by Kay Hooper
When release finally came, it swept over her with the force of a tidal wave, the pleasure stealing her breath and almost stopping her heart, and it left Cassie dazed and shaken. She barely had the strength to hold Ben as he shuddered and groaned with his own climax, and all she could think of was how close she had come to never knowing this.
It was a long time before either of them could move, and then it was Ben who eased his weight onto his elbows and looked down at her with eyes that were still dark and intent.
Beyond any ability to be coy, Cassie said, “Wow.”
A glitter of amusement lit his eyes. “I would say thank you, but it was definitely a mutual effort.” His voice was husky.
“Is it… always like that?” The first time had been astonishing enough; Cassie wasn’t sure she could survive if it just kept on getting more powerful.
“It never has been before,” Ben said, and kissed her lazily.
Cassie tightened her legs when he would have lifted himself away. “Don’t go.”
“I’m too heavy, love.”
“No, you aren’t.” She wondered if he was even conscious of the endearment.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” She wanted to feel as much of him against her as possible for as long as possible.
Ben was more than willing to stay where he was for a little while at least. He kissed her again because he had to, and kept his fingers threaded through her silky hair as if, he vaguely realized, he expected her to try to escape him.
He thought she probably would.
Even then, with her body cradling his in the sated aftermath of the most incredible lovemaking he had ever experienced, there was something in her eyes that told him she was drifting away from him again, retreating in some way he could see and feel but not quite define.
He wanted to grab and hold on tight, but every instinct warned him that to do so would only push her away from him even faster and farther. The realization made something hurt inside his chest.
“You’re frowning,” she murmured, fingers gently smoothing his forehead.
“Am I?” He turned his head to kiss the inside of her wrist, where it was warm and soft.
“Is something wrong, Ben?”
He kept it light. “I think we should get a pet door installed for Max. Because I really don’t want to leave you.”
She smiled, but before she could reply they both heard a soft sound from the doorway. They turned their heads to see the dog standing there, tail waving slowly and with an almost apologetic look on his face.
“Speak of the devil,” Ben said, and very reluctantly eased away from Cassie.
By the time he let the dog out for a last run, reset the security system, and made sure the fire they had earlier abandoned in the fireplace was banked for the night, Ben wouldn’t have been surprised to find Cassie asleep again. But she was only drowsy, and came into his arms eagerly as soon as he slid into bed beside her.
“What kept you?” she murmured. “While you were gone, the music came back.”
“Max wanted another rawhide bone.” Ben kissed her, hardly surprised to find that he wanted her again and every bit as urgently as the first time.
Cassie wreathed her arms around his neck. “Stop talking about the dog.”
Both of them forgot the dog.
And the music.
His shoulder made a comfortable pillow, and his body against hers was a pleasure Cassie thought she could drown herself in. She was vaguely aware of sleet rattling against the windowpanes, of the occasional whine of the wind, but most of her consciousness was focused on the deep and even sounds of Ben’s breathing.
He’ll destroy you, came the whisper from the grave.
“I don’t care,” Cassie whispered in reply.
EIGHTEEN
FEBRUARY 28, 1999
“I wish you’d come to the station with me,” Matt said restlessly, watching Abby pour herself a second cup of coffee.
“Any other Sunday, I would. But Anne can’t be there today, and I have to play the organ. Matt, surely you aren’t worried about me being at the church? There’ll be people all around, you know that.”
“Ivy Jameson was killed before she could get to church last Sunday.”
“Well, you’ve already said you’re taking me, so I should get there safely.” She smiled at him. “And since you’re taking me, you can come pick me up afterward.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.”
Abby reached across the table to touch his hand. “I’ll be fine, Matt. And you need to be at the station, we both know that. If what you suspect is right, you need to check all the notes on the first three murders.”
“I don’t know if it’ll get us anywhere,” he confessed. “Maybe a step or two closer to understanding the son of a bitch. But I have to check it out.”
Reluctantly Abby said, “And you’ll have the autopsy report on the Ramsay girl to go over as well.”
He grimaced. “I’m not looking forward to that. And I don’t expect it to help us much. Even though she was left in pieces, you could still see the ligature mark on her neck. I figure the report will tell me Cassie was right about that as well. He strangled the girl with a garrote.”
“What about Cassie?” Abby said. “Are you still planning to ask her and Ben to come to the station?”
“If I’m right about the missing articles. Don’t know that it’ll help, but I think we need to talk over a few things. And maybe Cassie will be able to contact the killer.”
“What about Bishop?”
Matt shrugged. “It was what he noticed at the murder scene yesterday that got me started thinking. His expertise may come in handy, and at this point I’m not too proud to ask for help—as long as he doesn’t drag the Bureau in with him. So, sure, why not?”
In fact, Matt called Bishop’s motel room from his cruiser as he drove Abby to church, and the agent arrived at the station just minutes after Matt settled at his desk.
“Postmortem?” Bishop asked, noting the papers the sheriff was studying.
