The Phoenix Agency_Eyes Wide Open

by Cynthia Cooke

  "Maybe. And maybe you're right. Maybe he can see me as clearly as I see him. And trust me, that is not comforting in any way."

  "I can only imagine." He took her hand across the table and held it for a long moment.

  "All right, we're done," Kent said, popping his head out onto the terrace.

  "Great," Adam said, and walked the detectives to the door. He closed it behind them and watched through the peephole until they got into their car and drove away. "We're all clear."

  She relaxed at his words.

  He stepped into the living room and started unbuttoning his shirt. Jessica's eyes widened as he took it off and flung it onto the couch. "Okay, where do you want me?"

  "Excuse me?" she sputtered.

  "For my painting. You said you were going to paint me. In color. Remember?"

  Her cheeks burned. Yes, she remembered. How could she forget?

  He undid his belt slowly. "How about right here in front of the fireplace?"

  "All right." She walked forward, tilting her head as she thought about how she wanted him.

  "Should I just stand here, leaning against the fireplace?" He dropped his pants and stepped out of them.

  She caught her breath.

  "Should I turn this way, so you can only see my backside?" He turned toward the fireplace, stepped out of his underwear, and put his hands up on the mantel, displaying his back and his very fine ass in full detail. "Well?" he asked, looking at her over his shoulder when she didn't respond.

  "What?"

  "You're not saying anything."

  "Sorry, I was a little distracted. What were you asking?"

  "Just a little, huh?"

  He turned around to face her, and there was nothing little about him. She sucked in a deep breath. Lord have mercy.

  "If I remember right, you were also going to be nude while painting me," he said, approaching her. He rested his hands on her shoulders and, with a flick of his fingers, slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders. It pooled on the floor.

  "I'm not sure how much painting I'm going to be able to get done in my bra and panties," she admitted, realizing painting was the last thing on her mind.

  "Why not? A deal is a deal."

  And then his lips fell over hers and he kissed her, and she lost all sense of time and space.

  "You can do this," he whispered against her mouth. "Shut out the nightmares and bring in the color. Paint something beautiful. Focus on something beautiful."

  Her heart lifted at the thought, and she began to feel real hope. Could she have a life with meaning? A life where she didn't live in fear, where she wasn't afraid to sleep?

  The warmth of his kiss stole over her. And for just a second, she actually believed it was possible. She pulled back, gave him a saucy smile, then crossed the room to her kitchen, where she picked up a chair and brought it back to him. "Straddle this."

  "Only if you promise to straddle me after."

  She gave his lips a quick peck. "Work first, play later."

  "What fun is that?"

  "Sit," she commanded.

  "Oh, I love it when you talk bossy to me." He turned the chair backward and straddled it, facing her.

  "Perfect. Now place your arm on top of the chair and rest your chin on it."

  He did what she asked, and inspiration hit her like a freight train. She grabbed her canvas pad and a pencil and started to sketch, so deep in her concentration that she wasn't aware how much time had passed until he stood, breaking the spell.

  She looked up at him.

  "Break time."

  "What?"

  "I've been sitting here for an hour. I need wine. And you do, too."

  "I do?"

  "Yes." He stared at her canvas pad. "Nice. But I still don't see any color."

  "True."

  She walked over to her worktable, pulled out her acrylics, and started to mix the colors. She kept looking up at him, then mixing more, adding this shade and that, darkening until she had a palette of five or six different flesh tones. Then she sat down at the table and started to apply color to canvas. At first, it felt uncomfortable and frustrating, as she couldn't seem to get the colors the way she wanted them, the lines and shadows deep enough. "Here." He handed her a glass of Cabernet. "Break time goes for you, too."

  She wanted to protest, to tell him she couldn't just stop in the middle of a project, but then she felt his warm hands on her shoulders, kneading away the soreness in her muscles, and she melted. She took a sip of the wine, let the sweet liquid caress her tongue, and felt warmth steal over her. Yes, she could get used to this.

  "You don't have to get it all done tonight," he said, his hot breath fanning her cheek.

  She leaned back against him and felt his skin. He was still nude, and she might as well be. Her blood pressure spiked. She looked down at her painting, at all the skin and a shadow of what was hiding behind the slats at the back of the chair.

  His fingers slipped down her arms, and suddenly she didn't want to be sitting anymore. Didn't want to be painting, didn't want to do anything other than lie in his arms and make love to him. She took him by the hand and led him down the hall to her bedroom, where she pulled him down with her onto her bed.

  Chapter Nine

  Adam had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Jessica right then. Sitting in that chair, watching her solely focused on him, on every aspect of his body, was very arousing. She was so intent on her work that she hadn't even noticed how hard he'd become. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to lay her right there on the sofa. Even now, he was holding himself back.

  As they lay on her bed, he kissed her, running his tongue in her mouth, tasting her sweetness. Her moans were going to be his undoing. He rubbed his erection against her soft skin, the only relief he could find as he caressed her breasts. She trailed her fingers down his chest, his belly, and found his heat. He almost cursed as she tentatively touched him. Instead, he groaned his pleasure and she squeezed, tightening her grip. He took her nipple into his mouth and lavished the tiny nub with all his appreciation until she was moaning and arching her back to get closer to him.

