Before She Dies

by Mary Burton

  He glanced at the razor on the workbench and longed to make a few quick slices into his flesh to ease the tension. Simple straight cuts that weren’t too deep would make him feel so much better. But as tempting as it was to release into the pain, now was not the time for games that would weaken him.

  He reached for a piece of wood and a knife. He began to carve the rounded end into a sharp tip.

  He didn’t need more stakes, but he needed restraint. Strength. Courage.

  This time he was killing The One that had enticed him to the dark side eighteen years ago.

  She’d been called Grace then. Now she fancied Charlotte. Either way, she and her assistant were next.

  Chapter 21

  Saturday, October 30, 7:14 a.m.

  Early Saturday morning, Charlotte wore her faded cutoffs, a black T-shirt, and tennis shoes. Her hair was pulled into a topknot. She’d been working since dawn assembling the last of the boxes and getting ready for movers scheduled to arrive between eight and ten. Sleep had been impossible. Thoughts of Mariah tumbled and prodded her each time she’d closed her eyes, so in the end she’d just given up on sleep.

  As she glanced around the condo at the piles of boxes, she conceded to a sense of relief. There was a time when she’d convinced herself that this place had fit her like a glove, but much like the too expensive outfit that couldn’t be returned, she’d often not felt wholly comfortable here. She’d never gotten past the feeling that the real owners would burst into the space and demand that she leave.

  The front bell buzzed and she glanced at her red sports watch. Seven forty-five. The movers were early.

  The one time she needed them to be late, they were early.

  She hurried to the door and, without looking in the peephole, snapped it open. Rokov stood at her threshold holding two cups of coffee.

  “Detective.”

  “Counselor.” He handed her a coffee. “Moving day?”

  “It is. And it is not a good time to visit.”

  “Never a good time to visit with the cops.” He smiled and sipped his coffee. “Let’s chat.”

  “I can’t. Not now. I’m under the gun with this move.”

  A smile that wasn’t a smile tipped his lips. “I’ll help.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  He shrugged. “Too bad.”

  “Leave.”

  “No.” He stepped over the threshold and brushed past her. He surveyed the collection of boxes, set down his coffee cup, and shrugged off his sport jacket. “When did you say the movers were coming?”

  “About an hour. And I refuse to pay them extra while they wait and watch me pack.”

  “Then we better get busy. Where do we start?”

  “The kitchen.”

  He nodded and moved into the kitchen. He whistled his appreciation. “So this is how the other half lives?”

  She’d only heated soup and made toast in the space, but it was a designer’s dream. A muted palate of blues and greens stood as a backdrop to white Carrera Marble countertops, a crystal backsplash that mirrored hanging lights, stainless steel Wolf appliances, and a wine refrigerator stocked with expensive wines.

  This was the kind of kitchen she’d dreamed of as a kid, and for a time all her dreams had come true. But now she could no longer support the dream.

  She grabbed an empty box and handed it to Rokov. “You can start wrapping the dishes in the cabinet.”

  “Why not have the movers do this?”

  “I don’t trust them with the delicate stuff.”

  She turned her attention to a stack of pots, which she’d laid out on a farmhouse-style table surrounded by eight upholstered chairs. Grabbing newspaper, she began to wrap.

  “You mentioned that Mariah had a date that last night.”

  “Yes. I got the impression he was a local and he’d come to see the carnival. We always had a lot of local boys coming around the carnival looking to hook up or seeing if they could score drugs.”

  He raised a brow.

  “You’re wondering if I’m guilty of either.”

  “I’m a cop. I’m paid to wonder.” He filled a box with wrapped plates and sealed it with a packing tape.

  She shoved aside the old defensive feeling. “Sorry. I guess you can take the girl out of the carnie but not the carnie out of the girl. I’ll never forget how people looked at me when I was a kid.”

  “That why you’ve perfected the polished image?”

  Two pots clanged together as she dropped them in a box. At this point she didn’t care so much about her stuff. She just wanted it moved and gone. “After Mariah died, I knew I had to leave. I swore the rest of my life would be different.”

  “So you rejected all things carnie and became the uptight snob?”

  The fitting description rankled her nerves. Several counterpoints danced on the tip of her tongue.

  “Trying to decide which argument to hurl at me first?”

  She smiled. “Am I that obvious?”

  “I’m learning to see through the veneer.” He winked at her and carried the two packed boxes to the foyer by the front door.

  Irritated, she picked up another empty box and dumped a couple of never-used copper pots inside. “You cannot read me.”

  He reappeared with an empty box in hand. “Yes, I can.”

  “Just because we had sex doesn’t mean that you know me.”

  “But I do.” When she opened her mouth to argue again, he shook his head. “Tell me about the night Mariah died.”

  Sighing, she shook her head. “She was working and then she had a date with a boy I’d never met. He was taking her to dinner and a movie in town. She was excited because he was taking her on a real date. Meaning, a lot of boys showed up with a bottle of wine and an offer to park somewhere. This guy, she said, had been a gentleman.”

