by Cassie Miles
He caught a big gulp of air and allowed himself to sink to the bottom. The quiet enveloped him. This was a different world—a place he didn't like a whole lot. But Blair did. Suspended in water, she was incredible. She flipped in a somersault, and he watched, mesmerized until his lungs reminded him that he needed to breathe.
He pushed off the bottom and surfaced. Clinging to the side, he caught his breath.
"I love the water," she said. "It's the only place I feel completely free. No limp to hold me back."
"Not feeling any residual fear from the attack?"
"Nope. But I wouldn't be real happy if the lights went out." A tiny frown creased her forehead. "I think it was the darkness that terrified me."
Judging from her panicked reaction in his bedroom, David had to agree. "We'll always keep a light on," he promised.
He swam a bit more, lagging behind as she churned up the waves, lap after lap. Her obvious pleasure gave him a nice feeling of warmth. A little warmth. Not enough to stay in the water.
"I'm getting out," he told her. "You keep swimming as long as you want."
Outside the pool, he wrapped himself in the terry cloth robe, trying to ward off the chill. It felt as though the temperature was near freezing. But he couldn't go back to the room and warm up, leaving her alone and unguarded. He'd already made that mistake once.
Though Canon City was a three-hour drive from Denver, beyond the typical attack range of the Fisherman, he intended to keep a careful eye on Blair. Until this madman was caught, she was still in danger.
David strolled over to the bar in a thatched-roof tiki hut with potted palm trees that seemed out-of-place in the Colorado high plains. Showing his room key, he ordered scotch, straight up, then returned to the pool where Blair continued to swim.
Drink in hand, he sat in a lounge chair. The scotch warmed his throat, made him feel nearly human. His heartbeat returned to normal. Watching Blair, he slipped into reporter mode, mentally recording the atmosphere for this story. His story. And Blair's.
There were a lot of ironies here.
Her affinity for water made Blair a mermaid, like the victims of the Fisherman.
Also, her approach to the pool delineated the difference between them. Blair plunged in, embracing the experience. And he held back, clinging to bodily warmth the way he clung to the past.
Obviously, if he wanted his life to move forward, he needed to change, to take the plunge.
Her head popped up at the edge of the pool near him. "Would you grab my robe for me?"
He brought the full-length terry cloth robe to the aluminum ladder leading up from the deep end. When she climbed out, he wrapped the robe around her, leaning close enough to plant a light kiss at the juncture of her jaw and throat.
"That's nice," she murmured as she leaned back against him.
"It's just a start."
She tilted her head back to kiss his neck. "I think I know what's at the finish line."
Hand in hand they returned to their nice, warm room, the nest they would share for the next few days. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, twenty-four hours from when they were scheduled to meet with Eddy Adderly at the prison.
David glanced over at the Jacuzzi, then he looked at Blair. "More water?"
"Let's dry off for a while. Is there anything we ought to prepare before talking to Eddy Adderly?"
"Probably." Though he didn't really have investigating on his mind, there were a few necessary preparations. "We'll only have twenty-five minutes with him. So we need to know exactly what to talk about."
"I'll get changed," she said. "And we can start."
In the bathroom, she peeled off her bathing suit and jumped into the shower to rinse off the chlorine. Her swim had energized her; she felt as if she could take on the world.
When she returned to the front room, David had plugged in his laptop computer. The menu listed several different options. "Here's the part you need to study. The autopsies."
"What am I looking for?"
"Think of three questions, things that might determine if Eddy Adderly really committed the murders."
She nodded. "Like, what did you use to gag the victims?"
"Right."
David's robe hung open, offering a view of his bare chest. The black hair made neat whorls that narrowed down his torso. When she lifted her gaze to his face, it was obvious that he'd caught her peeking. His gaze was hot, inviting her to touch, to kiss and more. But not yet. She wanted the moment to be perfect.
A bit nonplussed, she said, "And what will you be asking him about?"
"Contacts," he said. "People he knew. People who knew him."
"Do you think he'll tell us the truth?"
"We can hope."
As David went to take his turn in the shower, she sat at the desk and clicked through the information stored in his computer. Apparently, he'd scanned the documents, because they were complete with photographs. Very useful for refreshing her memory of the autopsies.
When she came to mermaid number four, David's sister, she found no crime-scene photographs. Instead, there was a posed picture of a lovely blond woman with a perfect smile. Her eyes were blue like David's, and there was a resemblance in the jawline. She wore a diamond necklace that spelled the letter D for Danielle.
It was so impossibly cruel to think that this young woman, whose life was full of promise, had been murdered. Was she only a pawn in the Fisherman's game?
When she heard David coming out of the bathroom, she clicked forward to another file.
"How's it going?" he asked.
"I thought of a couple of questions." She turned around in the desk chair. "None of the autopsies showed indications of rape or torture, but the ligatures on the wrists and ankles indicated that they were kept alive, possibly tied up for several hours. What was he doing with them?"
"In his confession," David said, "Eddy said they were sedated and gagged."
"But he took their gags off long enough for them to have water and food. Like the Godiva chocolate. I think he was talking to them."
