Carina had never been so swept away by desire. She held on to Nick, catching her breath. He kissed her neck, found her lips.
“Carina, that was…” he sighed.
“Me too.”
“You like the hat?”
She smiled. “Very much.”
“I want you to wear it next time.” He looked down at her, his expression serious but his eyes sparkling.
She took the hat off his head, pushed him to the side, and put the hat on her own head.
“Okay,” she said and kissed him hard and long, until they were both breathless again. “If you insist.”
When he figured out that an unmarked police car was watching Maggie’s apartment, he got worried. Very worried.
Then he realized they didn’t have anything on him. If the police knew he’d killed Angie and the others, they would have arrested him. That knowledge gave him confidence.
He drove right on past the car without another thought.
Besides, he didn’t want to kill Maggie. Not yet, anyway. It was her younger sister, Leah, who reminded him of Becca. Her smile, her soft dark hair, her translucent skin. If he wanted to feel the intensity he had with Becca, he had to find another woman like Becca. That’s where he’d gone wrong. Jodi was like Angie, and while at the beginning it was good, it ended all wrong.
But Becca had been perfect, from beginning to end.
And Leah would be, too.
He waited outside her boyfriend’s apartment and frowned. The windows were dark. What were they doing in there? Why wasn’t Leah going home? Her car was out front, right there on the street. She should be leaving. Going home. Not staying here with him.
The idea that Leah was having sex with another man greatly disturbed him. That put her right there with Angie and Jodi, a slut.
He wanted, needed, Leah to be pure. She looked innocent, acted sweet.
Women are liars.
He stared at the window, pictured Leah spreading her legs for a man. Imagined her asking him to fuck her, liking it, wanting it, just like a common whore.
Had she slept with other men? Did she have boyfriends all over town, just like Angie? Maybe she posted pictures of herself online for every man to see, to jerk off to, to lust after.
It was her fault. She deserved everything he was going to do to her.
And more.
Three in the morning. She didn’t come out of the apartment. His hand clutched the door handle.
Wait, his inner voice commanded.
He didn’t know if he could wait for her to come out on her own. He didn’t know if he wanted to wait. But he didn’t know the layout of the apartment, how to get in, how to dispose of her boyfriend.
He wanted to kill the bastard for fucking Leah. That’s exactly what they were doing. It was three-oh-six in the morning. What else could they be doing? Watching cartoons?
So he waited. And watched.
Leah Peterson would eventually leave. And then she would be his.
THIRTY
CARINA WOKE TO A LOW MOAN next to her in the bed. Instantly she was on alert, then remembered that Nick Thomas had slept in her bed last night. Slept, among other very wonderful things.
She glanced at the clock. Four fifty-five. She closed her eyes again. Three hours sleep was not enough. It was Sunday. She deserved to sleep until the sun came up.
“Leave her alone.”
Nick’s voice was as clear as day and Carina rolled over to face him. “Go back to sleep,” she said.
“Stop. Don’t touch her.”
She realized Nick was talking in his sleep. Talking and moving restlessly, which is what had woken her up in the first place. He moaned, a mournful, guttural cry that tore at her heart.
“Nick,” she said softly, touching his face.
His eyes shot open and he grabbed her hand. She didn’t move.
“Nick, it’s me.”
His eyes came into focus and he saw her. “Carina.”
“You were having a bad dream.”
He shook his head.
“Yes, you were. You were talking in your sleep.”
“It wasn’t a dream,” he said, his voice thick. “It was a memory.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“All right,” she said. “Go back to sleep.” She rolled over, trying not to be upset with him. She wasn’t going to force him to relive a memory that gave him nightmares.
He rolled over and spooned himself around her bare back. Touched her loose hair, breathed into her neck.
“You know about the Butcher,” he said finally.
“What I read in the papers.”
“You know he held me captive.”
“Yes.”
“The papers never reported that he raped one of his victims while I was chained in the corner.”
“Oh Nick.” Carina tried to turn to face him, but he held her close against him, her back against his chest.
“He trussed me up like an animal so that any movement tightened the binds. I heard every scream, every assault. It was a living Hell and I wanted to die. I wanted to die because I couldn’t stop it. I was trapped and forced to listen.”
“How did you escape?”
“I didn’t. Search and rescue found us. I didn’t do a damn thing, I couldn’t.”
Nick had never told anyone what had happened in the shack. Not the shrink his doctor sent into his hospital room, not FBI agent Quinn Peterson, not even Miranda. They knew—the evidence spoke for itself—but he’d never talked about it.
Until now. He felt it was important for Carina to know what had happened, to understand how much those days had changed him.
“The Bozeman Butcher killed twenty-two women over a thirteen-year period,” Nick began. He focused on the facts, even though she knew some of them. “My first murder investigation was the Bozeman Butcher’s third victim, though we didn’t know it at the time.