  “Did she date a lot?”

  “From the time she turned fourteen, it was impossible to keep her around the carnival. She searched for every chance she could to get away.” Sudden emotion choked her throat. “Mariah was so desperate for another life. I saw it, but I couldn’t help her. I was consumed with my own fears and dreams. I wish I’d paid more attention to her. Maybe she would have stayed in that last night.”

  “You were just a kid. Don’t carry that burden.”

  But she did carry the burden along with another far heavier. “That last night, Mariah said that Grady was very angry about her date. She took pleasure in making him worry. She bragged that he had given her an expensive necklace, and she was going to wear it on her date.”

  “He was possessive.”

  “Very.”

  “Where was Grady that night?”

  “Working the rides. Making sure everything ran smoothly. We only had a couple of nights left in town, and it was the big push to make cash.”

  “But he could have been anywhere that night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Could he have killed Mariah?”

  “You asked me that last night.”

  “And you’ve had a chance to sleep on it.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know now. Maybe. He wouldn’t be the first man to kill someone he loved.” She was unable to say the word lover. “Her date gave her a rose when he asked her out.” She’d forgotten that detail. “But I guess that doesn’t help too much. Eighteen years and a rose purchase.”

  “Not likely.”

  She closed her eyes and let her mind drift. She’d spent so many years forgetting that her ability to remember had grown rusty. “She also said he was uptight. A straight arrow. He had taken a semester off from school but planned to return in January.”

  “Why had he dropped out?”

  “He’d been sick.” Images were pushing their way to the forefront of her mind. “And he was worried about going back. It was important to him that he succeed in school.”

  “Did he say which school?”

  “No.”

  “A fall dropout eighteen years ago from a college n
ear Alexandria.”

  “He told her he could barely afford the instate tuition.”

  Rokov retrieved his notebook from his jacket pocket and scribbled down the details.

  “Why would he start killing again here and now?” she asked.

  “We think he’s killed other women in Raleigh and Athens.”

  “Those towns were major carnival stops.”

  “What were some of the other cities?”

  “Nashville. Charleston. Roanoke, Virginia. Asheville, North Carolina. Atlanta. Grady would have the full list. He was good about keeping notes on the different stops.”

  “Did you keep any kind of log?”

  “No. No records. It was all informal.”

  “You ever read anyone that really gave you the spooks?”

  “Well, there were the guys that tried to get more than a reading. I kept a baseball bat under my table for those guys. But there were times when the random person came through, and you could feel the resentment and anger.”

  “You felt it?”

  “My mother taught me how to read people. She was good at it, but I was great at it. The problem with Mom was that she stopped believing that it was science and started thinking her talents were really psychic. Toward the end she believed she could read minds. I never made that mistake. I read people’s body language, which I guess is what generates the feeling.”

  “You think you could read me?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Given our history.”

  “You said yourself it was no big deal.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  He held out his hand. “Then read me.”

  The challenge in his voice had her folding her arms over her chest. “You won’t like it.”

  He grinned. “Try me.”

  This was a test. She didn’t know why he was testing her but he was. “Give me your hand.”

  She took his hand and turned it over. His skin was warm and his fingertips calloused. Strong lines creased his palm. For some the lines had significance. Past lives. Future. Love. Death. A reasonably smart person could make anyone believe. The trick was guessing what the client wanted to hear.

  So what did Daniel Rokov want? “You are young.”

  “Not so young.”

  “Younger than me.”

  “Not enough to count.”

  “You have ambition. Hate obstacles.” She glanced at his military college ring. “You are used to command. In school you rose to the top.”

  He nodded, his eyes keen with interest. His pulse quickened just a bit. “You are from a hardworking immigrant family, but you dress like a man who wants to rise to the very top, just as you did in college.”

  “You’ve met my family. No magic there.” He stared at her with an intense gaze.

  “It’s never magic. It’s all observation and guesswork.” She traced her index finger over his palm. The faint callous on his left ring finger told her something she’d not realized before. “You dress as if you would like to be a chief, a mayor, or a senator. But those titles hold little interest for you. I think that is why your first wife left you. She wanted the big titles for you, but you see the real power behind the scenes.”

  He was silent for several moments. “I never told you about my first wife.”

  She frowned. “A slight callous at the base of your ring finger.”

  “Then how did you determine why she left?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  He captured her hand in his and slowly turned it over. His grip wasn’t gentle or painful, but it was unbreakable. “Now it’s my turn.”

  The grim set of his jaw told her she’d struck a nerve. “I don’t need a reading.”

  His grip remained firm. “Turnabout is fair play.”

  “You asked for your reading. I do not wish one.”

  He traced her lifeline. “You are at a crossroads.”

  She arched a brow. “What tipped you off? The hundreds of boxes?”

  “It’s more than that,” he said. “You are questioning.”

  Charlotte arched a brow. “You mean like when the movers are going to be here?”

  “Like why you do what you do. You can catch the big fish, but the question is do you want to?”

