by Mary Burton
Malcolm traced the bottom edge of her lips. “Getting closer to first?”
She closed her eyes, wishing she didn’t want him so much. “This probably isn’t a good idea.”
“Nope.” The word was as rough as sandpaper. “Probably one of the dumbest ideas I’ve ever had.”
She cleared her throat. “What about Olivia?”
“We broke up, remember?”
“I thought one of you would change your mind.”
“No.”
He closed the gap between them and, cupping her face, kissed her softly on the lips. He tasted vaguely of salt and coffee. The feel of his lips … soft … willing … inviting … overrode all things rational.
She leaned into the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hard chest pressed against her as his arms banded around her and pulled her close. He deepened the kiss.
The senses in her body exploded, and for a moment time simply stopped. She was aware only of him and the energy pulsing between them.
“I want you,” he whispered.
“Me too.”
Malcolm took her by the hand and guided her over to the large bed. He shut off the overhead light.
Using only the moonlight trailing in through the window to guide him, he unbuttoned her blouse, lingering when he reached the pearl buttons between her breasts. He leaned forward and kissed her right breast. He kissed her left breast. Her nipples hardened.
She unfastened the remaining buttons, shrugged off the blouse, and let it fall to the floor. Kier smiled, removed his own shirt, and smoothed his hands over her shoulders. The calluses made her soft skin tingle. He reached for the bra snap between her breasts. He flicked the clasp open with practiced ease. He cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples to hard peaks before he pushed her back against the mattress. The down comforter sagged under their weight as he climbed on top of her.
She stared up at him, realizing she’d never wanted a man as much as she wanted him.
Malcolm pushed up her skirt and smoothed his hand over her flat belly. She reached for the zipper of his pants, anxious now to feel him inside of her.
Tomorrow they’d likely look at each other and wonder why this had happened, but right now it was all that she wanted. She cupped his erection, savoring the silky feel.
He lowered and kissed her. Her skirt slid up her hips and hugged her waist. She wriggled out of her panties. He shed his pants. The instant they were free of their clothes, he pushed inside of her.
Angie sucked in a breath, savoring the invasion. Raising her hips, she deepened his entry. Soon he began to move inside her quickly and urgently, stoking the heat between them.
She’d never been more aware of her body. She wanted to hold off on her release and savor every sensation, but her body wouldn’t listen. She’d never wanted as much as she did now.
The tempo built, and she arched back and gave in to the storm. He moved faster and faster, catching up to her so that they came together.
Connor parked his car across the street from the burger house. It was boarded up, and CLOSED signs plastered the front window. He’d gotten the text from Dixon in the early hours of the day. But the doctor had instructed him to arrive at eleven. So he’d waited, writing his story and chomping at the bit. His latest article was mostly conjecture, but if Dixon could prove a connection between Angie and the dead women, then he would have something he could really run with.
A flicker of movement in the rearview mirror had him reaching for his tape recorder. “Showtime,” he muttered.
He got out of the car, wincing as the skin on his belly pinched. The skin always ached more when it was cold. He pressed his hand to his belly, wondering if he’d ever be whole again.
The pain distracted him for just a split second, but that was all it took. He raised his gaze in time to see a man lunge at him with a syringe. The needle plunged into the side of his neck. Hot liquid burned his veins, and within seconds he dropped to his knees. He glanced up and processed what he saw.
“Fucking figures.” He dropped to the ground out cold.
By the time fire engines reached the burger house and turned their hoses onto the structure it was so deeply engulfed crews did not dare enter. All they could do was shoot water onto the blaze and contain it until it died.
Fire department Lieutenant Macy LaPorta stood on the sidelines staring at the inferno. She was a tall woman with dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her father had been an arson investigator, and she’d been hanging around firehouses since she could walk. She’d joined the department right out of college.
Around her firemen yelled for more water pressure as they pulled and tugged the hoses into position. The initial moments at a fire were controlled chaos.
The flames swayed and danced in front of her, so hot and furious. It almost seemed to laugh and taunt as it consumed the structure so rapidly. Lieutenant LaPorta would wait for the embers to cool so that she could investigate the cause of the blaze, but experience told her this was arson.
She hoped no one had been in the abandoned structure. If anyone had, recovery crews would be lucky just to find fragments.
Chapter 26
Thursday, October 13, 6 A.M.
Angie found herself alone when the sun rose and shone its brilliant red and orange lights into the apartment.
At one a.m., Malcolm’s pager had gone off, and he’d called in to headquarters. When he’d returned to bed, he’d kissed her on the head and told her to sleep. He’d see her in the morning. Immediately, she’d missed his warmth.
Angie had slept hard, called Eva and told her she was with a “friend,” and then not stirred until just before dawn. She’d not slept so well in a very long time. When she’d risen, she’d made coffee and grabbed the morning paper from outside Malcolm’s door.
She opened the paper and poured her coffee. The front page headline nearly took her breath away. ATTORNEY’S SECOND CLIENT MURDERED.
