In the part of his brain that he never could turn off completely, he registered a sound from below, indistinct, almost certainly a summons for them to return to the conference room. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss and tried to catch his breath, his forehead resting against hers.
Her own breathing as ragged as his, she said, “I take it that was Ben who bellowed.”
Opening his eyes, he found her wearing a hazy, lazy smile that was tinged with both satisfaction and regret. He understood because he was filled with both emotions himself, along with the desire to get a whole lot more of the one and to totally banish the other as soon as possible. “Dr. Armstrong must be here.”
“Mustn’t keep the good doctor waiting.” But instead of pulling away from him, Natasha slyly shifted her hips against him. “Or maybe you must.”
Ruefully he laid both hands on her shoulders and pushed her back a step, then another, so their bodies didn’t touch. So the only contact between them was the palms of his hands on the fabric of her shirt. It didn’t do a thing to ease the aching of his erection.
Who said shoulders and palms weren’t erogenous zones?
At the moment, even breathing the same air she breathed was pretty damn erotic.
“Don’t make me come up there,” Lois called from downstairs, amusement in her voice.
“Keep in mind how long it takes a blue-hair to climb two flights of stairs and make yourselves decent,” Ben added.
Daniel ran his hand through his hair. “Some cops work with professionals. Not me. I get the Lois and Little Bear Show.”
Natasha straightened his collar, her fingers lingering on his throat, making the nerves tingle. “I’ll tell them you got a call.”
“And you’ve got that rosy flush on your face because...?”
She grinned. “I just love hardwood.”
Suppressing a grin, he shook his head then watched her follow the trail of dusty footprints back to the stairs. He’d always appreciated watching her walk—toward him, beside him, away from him. The way her movements flowed so gracefully. The way her hips swayed, the muscles in her thighs and calves bunching, then releasing. The way it seemed so effortless and inviting and sexy and full of promise.
She had always been so full of promise.
Until she hadn’t.
As she turned on the landing, then disappeared from sight, he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Things were easier when she was in his arms, when he was wrapped up in that old familiar sensation of rightness. Now, standing there alone, things didn’t seem so clear.
Could he risk trusting her again? He had just barely survived losing her the first time. Understanding, sort of, why it had happened helped, but it didn’t guarantee it wouldn’t happen again. But...
Every relationship had its good times and bad, but he and Natasha had never really had any bad. Sure, they’d argued sometimes. They’d even gone a week here, two weeks there, without speaking, but then he had called her, or she had called him, and they had worked things out and gone on.
Their first bad time had been when she’d dumped him.
One hell of a bad time.
He’d left. He’d built a new life without her. But he had never stopped loving her. Wasn’t there a message in that fact that he should be listening to?
Wasn’t there a message in the fact that he was in the police station for a meeting on a case with the boss and was waiting for a hard-on to go away?
He wanted her. Had always wanted her. Was pretty sure he always would. When they had been happy. When they had been unhappy. Together. Half a country between them.
Always.
* * *
Joan Armstrong looked absolutely nothing like her daughter.
After excusing Daniel’s absence—and noting smirks around the table—Natasha chose a chair at the end of the table and studied Morwenna and her mum. Where the daughter’s style ran to the flamboyant, the mother’s was classic. She wore a black jacket and matching trousers, a black-and-white striped button-down shirt and gorgeous pumps with a substantial heel. Her auburn hair was swept back in a chignon, her makeup subtle and perfect, and tortoiseshell glasses gave her sturdy face a serious air.
Seated next to Morwenna, she should have faded into the shadows cast by brilliant pinks and purples with a splash of lime green, but the doctor had too much presence to be so easily obscured.
“I imagine Daniel will join us in a minute,” Sam said.
“Or three or five,” Ben mumbled before his head jerked up and his gaze narrowed on Lois. If Natasha’s memories of Friday morning were correct, the older woman had given Daniel a kick under the table at one point. Now Ben had gotten his own.
Daniel was right. It was the Lois and Little Bear Show.
“What did you think of our third-floor surprise, Natasha?” Lois asked innocently.
“It’s incredible. The chandeliers, the dance floor, the Palladian windows... I never dreamed the police station would have a ballroom.”
Lois extended her hand none too subtly to Ben, who very subtly gave her something that looked like money folded small. So Ben had bet they wouldn’t make it beyond the second floor. Though Natasha would have happily kissed Daniel in any or all of those offices, she was glad he’d waited for the ballroom.
Daniel’s voice sounded in the hallway and sent a shiver down her spine and, just for optimum contrast, heat into her face. She quickly lowered her head and rested her cheek in her hand to cover the blush.
He was talking in his professional voice. After she’d manufactured a phone call for him, had he really gotten one?
“I’m really sorry about that, ma’am. I’ll do anything I can to help out.” He came into the room as he put his cell away. He didn’t avoid looking at her—that would have amused the others too much—but his gaze just skimmed across her face and everyone else’s before settling on Sam’s. “That was Mrs. Hilliard. My court case next week was her older son, Tommy. The two boys went out drinking, had an argument and got into a shoot-out.”
“What’s happened now?”
