by Dee Davis
“I want to be inside you.” His voice was still hoarse, his need showing raw across his face. “Now.”
She nodded, spreading her legs, offering herself.
Bracing himself on his elbows, he looked down at her, eyes glazed with passion as he thrust home, the power of his heat stealing her breath away. They stayed still for a moment, eye to eye, their breathing in sync, linked together as man and woman.
The pleasure was exquisite, and she pushed against him, taking him even deeper.
There was passion reflected in the depths of his eyes and something else—something so tender it almost took her breath away. She lost herself then in the brown and green of his eyes.
Together they began to move, rocking slowly at first, savoring the moment—the connection—then gradually they began to move faster, each stroke bringing them tantalizingly close to the edge of the precipice.
Tension built between them like a delicately strung wire, pulling tighter and tighter, pleasure and pain mixing as one, need driving every move. She reached up to grab the railing of the headboard, arching her back, pulling him deeper. And balanced on his elbows, he yielded to her demand, the pounding of her heart echoing the motion.
Amazingly the tension inside her was building again, stronger than before, demanding release, promising pleasure beyond imagination, the only reality the sensation between her thighs.
His hands circled her hips, and he began to move with her. Up, down, in, out. Over and over again, deeper and deeper, their eyes locked together, a connection beyond the physical.
The heat between them built, flames of passion licking at them both, winding them tighter and tighter, pulling the thread taut, and then with a moan, she slammed upward, driving him deeper, and the fury erupted, the storm reaching crescendo.
Calling his name, Hannah wound her fingers in the soft swirl of his hair and surrendered herself to the fire, feeling his spasms as he, too, climaxed. She tightened her legs around him as if trying to bind them together. To hold on to this moment.
She wasn’t naïve. And this certainly wasn’t her first time. But somehow, she knew that with Harrison it was different—special. Of course she also knew that soon the feelings would fade, rational thought taking precedence over emotion.
Harrison rolled to his side, pulling her with him, staying connected, as if he, too, wasn’t quite ready to let go. She reached out to smooth back the hair from his face, the gesture somehow more intimate than the acts preceding it.
Tomorrow she’d have to face reality. But for now, she was content just to lie there listening to the cadence of his heartbeat. If there was no such thing as happily ever after, then that was all the more reason to savor the moment.
CHAPTER 10
Jasmine stopped at the front door of Tina’s house, holding a small duffle. Tina had been totally freaked about her cat. The FBI agents hadn’t been able to find him, and she was worried something had happened. So Jasmine had agreed to check on Asha and gather some things the FBI agents hadn’t thought to get for her. She figured she’d deal with the cat now, and deliver Tina’s things this afternoon. She glanced at her watch, satisfied that she had plenty of time before she was due to open the coffee shop.
The sun was just visible above the horizon, pink lines spreading upward into the still blue-black sky. If she hadn’t been in such a hurry, it would have been a moment to savor. But in all honesty, Jasmine couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a minute to enjoy anything. Which was totally her own fault. Had she known how difficult it would be to create a successful coffee house in the era of Starbucks, she might have had second thoughts.
But Jasmine wasn’t given to introspection. She’d always just jumped feet first, no time for considering things. She’d set her goal and stuck to it. So when an old house on the edge of campus had gone up for sale, she’d bought it. And six months and a hell of a lot of red tape later, she’d opened Java Joe. And the rest, as they said, was history.
She reached into the geranium pot for Tina’s spare key, and then slid it into the lock and opened the door. The house was small, but charming, decorated with a touch of whimsy. Jasmine’s eyes fell to a wall sculpture of three dancing women—their arms and legs spread in abandon. Cut from an old oil drum, the metallic art piece was the work of a former student. A boy Tina had once dated.
Jasmine struggled to remember his name, but came up empty as she took the stairs two at a time, heading for Tina’s bedroom. Asha’s favorite hiding place. The room looked as if Tina had just left it. The bed unmade, stuff scattered everywhere. They’d roomed together when Jasmine was a sophomore and Tina a freshman. And there hadn’t been any space left uncovered by something of Tina’s.
Nothing had changed.
“Asha?” she called, checking the closet carefully for signs of the cat. But he was evidently hiding elsewhere.
She checked under the bed, and then stopped at the bureau to grab the underthings Tina had requested. She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on the reason she was here in the first place. It was just too awful. And inconceivable. Sunderland had always been a safe haven. And the idea that some crazy dude was out there hurting women… well, it was just too much to consider.
She opened another drawer and added Tina’s favorite T-shirt to the duffle and then turned to face the room, the lingering shadows making it seem suddenly less than inviting. Sucking in a breath, she searched quickly for the boots, finally finding them under the bedside table.
All that was left was to gather some toiletries, then she’d be on her way. Screw the damn cat. Glancing at her watch, Jasmine quickened her pace as she walked back into the hall, heading to the bathroom.
The house was quiet except for the wind whistling through the trees outside. She could see the clouds gathering in the distance, the pink-tinted sky turning to a steely gray. It looked like it was going to be a blustery day. Jasmine shivered, pulling her sweater closer, quickening her pace. At least that meant folks would be wanting coffee.
She stopped in the hallway just outside the bathroom, frowning, something somewhere setting off alarm bells. Standing perfectly still, she waited, heart pounding, but the house remained quiet. Blowing out a breath, she started into the bathroom, but swung around again as the sound of something rustling emanated from the spare room across from her.
Asha.
Shaking her head, she started for the spare room, but froze when she heard a crash followed by a thump as something heavy hit the floor. Adrenaline pumping, she sprinted for the stairway, figuring retreat was her best option. But she hadn’t made it very far when something dashed past her, a long silky tail brushing against her leg.