David reached over to the computer and clicked to another file. "This is a theory from an FBI profiler."
She scrolled down the page. In professional language, the profiler explored motivations. These murders weren't sex crimes. The precision of the perpetrator suggested compulsive behavior. His obsession was control and power. The victims were tied up and helpless, fulfilling a fantasy of dominance. But they weren't mistreated. The perpetrator took pleasure in telling his story, emphasizing how he had outsmarted everyone. He lacked empathy for his victims, saw them as a means to an end.
The profiler said they should look for a white male in his late twenties or thirties. A loner. Probably not successful. Someone with mother issues.
"Someone who hates women," she said. "Sounds like Kevin MacKay to me."
David nodded. "Don't forget Justin Hunter. A boring job. Definitely a loner."
"The other big forensic question," she said, "is how did he manage such clean kills? Until the last victim, we didn't find a hair or a shred of fabric. No skin under the fingernails."
"Eddy Adderly described the outfit he wore," David said. "Gloves and boots. A hooded slicker."
The image revolted her. "I have a ton of questions. Do you think he'll tell us the truth?"
"We'll find out tomorrow," he said. "By the way, the instructions for prison visits are very explicit for what clothing is acceptable. No dangly earrings or jewelry. And nothing slinky."
"So, the backless black satin negligee is out."
David's eyes opened wide. "Black satin?"
"I'm joking."
"I guess that was too much to hope for."
But she wouldn't disappoint him tonight. Blair had already decided that their lovemaking would be perfect. She had a plan.
After they reviewed the files, they hit the town for dinner. She bought several candles at a gift shop, and he bought a bottle of wine.
When they returned
to the room, it was seven o'clock. "Time for the Jacuzzi," she said.
David was more than ready. He had his shirt unbuttoned in two seconds.
"Wait," she said. "I want to set the mood. You take these two candles into the bedroom, light them and wait in there until I tell you to come out."
With David out of the room, she went to work, filling the Jacuzzi with steamy hot water and turning on the jets. A shiver of anticipation went through her. When David first came into her condo for lunch, she'd been unprepared for entertaining. Now she took her time to make the moment exactly right.
On the in-room sound system, she found a station that played slick, sultry jazz. Next she uncorked the wine and found two glasses. Unfortunately, they weren't stemmed wineglasses, but she didn't want to wait for room service to bring the proper crystal.
After placing six candles around the hot tub and lighting them, she turned off the lights. A little too dark, and the candles might go out. She turned on a lamp. Too bright. She didn't want to ruin the mood by having him see the scars on her leg clearly. She dragged the standing lamp behind the curtain, allowing just enough light to reflect on the wall.
Then she stepped back to survey her handiwork.
Very sexy! Though Blair would never be the perfect homemaker her mother had wanted her to be, she'd done a good job on this. The mood was pure seduction. Exactly what she wanted.
Slipping out of her clothes, she got into the Jacuzzi. "Okay, David. I'm ready."
With the water jets churning around her, she waited.
When David came into the room, he barely noticed her elaborate preparations. His gaze focused on her.
"Do you like it?" she asked.
"Better than Disneyland." He stepped out of his shoes and pulled off his socks. "I feel like I ought to do a striptease or something."
"Go right ahead."
Moving in time to the jazz beat, he flashed open his unbuttoned shirt on one side, then the other. Then he tore it off. He laced his hands behind his head and wiggled his hips.
She clapped. "More, more. Take it off."
He unfastened his belt, turned around and swung his butt from side to side. "How about it? Am I the next Gypsy Rose Lee?"
"Don't quit your day job."
He took off his trousers and underwear in one quick sweep. As she beheld his naked body, the laughter faded from her lips. He was incredible. Exactly the way she wanted a man to look. His body was firm and strong but not overly muscular.
With his striptease over, he walked to the whirlpool with a confident strut, and she knew that the silliness was over. Tonight he would make love to her in a way she'd never forget.
Chapter Thirteen
David lowered himself slowly into the hot, churning water. Bubbling jets massaged his lower back and spine. Yet he wasn't relaxed. The anticipation of making love to Blair was too intense.
The light from six candles flickered on her face, her throat, her shoulders. Below the water's surface, he saw the outline of her firm, high breasts.
She held a glass of Merlot toward him. "Sorry about the water glass," she said. "No stem. I didn't think to bring—"
"It's perfect," he said. Everything about this setting was exactly right.
He reached out and tipped his glass toward hers. She leaned toward him. Her arm curved gracefully as she clinked her glass against his.
The wine tasted sweet, and he licked his lips. This moment had been worth waiting for. He inhaled a deep breath, catching a hint of exotic fragrance from the scented candles. From the radio, he heard the low throb of a jazz clarinet. "A treat for the senses," he said. "Taste, smell, sound, sight. Every sense but one."
"Touch," she whispered.
She glided the short distance across the tub toward him. Her pale skin glowed in the candlelight. She was golden.
Her hand caressed his cheek, compelling him to look directly into her enchanting green eyes. Her fingernails trailed down his neck to his chest, feathering across his skin.