“Well, Tommy’s been out on bail, awaiting trial—”
“Tommy’s always out on bail, awaiting trial for something,” Sam said darkly.
“He and Billy went to a friend’s house in Muskogee last night, got drunk and got in an argument, and Billy shot him. Killed him.”
Stunned silence spread around the room, but it lasted longer for the civilians than the cops. “We’ve pretty much always known one of those Hilliard boys wasn’t going to make it to thirty,” Lois remarked grimly. “Hell, the first time I arrested Tommy, he was only twelve. Strong-arm robbery, and not one bit of remorse in him.”
“Not when he shot Billy, either.” Daniel sat down next to Natasha, the expression in his eyes dark and haunted. “Their dad’s been a guest of the Department of Corrections the last twenty-five years. Their mom’s a doper who’s also done her time in the system. When she was locked up, they lived with their grandmother, who sent them out to steal so she wouldn’t have to.”
He took a deep breath and blew it out, and with it went that sad, powerful look. A moment’s observation, regret and then on to the cases where the victims still lived, where he might be able to help. That, he’d told Natasha, was how he did his job. This was the first time, though, she’d actually seen any part of it.
After a moment, Sam began the meeting. “Dr. Armstrong, you’re familiar with the usual crew. This is Natasha Spencer. She’s Daniel’s ex-fiancée, and she came here from California to tell Daniel that her stalker wants to kill him. The stalker was considerate enough to make the trip, as well, and he’s been making his presence felt in both their lives. Since we get a little pissy when someone messes with one of our own, we thought it might be helpful if we knew something about the guy’s personality, his motivation, his version of reality. Anything that might help us cat
ch him.”
Being so baldly identified as Daniel’s ex made Natasha’s smile waver, though hearing the chief refer to Daniel as one of their own made up for the discomfort. He liked it here. He belonged here, and though they might tease a lot, they thought so, too.
“I don’t care about his version of reality,” Daniel muttered. “I just want to know the magic words that will make him go away.”
“The words are ‘We find the defendant guilty,’” Ben said in a similar tone.
“How about ‘justifiable homicide’?” Lois added.
Natasha ignored them, strengthened her smile and leaned forward to shake hands with Morwenna’s mum. “I appreciate you taking the time to come in on a Sunday, Dr. Armstrong.”
After the handshake, Dr. Armstrong angled her chair so she had a better view of Natasha. “You’re a pretty girl. Your smile is lovely. Do you know how easy it is for total strangers to fixate on a pretty girl with a lovely smile? The stalker says you’ve met before, right? But you have no recollection of it?”
Natasha shook her head.
“It could have been anywhere. At a party. Chatting in line at the movie theater. Empathizing with a grocery checker who’s just finished with a difficult customer. You might not have exchanged names with him. You might not have said anything of substance to him. But you caught his attention, and the impact on him was tremendous.”
Natasha shivered and, next to her, Morwenna nudged her. “She gives me the heebie-jeebies all the time.”
“All this could have come from something that meaningless?”
“It wasn’t meaningless to him, Natasha. Most of these type of stalkers suffer from delusions. They live in a different reality from the rest of us. Take the store clerk scenario. You smile at people because you’re a nice person. It’s natural. But when you smile at our clerk, to him, it means that you like him, that you recognize he’s special. You might brush his hand when you take your change, and he thinks this is his lucky day. You’re touching him. You say, ‘Have a good day,’ and he hears, ‘I’m so happy I met you and can’t wait until we can be together.’ You can’t even remember what he looks like when you reach your car, but his whole life has changed because he’s found you.”
“Well, that’s scary as all hell,” Sam said.
Agreeing, Natasha sank a little deeper in her seat. When she and Stacia had spent all those hours trying to figure out who RememberMe was, they hadn’t had a clue what a monumental task they were attempting. They’d been considering people she’d actually had some sort of real contact with. It had never occurred to them it could be a clerk at a convenience store, a guy who held a door open for her or someone she’d said hello to on an elevator.
RememberMe could be someone who, for practical purposes, didn’t exist in her life.
“Sam let me read some of his messages,” Dr. Armstrong went on. “There’s one he sent about two months into the stalking. He signed it RM, as usual, but as part of his signature, there’s a quote. ‘When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew.’ He wrongly attributes it to Shakespeare—that’s just not ol’ Will’s style—but it doesn’t matter. That, in a nutshell, is what happened. He saw you. He identified you as his ideal woman. You smiled, and that sealed the deal. In his mind, you’re a couple. He belongs to you, and you most certainly belong to him.”
“So how do we get him out in the open?” Ben asked. “Should she tell him it’s time to meet?”
“Part of the stalker’s payoff is the control, particularly when the victim doesn’t know who he is. He can give her peace by disappearing for a while. He can freak her out by letting her know he’s seen her that very day. For example...” She pulled Sam’s laptop from the center of the table and typed in a search phrase. “He sent this a month ago. ‘You look so blond in black, but the shoes weren’t your best choice for an art exhibit, were they?’ That scared you, didn’t it?”
Natasha smiled ruefully. “I tried to crawl into the back of Stacia’s closet and never come out, but she and her boyfriend stopped me.”
