"I hope you're right. Good tip, by the way, on the landline."
"Believe it or not, she's the only person I know who doesn't own a cell. Listen, the dossier you gave me on Jessica only goes back a few years, and it's spotty on her childhood. Can you get me a full list of the places she's lived?"
"Sure. What are you thinking?"
He got up and glanced down the hall, making sure Jessica's bedroom door was shut. He lowered his voice. "She has a whole room full of paintings of murder victims. If it's true this guy murdered my sister in New Orleans, I want him. Had Jessica been living there at the time? If she also dreamed about my sister's death then there's a chance this same guy has killed all the women in her dreams. That he's the reason why she keeps having these visions."
"I just got goosebumps," Mia said.
"Trust me, you'd be covered in them if you saw the paintings in that room."
"Just be thankful you're only seeing them on paper. Could you imagine seeing them in your head?"
"I'd never close my eyes."
"I'll call Andy Moreil to pull up a timeline of the places she's lived and see if there are any unsolved murders similar to these two in the towns she lived in at the time she lived there. Andy is a master with computers—they call him the dragon slayer."
Adam smiled and shook his head. "That would be great. We need to get a jump on this before the cops piece it all together."
"I must admit, it would look damming. How many paintings are there?"
"A lot. And if the women in those paintings were all killed by the same killer, then he's been stalking her for a very long time."
"So why point her out to the police now?" Mia asked.
"I don't know. Maybe he's tired of playing this game, and is finally trying to let the world know what he's done, and how she's been complicit in it."
"Complicit?"
"Every time she runs."
He heard her suck in a quick breath. "If that's true then we need to know what his endgame is, and we need to know it now."
"Especially since she's getting ready to run again." There was a knock at the door. "Mia, I need to go."
"Wait. See if you can send me pics of some of her paintings. We'll see what we can dig up, and I'll get that other info to you soon as I can."
"All right, thanks." He disconnected and opened the front door. Detective Kent stood there chomping his wad of gum.
"The chief said to send this over. It's the forensics on the Johnson killing." He held out a file folder.
Adam took it. "Thanks."
"And this was sitting on the stoop." Kent handed him the small bag. It had the logo of the praline place down the street printed on it.
"Great."
The detective tried to look around him into the apartment, obviously wanting to come inside. "Do you have the painting of last week's victim?"
Adam pulled the door closer to him. "Not yet. Ms. Barnes is sleeping and I don't want to wake her up. I'll let you know when she finds it, and if I find anything useful in the reports."
"See that you do." Kent turned and walked back down the stairs.
Adam lifted a hand to Detective McCloskey, who was still sitting in the car.
He didn't wave back.
Adam shut the door, took the file and the pralines back into the kitchen, dropped the bag on the counter, then sat back down at the table and opened up the forensics report and started to read. After going through all the reports, he heard his phone beep. It was the file from Andy Moreil at Phoenix. Adam downloaded the document onto his phone and started to read. Mia was right: the guy was a genius. The very detailed document showed Jessica had lived in four different cities over the past twelve years. One of them had been New Orleans during the same period that his sister had been murdered while attending Tulane University.
He stared down at the photo of last night's victim. Could the killer really be the same guy? Could he really be this close to getting him?
Jessica came out of her room.
"You just missed the police."
"Good. Thanks for getting rid of them." She walked into the kitchen. "What's this?" She picked up the praline bag off the counter.
"Detective Kent said it was on the stoop."
She dropped the bag and snatched her hand back.
He jumped to his feet. "What is it?"
Her face paled. "It's from him."
"How do you know?"
"I just do."
Adam picked up a towel and used it to open the bag and peer inside. In the bottom were two pralines.
"It's just candy."
She shook her head. "Who would leave a bag of candy on my front porch?"
"I don't know." He tilted the bag, and something shiny caught his eye. "Wait, there's more." He pulled a pen out of his pocket and used it to move the candy. A necklace was in the bottom of the bag. A rectangular silver locket. His heart dropped to his stomach. It was a necklace that looked a lot like the one his sister wore.
"Put it down," she whispered.
He set the bag down. She grabbed his hand. It was ice cold.
"He knows where I live."
He knows who I am. He knows I'm Sara's brother. He shook that thought away. Impossible.
"It's time to go," she said.
He fought the sudden urge to agree with her. "No. We talked about this. You can't go now. The police won't let you."
"Then I won't tell them. I'll disappear."
"Don't panic. You'll play right into his hands."
"How can I not? He was here. Right outside that door!"
Adam knew he was breaking the rules, that he was there to protect her, not to get too close. But looking into her eyes—so blue, so vulnerable, so filled with fear—he couldn't help himself. He pulled her to him, feeling her softness, smelling her sweet scent, liking the tickle of her hair as it brushed against him. She pulled back and looked up at him, her eyes filled with desire, her lips parting. He leaned forward, hesitating for only a second as his mouth fell over hers.
Her warmth rushed over him as his tongue pushed into her mouth and he tasted her—like sweet nectar. Her heat spread like hot chocolate through his mouth, rich and decadent, making him want more of her. He slipped his fingers into her silky hair and lost himself in it, in the sensations of her body pressed to his, her soft, feminine curves.