Shit. She thought about her clients. They’d all read this. They’d be justifiably terrified. Charlotte would be furious.
As Angie moved through the article her anger burned hotter at the half-truths and innuendos. Her fear for those she represented also grew. Even if Donovan had distorted the facts to suit himself, the reality was that someone might be targeting her clients.
The front door opened, and she glanced up to see Malcolm. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and she had the urge to cross to him and hug him close. But somehow that felt more intimate than what they’d shared.
“Hey.” She poured him a cup of coffee and retrieved milk from the refrigerator. She set both on the table, watching as he shrugged off his jacket. His holstered gun, phone, and handcuffs hugged his belt.
He poured milk in the coffee, tossing her a quick smile. He took a sip. “Thanks.”
Concern for him swirled inside her. “You must be exhausted.”
He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. “I’m not complaining.”
She forgot about her own unease. “What pulled you away last night?”
“A fire. Two bodies were found.”
“Who were the victims?”
“Dixon’s car was found across the street. We think one of the bodies, or at least what’s left of it, is his.”
“What about the other body?”
“We found Donovan’s car as well. There was a body found by the back door. Fire crews theorize that Donovan set the fire and was trying to get out of the building, but the fire got to him before he could get out.”
“Dixon and Donovan?”
“We need to wait on confirmation.”
“So they’re both dead?” She glanced at the paper. “I was just reading Donovan’s article. He must have filed it yesterday.”
He glanced at the open paper. “I was hoping I could grab that before you read it.”
“No such luck. I got to read all of Donovan’s lovely words.” She managed a smile. “Whether he’s dead or not, I might be looking for a job soon
er than later.”
“Angie, you are good at what you do. Your clients aren’t going to drop you over this.”
“Donovan hates me so much.”
“I put a few calls into the paper. No one has seen him.”
“I don’t believe he has the nerve to kill.”
“Maybe not alone, but with Dixon he might have had plenty of nerve. Alexandria is a big small town. They could have crossed paths at a hundred different times.”
“It all feels like it’s closing in a bit.”
He set his cup down and took her into his arms as if he’d done it a million times. “We’ll figure this out. But until we have proof I want you to be careful.”
God, this man would be too easy to love. She kissed him on the lips. Last night had awakened something inside her. For the first time in a long time, she wanted more.
But a small, very insistent voice in the back of her head cautioned against loving him. Whatever they were feeling now might be burning hot, but one day life’s pressures and conflicting priorities would collide and extinguish it.
Malcolm took her by the hand and guided her to the rumpled sheets of the bed. She followed, knowing this would be the last time they made love.
Angie’s office phone buzzed at ten sharp. She hit the intercom button as she continued to type on her laptop. “What is it, Iris?”
“Mr. Micah Cross is here to see you.” Iris dropped her voice. “And he doesn’t look happy.”
Angie picked up her phone. “Thanks, Iris. Is he in the conference room?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s Charlotte?”
“Court.”
“Thanks.”
She rose. She’d fielded a few calls this morning from clients and knew a client visit was inevitable from someone. Still, she didn’t relish the meeting. Smoothing out her blouse, she pulled down the jacket hanging on the back of her door and slid it on.
She’d learned long ago that you could be afraid, but you could never show fear. With her best courtroom persona in place, she relaxed her shoulders and straightened her spine.
Smiling, she moved into the conference room as if she owned the world. Extending her hand, she smiled at Micah Cross. “Good morning.”
“I don’t have much time. I’m on my way to a ribbon-cutting at the hospital. The new Cross pediatric wing opens today.”
“I read about that. It’s very generous of you.”
He waved his hand. “You read the morning paper.” Cross stood at the head of the conference table. He wore a dark, handmade suit that fit his lean body perfectly. Cuff links glinted from the cuffs of his hand-tailored shirt. A red silk tie completed the look of the successful man.
“I won’t deny that the article is disturbing.”
“Disturbing? Ms. Carlson, Donovan suggests that there is a serial killer murdering your clients.”
Even as anger radiated from her gut she kept her smile relaxed and intact. “You may not be aware of this, but Mr. Donovan and I have a personal history.”
He frowned. “Really?”
“It goes back to last year.” She hated drawing her personal life into her professional world. “Long story short, we broke up and now he is doing his best to take a few scattered facts and turn them into a story.”
“You have had two clients murdered.”
“True. But I don’t believe I’m the common factor that links these women.”
“What is the common factor?”
“I don’t know. But I can assure you that the police are working hard to figure that out.”
“Have they made any progress?”
“I know they are working around the clock.”
“That’s a no?”
“Give them a bit more time, and they will solve this.” She smiled. “Mr. Cross, you are in no danger.”
He arched a brow. “Are you sure about that?”
She hesitated and then sighed. “I’m not totally sure of anything in life. But I can see that you do not fit this killer’s profile.”
“And what is that profile?” His interest sharpened.
