Linda wets parched lips. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Why yes.’ Kristin takes a calming breath. What were they discussing? Oh, of course – Simon’s small, considerate thing. Relieved to have remembered, she fishes in her pocket. ‘Linda, I have something here for Emma. If you would be so good as to deliver it to her, I’d be ever so grateful.’
Linda accepts the square of paper cautiously. ‘You … want me to deliver a letter?’
‘Thank you so much,’ Kristin says. ‘You’re a darling.’
Her smile is big, and bright, and not of this world at all.
CHAPTER FIFTY
‘It’s so nice to meet you again,’ Peter Kirke says in Emma’s ear. ‘But I think I’ll take your weapon now, if you don’t mind.’
Emma feels a coldness in her core. Her muscles are lax, unready, and her eyes are still swollen from crying. She gets a wash of dizziness. Over the top of the videotape player, she sees the distance from here to the stairs – too far.
Her right hand goes stiff as Kirke’s fingers slip over hers from behind, wrenching the Model 13 away. Kirke smells like vinyl and cigarettes and cologne. In her left hand, Emma’s still holding the videotape.
‘Turn around slowly,’ Kirke says.
Emma turns. Backlit by the dim glow of the tall lamp, Kirke is a creature of shadow. She can make out some details: the round glint of his glasses, his pale eyes and dark eyebrows, his dark hair. The powdered-looking softness of his cheeks. He’s wearing a pastel polo shirt and jeans, with white running shoes. Holding a large shiny pistol. The gun mouth is pointing directly at her chest.
‘Ah, there you are.’ When he sees her, he smiles. ‘Hello, Kelly. Although we both know that’s not your real name.’
Emma jerks in place. ‘Of course it’s not my real name,’ she says. ‘You already know my real name.’
‘Emma.’Peter Kirke pronounces it with relish.
‘That’s right.’ She keeps her face entirely blank. It’s difficult.
‘I can’t believe we’re really meeting properly, in person.’ Kirke seems almost gushing. His eyes flicker over her. He can’t stop smiling. ‘Not in that horrible club, with your costume on. But right here, in this place. My place.’
Emma says nothing. She shudders inside.
‘I’m honored, I suppose you could say.’ Kirke wets his lips, still grinning. ‘The incredibleEmma Lewis… The girl I’ve been searching for, for so long. The moment I saw you on-screen, I knew you were the one.’
‘The one what?’ Emma’s voice is flat.
‘Theone.’ Kirke’s glasses flash. ‘The only one. My one and only.’
He seems to feel awkward, holding two guns. He tosses the Model 13 over the mezzanine railing. Emma doesn’t take her eyes off him, but she hears the weapon hit the pile of canvas downstairs with a puffing thump, then a muted clank as it slides off the edge of something onto the concrete floor.
Unarmed – that’s game over.She closes her eyes. Her soul drops into her feet. But her mind is still going. At light speed, in fact. Kirke has a gun, but he never kidnapped his victims at gunpoint. He drugged them instead. And he never shot any of the girls: he strangled them. She notes that he wields the gun like a prop.
Emma opens her eyes. ‘Your one and only,’ she repeats.
‘I’m sure you’ve wondered,’ he says. ‘Everybody wonders if thereis someone in the world who is perfect just for them. A soul mate. A person designed to be an exact match.’
‘Right.’ She wonders if he knows how to shoot properly. She wonders if the gun is loaded. Does she have the guts to find out? She takes a step toward him.
Kirke steps back, just a half step. ‘Mother always said there was a girl like that, waiting for me.’
Emma can’t help herself. ‘Yourmothertold you to kidnap girls so you could rape and murder them?’
Kirke makes an expression of distaste. ‘Don’t be vulgar. Good girls aren’t vulgar.’
Aren’t they?Emma’s fingers itch for a trigger.
Kirke glares. ‘It’s important to have exacting standards. To be selective.’