  He slid his hand between her legs, found her moistness, and plunged a finger inside her heat. Oh, yes, she was more than ready for him. While kissing her deeply, he quickly sheathed himself, then positioned himself over her and delved inside.

  She cried out, wrapped her legs around him, and pulled him deep inside her. He started to move, pushing inside then pulling out, both of them riding a wave of pleasure that filled the room with their soft moans and cries. She was beautiful. Soft and gentle, tentative, yet sometimes bold in her touches. He lost himself in her sweetness, only aware of her heat, their friction, and the building pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him.

  Suddenly, she grabbed his shoulders and cried out, her body squeezing and pulsating around him, until he could no longer hold back. He let loose a cry of his own as he exploded within her. Gasping, he fell to the bed beside her and held her.

  "That was incredible," he said after a long moment. "You, my darling, can paint me every night."

  She smiled. "I think I can get used to that."

  "So can I." He felt her snuggle against his chest, and smiled as he held her until they both fell asleep.

  ***

  Jessica heard his footsteps clicking on the cobblestones. The moisture from the night air cooled her face. He was whistling as if he didn't have a care in the world, as if he owned the night.

  She didn't want to be there. She tried to fight it. To pull away.

  But couldn't. He held her captive to witness whatever it was he wanted her to see.

  He walked at a steady pace, and Jessica knew he was stalking his next victim. The poor woman was alive somewhere, happily living her life, unaware that she only had moments left to live. He turned a corner, stopped under a large oak tree, and popped a peppermint in his mouth. He stared up at the long, narrow home with the double-decker porches.

&nb
sp; Her home.

  Jessica gasped and sat upright in the bed, her heart pounding so hard that she could barely speak.

  "What is it?" Adam asked, sitting up beside her.

  "He's here," she said, gasping for breath.

  "Here?"

  "The killer. He's right outside."

  Adam bolted out of the bed and ran to the front room. She followed after him as he stepped into his pants then tore barefoot out the front door. She stood hovering in the doorway, watching him descend the stairs.

  "Under the tree, across the street." But even as she said it, she could see by the light shining from the street lamp that no one was there.

  The killer was gone.

  She ran back inside and into her bedroom, where she pulled a giant suitcase out of the back of her closet and started filling it up.

  A few minutes later, Adam came back into the room. "He's gone."

  "I know."

  He watched her emptying her dresser for a few minutes. "You can't run."

  "I can and I will." She was shaking so hard that she couldn't keep her shirts folded and just dumped them in a pile into the suitcase.

  "He'll find you again. He always does. You need to stop him. Here. Now. It's the only way you'll ever be free."

  "How can I? I can't stop him. The man's a killer."

  "Let him in."

  She looked at him. "What?"

  "Your visions of him are all from a distance. You need to get closer. You need to get inside his head. Climb into his skin, walk around in it to find out what makes him tick. If you are going to stop him, you're going to have to be him."

  "Are you nuts?"

  He pulled her to him, effectively stopping her. "This conversation is nuts."

  "True." She held on to him. She’d been careful in all these years, not to get close too anyone. Yet here she was, getting close to him.

  How much was that going to cost her?

  "I don't want this. Any of it," she muttered against his chest.

  "I know." He sat on the bed and pulled her to him. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

  "I don't know how you're going to be able to stop it."

  He kissed her head as tears filled her eyes. "It's going to be okay."

  "Easy for you to say. You don't have death as your constant companion. You don't have it stealing the color and joy from your life."

  "He can't take what you don't give him. Let him in. You can do it. I will be there for you. I will protect you." He held her tight. "Let's get this guy."

  "How can you protect me from my dreams?"

  "I'll watch you sleep. I'll watch you when you're awake. I won't let you out of my sight."

  She looked at him and smiled. "You realize how creepy that sounds, right?"

  He laughed. "Yeah. We can do this. Together. You just have to trust me to help you."

  ***

  The next morning, Adam woke to the sound of his phone ringing. He bent over the side of the bed, picked up his pants, and pulled out his cell. The display read Mia Romeo. "Hello."

  "Good morning, Adam. I hate to call you with bad news, but the police have learned about your sister's death."

  "How?" He thought of the necklace and wondered if that was how they'd put it together, but he didn't see how they could have.

  "An anonymous tip."

  "What the hell kind of game is this guy playing at?" He glanced over at Jessica, who stirred at the sound of his voice.

  "I don't know. But you need to get down to the station and do damage control with Chief Armani as soon as you can. He knows you've been hiding things from him and he's pissed. Thinks we've been harboring a murderer."

  "That's ridiculous."

  "You don't have to tell me. I expected him to be a lot more cooperative, not to mention forthcoming, than his department has been. They must not have any leads other than Jessica, and now they have her pegged as a suspect in three murders."

  Adam took a deep breath to steady his rising anger. This was his sister they were talking about. How hard had they looked to find her murderer in the first place? "This is bad, isn't it?"

  "It gets worse."

  Jessica sat up and peered at him through sleepy eyes.

  "How could it possibly get any worse?" he asked.