“When I became sheriff, I made it a priority to solve what seemed like an unsolvable case. I brought in the FBI. That didn’t make me popular with everyone, but it had to be done. They’d helped with the original investigation, when we had a survivor, but nothing came of it. No suspects, no evidence. Dead end.”
He’d felt helpless to stop the Butcher, who seemed to kill and disappear at will.
“He usually killed and moved on, to return one or two years later to claim a couple more victims before disappearing again. But the last time, something spurred him on and he kidnapped a coed named Ashley van Auden less than a week after killing Rebecca Douglas. We had evidence from Rebecca’s murder we’d never had before that helped us narrow down previous suspects and revisit the old cases with new insights.
“I had a hunch. It wasn’t based on anything, really, except my knowledge of southwest Montana. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I didn’t think it would lead anywhere. And if I was wrong, and I was partly wrong, I didn’t want good people to be damaged by the hint of suspicion in a brutal murder.
“I was attacked from behind and woke up hours later, bound, with Ashley chained to the floor next to me. And there was not a damn thing I could do to help her.”
“Nick.”
“You read the articles. You know what the Butcher did to those women.”
“Cruel. Sadistic. But you’re not responsible for his actions, and you certainly weren’t responsible for his victims.”
“When you’re neck-deep in an investigation, you’re responsible for everything.”
Carina’s heart broke at the strain in Nick’s voice—he had been living with the guilt for so long, he’d somehow become convinced that what happened to that poor girl was somehow his fault.
“Nick, the Butcher kidnapped Ashley. He tortured her, not you. It happened before he knocked you out. You can’t blame yourself.”
“I know in my head that I’m not responsible for what happened to her, just like you know that you’re not responsible for what happened to your nephew.”
She tensed, and Nick said, “Honey, you do know it’s not your fault.”
“Like you said, in my head I know, but in my heart…” She took a deep breath. “In my heart I live with the painful void where Justin used to be.”
He kissed her cheek. He’d never talked to anyone about what had happened when he was held captive, but Carina understood. Maybe she was the only one who really could.
“I used to have nightmares about Justin,” she said softly. “I’d wake up and start looking for him. He’d be on my mind for days, I’d replay that night over and over, trying to remember something I know I never heard or saw. I slept through his abduction and I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life.”
She rolled over and he let her hold on to him. Touch him. He responded by feathering light kisses over her shoulder, her arm.
“The nightmares are few and far between,” she told him. “Just sometimes…”
“Sometimes they come back with a vengeance.” He kissed her lips.
“Yeah.”
She settled into the crook of his arm and in minutes she was fast asleep.
Nick watched her sleeping for the second time and couldn’t imagine holding any other woman in his arms.
Soon he fell back into a deep sleep, this time devoid of bad memories.
He stared at Leah tied naked to his bed, the black bandanna glued to her mouth.
“I never wanted to hurt you, Leah.”
Sound came from her mouth, but no words.
Leah had left her boyfriend’s apartment at dawn. He was waiting. He was patient. And patience was rewarded.
He’d called out to her and she’d turned, smiled even though she’d been surprised to see him there.
“I’ve been looking for you. Maggie’s in the hospital. I’ll take you.”
She believed him. They always believed him because he looked honest and trustworthy.
When you’re a pathological liar, looking like an honest man truly helps.
He’d drugged the coffee he’d had waiting for her in the car. She didn’t like that it was cool, but she drank enough anyway. Yawning, she fell asleep and didn’t wake up until he’d already glued her mouth shut.
The thought of fucking her didn’t appeal to him like he’d thought it would, and he frowned, wondering again why he couldn’t regain the thrill he’d had with Becca, the excitement with Angie. What was wrong?
But when he thought about slowly squeezing the life out of Leah, his blood stirred and his penis twitched. Forget the other stuff, what was important was the finale. He would bathe her and wrap her in plastic wrap. He had latex gloves. Forget the garbage bag. This time he wanted to look her in the eyes, watch her life drain away.
His body responded to the fantasy. No playing around. It had been fun playing with Angie, trying different things to see what would happen. The games now held no more allure. Staring at Leah, all he wanted was to feel her die in his hands.
Controlling life and death was the ultimate discipline. And isn’t that what he did? He controlled his own universe, the people around him, with a focused restraint that few people had. No one knew, no one even suspected, what he’d done. It wasn’t about the sex, it wasn’t about women, it was about victory. The powerful surge he felt when he killed.
It was indescribable. Irreplaceable. Nothing came close to it. Watching the women trapped, squirming, wanting to scream but unable to say a word—all that was part of the delicious package. But the reward was their death.
Anticipation wasn’t watching them fight the pain. Anticipation was the hunt, choosing his next prey. Now that he’d picked Leah, the next thing was her death.
He left the room to start the water. When he returned, he accidentally bumped his computer desk. The mouse moved, and the screen came to life.
Curious, he glanced to see if he had any messages.
1 message.
He clicked on it.
