Colton Copycat Killer

by Marie Ferrarella

  “I was just thinking the exact opposite,” he told her. When Zoe looked at him quizzically, he said, “That maybe you should stop helping me. I don’t want anything happening to you. You’ll be safer if you’re working at the library.”

  “I’d be safer if I was working next to you,” she insisted. Because she could see he didn’t agree, she argued, “I’d have a police detective right there, looking out for me.”

  Sam sighed deeply, irritated. “You know, for an easygoing woman, you’re really damn stubborn.”

  She couldn’t help smiling at his assessment, even though her answer was completely serious. “I found out that people step on you if you don’t hold your ground and stand up for yourself. It’s something I learned from Celia,” she confessed.

  “Yeah, and look how that worked out for her,” he said pointedly. He hadn’t said it to hurt her, although he suspected it might. He’d said it to scare Zoe into backing off.

  He should have known better.

  Zoe surprised him when she responded, “You said stubborn, not greedy.”

  Sam let the matter drop, at least the part about convincing her to back off. But not the idea that someone in Celia’s life had been the reason why it had ended so abruptly.

  “Can you draw up a list of Celia’s past boyfriends for me?” he asked Zoe.

  “Well, there were guys,” Zoe admitted, thinking back over her older sister’s rather tumultuous dating life. “But most of them didn’t last more than a few weeks or so. Maybe even a month, but not much longer than that. She’d either get bored, or find someone who sparked her interest more, usually because they were richer.

  “But there was this one guy who kept coming back,” Zoe suddenly remembered, growing more animated. “Celia would get back with him every time she was between men.” Zoe stopped, hesitating, as she looked at Sam. She couldn’t help thinking how this had to sound to him. “You sure you want to hear this?”

  “You’re not hurting my feelings if that’s what you’re thinking,” he assured her. “I’m long past having my feelings hurt when it comes to your sister. What was this boomerang’s name?”

  She didn’t have to pause. She remembered. Celia had actually mentioned him the day she died.

  “Johnny Vine,” Zoe said. “She used to make jokes about the way he’d hang on, like some kind of a ‘clinging vine.’”

  “That couldn’t have been good for his ego,” Sam commented, thinking maybe that could have been motive enough.

  “I don’t know much about him,” Zoe confessed. “Just that he was into something shady. And—” Zoe stopped, hesitating before she continued.

  “What?” Sam asked sharply.

  “Just before Celia told me that she was tricking you into marrying her, she laughed and said she wouldn’t be surprised if Johnny crashed the wedding and tried to win her back by dragging her away from the church at gunpoint.”

  Real winner, Sam thought. “That meant he had a gun,” Sam concluded out loud, looking to Zoe for confirmation.

  Zoe nodded. “She mentioned something about it. Said he liked showing off, proving how good he was with it.” She paused, berating herself for not having remembered all this earlier. It was almost as if her brain had been paralyzed. “Do you think he did it?”

  “I think it’s worth looking into. I’ll see what I can dig up on him in the morning. In the meantime, you get some sleep.”

  Because she’d been so relentless in trying to help, Sam bent over and kissed her forehead.

  It was meant as a brotherly gesture—and just possibly—intended to negate the last physical contact he’d initiated with her, the one that had been less than brotherly.

  When his lips left her forehead, Zoe looked up at him. No words passed her lips.

  They didn’t have to.

  Chapter 13

  Sam felt something.

  He actually felt something, he realized. And that was bad.

  Bad because feelings led to a loss of judgment. Feelings made people do things they shouldn’t, forget what was important, forget the principles they had always lived by. Feelings clouded a person’s true perception of things and made instant fools out of normally intelligent people.

  Feeling something for someone was seductive, created a rush that, if large enough and fast enough, could temporarily—and completely—blot out the immediate world.

  And he couldn’t afford to let any of that happen.

  And yet—

  And yet, he could feel himself standing on the edge of a precipice, wavering. Being irresistibly drawn to a place he had no business, no right to go.

  While he fought this brutal, internal war that encompassed all of about a minute even as it felt as if it was embracing eternity, he heard Zoe ask, “Would you like to come inside for a minute?”

  The words had rushed out almost breathlessly. She knew she couldn’t have gotten them out any other way. She was being brazen, going for the brass ring, accepting the fact that if she got Sam to herself at all, it was merely by default.

  Because he was so weary.

  Because he needed someone just for the night and she was the only one there.

  But that was all right.

  Someone else would have upbraided her and told her she was selling herself short, but the way she saw it, she wasn’t selling herself at all. She was finally getting what she had always, always longed for.

  A night with Sam.

  Sam, who had filled her heart from the very first moment she had ever seen him. Sam, whom she truly felt she had been born loving. If it was one-sided, okay, so be it. She accepted that.

  As long as she could be there with him, breathing the same air, helping him battle his demons, she was happy. It was exactly what she wanted to do and where she wanted to be.