The heated tub suffused him with languorous passion. Slowly he pulled her body against his. She rose from the churning water and slid up to his neck and down again, soft and sultry as a warm ocean tide.
"You take my breath away," he said.
"That's okay," she said, returning to her side of the tub. "I'm a doctor. I know CPR."
He took another drink of the wine, set his glass on the ledge and went toward her. Kneeling in front of her, the water didn't quite reach his chest. "One more sip, Blair."
After another taste of her wine, her expression was half tease and half challenge. "Then what?"
He removed the glass from her hand. "Then I kiss you."
Their slick, wet bodies molded together as the jets eddied around them in a fantastic whirlpool. His mouth claimed hers. Every nerve in his body was on fire. Every muscle pulsed. This was a rush.
She pushed against him, and he fell back in the water, dragging her with him, still joined by a kiss. His head bobbed under, and he came up laughing as he released her. "I'd like swimming better if all the pools were this warm."
"They have hot springs at Glenwood."
"We'll go there." He wanted to take her everywhere, to share the world with her.
She puked up her glass again. "More wine?"
"Don't need it. You intoxicate me."
He kissed her again and again. They splashed around in the water until it began to cool. He stood in the tub. "It's time for bed."
"We'll get the sheets wet."
"Not if we dry off first."
As he stepped out of the tub and offered his hand to help her out, Blair hesitated. She loved the sensual buoyancy of the Jacuzzi. Underwater she was flawless. Once she emerged, her feet would be flat on the ground. Her scars would be visible.
Still she climbed out. The promise of going to bed with him was enough to encourage her. Quickly she grabbed a towel. "I'll dry you."
Lightly she patted the drops of water from his lean, muscular body. His shoulders seemed so very broad. The pattern of black hair on his chest fascinated her as did his smooth torso. The heat from the bath gave color to his skin, otherwise he would have reminded her of a perfect marble statue.
"My turn," he growled.
"No," she said, not wanting close inspection of her body.
"Come on, Blair. We don't want to get the sheets wet."
"I said no." Her tone was firm, almost harsh.
"What's wrong?"
Damn it! She didn't want to ruin this perfect mood with her insecurities. Trying to put him off, she said, "Nothing's wrong."
His direct gaze demanded the truth. "Tell me."
Her lips pinched together, but she had to speak, had to answer him. "I don't want you to look at my leg."
He gently stroked her damp hair back from her forehead. "I've already seen the scars. When Adam and I came to the pool in your condo and you got out of—"
"This is different." How could she explain the turmoil she felt inside? She gazed up at him with tortured eyes. "I want everything to be perfect."
"It is," he said.
"Not anymore, David." Why couldn't he understand? "I want to be the way I was before."
"So do I." He draped a towel over her shoulders. "I want to sleep without seeing my sister's face, to wake up without remembering how she died. But it's not going to happen. We are who we are. With all our flaws. With all our past."
He dabbed the moisture from her face and lifted the towel to rub her damp hair. "I wouldn't change a thing about you, Blair. Not one damn thing."
"But I would," she said.
He grabbed another towel and lightly dried her breasts, ending his gentle massage with a tiny kiss on each nipple that sent a shiver through her body.
When he smiled at her, she stared. Something was different in his expression. His eyes? The lift of his chin? No, it was the most obvious feature. His smile.
This wasn't one of his tight half grins. He smiled fully without holding back. It was a smile
of truth, and she knew she could trust him with her body, with her heart, with her very soul.
His hands circled her waist. "Hold still so I can finish drying you off."
He rubbed her tummy and leaned down to kiss her belly button. His lips tickled, and she wriggled.
"Nice," he said. "I like that."
"No more tickling."
Towel in hand, he cupped her buttocks and pressed her against his thick, hard arousal. Renewed excitement whirled through her.
He crouched before her. She looked down at his shining black hair as he stroked both of her legs and caressed her feet. Before rising, he rested his forehead against the thigh of her scarred leg and kissed her knee.
Then he stood before her. His gaze was calm. His smile held true. And she could see that he had not been disgusted. He accepted her. Exactly the way she was.
"Now," he said. "I want you in my bed."
"Gladly."
The separate bedroom was softly lit by two more candles. David threw back the covers and eased her down onto the cool white sheets. As she stretched out, Blair experienced a freedom she hadn't felt in years. Acceptance seemed like such a simple thing to do; she couldn't imagine why she'd resisted.
In bed, the pace of his lovemaking accelerated. His touch bespoke an urgency. And she responded.
Their passion exploded in frantic caresses and hungry kisses. Too many to count. More sensations than there were stars in the velvet night sky.
When he finally entered her with a hard thrust, she shattered into a million sparkling pieces. Fulfilled. Happy. Excited and yet at peace.
At two o'clock in the afternoon following the best night of her life, Blair couldn't believe she was about to enter a maximum security prison to visit a serial killer. Talk about a return to harsh reality!
She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was the same face she saw every other morning of her life, but today she looked different. A little softer, maybe younger. She sighed. If it was possible to become a reborn virgin after five years of no sex, she'd certainly lost that status last night. Three times. Then again this morning.
"Blair!" David tapped on the bathroom door. "We need to get moving."