Your MyJournal tracker has logged a message from Elizabeth_Rimes at 8:44 p.m. Click here to read.
Elizabeth. He’d been worried about her, then angry. She had no right to neglect him, to stop e-mailing him. They were friends. That’s what she’d told him.
He logged onto MyJournal, then read the message Elizabeth sent last night. That explained it; her mother was sick. And she needed his help again! Chat room 303. He hoped she was still there.
He almost logged onto the chat area right then.
But he had something else to do first.
“Let’s take a bath,” he said to Leah and untied the ropes.
He looked her in the eye.
“If you even think of running, I’ll hurt you so bad you’ll wish you could beg me to kill you.”
She shook her head rapidly back and forth.
“Good. You understand me.”
He carried her into the bathroom.
“Got him!”
Patrick shook Dillon awake, shoving a cup of coffee on the desk in front of him.
“He’s in the chat room?” Dillon yawned and stretched, the aroma of bad coffee assaulting his senses.
“Not yet, he just read our message.” Patrick stared at the screen as if to will the killer to respond.
“Come on, Scout. Take the bait!”
THIRTY-ONE
CARINA WOKE TO A TERRIFIC SMELL. Had to be a dream. Nothing that came from her kitchen smelled that good.
She grabbed Nick’s T-shirt, pulled it over her naked body, and followed her nose.
Nick stood in front of her stove in his boxers and nothing else. His muscular build took her breath away. He glanced over his shoulder when she entered the room. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
“You must be Merlin,” she said, wrapping her arms around him from behind. “Conjuring up food out of nothing.”
“I found the linguica in your freezer. Canned tomatoes and olives. I threw away the green cheese, but fortunately the eggs were fresh.”
She remembered buying a dozen eggs the last time she went shopping because one of the few things she could make in the kitchen was chocolate chip cookies. But she hadn’t had time since Angie’s murder to even think about baking.
She kissed his bare shoulder. “Great in bed and in the kitchen. I think I’ll have you stick around awhile.” Though she was being flirty and flip, her heart twisted as she realized Nick would be returning to Montana in short order. She admired that he’d stayed on the case even after his brother had been cleared. Nick’s dedication to the job and his desire to seek justice for the victims was as sexy as his physique. But he couldn’t take an indefinite amount of time off, could he? He had responsibilities, more than just to her or this investigation.
A deep sadness shot through Carina. She dropped her arms and poured herself a cup of hot coffee. Nick was a keeper. But she’d thought Jim was a keeper, too, and look what had happened there.
Nick was like Jim in that he didn’t like to talk about himself or his feelings. But when she prodded a bit, Nick opened up. She liked that he wasn’t afraid to share what disturbed him, that he was willing to let her see inside, even when things weren’t perfect.
She couldn’t remember a time when she’d really pushed Jim to talk. If she had, maybe things would have been different. But maybe she hadn’t cared as much as she’d thought she had.
And if things were different, Nick Thomas wouldn’t be half-naked in her kitchen cooking her breakfast.
“Sit,” he said, dishing up something that smelled far too good to come from her stove.
Her stomach growled as Nick served her a plate of scrambled eggs with linguica sausage, olives, tomatoes, and green chiles—hot sauce on the side.
“I’m in heaven,” she said, pouring hot sauce liberally over her food.
“Heaven was last night,” Nick said, sitting across from her and taking her hand. He kissed her fingers, taking a moment to plant a seductive kiss on the tip of her index finger. Hot chills raced down her spine.
“If you keep doing that I�
��m going to forget breakfast and take you back to bed,” she said.
He smiled, licked her finger, then dropped her hand when the phone rang.
“Hello,” she answered.
“It’s Patrick. He took our bait.”
“He’s in the chat room?”
“Not yet, but he read the message we sent from ‘Elizabeth.’ ”
“Great. I’m going to jump in the shower, then meet you at the station.”
“Shower, but wait for my call. As soon as he goes into chat it won’t take me long to get his ISP, and the DA came through with the warrant. I just have to fill in the provider.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
She filled Nick in on her conversation with Patrick.
“I haven’t showered yet.”
“Neither have I.”
“It would be a shame to waste water.”
“Yes, it would.”
“Eat.”
“Fast.”
They ate only half the food in front of them before Carina dropped her fork. “I can’t wait.” She grabbed Nick’s hand, pulled him out of his chair, and led him down the hall to the shower. She turned on the shower, then pulled off her shirt, leaving her completely naked. She smiled and pushed Nick against the door, seeking his mouth with hers.
“You taste good,” Nick mumbled as he nibbled her lip. His hands were on her bare ass, holding her tight against him.
When had she felt so right, so comfortable with a man so quickly? Never. It was as if she and Nick had been friends and lovers for years.
“We have to do this fast,” she said, her breath quickening.
Nick gathered her tight into his arms, kissed her, water running over them. “Fast now, slow tonight. Very slow.”
Speak No Evil Page 27