  Making love with Sam—if it came to that—would only be the huge sparkling bow on a gift she never dreamed she would actually ever get.

  Zoe unlocked her door and opened it a crack.

  Yes, he wanted to come in, Sam thought. More than anything, he wanted to follow Zoe inside, close the door and just for a little while, shed the agony that seemed to always drape over him like some sort of heavy metal net, covering him from top to bottom.

  But that wouldn’t be fair to Zoe.

  He didn’t want to be like the monster that was his father, didn’t want to be guilty of only thinking of himself.

  He’d almost willed himself to leave...

  And then he felt her fingers slipping through his, saw her turning slightly toward the door. She pushed it open and then she was drawing him behind her as she stepped over the threshold into her house.

  “I should be going,” he told her, although it was clear his heart wasn’t in the protest he’d voiced reluctantly.

  Zoe pretended she hadn’t heard him.

  “Would you like something to drink?” she offered, butterflies doing an aerial assault inside her stomach. “I’ve got some wine, some coffee and some kind of soda in the refrigerator, I think. And there’s always water,” she added with a smile she was certain appeared nervous around the edges.

  “I’m not thirsty,” he told her.

  Sam knew he should just turn around and leave. It was the smart, not to mention the safe, thing for him to do. But he just couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, as if looking at Zoe would finally enable him to see the world more clearly.

  “Hungry, maybe?” Zoe asked, trying again. And then she flushed, embarrassed. “No, we just ate, why would you be hungry? Never mind,” she said, trying to dismiss her nervous error.

  “Yes.”

  The word had come out in almost a whisper, uttered so softly she barely heard Sam.

  Leaning in, she asked almost hesitantly, “What did you say?”

  �
��Yes,” he repeated, saying the word more loudly this time. “I am.”

  “You are,” she said, slightly confused. And then, suddenly, she realized what he was saying yes to, or thought she did. “You’re hungry?”

  The look in his eyes told her they were no longer on the topic of food.

  The smile she felt radiated into her eyes a second before it found its way to her lips.

  Zoe took a half step closer to him.

  That was all it took.

  The next second, his arms were around her, holding her to him. Less than a heartbeat after that, his mouth was on hers and every wall he had so carefully erected between himself and everyone else in the rest of the world instantly crumbled, disintegrating like so many grains of dry sand that surrendered themselves to the wind.

  She felt fluid in his arms, not as if she had just melted at his touch, but like silk ribbons caught up and dancing in the warm summer breeze.

  His blood heated at the very thought of possessing her, of having her. Had she been someone else, one of the faceless, nameless women who had passed through his life in years gone by without leaving a trace, he would have taken her then and there, made love with her and left, all within an hour’s time, if that long.

  But this was Zoe and that evoked a tenderness within him that superseded the devastating need eating away at him.

  So he kept himself in check every single step of the way. He forced himself to attempt something new. Rather than give in to the raging urgency of his desire, Sam reined it in and proceeded to seduce Zoe in stages, making love to every part of her before he made love with the whole of her.

  And, in so doing, he seduced not only her, but himself, as well. And, he realized too late, he had never really been seduced before. Not like this. He’d never allowed himself to feel enthralled—and yet, that was exactly what Zoe did to him, exactly the way she made him feel.

  Rather than roughly separate her from her clothing, Sam coaxed the garments from her body, teasing buttons apart, moving material slowly aside. Exposing more and more to his gaze, but doing so a little at a time. And in so doing, he unconsciously wound up ensnaring himself as firmly as if he had lain on the ground and been covered from head to toe with ropes, the mighty giant Gulliver being taken and all but gift wrapped by the tiny, determined Lilliputians.

  Zoe had woven her magic around him just by being, he realized as he kissed her over and over again, heating her body just as surely as he was heating his own.

  The ache she felt grew to almost overwhelming proportions.

  At twenty-four, Zoe had never been with anyone. There’d been one clumsy attempt while she was still in college, but she had lost her nerve—not to mention she’d felt disgusted at her partner’s less than skillful groping—and bolted before anything of any consequence had happened between them.

  As a result, she began thinking of herself as cold, frigid, and doomed to be left out of what everyone else seemed to be celebrating: romantic unions.

  Or at least that was what it seemed like to her, because the subject of love, of physical gratification, was in every second song, every second movie and in just about every single communication that was going on around her.

  The men she interacted with, both at work and in her daily life, did nothing for her, caused no temporary flights of fantasy, no momentary longings or spontaneous daydreams.

  But even being within a few feet of Sam, with just the hint of possible lovemaking, had caused things to begin happening inside of her, created incredibly strong longings to take hold of her, to urge her on and make her bolder than she had ever been in her life.

  Which was why she had all but thrown herself at him and had felt absolutely no remorse at doing so.

  And even now, there were no second thoughts, no misgivings or inner hesitation.

