She finally glanced his way. A glancing blow, Dr. Will Rudolph thought.
Lord, what eyes. He wanted them all to himself. He wanted to roll them through his fingers, carry them around for a good-luck charm.
What she saw was a tall and slender, interesting-looking man in his early thirties. He had broad shoulders, and a build like an athlete, or even a dancer. His sun-lightened brown curls were tied back in a ponytail. He had Irish-boy blue eyes. Will Rudolph also wore a slightly wrinkled white medical jacket over his very traditional Oxford blue shirt and hospital- approved striped rep’s tie. He had on expensive Doctor Martens boots—indestructible footwear. He seemed so sure of himself.
She spoke first. She chose him, didn’t she? Her blue eyes were calm and deep, untroubled, very sexy in their confidence. She played with one of her gold-plated earrings. “Was it something I didn’t say?”
He started to laugh, genuinely delighted that she had an adult sense of humor about the dating charade. This was going to be a fun night, he thought. He knew it.
“I’m sorry. I usually don’t stare. At least I never get caught blatantly doing it,” he said. He couldn’t stop laughing for a moment. He had an easy laugh, a pleasant laugh. It was a modern tool of the trade, especially in Hollywood, New York, Paris: his favorite haunts.
“At least you’re honest about it,” she said. She was laughing now, too, and a gold-link necklace jangled against her chest. He ached to reach out and rip it off, to run his tongue over her breasts.
She was doomed now, if that was his desire, his wish, his slightest whim. Should he go on? Perhaps look a little further?
The blood in his head was roaring, swirling with tremendous force. He had to decide. He looked into the untroubled blue eyes of the blond woman again, and saw the answer.
“I don’t know about you,” he said, tying to sound calm, “but, I think I’ve found what I like very much in here.”
“Yes, I think I may have found what I need, too,” she said after a pause. Then she laughed. “Where are you from? You’re not from around here, are you?”
“Originally from North Carolina.” He held the bell-jangling door open for her, and they left the antique-clothing store together. “I’ve worked on losing my accent.”
“You’ve succeeded,” she said.
She was wonderfully impressed with herself, not the least bit self-conscious. She had an aura of self-confidence and competency—which he would absolutely shatter. Oh, God, he wanted this one so badly.
CHAPTER 61
HERE WE go, action fans. He’s leaving Nativity with the blond girl. They’re out on Melrose Avenue.”
We were using binoculars to watch the incredible encounter through Nativity’s decorative front window. The FBI also had directional microphones on Dr. Will Rudolph, as well as on the blond woman in the trendy shop.
It was an FBI-only stakeout. They hadn’t even clued in the LAPD. Nada. It was pretty typical Bureau tactics, only I was on their side this time, compliments of Kyle Craig. The FBI had wanted to talk to Kate in Los Angeles. Kyle arranged for me to come after I beat on him about the deal we’d made, and how this could be the most important break we’d had on the Casanova investigation.
It was just past five-thirty; noisy, chaotic rush hour on a California-gorgeous, sunny day. Temperature in the mid-seventies. Heartbeats rising toward at least a thousand inside our car.
We were finally closing in on one of the monsters, at least we hoped so. Dr. Will Rudolph struck me as a modern-day vampire. He had spent the afternoon casually roaming among the stylish shops: Ecru, Grau, Mark Fox. Even the girls idling in front of Johnny Rockets fifties-style burger stand were potential targets of his. He was definitely a hunter today. He was girl-watching. Was he the Gentleman Caller, though?
I was working closely with two senior FBI agents in an anonymous-looking minivan parked on a side street off Melrose Avenue. Our radio was hooked to the state-of-the-art directional mikes that were in two of the other five cars trailing the man believed to be the Gentleman. It was almost showtime.
“I think I may have found what I need, too,” we heard the blond woman say. She reminded me of the beautiful students Casanova had abducted in the South. Could he be one and the same monster? A coast-to-coast killer? Maybe a split personality?
FBI experts here on the West Coast believed they had the answer. In their view, the same creep did the so-called “perfect crimes” on both coasts. A victim had never been kidnapped or killed on the same day. Unfortunately, there were at least a dozen theories about the Gentleman Caller and Casanova that I was aware of. I still wasn’t convinced by any of them.
“How long have you been in Hollywood?” we heard the young woman ask Rudolph. Her voice sounded alluring and sexy. She was obviously flirting with him.
“Long enough to meet you.” He was soft-spoken and courteous so far. His right hand rested lightly under her left elbow. The Gentleman?
He didn’t look like a killer, but he did resemble the Casanova that Kate McTiernan had described. He was a hunk physically, clearly attractive t
o women, and he was a doctor. His eyes were blue—the color Kate had seen behind Casanova’s mask.
“Cockfucker looks like he could have any girl he wanted,” one of the FBI agents turned to me and said.
“Not to do what he wants to do to them,” I said.
“You got a point there.”