“This is quite lovely.” She gestured around with her free hand. “How did you select this particular model of caravan?”
“Oh, um, I thought you would like the wood details.” He smiled, seemingly pleased to be discussing his choices. “And I wanted to make sure we had some place to cook and to eat.” He turned toward the bed, and her stomach lurched. “Those fold up into a couch and a desk. I knew you’d want to be able to work.”
“Can you show me the desk?” Annalise asked, forcing mild curiosity into her voice.
“Of course, Anna. Of course.”
While her stalker went to fold up and stow the bed—which proved to be two single beds, allowing it to essentially split in half for storage—Annalise forced herself to take calming breaths and then to assess the behaviors he’d just displayed.
She was about to use her knowledge and skills to manipulate, and possibly mentally harm, this man. It went against both professional ethical principles and her own personal ethics. She would do this man harm, and since, unlike Jakob, she couldn’t harm him physically, she’d do it mentally.
And she just had to hope that whatever she did would be enough to give Jakob and Walt time to find her.
Vadisk was driving, and they were all going to die. Walt braced his back against one rear door, his foot on the other, and held on for dear life. Jakob—still in talky mode—was in the front passenger seat and had only stopped talking so they could hear the directions being called out by a man named Dimitri, who had a slight Ukrainian accent, his voice coming through the car’s speakers.
Dimitri was, apparently, someone of considerable power and authority—Vadisk called him “sir”—who also had access to every security camera in and around Krakow.
“No, he did take that exit. Go back,” Dimitri said.
Vadisk screeched to a halt. “Check,” he barked at Jakob.
Jakob swiveled, put a hand on Walt’s head, pushed him down, and looked out the back window. “Go,” Jakob commanded.
Vadisk threw the car into reverse and hit the gas. Walt thought it might be a good time to switch from agnostic back to the God-fearing Methodist his mama had raised him to be. He needed Jesus to take the wheel from Vadisk.
There were some honks and the car lurched to a stop, then shot forward again, taking a curve so fast, the G-forces pushed Walt even harder against the door.
“What else do we know about him?” Jakob asked, his voice calm, and maybe even a little chipper.
“Axel Richen. Age twenty-nine. German national with no living relatives. Software developer,” Dimitri said.
They knew that much already—Vadisk had read out stats as they raced from the hotel room to his car.
“No known connection to Dr. Fischer,” Dimitri continued.
“There wouldn’t be. Annalise didn’t have any exes who fit the profile of a rejected stalker subtype, and we looked at other associates.”
Walt raised his head enough to look at Jakob.
“I tried to find him,” Jakob said. “We looked at everyone she knew.”
“She worked for the police,” Vadisk said. “Revenge?”
“That would be the resentful subtype, and we looked into that too. I went through every case she worked on.”
Vadisk looked over at Jakob. “You went through every single casefile and checked out each man who might want revenge on her?”
“Yes.”
“That’s dedication.” Vadisk sounded shocked.
“I love her,” Jakob declared softly. “I would have killed each possible suspect on the off chance it would keep her safe. If my imprisonment wouldn’t have also meant leaving her unprotected, of course.”
“No killing. Killing bad,” Walt said.
Vadisk, Jakob, and Dimitri all laughed.
Well, that was really fucking scary…
“He’s headed out of the city. Toward an undeveloped area,” Dimitri said. “We have the car on a highway camera about ten kilometers in front of you. There isn’t going to be much after this.”
“Keep looking,” Jakob demanded.
“I’m not going to take offense at that,” Dimitri said mildly.
“Faster,” Jakob demanded of Vadisk. “The longer he has her…”
Walt’s stomach sank. She’d already been gone nearly two hours. He couldn’t think about what Annalise might be going through right now. If he did, he’d start sobbing or raging, and neither reaction was helpful.
Vadisk put his foot down, and the car picked up speed.
Chapter Thirteen
Annalise set down the cup of coffee, smiling at the man. “Just the way I like it.”
He grinned, looking relieved. “I’ve been practicing.”
The man vacillated between angry and sweetly uncertain. Those seemingly disparate reactions, paired with the relatively stable fantasy reality he’d built for himself, were making her attempts at on-the-fly diagnoses difficult.
There were five types of stalkers. Rejected were people who stalked their exes; resentful, those who usually sought revenge for a perceived wrong. Neither was applicable to this situation. Though it was entirely possible she’d done or said something that he perceived as worthy of revenge, his behavior didn’t fit with the psychopathy of someone who felt humiliated.
Predatory stalking usually involved sexual fantasies. Given what he’d done to her sister, that would make sense, but predatory stalkers rarely fantasized about relationships with their victims, and it was very clear that he either wanted, or already believed they were in, a relationship. Of course, the sexual component couldn’t be discounted.
That left the incompetent stalker and the intimacy seeker. Of those two, he fit most of the markers for intimacy seeker—belief in a relationship with a complete stranger, a delusion that the feelings were reciprocated.
Intimacy seeker with predatory elements would have to do for her quick-and-dirty diagnosis. A clinical way of saying he’d created a delusion-based fantasy relationship with a complete stranger, but also showed paraphilia centered around abnormal control and authority over that person.
An incredibly dangerous combination.
She’d decided to try and figure him out so she could manipulate him. Use her knowledge and skills as a weapon. The only weapon she had, considering she was chained to the table. However, there was a great deal to be said for ignorance being bliss. She might have been happier not having a preliminary diagnosis that made it clear exactly how dangerous he was.
Given her analysis, there was no denying this man was capable of doing horrific things. Her sister’s face as she lay in the hospital bed the morning after her rape flashed in Annalise’s mind. In the past, those memories haunted her so badly, she’d failed, lost her dream job, let it shake her confidence right off the foundations until there was nothing left but a pile of dust.
But not today.
Today, she would seek to find justice.
For Adele.
For herself.
Annalise took another sip of coffee, considering what she should say next. Indulging his delusion was dangerous, and not something she would ever normally do, but it might buy her the time she needed. Then again, if she didn’t behave exactly the way he expected, thereby breaking or ruining his fantasy, he might lash out.