Because it didn’t end there.
His hands on her shoulders, Nick kissed her again. Harder this time. Longer. Deeper.
Her head spinning, Charley felt as if she was melting right there on her doorstep. She had just gotten the key into the lock. Now she was trying to open the door without the benefit of visual aids. Her eyes were shut, her body otherwise occupied, bordering on liquefying. After what seemed like endless attempts, she finally managed to turn the doorknob and open the door.
Still sealed in a kiss that continued, that drew them closer to each other and into a swirling abyss of heat and promises, they moved inside. Nick removed the key with a snap of his wrist, then pushed the door closed behind them.
They were in her apartment, in the dark.
The moment the door shut, they heard it. A low moaning noise. Nick drew back from her, his body alert, anticipating danger even if it had no form yet.
He heard Charley laugh softly. “Dakota, go to your room.”
“Dakota?”
“My dog, remember?” Charley laughed even as the animal trotted obediently into the next room. “Treat me right or she’ll rip your heart out, pizza or no pizza,” she said, referring to the last time he’d been by.
He drew her back into his arms, unable to think of anything but her. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He kissed her again. A long, openmouthed kiss that inflamed her.
Charley felt something snap open inside of her. Desire, passion, need all danced around a blazing campfire, demanding attention. Demanding a piece of her. Sanity vanished. Maybe it was her brother’s wedding, maybe seeing him so happy and herself alone had been the final straw. She didn’t know. But now was not the time to analyze.
Now was the time to seize the moment.
She didn’t hang back.
With eager hands Charley began to undo his jacket, pushing it from his shoulders. It hadn’t even fallen on the floor before she started on his shirt, pulling buttons free. She could feel the blood pounding in her veins, hear it rushing in her ears as she yanked the shirt from his body. All the while, she could feel Nick’s strong hands roaming over her, molding her to him. Making her body sing.
He slid the zipper down her spine, separating the material. Swiftly taking away one barrier after another until all that was left was the slinky garter belt and the stockings they held in place. The garter belt she’d expressly bought for the wedding because she’d wanted to feel like someone other than a federal agent. She wanted to feel like a woman.
Tidal waves of emotions washed over him, causing his head to spin. If it weren’t spinning so badly out of control, he might have somehow stopped himself. The edict about not mixing business with pleasure had always been his first commandment. But he no longer wanted to adhere to it.
Not if it meant backing away.
If someone had told him only a short while ago, he would have never believed them, never believed that he could have wanted anyone as much as he wanted this woman. But he did. Wanted her with a fierceness that rattled his teeth, jarred his foundations. He refused to try to understand why. All he wanted to do was act on his desire. He feasted on the sight of her, the taste of her.
He buried his fingers in her hair, holding her to him as he kissed her mouth over and over again, feeling insatiable and wondering if he had lost his mind.
She made him crazy.
Damn, but she was going to regret this in the morning, Charley thought. Maybe even in a few hours, but right now, this was all she wanted. To make love. To feel love, even if it was only the most superficial kind.
She needed to feel alive.
She’d been happy for David, but at the same time, she’d felt so alone. David had his wife now. And she had case files.
And a partner who made her fantasies take flight, a voice whispered in her head, along with her pulse.
Charley gasped as she tried to draw in more air. Her lungs felt the way they had when she’d run that twenty-six-mile marathon. She tingled as she twisted against Nick’s hands while they roamed over her body. He touched her as if he knew her body better than she did. His fingers gently strummed along her skin, made her whole body hum.
The places he touched, the way he touched, he expertly brought her from one climax to another, exhausting her even as he filled her with an exhilaration she’d never experienced before.
And his lips—his lips were magnificent. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her throat, skimming down lower to the tender skin between her breasts, along her belly. Between her thighs.
Making the ache for him grow.
Determined to give as good as she received, Charley fought her way up from the haze closing in around her brain, the fire consuming her body, and brought her mouth down on his. Ran her long, graceful fingers along his hard body. Tantalizing him the way he had tantalized her. There was no resistance, no reluctance, no shyness. No eleventh-hour thunderbolt of thought to make her stop. There was only a crying need. To touch and be touched. To join with him.
Damp, her skin close to sizzling, Charley arched her body as he entered her. Arched and savored and absorbed. She wrapped her legs around his torso, a silent plea for him to remain where he was. She sealed herself to him. And felt wild bursts of energy inside as he moved with more and more urgency and force.
She matched him, movement for movement, as they raced up to the final plateau.
It took everything she had not to scream when he finally brought her to where she so desperately had wanted to go. She swallowed the sound, not wanting to share the moment with either the neighbors or Dakota. The former might not come to what they believed was her aid, but the latter most definitely would.
HE’D FOLLOWED THEM.
Followed her. Shedding the white jacket he’d stolen, identifying him as one of the hotel’s employees, and the wig he’d donned, throwing both into the Dumpster, he stood now across the way from her apartment, bathed in shadows.
Cursing her.
There was no light coming from any of the windows. He didn’t need light. Didn’t need to see. He knew what she was doing.