  There was only joy.

  Wildly overwhelming, boundless joy because of what she was feeling for this man. Not to mention an excitement the likes of which she didn’t recall ever encountering. Her whole body felt as if it was poised, waiting for something wondrous to happen.

  And she could feel the anticipation building within her, growing stronger, bigger, more intense. If she were a train, she would have sworn she was building up a full head of steam, because it felt just like that.

  But different.

  And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, this explosion—it was the only thing she could liken it to—detonated within her, causing her to internally scramble toward the sensation in order to absorb every single shred of it. That was when she realized she had all but levitated off the sofa—they had somehow managed to find their way over to it, although for the life of her, she had no idea when or how.

  The inner explosion, she realized now, had occurred in response to something wondrous Sam had done to her with his hands, his breath and his mouth. Rather than be embarrassed—something she would have thought a normal response from her under any other circumstances—she was thrilled beyond words. So thrilled that her body was fairly vibrating from the effects.

  Humming, actually.

  Was this what she had been missing out on by not making love with someone?

  But then, Zoe knew in her heart that what she was experiencing was only wondrous because she was experiencing it with Sam, the man she had surrendered her soul to years ago. Being with someone else wouldn’t have had this sort of an effect on her and she knew it. She believed that with her entire heart.

  And then, just as she was certain it couldn’t possibly get any better, Sam moved over her—his body hovering just over hers—and, capturing her mouth, he began to unite them for the final culmination.

  But as he entered her, the unexpected flash of pain that went through her extremity had her involuntarily wincing.

  The movement, as well as the resistance he met, was enough to alert him.

  Sam began to draw back and she knew that once he did, it would be over. He’d turn from her and leave her and maybe, because of that, he’d never be back, not to talk to her, certainly not to come close to doing what they’d just been doing.

  So rather than accept what was about to happen, rather than be in submission the way she had been for so much of her life, Zoe rebelled. She wouldn’t let him withdraw. Instead, she arched up against him, forcing Sam to suspend his withdrawal.

  Not only that, but she began to move urgently against him, ignoring the pain this physical union had created until it ceased to exist.

  The only thing that mattered was that Sam didn’t turn away from her, didn’t stop making love with her. She wanted to at least have this one evening unmarred by rejection.

  To hold it to her when all the empty nights that would follow came.

  So she did what her instincts prompted her to do and in so doing, she made love to Sam until he was forced to make love with her.

  He wasn’t strong enough to stop, not when she held him prisoner like this.

  Despite all his control, all his logic and common sense, he discovered he was no match for Zoe’s determination. And just like that, he succumbed, giving in to the wants and needs she had stirred and woken up inside of him.

  His mouth covering hers, his body pressed against her until someone standing ten feet away couldn’t have been able to identify where one of them ended and the other one began, Sam let go and allowed himself to move, unrestricted, to the wild, primitive dance he heard in his head.

  The one he felt in his body.

  The tempo increased, the music played faster, harder, and he went with it until suddenly, he and Zoe were diving off the highest peak in this incredible new world that had been created by just the two of them.

  His arms tightened around her so hard, neither one of them could breathe for a moment.

  And then the descent came languidly, depositing them back to the ground. Back to
earth and everything that was around them to create this one, common earth they both knew.

  With the ebbing of euphoria came the full realization of just what had happened. What he had done to her that could never be undone.

  “You’re a virgin,” Sam said, his voice sounding almost accusatory.

  Please, please don’t ruin this. Don’t get angry or say something I’m going to regret.

  “Was,” she corrected. “I was a virgin. Until just a little while ago.”

  He ignored her attempt to joke him out of the seriousness of the topic he had raised. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “How was I supposed to work that into any conversation you and I ever had?” she wanted to know, then reminded him, “There weren’t all that many of them, if you recall.”

  Frustration—with himself, not her—wove itself through every word he uttered. “You should have told me tonight, before we got started.”

  She raised her eyes to his. “Then we wouldn’t have gotten started, would we?” Zoe challenged.

  Exasperation laced itself through his frustration. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. It’s there in your eyes.” Taking a breath, she struggled to keep the tears at bay until after he left her. “I’m sorry I turned out to be such a disappointment,” she told him, apologizing for her inexperience. She took it to be the reason why he was so annoyed now.

  “I didn’t say that,” he stressed.

  He didn’t have to, she thought. Everything about his manner now said it for him. But holding on to a sliver of hope that just maybe she actually was wrong, Zoe asked, “Then why are you mad?”

  “Because, damn it, your first time’s supposed to be different.”

  He could have been gentler, kinder, Sam upbraided himself. He could have picked a better time, a better location—or better yet, he could have left her alone altogether, to have her first time with someone else, someone whose soul wasn’t as wounded as his was. She deserved the best and that wasn’t him.

  “It was,” she told him softly. Lifting a hand, she touched his face. “Different than anything I could have imagined.”