Part 22 (2/2)

The author stressed the fact that although serial killers were often white males between twenty and thirty-five-men who might have tortured animals as children, who held menial jobs, and were often married-there was also a breed of very organized killers with the ability to charm and get ahead in life, attractive and appealing men in appearance and manner, such as Ted Bundy.

Sometimes killers left their signatures. Sometimes they wanted to be caught.

Sometimes they wanted the power trip that came with outwitting the police.

There were those who were truly ill.

And those who believed they were dealing with vampires.

Vampire lore had come into play in the capture of a 'vampire' killer in Colorado who thought he was a vampire. The scare had been so real in the small western town where the killings took place that many women had armed themselves with stakes and large crosses, kept vials of holy water by the door, and hung their windows and doorways with garlic. The killer, who selected his women by breaking into bedroom windows, had avoided these households, believing himself susceptible to the weapons of legend. The police knew of one victim who had saved herself through her efforts. The killer's footprints had been found in her garden and he later admitted to making an attempt to strike at her, but had seen the garlic, and knew that he would be falling prey to his own doom. There was a list of suggestions from the author on keeping safe. Most of them were common sense, but Jordan kept reading anyway.

* Avoid being alone in any dark or any potentially dangerous place.

* Always keep doors and windows locked.

* Keep a dog-barking is a deterrent to many would-be criminals.

* Never invite strangers in. Never.

There was a knock on her door.

She nearly jumped through the ceiling.

She glanced at her watch. Three o'clock. Hours had pa.s.sed, and she hadn't even noticed.

She leaped up, then paused, and for some reason, decided to shove the ma.n.u.script under her pillow. Walking to the door, she looked out the peephole, expecting Jared or Cindy.

It was Ragnor.

Never invite a stranger in. Never.

But.. .

Last night, she had done so.

CHAPTER 10.

The knocking sounded again.

Jordan squared her shoulders, giving herself a mental shake. Her reading material was beginning to have an effect on her. As he raised his hand to knock again, Jordan opened the door.

He stared at her expectantly and glanced at his watch. ”Are you ready?” he queried.

”For what?”

”A walk to Anna Maria's to return the last costume-the vinyl. And pick up whatever delight Raphael planned for you for tonight.”

She wanted to tell him no, to go away. She wasn't even sure she wanted to go to the ball that evening. Maybe her reading material was getting to her; she wanted to immerse herself in it.

Maybe she was simply and totally crazy. Ragnor had a ... presence. He wasn't just striking, he was compelling. She liked the sound of his voice, the shape of his jaw ...

As she had before, she felt the sudden temptation to fly into his arms, lay her head down, and believe that everyone was fine and normal, that he wasn't a man with a million dark secrets, that... that she could just bury herself in sensation. Turn off the lights, forget the shadows, have faith in the dark, and the feel of him.

She took a step back. She wasn't prey to true insanity.

And she was torn, longing to read more of the new book. She wanted to find out more about the author. She wanted to talk to him and tell him what she had seen . . .

And that a head had appeared in a Venetian ca.n.a.l.

But she knew she had to go to the ball. And she needed to return the one costume and get the other. And, of course, she had to go to Tiff's for drinks. She would ruin everything for Tiff if she didn't.

”Sure. Great. Let's go.”

”Don't you need to get the vinyl costume?”

”Yes.”

She walked back into the room to get the costume that was hanging by the window on a lamp stand. When she turned around, he was just inside her door.

She had invited him in last night.

Yes, and it was day, and she was alive and well.

She carried the costume, slipped her handbag over her arm.

A killer could be charming, attractive in appearance and manner. . .

Jordan hurried out into the hall, eager to reach the lobby and the flood of people there.

Tonight, the Danieli would hold its own ball in celebration of Carnevale.

She wished she were just staying here, attending this ball instead of Anna Maria's.

Not fair.

Anna Maria had been wonderful to her; everyone in the shop had been wonderful. They had sympathized with her when the rest of Venice had been laughing at her. Lynn had promised good-humored, beautiful entertainment. She had looked forward to the ball, and she was going to enjoy it. Even if her footsteps were dogged by this ...

Stranger.

”Is there a fire?” he asked.

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