"I won't let anything happen to you," he murmured against her mouth.
His pulse sped up, his heartbeat thundering in his ears as his tongue swept the inside of her mouth, tasting every part of her. A small moan escaped her lips, and it sent shivers moving through him. He skimmed his hands down her arms, her waist, her hips, until he finally sought her breasts. She sucked in a deep breath as his hands lingered there, pressing, kneading, exploring.
"I know we shouldn't be doing this," he said against her lips, and drew his mouth down to her neck, raining kisses along the sweet column of her throat. "I know it's highly unprofessional."
"I won't tell if you won't." She breathed heavily.
He swept his hand over the strap of her dress and pulled it down her shoulder, then moved his hand over her bra, feeling the heaviness of her breast. He slipped his fingers inside the lace, and the tight nub hardened as he touched it. He longed to pull her dress down, to draw her nipple into his mouth, to lavish every inch of her with kisses.
Without a second's hesitation, she pushed down the other strap and let her dress fall to her hips. Her black hair tumbled over creamy white skin. The lace of her bra was so thin it barely hid the rosy tips of her breasts. He hardened instantly at the sight of her, his erection pushing against his slacks. He ran a finger over her collarbone and down her arm. This was his last chance to stop, to turn and walk away. She bit her lip and looked at him with desire heavy in her eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her, his lips gently touching hers as he reached behind her and unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor.
He never was one to walk away when things got tough.
Chap
ter Six
Jessica stepped into Adam's arms. He held her for a long moment, his warmth seeping into her cold bones as he caressed her back. She looked up at him, not sure what to say, how to express how much she needed him and how he made her feel. She wasn't used to needing people, had never wanted to. But she had to admit, it did feel good. He touched her chin, lightly lifting it, and then his lips fell over hers and he kissed her long and hard, his passion feeding her own, until her chills seeped away and left her feeling quite warm.
He leaned down, took her nipple in his mouth, and lashed the sensitive nub with his tongue. She moaned and grabbed his shoulders for support as he rolled it between his teeth, lapping the soft skin with his tongue. He couldn't get enough of her, and her awareness of that fact was overwhelming. He made her feel desired, sexy, empowered.
He dropped his hands down the curves of her waist and pushed her dress down over her hips to fall to the floor. She wondered if she should stop him, or at least slow him down, but she didn't. She couldn't. Her body wouldn't let her. It had been so long since she'd been touched like this, and she wasn't about to stop.
He pulled her up against him. She loved his force, his strength, his…maleness. In this moment, she believed nothing could get to her. She was safe, as long as Adam was there. As long as he was holding her.
In a quick movement, he slipped his hands under her and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, his bulge snuggling into the heat of her core. She wiggled against him, liking the feel of him there as he carried her down the hall to her bedroom and laid her on the bed. He stared down at her, his eyes burning with need. Slowly, he undid the buttons of his shirt and unclasped his belt, the top button of his pants. She watched him, anticipation building with each breath, as he took it all off. He was gorgeous. Toned and tanned, muscular, and oh so male.
He climbed onto the bed on top of her, kissing her slowly, passionately. She loved the feel of his skin against hers—so warm, from her head to her toes. She could lie there and kiss him all day. But the warmth spreading through her quickly escalated as his fingertips rolled up and down her skin, moving down her arms, her stomach, playing with her breasts, as he lay next to her, kissing her. She felt as if she might crawl right out of her skin if he didn't touch her where she wanted—no, where she needed to be touched.
She reached for his erection and wasn't disappointed. It was thick and firm. She ran a tentative finger along the shaft, fantasizing about what it would feel like inside her, filling her with its silky smoothness. He drew in a breath and groaned a little. He liked that. She rolled on her stomach and moved down his body, leaving a trail of kisses along her path as she hovered over him, drawing her tongue lower and lower until she took him fully into her mouth. He sucked in a breath as she rolled her tongue up over the tip.
"Oh, baby. That's nice," he said.
It was nice. Warm. Soft skin over a hard inner core. She moved her mouth up and down, taking him fully into her mouth, then back out again until he couldn't take it anymore.
"My turn," he growled, and grabbed her by the waist. He pulled her up his body until she was hovering over his mouth. She sucked in an excited breath as he settled her on top of him, drawing her bud between his lip and sucking. She almost collapsed on him, the sensation was so great. She writhed over him, struggling to gasp a breath. Her heart was pounding hard as heat and pressure pooled between her legs. She wanted him, wanted to feel him inside her. Now.
With a quick movement, she pulled her hips away from his face and dropped down on top of him, the head of his cock sliding easily inside her wet core. He gasped as she sat up, taking him fully inside her body and squeezing his hardness with her muscular walls. Then she leaned down and kissed him, giving her body a moment to adjust to his size.
He speared his fingers through her hair, holding her captive as his tongue swept through her mouth, and she groaned, grinding against him as his cock filled her completely. She broke the kiss and sat up as he grabbed her hips and started to move. He bucked his hips as he reached for her sweet spot and hit it with each thrust, leaving her crying out for more.