Her accent sounding more British the longer she talked, Dr. Armstrong went on. “He can take her mood from happy to hysterical in two seconds flat. He decides whether she sleeps peacefully or has nightmares. It’s up to him whether she keeps a job, has a normal life, goes out for a meal—everything. That power is a big deal to him. He’s not ready to relinquish it.”
“Even though he knows the police are involved.”
The doctor was shaking her head before Daniel’s remark was finished. “This kind of guy sees barriers as challenges. He’s put a lot of time and effort into stalking her. The only time this type is truly concerned about the authorities is when he’s actually locked up. He sees his persistence in pursuing her despite the police as proof of just how much he loves her. He’s showing that nothing can keep him away from her.”
Daniel had told Natasha years ago that he would always love her, would always be there for her. His commitment had been sweet and perfect, exactly what she felt for him. It had made her feel loved. Worthy. Secure.
The same sentiments from—she couldn’t help borrowing Stacia’s nickname—crazy-pants stalker guy scared the crap out of her.
As if he knew what she was thinking, Daniel leaned closer and murmured, “Sanity counts for a lot, doesn’t it?”
More than she’d realized. Now she knew her family might be unconventional, but they weren’t crazy.
“As far as trying to lure him into the open... The only way to do that is using Natasha. The guy’s clever, delusional and most likely has psychopathic tendencies. He knows how to cover his tracks. The tone of his messages has gotten harsher, threatening. Until now, he’s been in control, but meeting her on her terms would require giving her control. That’s not going to happen. Further, he’s coming out of the obsessive-love stage. He’s starting to find fault with her, which makes him potentially even more dangerous. That’s when this personality type decides...” Dr. Armstrong trailed off, glancing around the table before apologetically settling her gaze on Natasha.
Maybe, because it was her life they were talking about, it was easier for Natasha to say the words out loud. Better for the others to not have to. “If he can’t have me, no one else can.”
* * *
After the meeting, the conference room cleared out pretty quickly. Sam and Ben walked out with Morwenna and her mum, and Lois headed off for brunch with her husband and the grandkids. Daniel and Natasha remained in their chairs. She had nowhere to go but the hotel, and he had nothing to do but keep an eye on her.
Her head was tilted back, her gaze on the fancy crown molding. He settled his gaze on the beat-up desk against the wall. Taped to one of its drawers was a ragged internet meme someone had considered funny enough in a sick way to share. You say psycho like it’s a bad thing.
It didn’t seem amusing now.
Dr. Armstrong had said that psychopaths made up an estimated 1 percent of the population. With about twenty million people in the greater Los Angeles area, that translated to... “Only you.”
Natasha didn’t lower her head, but her gaze shifted his way. “Only me what?”
“Only two hundred thousand psychopaths in the LA metropolitan area, and you found one of them.”
“Without even looking.” She straightened in her seat and turned toward him. “The odds against my finding you were even greater, and yet I did. Maybe I should play the lottery.”
Daniel wasn’t a gambler. He’d always liked the sure thing, always played it safe. Maybe it was time he did take a chance.
“Am I going to be sneaked back into the hotel now?”
“Where would you rather go?”
She smiled wryly. “Anywhere.”
His house was as secure as the hotel. Between his weapons, the alarm system, the good-quality locks and the fact that he had the only keys in existence, it w
as even safer. RememberMe knew where it was, but he obviously knew even more about the hotel. A stranger skulking around a quiet neighborhood would stand out more than a stranger downtown.
Maybe it was time to take a chance...but with Natasha’s safety?
Sam and Ben returned to the room while he dithered. “What now?” Sam asked. It was after eleven, and he needed to pick up his wife and her grandmother and head out to the weekly Sunday dinner with forty or more Douglases at the family farm.
In Daniel’s family, it had been a Sunday supper, and there’d rarely been more than the three of them, plus, for too short a time, Natasha. He loved his very small family, but he’d always looked forward to the time when the table would include new little Harpers. Three would make a nice start, he’d teased her, and she’d made a face of mock horror.
Realizing they were waiting for him to respond, he pushed to his feet. “How about I take Natasha to my house?”
Ben and Sam exchanged looks, then Ben remarked, “It’s only a minute from the station.”
“Big yards. Hard to sneak around during the day,” Sam added.
“Mrs. Jansen two doors down. Nosiest woman in town.”
While they argued his case for him, Daniel turned to Natasha. She was still, but an air of taut expectancy shimmered around her. Or was it coming from him? Her face was expressionless, but her eyes held a memory of that kiss. The possibility of more. The desire for more.
“Have the dispatcher contact Liam,” Sam instructed Ben. “Park him on the street, and put Simpson on the cross street.”
Finally Daniel forced his attention back to the men. “Why don’t we put out a big sign that says, ‘Hey, both your targets are here’?”
“Morwenna’s mum said he’s determined but not reckless. Otherwise, he’d have been caught long before now.” Sam picked up his Stetson from the table. “I’ll be on the radio and the cell. Check in with me in an hour.” His gaze flickered away slightly, not quite reaching Natasha, and he amended that. “Maybe two hours.”
Killer Smile Page 18