  "Someone leaked Jessica's name to the press."

  He blew out an annoyed breath. "Let me guess, an anonymous tip."

  "You got it."

  He grabbed Jessica's hand. "She wants to run. At this point, I'm not sure I shouldn't let her."

  "Hold off for as long as you can," Mia said.

  He wasn't certain that was the best way to play this. Not any longer. "We're worried that once we go in to see Armani, he will detain her. And the truth is, for all we know, the killer might be in the department."

  "How do you figure?" Mia asked.

  "This guy knows too much, and he always seems to be one step ahead."

  "All right, we'll look into all the Charleston PD's personnel. In the meantime, we have our best lawyers looking at Jessica's case already."

  "Thanks, Mia. I'll let her know that."

  "We need to figure out what his endgame is. I don't like the way this is playing out. Talk to Jessica. See if there's something she's seen that can help us figure it out."

  "I will. I'm guessing, whatever his endgame is, he's quickly approaching it."

  "We're digging into everything we can on the past murders to see if there is anything the police have missed. I'll let you know if we find anything."

  "All right. Thanks, Mia." He disconnected and turned to Jessica. "We've got trouble."

  Before he could explain, the house phone started to ring. Jessica leaned over to grab it.

  "Let it go to voicemail," Adam said, placing his hand on her arm.

  Jessica stopped and turned back to him. "Do I even want to know?"

  "No. But you need to."

  She took a deep breath. "All right, tell me."

  "The police know about Sara."

  She closed her eyes for a second. "Let me guess, they think I killed her, too?"

  "Probably. They want us downtown right away. I wouldn't be surprised if Humpty Dumpty and the Scarecrow are on their way here as we speak."

  She sighed. "So much for a nice breakfast on the veranda."

  "Yep. But we should at least save time for a shower together."

  She grinned. "Nice try. So, why didn't you want me to answer the phone? You think that was them?"

  "Maybe. There is another thing."

  The smile dropped from her face. "What?"

  "Apparently you're no longer an anonymous artist. You've been outed."

  "Oh, God."

  The phone rang again. He could hear the answering machine picking up. She jumped out of bed and ran down the hall to hear the message. He heard her pick up the phone and followed after her.

  "Yes, Frank. I understand," she said into the phone. She paused a moment. "I have my reasons. They haven't changed. No, I get it. Yes, I can come down there right away."

  She hung up and turned to Adam. "I have to go."

  "We have to go to the police station. If we don't show up, it will only make things worse."

  "So they can arrest me? I don't think so. I need to go to Artspace first. That was the owner who is hosting my work. It's how I make my money, pay the bills—you know, eat." She tore off down the hall back toward the bedroom.

  "I get that," he called, following her.

  "I need to smooth things over with him first, then I'll meet you at the police station."

  She pulled on clean clothes and ran a brush through her hair.

  "I don't want you going there alone."

  "I can't very well bring my bodyguard with me. How would that look?"

  "What good am I as a bodyguard if I'm not there to guard you?"

  "It's across the street. You can watch me from the window. Besides, it won't take more than thirty minutes. I promise. It's morning. You don't have anythin
g to worry about, and you have to keep the police calm until I get there."

  He pulled her up against him. "I don't like it," he growled.

  "I don't like any of this, but it's the way it's going to have to be. We both know as soon as I get to the police station, it might be days before I get back out. In fact, leave lots of food and water for Lucy before you go. Just in case."

  He laughed. "You want me to take care of your cat?"

  "The quicker I get to the gallery, the quicker I can get back."

  "Okay, fine. But you're not going alone. I'll stay outside," he insisted when she started to protest. "He won't even know I'm there. Now, you feed Lucy and I'll be ready in five. Okay?" he said when she still didn't answer.

  "Okay," she grumbled. "Hurry."

  Chapter Ten

  Jessica filled Lucy's bowls and put out two more with food and water just in case. Somehow, she had to assure Frank that the rumors about her were a mistake. But showing up at the gallery with a bodyguard wouldn't help her case. But maybe if Adam kept out of sight, it could work. She walked over to the window and saw Frank standing on the sidewalk in front of Artspace. He was looking her way. The last thing she needed was for him to see the police pull up in front of her house, which could happen at any minute.

  She grabbed her purse and sweater and ran out the door. This would only take five minutes, she told herself. Ten, max. She hurried down the block toward Artspace, wondering how much Frank already knew, and how much she would have to tell him. Perhaps McCloskey had already shown up asking about her work. Maybe that was why Frank had called wanting to see her. How would he feel about working with her if he discovered she was the Charleston PD's number one suspect in a murder investigation? She had to play this cool. Maybe it would be best if she pulled her remaining pieces. She could paint over the logo and reinvent herself in another town.

  Truth was, if it wasn't for Adam, she'd be already gone.

  She stopped across the street from the gallery, weighing her options. Should she go in, play nice, assure him he had nothing to worry about, and put her life in the hands of Adam and the Phoenix Agency? Or should she do what she'd always done—get her work and run, take care of herself, and depend only on herself? It would make things so much easier. While she hesitated under the shade of the giant oak, contemplating her options, McCloskey's car pulled up.