by Debra Webb
Whether the sugar rush had her thinking again or just gave her the courage to do so, she waded into sensitive territory. “Do you think they shared the videos on the internet? Will the FBI have to be involved?”
“The guy from the BPD’s lab is the top in his field. He’ll be able to determine how far the sharing went, if at all,” Sean explained. “If Adler and Thrasher were sharing their peep shows with friends via the Net, the FBI will more than likely be involved.”
She shuddered. “I feel so exposed.”
He understood. It was one thing for her to report the news on camera, but another one entirely for her private moments bathing and dressing to be videoed without her knowledge or consent. He knew a little something about feeling exposed.
“We’ll know more about what we’re looking at tomorrow,” he promised.
“I hope they find the other woman alive.” She nibbled at another bite of her dessert. “The timing would be right, you know, for another kidnapping. Pettie was in February, McCorkle in June. October makes four months. Isn’t that the way serial killers work?”
“Most have a pattern.” He nodded. “If Thrasher stuck to the pattern he and Adler followed and abducted a fourth victim, he did so in the past twenty-four hours. Since the other vics were held for several days before they were murdered, it makes sense that she would still be alive. Assuming, of course, the death of his partner hasn’t sent him off in a different direction.”
Amber sat her coffee down and stared into the cup for a moment as if searching for the right words. “Why do you suppose I was skipped? It was obvious they’d been watching me longer.”
“If Thrasher murdered Adler, we have to assume the two had a falling-out. I imagine the event put Thrasher into a tailspin. Before he could regain his bearings the body was discovered and you were brought in for questioning. I’ve been with you since. My guess is he moved on to the next name on the list.”
Amber leaned her head in her hand and rubbed her temple with her fingers. “I guess I’m the lucky one.”
Sean had learned enough from Jess to know luck had nothing to do with it. Something went down between Thrasher and Adler that disrupted the timeline of the two killers. In Sean’s opinion it was somehow related to Amber.
He wished the feeling that it was far from over would stop gnawing at him.
Oxmoor Glen Drive, 9:15 p.m.
SEAN TOSSED THE tennis ball across the room, and the big dog bounced after it. When he tried to take the ball back a tug-of-war ensued. Amber moistened her lips and bit back a grin. She found it far too endearing that her bodyguard played with his dog as if it were a child. He obviously loved the animal. She’d never had time for pets. Come to think of it, she rarely found time for anything other than work. Why was it the idea suddenly felt so wrong?
When Rebel had tired of playing, he curled up on the fluffy round bed in the corner. Sean gestured to the sofa. “Feel free to turn on the television. I should make sure the guest room is presentable.”
“I slept in it for a couple of hours this morning,” she reminded him. “I didn’t have any complaints. Besides, why would I turn on the television and listen to all the speculation and theories connecting me to Adler’s murder?”
“Good point.” He backed into the hallway and then disappeared.
Amber released a long, weary breath and surveyed Sean’s place. She hadn’t really taken in many of the details in the wee hours of this morning. The kitchen, dining and living space were one fairly large room. The place was nice with most modern amenities. A gas fireplace in the living room, stainless steel appliances in the kitchen and nice high ceilings. The decor was American bachelor simple: big, comfy sofa, huge television hanging over the fireplace and a coffee table littered with sports magazines and remotes.
On the bar that separated the kitchen from the rest of the space where he’d tossed his keys, there was a framed photograph of a young Sean, his siblings and their parents. His hair was considerably longer. She estimated the shot had been taken before he left for the West Coast. A built-in bookcase next to the fireplace held several books by one of her favorite mystery authors. She reached for last year’s release and smiled. So they had something besides the lack of a personal life in common after all.
“Have you picked up his latest?”
Amber closed the book and tucked it back onto the shelf. “I haven’t, but I plan to. You?”
“It’s on my bedside table. You’re welcome to it.”
Was he inviting her to his bed or to borrow his book? Her nerves jangled foolishly. She was nervous. The realization startled her. Hoping to keep that embarrassing revelation to herself, she pointed at him and gave a knowing nod. “You saw the stack on my bedside table, didn’t you?”
He shrugged. “I might have noticed.” He glanced at the clock in the cable box. “Would you like a beer?” Another of those completely male shrugs lifted his shoulders. “Sorry. I’ve been meaning to pick up a good bottle of wine for company. I’m pretty sure I have popcorn and a stash of peanuts.”
Was it her imagination or was he feeling as nervous as she was? “Nothing for me, thank you.”
For several seconds they stood there staring at each other.
She should say something. “I think I might shower and go to bed early.” She propped her lips into a broad smile. “Do a little reading maybe—if you don’t mind me borrowing that book.”
“Sure thing.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll get it for you.”
Scrubbing her unexpectedly sweaty palms against her hips, she followed him down the short hall. Butterflies had taken flight in her belly. She stopped at the door rather than follow him into his bedroom. Like the main living space, the decorating was minimal. A big bed, bedside table and a chest of drawers. She was surprised not to see another massive television. What she did see was a stack of books that rivaled her own.
