s beautiful people. Petite, a head of feisty red corkscrew curls, pixie features. A power job on Wall Street. People loved her. She was the first friend Elizabeth made when she arrived in the city. She’d met her at one of Brian’s, her ex-fiancé’s, infamous parties. Gloria had been there for Elizabeth ever since. Through the breakup with Brian, leaving the firm and having to find a new, low rent place to live in addition to finding work.

  Ned the Casanova shrink Harrison had almost cost Elizabeth that friendship. And he definitely was not worth it.

  Then again, he hadn’t deserved to be murdered either. A trickle of guilt followed on the heels of that thought. She couldn’t deny experiencing just a little glee when she’d read about his abrupt demise in Sunday’s paper, but then she was only human. That she’d spoken with him only hours before his unfortunate date with destiny was completely unnerving. What if he’d actually shown up for their dinner date and laid on the charm? What if she’d fallen under his spell one last time?

  Last being the operative word. Her mind conjured up the murder scene the newspaper had described in grim detail and her stomach roiled.

  Dying in such a humiliating manner was overkill, she reasoned, no pun intended. Sure, there’d been a moment or two when she could have killed him herself, but the truth was she was an adult. It wasn’t like Dr. Harrison had taken advantage of a helpless child. She’d made a conscious decision to enter into a sexual relationship with him. As had, she presumed, most of those assembled here today. She scanned the seated crowd of women who could easily fill several issues of Vogue or Cosmo.

  As the priest began the eulogy, his opening remarks bemoaned the great man New York City had lost. Elizabeth wondered if the kindly Father would have waxed so eloquently if he’d had a loved one who’d been one of Ned’s conquests.

  “Look.” Gloria inclined her head toward the aisle that separated the rows of pews. “Remember her from the party the other night?”

  Elizabeth peeked past her friend to the woman in question as she scooted in at the end of a row. The rustle of silk and lightweight wool accompanied the efforts of those already seated to accommodate the late arrival. The woman was tall, impossibly thin and, of course, beautiful. Elizabeth did remember her. She was an actress. She’d just landed some big part in a movie. Elizabeth nodded in response to her friend’s expectant expression.

  She remembered the party, too. She hated those kinds of parties, but Gloria dragged her to them, anyway. Hardly a weekend night went by without some sort of party Gloria insisted they simply could not miss. Luckily they’d only run into Brian once or twice. But no matter where they went, the crowd was always the same: a little too wild for Elizabeth’s liking. Gloria called her a party pooper, when the truth was Elizabeth was simply a homebody. She wasn’t into the party scene the way Gloria and her other friends were.

  Besides, it had been only ten months since she and Brian parted ways. That was entirely too long in Gloria’s opinion for Elizabeth to still be afraid to go out on a limb with someone new. But Elizabeth didn’t see it that way. In spite of her mother’s desertion, she’d been raised in a small town where people mated for life, not for one night. She’d be the first to admit that Brian had not been the love of her life. Truth was, he’d been a means to an end. She just hadn’t seen it until it was too late. She had regrets, but only a couple.

  Moving to New York had been the right thing to do. Breaking out on her own was also the right thing to do, even if it had been scarier than hell at first. But she’d survived.

  She’d survived Ned Harrison, too, hadn’t she? How could Gloria have expected her to look for a new love when Elizabeth had gotten so tangled up in Ned’s web of deceit?

  Elizabeth shook off the disturbing thoughts. She was a survivor. That was what her daddy always said, and her daddy had been a very smart man.

  Moistening her lips to conceal the tiny smile thoughts of her father evoked, Elizabeth straightened and focused her attention on the priest’s words. She was here. She might as well pay attention. She darted a look at her friend. Gloria appeared to have finally settled in now that she’d scrutinized the crowd. A mixture of affection and respect bloomed in Elizabeth’s chest. Gloria was in a league of her own. It seemed impossible that Ned, the heartless bastard, had fooled her. Maybe even Gloria had her vulnerable spot.

  Ned Harrison had been an expert at finding those spots.

  Elizabeth drew in a heavy breath. They’d both survived Ned—but would she survive his murder? What if the police discovered her secret?

  Special Agent Collin MacBride paid little attention to the priest’s words as he continued his evaluation of the attendees. The group was a veritable who’s who from the city’s high society and the up-and-coming. Mostly women. No surprise there.

  Mac watched one woman in particular. Elizabeth Young. He
shifted slightly so that he could see her better. Tall, slender. She wore a black dress, though not the kind one expected to see at a funeral.

  Then again, none of the women present were dressed in proper mourning attire. Things had definitely changed since his days as an altar boy. He’d seen enough long, shapely legs and silk fabric to feel as if he’d stepped into the middle of a competition for the next top model, rather than a nave filled for a funeral service. Amid the variations of in vogue sameness was Elizabeth Young. She was decidedly different.

  Tall, even wearing flat-heeled shoes, she didn’t walk with the same confident glide as the others. No nail polish, very little makeup. He’d gotten a pretty good look at her when she first entered the church. He’d been standing in the shadows near the massive double doors. She and her friend, one Gloria Weston, had hurried to find a seat as if they feared they might miss the opening act of the hottest new Broadway play.

  Elizabeth Young wore glasses, the small, gold-wire-rimmed kind. Oddly enough, there was something appealing about the prim look the eyewear gave her or maybe it was the braid restraining her long hair. He cocked an eyebrow at the direction his meandering thoughts had taken. He’d definitely gone too many hours without sleep. Anytime he looked at a possible suspect and found her appealing in some way, he needed to recharge his batteries. Years of training and field experience weren’t supposed to just fly out the window. Where was his focus? Down the toilet, obviously, along with his patience for bumbling homicide detectives. He gritted his teeth when he considered how badly they’d screwed up on this one.

  Next to him, Luke Duncan edged a bit closer and spoke in a low voice, “She doesn’t really look like the type who could bury a knife in a man’s chest.”

  Mac glanced at his brand-new partner, a kid fresh from the academy. Luke had a lot to learn that only experience would teach him. “They usually don’t,” Mac assured him.

  What the hell did he think? That a killer walked around with an identifying mark stamped on his or her forehead?