“Yeah. She was strangled with a thin wire or something similar. Cassie was right about that. And something else. He killed the girl while he was raping her.”
Bishop sat down on the leather sofa. “A first for him, right?”
“Right. No established sexual contact with the first three victims—although Cassie says this sort of murder is always sexual, and the reading I’ve done seems to agree with her. You’ve seen the reports. What do you think?”
“She’s right. It’s about power, and that usually translates into sexual domination.” The agent thought a moment. “A bit surprising that he apparently didn’t attempt sexual domination with the first three, but he may well have achieved satisfaction observing their terror before and during the murders.”
It was Matt’s turn to consider. “Cassie also claims that when Jill Kirkwood was killed—third victim—the killer wore some kind of Halloween mask. We have no idea if he also wore one when he killed the first two victims—or the fourth, for that matter.”
“He may have tried the mask to elicit more terror from his victim. If that’s so, if he wore it only that time, and not before or after, then he may be only beginning to shape and perfect his M.O.”
“What a cheerful possibility,” Matt said.
“A reasonable one, I’m afraid. He kills because he likes to kill, and each experience gives him more ideas for his next murder.” Bishop’s voice was remote. “We may never know what triggered his compulsion, what pushed him over the line from fantasizing to acting out his fantasies, but whatever’s driving him is obviously growing stronger and more complex. The first victim was not physically tortured, though we can assume he did his best to terrify her emotionally before he cut her throat. The second victim either fought him—with a certain amount of success—or else he fully intended to allow himself a bloody rampage just to find out how it felt.”
“Christ,” Matt muttered.
; “Interesting that he followed that indulgence with a much calmer and quieter murder, and that he may have worn a mask expressly designed to terrify his victim. He was undoubtedly exhausted after killing the Jameson woman, yet he was obviously unsatisfied.”
Matt snorted. “Ivy probably never satisfied a man in her life—even with her death.”
Bishop smiled faintly. “Yes, she’s the victim who stands out among the rest, doesn’t she?”
Matt leaned back in his chair. “Are you saying that might mean something?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. The other victims ranged in age from fifteen to thirty-two—Jameson was considerably older. The other victims were quite attractive by any yardstick—Jameson was not. She was the only one killed in her home, and she may have let the killer into the house. And while the Ramsay girl was dismembered in an apparently violent rage, it’s important to note that he killed her first. Jameson died in the struggle that left the crime scene a bloody mess.”
“So he may have had some reason to hate Ivy in particular, which is why he chose her—is that what you mean?”
“It’s a possibility. The other three victims seem to have been chosen by some combination of appearance and vulnerability, but Jameson doesn’t fit into that. Wouldn’t hurt to try to figure out why.”
Matt nodded. “Okay. I’ll send a few of my people out to question the neighbors and her acquaintances one more time. Ivy pissed off people on a regular basis though, so narrowing the field might take a while.”
“In the meantime, have you found out whether there were missing items from the first three victims?”
“Yeah, it looks like there are—and I could kick myself for not asking sooner.”
“It won’t make any difference until you have a viable suspect. It probably won’t tell us anything helpful about the killer, or offer any indication of where we might look for him. But it will provide a few nails in his coffin once we have him in custody.”
“If we ever do.” Matt paused, then went on briskly. “We can’t be absolutely positive, but last night and this morning I’ve had my people double-checking with the families and, in the case of Jill Kirkwood, searching her home. Becky Smith, according to her mother, almost always wore a thin gold chain. It wasn’t found on the body and isn’t in her jewelry box at home. Ivy’s mother claims she always wore a peacock pin to church, and there’s been no sign of one. Panties are missing from the Ramsay girl’s effects, so we can assume that he took something from Jill Kirkwood as well, even though we have no clue as to what that is.”
“Trophies,” Bishop said. “He’ll have the items in his possession, probably in a drawer or box.”
“Like you said, it’ll help. If we catch him.” Matt sighed.
“You’ll catch him. The one mistake he’s consistently made is to operate in a small area within a close-knit community. Sooner or later he’ll have an identifiable connection to one of his victims.”
“Yeah,” Matt said. “But how many victims will he get before we get him?”
There wasn’t a lot of traffic on the roads because of a night of sleet and a cold, overcast morning, but that was all to the good. And he doubted they would be expecting anything so soon, so that was good as well.
But the best thing of all, he thought, was that they would never, in a million years, expect him to lure his target from such an unquestionably safe haven.
The church bells began to ring, and he smiled.
They spent most of Sunday morning in bed, getting up around ten only after Max insisted, in canine terms, that enough was enough. But it wasn’t until they had finished their late breakfast and cleaned up the kitchen that Cassie reluctantly brought up a touchy subject.
“I really should try again.”
Ben’s mouth tightened, but his voice was calm when he said, “You tried yesterday when Matt got back to his office, and you were still being blocked. Why would today be different?”