He grabbed a pair of boxers and a lone shoe from the floor. “You need anything else to sleep in?”
She thought of the faded crimson tee that sported the Roll Tide logo she’d slept in that morning. “The T-shirt works.”
“There’re clean towels in the bathroom closet.” He winced. “Did your sister bring bodywash? You might not like my soap. I know you used it this morning, but that was kind of an emergency.”
“It’s fine.” It smelled like him, but she’d been too sick to care.
He tossed the shoe and boxers into his closet and then grabbed the hardcover from the bedside table. He crossed the room, coming toward her, and her heart beat considerably faster. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt closed.
He passed the book to her. “If you get past the sixth chapter, don’t tell me if he gets the girl.”
Her fingers brushed his and need ignited deep inside her. “Doesn’t he always get the girl?”
Sean was so close now the scent of his skin filled her senses. She wanted to reach out and run her hands over those broad shoulders. She wanted to trace every ridge and valley of the lean torso beneath that khaki shirt. She wanted to lose herself in the sensations and pretend her world wasn’t a total mess.
He leaned his face toward hers. “I would really like to kiss you right now, but that’s a bad idea.”
She lifted her face, leaving no more than a couple of inches between their lips. “I was thinking the same thing.”
He moistened his lips, and her breath caught.
“What do you want to do about it?”
Amber reached up slowly and fisted her fingers in his shirt. “I say we get it over with so we can move past it.” She wet her lips. “My grandmother always said to go for whatever you wanted, otherwise you’d just go on wanting it.”
“Smart lady.”
His lips lowered to hers. The first contact had pure pleasure erupting inside her. His mouth was
hot, his lips firm, but his kiss was slow and restrained. His fingers landed on her cheeks, tracing the lines of her face as his lips tasted and teased hers. She pulled at his shirt, drawing that amazing body nearer.
By the time he drew his lips from hers, her thighs were trembling and every part of her was on fire. He pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, “That was good.”
“Uh-huh.” She licked her lips, shivering at the taste of him.
“Should we do it again just to make sure we get it out of our systems?”
Amber closed her eyes and inhaled a slow, deep breath. She wanted to say yes so badly. “I think we should maybe wait until tomorrow and revisit the idea then.” Otherwise she was going to drag him into that big, unmade bed.
“Agreed.”
He drew away first and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans as if he didn’t trust himself.
Amber’s entire being protested the loss of contact. “Well, good night.”
He managed a stiff nod. “’Night.”
Amber didn’t breathe again until she was in the guest room with the door closed. She tossed the book onto the bed and dragged in a couple more deep breaths to calm her galloping pulse. When she felt in control again, she grabbed the tee and some clean underwear. She opened the door and peeked into the hall. Clear. She moved to the bathroom. He’d gone back to the living room and turned on the television. Once inside the bathroom, she closed the door and locked it. A glance in the mirror made her wince. She looked frightful. Her skin was even paler than usual. Dark circles had formed under her eyes.
With a groan, she turned on the water in the shower and undressed. How in the world had she allowed that to happen? What had she been thinking? Shaking her head, she stepped into the shower, and the hot water instantly banished all other thought.
For a while she stood there and allowed the water to work its magic on her tight muscles. It felt so good. She’d been so tense all day. Slowly, she reached for the soap and lathered it up. The clean, fresh scent of Sean filled the tiled space. She shivered despite the hot water.
A glutton for punishment, she closed her eyes and rubbed the soap over her skin. When she moved it over her breasts, her breath caught and she let the memory of his kiss consume her. By the time she’d lathered her skin, her body felt weak with want. In her mind his hands replaced hers, sliding the soap over her skin, his fingers tempting her nipples and trailing down her ribs. She trembled.
The soap slipped from her fingers and hit the floor. Amber jerked out of the fantasy. This was a perfect example of how badly the past few days had shaken her. She was fantasizing about a stranger. Sure they had spent the last forty-eight or so hours together, but they still didn’t know each other.
Hurrying through the rest of her shower, she rinsed her body with cool water. Even after she’d toweled off, she was still burning up. She dragged on the tee and her underwear and reached for the door. Maybe she should give herself a few more minutes before chancing an encounter with Sean.
After taking a deep breath, she prowled for a hair dryer and set to the task. She massaged her scalp with one hand while directing the hot air with the other. Her fingers slowed as she studied her reflection. What did Sean Douglas see when he looked at her? She was attractive enough, she supposed. Braces had taken care of her teeth back in middle school. She hadn’t suffered with acne like a lot of her friends, but she’d been teased endlessly about her freckles.
She didn’t mind the freckles really. The makeup when she was on the air basically covered them up, but she didn’t bother trying to hide them when she wasn’t on the job. She hung her towel over the shower door while the dryer cooled off, and then she searched the cabinet under the sink for a spare toothbrush. She’d left hers in the guest room.
A knock at the door made her jump. She bumped her head on the counter.
