by Brenda Novak
But with more time, the panic began to ebb and she realized she was okay … for now. He wasn’t hanging on tightly. He was merely providing some physical support to go with his emotional support.
“Well?” he prompted.
“It’s fine,” she admitted. Then she drew a deep breath and added, “You want to try again?”
He ran his fingers through her hair. “Try what again?”
His mind was probably immersed in the case, but she didn’t want to think about Jasper or Lorraine or Danielle or Fitzpatrick or Hugo or even Kit. All of that was what had driven her into the shower. “M-making love.”
“No.”
She hadn’t expected such a quick and unequivocal response. “You couldn’t at least pretend to be tempted?”
“That’s not why I’m holding you, because I’m hoping to get lucky.”
“I appreciate that. But it’s okay if you are.”
“The answer’s still no. You’re not ready.”
But would that ever change? It hadn’t so far. Maybe she had to push the issue or she’d never get beyond her own resistance.
She considered ditching the towel, slipping her arms around his neck and kissing him. But she wasn’t sure she could get him to change his mind. He had to be stressed and exhausted. He also had to blame her, at least a little, for what was going on in his life.
“Someone who’s been emotionally traumatized isn’t what you’re looking for?” she teased. “I can’t imagine why not.”
His teeth flashed as he grinned at her, but then his shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “I’m not counting you out.”
“There are plenty of women in Hilltop who don’t have my problem. You’d be smart to stick with them.”
“Thanks for the advice, but I believe you’ve told me that before.”
Now he was being sarcastic. “I’m serious. Don’t let me stand in the way if the opportunity arises.”
His arms tightened when she made a move to get up. “Stop it.”
She froze. “Stop what?”
“Stop trying to shove me away.”
It was plain that he meant that in more than the physical sense. “If you knew what was good for you, you’d be running for the hills.”
“I’ve considered it.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“I’m not ready to give up.”
“Because…”
He parted the towel and gazed down at what he’d revealed. “I want you too badly. I’ve wanted you since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”
She felt a crushing disappointment. “I’m sure you regret that now.”
His warm hand cupped her breast. “No. You’re even more beautiful than I thought. Sweet, too—even if you are stubborn.”
Her whole body tightened, but in a good way—the same way it had responded when he kissed her in the hall the other night. She remembered his fingers slipping between her legs, the pleasure he’d brought her almost instantly, and tried to nudge his hand lower. She craved more of the heady, drunken sensation she’d experienced so briefly. There hadn’t been enough of that in her life. Maybe then she could forget everything else.
His eyes met and locked with hers, but he very purposefully withdrew. Then he covered her and carried her to the guestroom, where he left her to wrestle with her demons alone.
14
When this monster entered my brain, I will never know, but it is here to stay. How does one cure himself? I can’t stop it, the monster goes on, and hurts me as well as society. Maybe you can stop him. I can’t.
—DENNIS RADER, BTK KILLER
She was in the trooper’s house. The man had followed at a distance, wished he could be a fly on the wall. Had he forgotten anything when he’d chopped up the bodies? Overlooked some piece of evidence? What did the sergeant know?
Curiosity was driving him mad.…
But he shouldn’t worry. The whole town was in an uproar. The trooper couldn’t know much.
Telling himself there was nothing to fear, especially from a lawman who’d probably never investigated a murder before, he drew a deep breath. Amarok wasn’t clever enough to outsmart him. He was probably too taken with Evelyn to be concentrating very hard on anything besides getting a piece of ass, anyway.
That she was getting romantically involved with the young trooper, though—that was something he hadn’t anticipated. And he definitely didn’t like it.
* * *
Evelyn woke in Amarok’s spare bed. Thanks to the almost constant darkness of the Alaskan winter, she couldn’t see a thing—the sun wouldn’t appear until much later if it appeared at all—but she remembered the attic-like smell. There was also no question as to what had disturbed her. She could hear Amarok moving around, could smell coffee.
What time was it?
She had no idea. She guessed it was earlier than she had to be up, but she dragged herself out of bed, just in case she was wrong. It wouldn’t be easy to show up at the prison after what happened yesterday, but she had appointments.
Once Amarok had carried her to bed last night, she’d put on the footie pajamas her mother had given her. They weren’t particularly attractive—she looked like a big kid—but she didn’t change. They were practical, and she didn’t want to don her work clothes until she’d had a chance to shower.
When she shuffled into the kitchen Amarok looked up from the table and eyed her apparel with disdain. “Sexy.”
She was glad he hadn’t greeted her with something about the attack last night or the murders. They’d both have to cope with the reality of that situation soon enough. A few seconds of conversation about any other topic would be a welcome reprieve, even if he was making fun of her frumpy-looking sleepwear. “They aren’t going to turn anyone on, but … they’re warm.”
“I didn’t realize anyone over the age of six ever wore those things.”
She shrugged. “My mother bought them. They’re perfect for Alaska. And since I haven’t slept with anyone in twenty years, I’m not sure I have reason to worry about how much they might or might not appeal to men.”