Her palms slid across his rock-hard chest and she leaned forward, the tips of her breasts brushing his smooth skin as she moved with him. He let loose a loud groan, and then, in a swift movement, rolled her onto her back. Her legs pulled up as he drove in even deeper. His eyes met hers, and she saw the passion there, the desire. She cried out at the kaleidoscope of sensations rolling through her—hunger, fire, and a pulsing need. His cock pulsed within her, pounding her insides as she soared higher and higher. Finally, she crested then, crying out, crashed down in a wave of pleasure that was overwhelming and all-encompassing.
A heartbeat later, Adam stiffened, looking pained as he gave a quick thrust then fell into his own release. He collapsed on top of her, catching his breath as she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.
After a few minutes of holding him, her breathing and thoughts returned to normal. She looked up at him. He was staring at her, his eyes filled with some deep emotion she couldn't read.
"What?" she asked.
"I feel like I should apologize."
She almost laughed. "I feel like I should be thanking you."
They both smiled.
"No, seriously. I'm here to do a job. To protect you and keep you safe, not take you to bed."
She ran a finger down his chin. "I'm not complaining. Are you?"
"Not on your life."
"Then don't worry about it. I feel safe with you. I know we just met, and it's really fast for me, too. But I feel closer to you than I do most people I've known for years."
He pulled her close and held her. She let herself relax, and even though it was only late afternoon, she drifted into a dreamless, well-satisfied sleep.
***
Adam dreamed of his sister. She wasn't talking to him—it wasn't a memory, more like images flipping through his mind, snapshots of his past, her past: the two of them together at the breakfast table, the pizza parlor, playing with Buck, the family dog. And in the dream, he saw her wearing a rectangular locket. Inside were pictures of Buck and their cat, Kitty. He'd teased her about that over Coke and pizza, but she'd just glared at him, the way sisters who have no use for their older brothers do. A glare he hadn't seen in a long time.
Adam's eyes flew open and he sat up abruptly.
He looked around the room, the pain of her loss a knot in his chest that never quite loosened.
"What is it?" Jessica asked, looking at him with sleepy eyes.
"I think we're going to have to call McCloskey."
"Why? He's the last person I want to see."
"I'm almost positive that necklace in the Praline bag belonged to my sister."
She sat up, pulling the sheet with her, her eyes wide. "Your sister?"
There was no getting around it now. He'd have to tell her. "She was a student at Tulane. Wanted to be a nurse. She would have made a great nurse if…" He took a deep breath. "She just had a way of making people feel good. She was the best part of all of us. All heart."
Jessica's gaze softened and she touched his arm—just a small touch, but the warmth in her fingers moved him more than he would have thought possible.
"How did she…?"
"Die?" He looked at her. "She was murdered."
"I'm sorry."
"I think our guy killed her."
She pulled herself away and stood, walking to the dresser, stepping into a clean pair of panties, and slipping on a bra.
"Were you even in New Orleans in 2011?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer, but already knowing she had been.
"Yes."
"Then there's a chance that you saw her death then?"
She was silent for a moment as she walked to the closet and slipped on another white sleeveless dress. White. Always white.
"A student at Tulane?" she repeated.
He nodded, unable to speak over the lump in his throat.
&nbs
p; "Blond shoulder-length hair, blue eyes, easy to smile?"
His eyes closed as a fresh bout of pain seared him.
"I remember her," she whispered, stepping toward him.
His heart jolted.
"She wasn't afraid of him," she said. "She knew him."
"How?" His voice cracked.
"I don't know. But I remember she looked pleased to see him. She even called him Jim."
"Jim? You think that's his name?" Hope rose within him. Could he really be getting this close? After all this time?
"No." She shook her head and played with the sheet, pulling it to make the bed.
He wanted to press her, to demand she leave the bed and tell him everything. But he held back, waiting for her to tell what she knew. To shed a light into the dark.
"There have been other times, other women, who called him by a name. It was always different."
"Do you think he knew?" he asked.
She looked at him, a question in her eyes.
"Knew you were watching him."
She didn't speak at first, and when she did, when she finally stopped and turned to him, her voice was barely a whisper. "Yes."
He pulled her into his arms and held her, not only for her, but for him. He needed to hold on to her, to let her sweet, flowery scent, her warmth, chase away the darkness.
After a few moments, she looked up at him. "Adam. I painted your sister's last moments."
He caught his breath. He'd wondered, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to see.
"It's not going to be easy to look at. The hardest ones to forget are the ones I paint. An exorcism of sorts."
He nodded, knowing he'd have to see it, but wishing he didn't have to.
"Would you like me to show it to you?"
"Yes," he said. She took his hand and he followed her out of the bedroom, focusing on the curve of her back as she walked, on the gleam of light on her midnight-black hair, on the creamy softness of the skin on her shoulders, and not on the room down the hall filled with horrors frozen in black ink.
He followed her into the room of paintings. She flipped on the light and he tried not to flinch at all those faces, some screaming, some peaceful, all in death. Some stared back at him; some showed a glimmer of what was to come in their black eyes; others were filled with horror. He shook off the chill threatening to overtake him and stepped into the center of the room.
The Phoenix Agency_Eyes Wide Open Page 4