“I noticed your toothbrush on the bedside table,” Sean announced, his deep voice filtering through the door and wrapping around her. “You want it?”
Man alive did she want it, only it wasn’t the toothbrush. Amber rubbed at her head. She cracked the door open the tiniest bit and reached out. “Thanks.”
He placed the toothbrush in her waiting hand. “Welcome.”
When he walked away she closed the door and leaned against it for a long moment. Get a grip, Amber. Adrenaline is messing with your head.
Five minutes later, teeth brushed, dryer put away and her clothes folded in her arms, she exited the bathroom and headed straight for the guest room. “See you in the morning,” she called without a backward glance.
His deep voice followed her into the room. “Count on it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Fourth Avenue North,
Thursday, October 20, 10:20 a.m.
The story was out.
For six years Amber had chased the story. She had gone to great lengths to uncover details and insights no one else could find.
Now she was the story.
She and Sean had been summoned to the B&C office right after breakfast. On some level she was glad for the escape. All night the memory of that kiss had haunted her. Meeting his gaze this morning had been difficult. Primarily because she’d wanted to resume right where they’d left off. So, so not smart.
On the way here, she’d focused on the case, hoping the summons meant there was good news, but judging by the look on Jess Burnett’s face that was not the case. Buddy Corlew had called first thing this morning to let them know the phone records had been a bust. There were plenty of calls between Adler and his customers, but none between him and Thrasher except those to the floral shop.
Amber braced for more bad news.
Jess closed the folder on her desk and looked first at Amber, then at Sean. “Thrasher is still at large. His car was found abandoned near the Nineteenth Street bus station. It’s possible he fled the city, but there’s always the chance he could be in hiding close by.”
It wasn’t necessary to be an FBI profiler to understand why Thrasher would choose not to run. “He may want to finish what he and Adler started,” Amber proposed.
Jess nodded. “Lieutenant Harper and I believe it would be best if you continued to keep a low profile for a few more days. We want to be sure you stay safe.”
“Wow.” Amber slumped in her chair. “This keeps growing more complicated.” So many times she had interviewed victims and expressed her sympathy. Now she understood the look in their eyes after she offered the usual words of commiseration. A person couldn’t possibly understand how this felt...unless he or she was the target. “So you believe I’m still in danger.”
“I do. I’ve had time to review all the available information on Thrasher and Adler,” Jess began. “Thrasher has spent his adult life dealing in flowers. He never married. No long-term relationships. His father died when he was ten and his mother passed away two years ago, so there’s no family. No record of mental illness or counseling of any sort. No health issues on record. According to the interviews conducted by the lieutenant’s team, his employees like him.”
“Is that typical in a killer?” Sean asked.
The sound of his voice wrapped around Amber and made breathing difficult. She wasn’t at all sure she could handle another night in the same house with him. She’d gone to sleep and awakened dreaming of making love with him. His voice, the way he moved, it all got under her skin somehow.
“Many killers are loners,” Jess explained. “Most psychopaths are quite charming. Not all are murderers. In fact, I’m not convinced Thrasher is a killer. Adler may have been the dominant one, but I haven’t found evidence suggesting as much. According to the interviews conducted by the BPD, Adler’s parents are very religious. They raised their son in a strict environment. Those who knew him called him a loner, shy, quiet. Nothing was found in either man’s home that tells us the
rest of what we need to know.” Jess clasped her hands atop the folder. “I’m not willing to take the risk there’s another layer to one or both that I’m not seeing yet. Until we know more, we need to make sure you stay safe.”
Sean glanced at Amber. “I guess that means you’re stuck with me for a little while longer.”
She produced a smile. “I guess so.”
“If Thrasher and Adler were obsessed with you,” Jess said, “he won’t be able to stay away. He’ll need to see you. To be close.”
Her words sent goose bumps spilling over Amber’s skin. “I understand. The station isn’t expecting me back to work for a few days.” She swallowed, wishing her mouth hadn’t gone so dry. “I should stay home and not answer the door?”
A rap on the door drew Jess’s attention there. Amber glanced over her shoulder to see the receptionist poke her head into the office.
“There are at least a dozen reporters lining the street out front. When Ms. Roberts is ready to leave I would suggest the alley exit.”
Any hope of getting through this without mounting attention in the media curled up and died in the pit of Amber’s stomach.
“Thank you, Rebecca.” Jess shifted her attention to Amber. “The more your face is in the news, the more Thrasher will be incited to make a move—if he’s watching, as I suspect he is. If he’s obsessed with you, he can’t help himself.”
“How difficult do you believe it’ll be for the police to find him?” Amber pressed.
“His resources are limited, which helps, but there’s no guarantee he’ll be found.”
She could be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life. This time the inability to draw in a deep breath had nothing to do with the man next to her. Something Jess had said suddenly elbowed its way to the front of her worries. “You said you’re not convinced Thrasher is a killer and that there’s no absolute evidence Adler is. If they aren’t killers, then who murdered those women?”