  “You mean I’m afraid that I might get bitten by another big fish with teeth? Believe me, I’m not afraid of teeth, and for the record I know how to bite hard.”

  A smile tipped the edge of his lips. “I remember.”

  Immediately color rose in her face, and she remembered the second time they’d slept together. She’d been beyond excited to see him, and they’d barely made it to the hotel room before they’d each dropped their clothes. He’d stripped the coverlet from the bed, and they’d fallen onto the mattress. When her orgasm shuddered through her, she’d bitten his shoulder.

  “You hate letting go more than anything in the world. It’s why you only drink at home and then only moderately. You are drawn to the idea of family, but fear it as well.”

  “You’ve noticed my wine refrigerator in the kitchen and my reputation for being a nondrinker. No one wants an out-of-control attorney.”

  “You take control to the next level. And I know why that is now.”

  She didn’t want to ask why and show him she cared. However, her voice failed her, and all she could manage was a cocked eyebrow.

  He leaned forward, his lips close to her ear. “You’re afraid.”

  “No, I am not.”

  “You are. You’re afraid the real truth will come out.”

  She cleared her throat as her heart pulsed rapidly under his fingertips. God, did he know? “And what truth is that?”

  He shook his head. “I want you to tell me.”

  If he didn’t look so serious, she’d have called him a con man. She wanted to tell him he didn’t know anything, but somehow she feared he did know the truth. “Everyone says they want to know the truth, but they really don’t. Once the fantasy is destroyed, the fun ends.”

  “Not for everyone.”

  She wanted to connect with him, but the words would not form. All she had at this moment was her body and her ability to touch. She kissed him.

  He cupped the back of her neck and pulled her to him. His kiss began gently but quickly intensified before he broke the contact. “Has sex always been an escape for you?” The whispered words didn’t soften the challenge.

  A good attorney knew when to avoid and when to attack. No more of either. “Sex was a cold lonely place ... until you.”

  His gaze darkened, but the meaning in their depths escaped her. Was he pleased? His hand traced her palm, and then rose up her arm to the back of her neck. His hold wasn’t urgent. It was possessive.

  With deliberate pressure he guided her face to him. She could balk. Say no. Demand that he leave her alone with her secrets. But she’d never said no to him in bed and knew she’d soon confess.

  When his lips touched hers, a frisson of desire shot through her body. Her muscles tightened, she clenched handfuls of his shirt and pulled him toward her. His hand roamed up her shirt to the underside of a lace-covered breast. He cupped her nipple, squeezed. Her heartbeat thundered against her ribs as she arched into him. The movers would be here soon. She had so much to handle. And all she could think about was Rokov inside her.

  She reached for the buckle of his pants.

  He stilled her hands. “Bedroom.”

  “This way.” She guided him quickly through the maze of boxes to her room. The room was entirely packed, and all that remained on the bed were the sheets and a few blankets for this last night in her place.

  He pulled her shirt off and reached for the elastic waistband of her athletic shorts. “I want to see you naked.”

  She gripped his hand, her breath stopped in her throat.

  He stared at her unmoving as she listened to the fast beat of her heart. “Yes or no?”

  “Yes.” Her
voice sounded ragged, like a stranger’s.

  He pulled down her shorts and let them drop around her ankles. As he pushed her back toward the bed, she reached for his belt buckle. Seconds later he was on top of her and then inside her, moving with hard, even thrusts. Her breasts bounced with each push. Tense urgent fingers ran up his thighs.

  “I’ve been thinking about this for days,” he said. “It’s been all I can do not to touch you.”

  She understood. During the frenetic hum of her days or the silent still moments of the night, her thoughts often strayed to him.

  The tempo between them rose, and energy in her swelled until finally it exploded inside her. She tipped back her head and growled his name, too lost in desire to be ashamed.

  He waited until the last of the shudders had passed through her body and she opened her eyes. He cupped a handful of her hair in his fist and held her head steady as he moved faster and faster in her.

  “Look at me,” he growled.

  She couldn’t take her gaze from his features as he clenched his fingers tighter into her hair. His power snapped between them as she watched the play of agony and ecstasy on his face and finally his body went rigid.

  He collapsed on top of her and his rapid heartbeat thrummed against her chest. For several long seconds they lay, too spent to speak.

  Finally, he rolled on his side facing her, his arm draped over her belly. Again, it felt as if he wanted to stake a claim.

  “You do that to me,” he rasped. He took her hand and laid it on his beating heart. “No one else does that to me.”

  The muscle drummed wildly under her fingertips. “What is it with you? Why can’t I just do this and walk away?”

  He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Admit it. It’s more than just sex.”

  “Yes.”

  He traced a circle around her belly button. “How can an attraction be so strong?”

  She turned her head toward him. “We are all about adrenaline. Pure energy. Both burn hot, but don’t last.”

  “Are you tired of me?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I can’t imagine I’ll get tired of you.”

  “You will. It is the nature of men and women.”