She was giving herself to him, to that man she was always with. The man who was responsible for the death of the mother of his child. She was using her body as an instrument of temptation. Of evil. Used it just the way that woman had used hers to tempt his father.
The way the others had to tempt and lead faithful husbands astray.
He clenched his hands at his sides, rage growing within him as he remembered. Remembered how that horrible woman had used her wiles to steal his father’s affections. Not from his mother, but from him.
His breathing grew more pronounced.
From him. She’d stolen his father from him. He would have done anything for his father. Anything, even killed for him. But his father had turned his back on him. Because of her. He’d picked that whore over him.
And they had both paid.
Just the way that she was going to pay. For doing the wrong thing. For making the wrong choice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THE EUPHORIA LEFT much too quickly, ushering in uncertainty and doubt in its wake.
Sitting up on the floor, feeling incredibly naked and exposed, Charley reached over and dragged off the fleece throw she kept draped over one end of the sofa. She avoided looking in Nick’s direction as she tucked the material around herself. Only when she was covered did she turn her head toward him. He looked mildly amused. And very naked.
The man was built like a rock. She felt her pulse accelerate again.
It took her a second to find her voice. “This was a mistake.”
“Why?” Humor curved his mouth, shone in his eyes. “Did I do it wrong?”
Dragging a hand through her hair, she blew out a breath. Looking for words that wouldn’t come. Looking for a way to make this clear to herself as well as him. She’d just had the greatest sexual experience of her life, but everything about it spelled disaster.
She cast an accusing glance at him.
He could be making this easier on her. “You know what I mean.”
“No.” Very lightly, he skimmed his fingertips along Charley’s exposed spine and then smiled as she shivered. Just touching her made him want to do it all over again. “Enlighten me.”
She looked at him, feeling helpless. Feeling drawn. And very, very confused. Her mind was going one way, her body definitely another. “We work together.”
His eyes crinkled as the smile grew into a grin. “So that’s where I know you from.”
She would have thrown up her hands if it wouldn’t have caused the light blue throw to sink to her nether regions, leaving the rest of her open to the viewing public. “I’m being serious, Brannigan.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.” Nick took her hand, lacing his fingers through it. He made no effort to draw her into his arms the way he wanted to. But every ounce of his being wanted her back for another round. “Maybe you’re being too serious. Not everything is life and death, Charley. Some things are just meant to be enjoyed.” His eyes held hers. “To be.”
Charley took a breath, trying to steel herself off from him, from the drawing power of his eyes. Of his being. She discovered that she might as well have been tossing an aluminum can in front of an oncoming tank to act as a roadblock.
This was one battle she was losing quickly. “Everything has consequences.”
Releasing her hand, Nick wove his fingers through her hair. “No need to draw everything to a quick, logical conclusion.” He smiled into her eyes, signaling her undoing. “I never took you for a pragmatist.”
Each word felt as if it weighed at least ten pounds on her tongue. It took effort to push them out. “I never took you for a romantic.”
“See?” He brought his mouth very close to hers. So close that all she had to do was move a fraction of an inch and it would be hers. Excitement stood on the shoulders of anticipation. Breathing became a tricky business. “We’ve learned something about each other already.” He ran a thumb ever so slowly along her collar bone. Melting her. “Not to mention that I’ve discovered you’ve got skin that tastes like vanilla.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “I do not.”
His eyes told her he knew differently. The words skimmed along her skin. He tugged gently on the fleece throw and suddenly, she was exposed.
“Trust me, I’m in a position to know.” As he brought his mouth down on hers, a cell phone started ringing. Releasing her, Nick groaned. As did she. Silently. “Yours or mine?”
The second he asked, a second cell phone rang.
She sighed in response. “Both.”
They knew what that meant. Another body had been discovered. The murders were occurring frequently now. For whatever reason, their killer was on an escalated schedule.
Nick looked around for his phone. It was still in the pocket of his trousers. He pulled it over toward him by one leg.
“At least they had the decency to wait until after the wedding,” he murmured, fishing his cell phone out.
Charley was silently grateful for that as she retrieved her phone from her clutch purse.
“Dow.”
“Brannigan.”
Their voices mingled. Their messages didn’t. Charley’s call came from the assistant director, Nick’s from Bill Chan. The message was the same in both cases. Another body had been found.
LESS THAN HALF AN HOUR LATER, they were on the scene, a single-story building in a development located in Costa Mesa. Bill and Sam were there ahead of them. Sam had on sweats, Bill jeans and a baggy sweater. Both men had obviously been dragged out of bed, grabbing the first thing they could find.
Without thinking, Charley had put on the dress she’d worn to the wedding. Nick had no choice in what he wore. As they came in, Sam and Bill both stopped what they were doing and gave low, appreciative whistles.
“Nobody told me this was formal,” Sam commented to Bill. “They tell you it was formal?”
“Nope, not me.” Bill grinned for the first time since he’d been summoned. “I feel underdressed.”