“Ben, he can’t keep blocking me indefinitely. Sooner or later I’ll be able to get through. Frankly I’d rather it was sooner. Don’t you want this to be over?”
“Of course I do. It’s just that it takes so much out of you, Cassie.”
“Only when I actually make contact.” She gazed at him steadily. “Testing the waters isn’t hard at all. And we have to know. If he’s stalking somebody else. If he’s planning to kill again soon.”
“Cassie—”
“Once, just once, I’d like to be able to tell Matt something other than where to find the latest body.”
Ben came to her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “I know.”
She rested her cheek against him, her own arms lifting in a gesture that was still tentative and sliding around his waist. She wondered if he had any idea at all that he was the first person since her mother’s death to offer a comforting hug. “There can’t be any peace as long as he’s out there.”
“I know.”
“And almost anything would be better than this damned music,” she said somewhat ruefully.
“That’s still bugging you?”
“Umm.” She drew away from him, not made uncomfortable by the physical contact, but so unaccustomed that she was hyper-aware of it. “The moment I’m not thinking about anything, it creeps back in.”
“Identify the song and it’ll go away.”
“Probably.” Cassie shook her head. “Never mind, I just need to concentrate on something.”
Ben didn’t protest again. They left Max in the kitchen working on a rawhide treat while they went into the living room so Cassie could get comfortable. When she did have something to concentrate on, focusing on the effort to touch the killer’s mind, she once more encountered a block she was unable to get past.
“Damn.”
“You said he couldn’t block you indefinitely,” Ben reminded her.
“I know. But the block feels awfully solid.” She reached up to rub her forehead. “This damned music.”
“Do you often get an unidentifiable tune in your head?”
“No, almost never.” She stared at him, suddenly very uneasy. “Almost never. When you’re tone deaf, music isn’t something that sticks in your mind. And this sounds like it’s coming from a music box. I haven’t listened to a music box in a long, long time.”
Before Ben could respond the phone rang. Cassie had to get up from the sofa to reach the receiver, since it was on a side table.
“Hello?”
Ben saw her face tighten as she listened for a moment. Then she cradled the receiver. He was on his feet and moving toward her without thought.
“Cassie?”
“Wrong number,” she said softly. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “I don’t think so. What did they say?”
“Nothing important.” She let out a small laugh that sounded more resigned than amused. “Remember you said I’d probably get a few calls from upset and suspicious citizens? That was one. But don’t worry. I’ve been called worse things than a witch, believe me.”
“Dammit.” Ben pulled her into his arms and held her. “There had to be a few, I guess. But most of the people around here are pretty tolerant, Cassie. They’re just afraid and panicked right now.”
“I know. I’m all right, really.”
He drew back just far enough to be able to kiss her, the first reassuring touch rapidly becoming something else. His hands slid down her back to her hips, holding her tighter against him, and Cassie made a muted sound of pure pleasure.
She felt a little embarrassed when he raised his head to smile down at her, but the look in his eyes was familiar evidence of his own arousal.
“Have I mentioned that I have a very difficult time keeping my hands off you?” he asked, his hands moving caressingly.
Cassie cleared her throat, but her voice still emerged huskily. “You haven’t, no. But I’ve sort of noticed since last night.”
“I’ve said it before. For a man with thick walls, there’s a
lot I can’t seem to hide.”
She considered that. “To be honest, I’m glad. I’m not experienced in these matters, so I’m very grateful you haven’t kept me guessing.”
He chuckled. “No, I haven’t done that.”
“Because of my lack of experience?” she asked curiously.
“Because I can’t keep my hands off you.” He kissed her again, hunger unmistakable. Against her mouth he added hoarsely, “I am so glad you changed your mind about us. I don’t know how much longer I could have stood it.”
Cassie slid her arms up around his neck, rising on tiptoe because the fit was better. Much better. “It’s probably a good thing I can’t read you.”
“Why?” He was exploring her throat.
“Never mind.”
Ben raised his head and looked at her. “Why?” he repeated.
She was embarrassed now. “Let’s just say I’m having a hard time understanding why you want me.”
“If you’re talking about all that baggage again, I don’t know why you thought it would keep me away. Everybody past the age of twenty-one has baggage of some kind. Or should.” He shrugged. “God knows you haven’t seemed too worried about mine.”
Cassie was glad he was focused on the emotional aspects; she really didn’t want to have to explain that it was his physical passion for her she found somewhat baffling. “How bad can yours be?” she asked, easing further away from the question of desire.
“Oh, mine’s textbook.” He returned to exploring her throat. “Domineering father, childlike mother who didn’t have the faintest idea how to be a parent. Boring stuff.” His voice was deliberately light, almost flippant.
“Looks to me like you grew up just fine despite that,” she told him, allowing her fingers to venture into his hair and enjoying the sensations.
“Mmm. And yet… there are these walls.”
“They seem to worry you a lot more than they do me,” she commented absently, wondering if Max would be very upset if they went back to bed.