He considered her over the rim of his coffee cup. His bowl was now empty, but there was a box of Wheaties at his elbow. “In case you’re confused about where I stand, I’m still hoping to bring that twenty-year hiatus to an end.”
She walked over to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. “If I remember right, you had your chance last night. I made the offer.”
Slinging an arm over the back of his chair, he scooted lower and stretched out his long legs. “Why would I want to associate myself with what you were feeling?”
“Sometimes you have to take what you can get.”
“Not necessarily.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll know when the time is right.”
His response surprised her. “Really? How?” She wasn’t even sure there would be a time.
His gaze lowered pointedly to her chest before his grin slanted to one side. “When you’re crawling all over me and moaning my name, I might consider it.”
An unexpected impulse tempted her to straddle him, but she held back. “Is that your plan? You’re going to drive me mad with desire? Make me beg?”
“If you’re that far gone, maybe you won’t bail out.”
“You’re good with your hands. I think you could’ve gotten me there last night.”
“So I missed my one opportunity?”
“You might not want to turn me down if you get another chance.”
He came off as unconcerned. “You’re just mad that I was the one to say no this time.”
She added cream to her coffee. “So you are holding that night against me.”
“Just hoping for a green light next time,” he said, and gathered his bowl, spoon and cup. “I’ve told you before—I won’t settle for any half measures, nothing short of unbridled access.”
His words excited her. But even if she could make love with him, what would happen after? Did he have any interest in
a relationship? Or was he merely hoping to attain the unattainable?
And what did she want?
Her gaze settled on his sensuous mouth. “You’re cockier than I first thought.”
“That’s the problem with us young guys.”
“A lack of stamina?” she joked.
He laughed as he rinsed his dishes, put them in the dishwasher and took a clean bowl from the cupboard. “Trust me. I can get you off.”
“What if you can’t?” she asked, serious now. “What if … what if we have sex, but I’m not able to … you know? You won’t take it personally, will you?”
“It might take several attempts, but we’ll get there.” He offered her the bowl he held. “Cold cereal?”
She loved his patience almost as much as his confidence. He made her feel so normal. “No, thanks. Coffee is enough. What time is it?”
He put the bowl back. “Almost six.”
“And you’re already heading to work?”
“Already? I’m just grateful I didn’t get any calls in the middle of the night. That makes me hopeful I’ll have a chance to get on top of this nightmare before the situation gets any worse.”
“That would be a relief.” She sipped her coffee. “Did you get permission to approach the FBI?”
“I did.”
“Were you able to get through to them? Are they sending someone to help?”
“We had a conversation, but they’re not getting involved. Not yet.”
“Because of the weather?”
“They aren’t convinced we have a serial killer in our midst, said they don’t want to commit the resources if this doesn’t live up to the media hype.”
“What do you think of that?”
“I can see their point.”
“Which is…”
“This could be a jealous lover who acted out of rage and killed both women in a connected event.”
“You’re hoping it’s that simple.”
“I am.”
“And if it isn’t? Will they get involved then?”
“They said they’ll monitor the situation and lend a hand if things get any worse.”
“Heaven forbid that happens!”
“I’m with you there,” he said. “So what are your plans today?”
“I’m going to the prison like usual. Before I spoke with Hugo yesterday, I spoke to the warden. He’s starting an internal investigation on the employees listed in Danielle’s little black book. Maybe he’ll find something that can help.”
“Tell him to keep it on the down-low as much as possible. For all we know, one of those guys murdered Danielle, and I don’t want anything interfering with my murder investigation.”
“I made that clear already.”
“Great. Did this … Hugo shed any light on how he managed to have sex with Danielle?”
“I didn’t even get the chance to ask him. Are we sure he did have sex with her?”
“There was a measurement by his name—by all the names. He’s got eight inches, in case you’re curious. The little smiley face after that note leads me to believe Danielle was quite impressed.”
“Oh God.” She rubbed her eyes. “Just because he’s a psychopath doesn’t mean he can’t be well-endowed, I guess.”
“Perhaps the correlation can become a new field of study.”
“You wouldn’t want me to establish that correlation, would you?” She grinned. “I mean, I didn’t have a measuring tape the other night, but you seemed to be well-endowed yourself.”
He laughed. “The memory doesn’t seem to scare you.”
“No.”
He stepped closer, rested his hands on her shoulders. “So you’ll be able to get through the day? You’re over your reaction to that attack?”
She remembered those few terrifying seconds after Hugo grabbed her. “It wasn’t really an attack. I mean … it was and it wasn’t.”
Amarok walked over to pour himself another few swallows of coffee and leaned a hip against the counter to drink it. “How can it be both?”
Now that she’d gained some perspective on that event, she realized that it had gone differently than it would have if Hugo had really meant to harm her. “Looking back, I think it was just a ploy to get close enough to steal a kiss. These guys have gone months, sometimes years, without a woman—although, if what you found in Danielle’s book is true, I guess it hasn’t been that long for Hugo.” Or some of the others …
“I’m sure Hugo would take as much of being with a woman as he can get,” Amarok said. “And you’re in a position of authority, which creates more of a tendency for him to fantasize about you.”