“Can it, you two. I invited Brannigan to my brother’s wedding,” she informed them tersely. She saw the two men exchange looks and ignored them. “What have we got?”
The playful mood vanished and they became all business as information was quickly and economically rattled off. Sam was the one who filled her in, lowering his voice so that it wouldn’t carry to the devastated-looking man on the side of the room.
“The victim was found by her estranged husband.” Sam indicated the man the A.D. was questioning. “So far, the guy’s too choked up to give us a very clear statement. He came in half an hour ago to get some of his things, he said, and found her like this.”
Bill joined them. “Marcus Froman,” he said, giving them the man’s name. “He keeps breaking down, saying he should have been here sooner, the way he’d planned.”
Charley eyed the man under discussion. She watched as he spoke to the assistant director, gesturing wildly. He seemed clearly beside himself.
Perhaps a little too much so, she judged.
At her elbow, Sam went on filling them in. She listened to him but continued observing the victim’s husband. And chewing her lower lip.
Finished, Sam flipped closed the notepad he’d been reading from.
“Anyone offer to take Mr. Froman to the hospital to have him checked out for shock?” Charley asked.
“I did,” Bill volunteered, “but he said no, he was okay. He said he could call someone to come get him, but that he wanted to stay here as long as his wife’s body remained.”
Charley nodded to herself. “He did, huh?”
“I’m beginning to know that look,” Nick told her, moving in closer as the assistant director had someone usher the victim’s husband to another room.
Momentarily lost in thought, in evaluation, Charley roused herself at the sound of Nick’s voice. She blinked as she eyed him. “What look?”
Nick glanced over her head toward Sam and Bill. Both men nodded in silent agreement before he continued. “The look that says you think something’s off.”
She did. Big-time. “Don’t you?” she asked.
He knew she wasn’t referring to what had happened between them earlier. He could tell by her tone she expected him to come to the same conclusion she had.
Nick thought for a moment, staring at the victim, who was lying on the living-room rug, a look of surprise and disbelief frozen on her face. The crime-scene unit was still taking photographs. Flashes of light went off every few seconds as two people circled the body, then the room, preserving the scene. It was almost hypnotic to watch.
Nick moved closer to the body. “The killer didn’t pose her.”
Charley nodded. “And she looks surprised. All the other victims looked as if they’d just fallen asleep. Her eyes are wide-open. And,” she added with feeling, “she’s also the first victim who wasn’t single.”
“Husband said they were estranged,” Sam interjected. “On the verge of getting a divorce.”
“He said she was moving on with her life,” Bill added. “They both were.”
Charley looked from one man to another. They all knew better. “We only have his word for it.”
Nick was the first to voice what they were all thinking. “You think he killed her?”
That would have been her first guess, Charley thought. “Best way I can think of to avoid losing half of everything because of the community property law. And with a serial killer loose…”
Bill pointed toward the body as the technicians with the camera finally withdrew. “She has a cross carved into her forehead.”
Squatting down, Charley feathered her gloved fingers through the woman’s bangs, pushing them back. “Right. Look at it.”
Nick leaned over the body and saw what she was referring to. “It’s carved in deeply.”
“Exactly.” Charley rose to her feet. “Now unless our killer has suddenly become heavy-handed, I’d say that somehow that
bit about the cross leaked out and what we’ve got here is a copycat killing.”
“You want me to bring the grieving husband in for further questioning?” Sam offered.
Charley shook her head. If this was a copycat killing, it didn’t belong with their case file. “Call the local police department. Have someone from there do the honors.”
Bill looked back at the body. “What do we do in the meantime?”
She paused. “Cover our bases.” She looked at Sam, then Bill, giving them each an immediate assignment. “Find out if Mrs. Froman was having an affair with a married man and if she’s missing a cross.”
“You got it,” Sam told her.
“Got time for me to bounce something off you?” Nick asked as the other two men left the room.
She did her best not to look at him as if they’d just spent the past few hours making love. The last thing she needed was gossip. “Sure, shoot.”
“Okay, we know that our killer focuses on women who are having affairs with married men.” Nick paused, then added, “Their bosses. Or at least one of them.”
“Not Cris.” But the moment she said it, Charley remembered something. “That professor was her mentor.” The sound of the words as she uttered them almost surprised her. “She was conducting some kind of a study for him.”
“In other words, her boss,” Nick pointed out. “Did you ever stop to think that our serial killer might be a woman?”
Behind her, the M.E. was placing the late Mrs. Froman into a black body bag. Charley tried not to listen as the zipper was being drawn. “What?”
“Humor me for a moment,” Nick told her. “Maybe the killer is a wife herself. Or was until her husband cheated on her with someone he was working with. Maybe something snapped and she’s taking her revenge out on women similar to the one who stole her husband from her.”
It had possibilities, but she wasn’t completely buying this. “Where does the cross come in?”
Nick shrugged, then as he talked, he began to evolve more of his theory. “She thinks that as Christian women, they should know better?” It was more of a question than an answer.
Sundays Are for Murder Page 21