“Young, vulnerable women. Attractive. Blond. Looking to make changes in their lives. Maybe they took shortcuts that they shouldn’t have.” She held out her hands, palms open. “Mr. Cross, you are safe. And Wellington and James is the right firm to represent you.”
He nodded.
She’d avoided all mention of Darius but knew their association needed to be addressed. “Our families have had a complicated past. I know you aren’t responsible for what happened.”
A wry smile lifted the edge of his lips. “It’s the elephant in the room for us, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But I want you to know I do not believe the child should be saddled with the sins of the father or mother.”
“Mother. Yes, that’s right, you went to see Mother. Did she agree to see you?”
“Yes. She spoke of your father’s affair with a woman that worked for my father. But she gave just enough information to leave more unanswered questions than answered questions.”
“That’s my mother. A game player to the end.” Absently, he twisted an onyx pinky ring on his right hand. “The police asked me about the connection between our fathers. Like you, I was a toddler when our fathers conducted their business. Did Mother give you anything else?”
“No.”
He nodded. “The past has nothing to do with us, Ms. Carlson. It’s only the present that I worry about now.”
“I can assure you that what is happening now will not affect you.”
He studied her a long moment, then nodded. “I’m trusting you with my life that it won’t.”
Malcolm and Garrison stood by the chrome table in the medical examiner’s autopsy room, staring at the charred remains pulled from the restaurant-warehouse fire. The intense blaze had all but melted the bodies. Little more than charred bones and flesh remained.
“Can you make an identification?” Malcolm asked Dr. Henson.
The doctor’s blue eyes stared at him through the clear plastic facemask she wore during autopsies. “It’s going to take some time. I’ve got bits and pieces here.”
“Can you tell us anything about the bodies?” Garrison asked.
“It would be conjecture at this point.”
“We’ll take what you have,” Malcolm said.
“Based on what I’ve seen of the skull, I’d say that the first victim was male. The growth lines on the top of the skull suggest our victim was older than forty. By that age the lines are completely fused.”
“Could he be older than that?”
“Sure. But I can’t say for certain at this point. I have requested dental records for Dixon so we shall see if the bones are his.”
“Do you have enough teeth?”
“A few, and one molar has a very distinct crack. If that crack shows then we can assume the remains are likely his. And there is some DNA evidence that I can extract. But DNA will take weeks.”
“Do you know how he died?”
“I might know that.” She moved to the head of the table. “This is his spinal cord. See this slice in the vertebrae?”
Both leaned in and saw the faint slice in the bone. “Yeah?”
She lifted her gaze. “It appears his throat was cut.”
“Really?”
“Death usually leaves a mark on the bones in some way. In this case it’s a knife mark. He was also tortured before he died.”
“What?”
“His right foot was cut off.”
Malcolm stared at the bones. “Was the foot found?”
Dr. Henson shook her head. “Not yet.”
“What about the second body?”
“There’s more of that to examine. It’s charred but more intact. Whoever he was, he was six feet tall, had broad shoulders, and was in his late thirties.”
“Like Donovan?”
“Again, waiting on dental records.”
Garrison rested his hand on his hip. “Are
the markings on victim number one similar to the prostitute whose throat was cut?”
She nodded. “I’ve not had a great deal of time to examine her body yet, but the knife wounds are in similar locations.”
Two killers made sense. Could it be as simple as Donovan killing Dixon and then getting trapped in the fire he set? It could.
But for reasons Malcolm could not explain, he felt as if someone had handed him a nice wrapped gift filled with shit.
Malcolm’s day was spent talking to anyone who might have known Dixon. His secretary, his neighbors, even a couple of patients. As they had learned two years ago, he possessed a Jekyll-and-Hyde persona. To neighbors and friends, he was the model citizen. Charming. Witty. Funny. To the people that worked for him— people he considered beneath him—he could be dark, moody, and very controlling. No one had ever seen him with Donovan … ever.
Donovan had few friends. He’d become isolated and withdrawn in the last year. At the paper he still worked with one other reporter named Robert Farmer.
Malcolm found Farmer at his desk just after lunch. He sat in the middle of a busy newsroom at his desk eating a sandwich. The room buzzed with conversation, phones, and faxes.
“Robert Farmer?” Malcolm said.
Farmer was a tall guy with broad shoulders and short hair. He dressed in khakis and a sport shirt. “Yeah?”
Malcolm held up his badge. “Detective Malcolm Kier.”
Farmer wiped his hands on a napkin. “Yeah.”
“I’m looking for Connor Donovan.”
“I haven’t seen him in a day or two.”
“Know where he might be?”
“Nope.”
“You know anything about the articles he’s been writing?”
Robert leaned back in his chair. “I was working with him on them.”
He thought about the crap they’d spun about Angie. “Really?”
“We were looking for a connection between Carlson and the killer.”
Malcolm was tempted to kick the guy’s chair and watch him pitch over on his back. “You find anything?”
“Not really, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.”