“Cops are often fantasized about, too,” she pointed out.
He lifted his coffee. “We don’t do it for the pay.”
She wondered what it would be like if he walked over and kissed her. She thought she’d like that. “At least not all of your admirers are convicts,” she said. “It’s hard to be flattered by men who are so desperate. But back to my point. There was no murderous intent behind Hugo’s groping. He didn’t hit me, squeeze me harder than necessary to get me up against the wall, try to choke me. It wasn’t even an attempted rape. Nothing like that.”
“A kiss and a feel. But isn’t that because he didn’t have time to do more?”
“He could’ve inflicted some damage.” She carried her coffee to the table to, she hoped, stop all those images of kissing Amarok from crowding in. “He put me in the hospital when he rushed me at San Quentin, in about the same amount of time. That’s partly what tells me this was different. I’m not convinced I was ever in real danger. That’s embarrassing to admit, after reacting the way I did—”
“Anyone who’d been through what you’ve been through would’ve reacted the same way.”
“Maybe. But he didn’t hit me, or kick me or choke me. He kissed me and thrust against me. Then he told me that Dr. Fitzpatrick is our killer.”
Amarok pushed off the counter to come to the table. “Fitzpatrick?”
“Can you believe it?”
“That depends. What would make Hugo Evanski choose him as opposed to someone else?”
She shrugged. “Fitzpatrick’s the most prominent figure at HH?”
“Other than you.”
“Other than me,” she conceded.
“Maybe Hugo hates him.”
“That wouldn’t come as a surprise. Most of the inmates hate Fitzpatrick. His approach is more controversial than mine and some of his experiments are not … pleasant.”
“Meaning…”
“He likes to explore a psychopath’s reaction, or lack of reaction, to pain.”
Amarok’s lips formed a grim line. “More shock studies?”
“Among others. And Hugo has been heavily involved lately. From the way he talks about Fitzpatrick, they’ve been meeting almost every day.”
“Are the inmates forced to cooperate?”
“Of course not. They’re incentivized. Most sign up as soon as the option becomes available because there’s no other way to get the things they want.”
“What’s the reward?”
“It varies. Extra yard time, books, stamps, movie nights, a second helping of dessert, access to cigarettes.”
“Would Evanski have anything to gain by discrediting Fitzpatrick?”
She’d been asking herself the same question. “Not that I can think of. Most likely he’s bored and trying to create drama. The men I study will say just about anything, no matter how outlandish. Usually the stories they spin are designed to paint them in as favorable a light as possible, and Hugo has definitely done that here.”
“How so?”
“He’s positioned himself as my savior, my protector, someone who knows more than anyone else about those who would destroy me.”
Amarok ran a thumb over his chin as he seemed to consider this information. “How much does Fitzpatrick know about Jasper?”
His words made her slightly uneasy. “He’s aware of the po
sing behavior, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Because…”
“We’ve discussed my case.”
“Down to the last detail?”
She thought of the conversations they’d had over the past five years, the hours they’d spent analyzing Jasper’s behavior leading up to the first attack and all the guessing about what brought him back last summer, how long he might hide this time, whether he’d try to kill her again. “Yes.”
Amarok didn’t look pleased. “You haven’t even told me the details. You refuse to let me read your file.”
“I’d rather you not know everything that happened.”
“Why?”
She glanced away, suddenly embarrassed. “Because I want to sleep with you.”
There was a raw edge to his expression when she looked back, a slight flare to his pupils that suggested he wanted the same. He didn’t move toward her, but his voice was more forgiving when he spoke. “It makes a difference?”
“I don’t want to bring all of that into bed with us.”
“At least you’re serious about this,” he said with a decisive nod. “Gives me hope.”
“This?”
“Us.”
But what did that “us” mean?
She didn’t ask. Neither one of them were ready to answer that question.
“So … looking at Fitzpatrick regardless of Hugo or anything else, could he be a killer?” Amarok asked.
“No.”
He stuffed his arms into the heavy coat on a hook by the front door. “But wouldn’t you have said the same thing about Jasper?”
15
I just liked to kill, I wanted to kill.
—TED BUNDY, SERIAL KILLER, RAPIST, KIDNAPPER AND NECROPHILIAC
Evelyn reached Hanover House before any of the other therapists or administrative help arrived. Breathing a sigh of relief that she’d spotted none of their cars in the lot, she chatted with Glenn Whitcomb, who was on duty at the sally port when she walked in. They were both mourning Lorraine, so Evelyn understood his grief, felt he might need to talk to someone. He showed her a thank-you card Lorraine had given him when he’d fixed her leaky roof, and they reminisced about their friend’s bossy but caring ways. Glenn was the only one Evelyn felt truly understood, since they’d both loved Lorraine. But she didn’t dare dawdle for long. With a parting smile, she hurried to her office, where she sat with a stack of files and reports.