“Damn it, Asha,” she yelled at the retreating cat. “You scared the life out of me.” Said feline stopped a few feet away, inspecting a paw, feigning indifference, and Jasmine bent to rub between the cat’s ears, heart still pounding.
“What has you all in a tizzy?” she asked, forcing herself to retrace her steps and check the spare room. A storage box lay on the floor, the contents scattered. And next to it, a broken vase and some silk roses. With a sigh, she bent to straighten Asha’s mess. The cat was a certified kamikaze. Always trying to climb to the top of everything. And more often than not, missing by a mile.
She tucked the box back on top of the bookshelf and threw out the shards of glass, then grabbed the duffle again and went back to the bathroom. Picking out the moisturizer and face cream Tina had requested, she shoved them into the bag and headed for the staircase. Asha had disappeared, but Jasmine didn’t have time to look for him.
“It’d serve you right if I left without feeding you,” she called as she headed down the stairs, duffle in hand. She stopped in the kitchen and opened the pantry to grab the bag of cat food. After opening it, she turned to the bowls by the back door, surprised to find that they’d been turned over—water pooling beside them on the floor.
More of Asha’s antics.
She cleaned up the floor and then filled both
bowls, returning them to their proper places. “Tina, you’re going to owe me big time.” She laughed to herself and then headed for the front door, remembering at the last minute that she’d forgotten the duffle. Turning back, she walked into the kitchen and reached for the duffle on the counter where she’d left it.
But just as her hand closed around the strap, someone grabbed her from behind, a hard calloused palm pressing against her mouth. She slammed an elbow backward, satisfied to hear a grunt of pain, and jerked free for a moment. But her attacker was bigger and faster.
His arm circled her waist, pulling her backward, but she kicked out, fighting against him, the momentum sending them both crashing into the counter. Scrambling, she pulled an arm free and made a grab for the knife block. But before she could reach it, his fist closed around her braids, and he yanked her back, the pain making her dizzy.
Above her she saw Asha, on the top of the cabinets, back arched, spitting with fury. With a scream worthy of a Scottish banshee, the cat launched himself at the man, hitting him square on the shoulders. With a muffled curse, he swung at the cat, knocking the animal aside. But it was the opportunity Jasmine needed. Breaking free, she ran full-out for the front door, yanking at it only to remember that it was locked.
She struggled with the deadbolt, trying to turn the latch with shaking fingers. Finally, it turned, but she was too late. The man grabbed her from behind, pulling her away from the door and freedom. This time it was a handkerchief that covered her mouth and nose, the sickly sweet smell making her woozy. She tried to fight him, but her limbs had gone rubbery, her mind filling with cotton.
It was like trying to swim through a fierce current. The harder she tried, the deeper she was dragged, until there was no more air to breathe. With a sigh, she let go, realizing that Professor Marshall had been right—the man who’d killed Sara Lauter was going to kill again.
Hannah stood in the doorway of the war room, trying to calm her nerves. Inside, huddled together over the computer, stood Harrison with two beautiful women. One the blonde all-American type and the other a statuesque black woman with full lips and perfectly carved cheekbones.
The kind of women men went wild over.
She shook her head, embarrassed by her jealousy. She and Harrison had slept together. A one-night stand to relieve pressure. They’d both entered into the liaison willingly, and neither of them had made promises they couldn’t keep. It was just the way she liked things.
Except that this morning, when she’d awoken to an empty bed, she’d felt a profound sense of loss. A gut-level ache that she wasn’t willing to examine too closely. And now, standing here watching him flirt with the two women, the pain was even more acute.
Damn it all to hell—she hadn’t fallen for the man. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
Squaring her shoulders, Hannah walked into the room. Avery was standing in the corner, on his cellphone, and Simon and Drake were huddled over the same files Drake had been culling last night. Upon seeing Hannah, Avery snapped the phone shut and, with a quick nod, headed for the front of the room.
“Now that everyone’s here,” he said, “we’ll get started.”
The blonde looked up from the computer, her face classically lovely. But there was a spark of something else there. A strength that Hannah couldn’t help but admire. This woman was more than the skin she wore.
With a warm smile for Harrison, she moved from behind the computer desk, her stomach preceding her. Madison Roarke was at least five months pregnant. Hannah hated the fact that she felt an acute sense of relief. Where the hell was her pride? She’d slept with the guy, not married him.
“So before we begin, let me officially introduce our guests,” Avery said, as everyone gathered around the table.
Harrison was sitting between the two women, his attention, as usual, on his computer. He had yet to make eye contact. And real or imagined, Hannah could feel the tension radiating between them. This was why it was a stupid idea to sleep with a colleague.
“Special Agent Madison Roarke.” Avery gestured toward the blonde. “And forensic pathologist Tracy Braxton. We really appreciate your coming on such short notice.”
“Anything for Harrison,” Madison said, with another fond smile. “And besides, this is what we do. Although usually with a full team.” Madison worked with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, a group within the FBI dedicated to profiling and tracking serial killers.
“Hey, you’ve got Harrison and me. What more do you need?” Tracy’s eyes danced with amusement. “It’s like old home week. Not sure it gets any better than that.”
Again, Hannah felt the surge of jealousy. She’d known, of course, that Harrison had had a life before A-Tac, but somehow it hadn’t seemed to matter. But now, faced with the reality of these two women, both of them clearly close to Harrison, she wasn’t at all comfortable with the idea. Harrison belonged with A-Tac. They were family.
Not to mention the intimacy of the night before.
As if reading her mind, Harrison looked up, his expression unreadable, but the small smile at the corner of his lips twisted her stomach, her pheromones not the least bit interested in the logic that she shouldn’t let herself get any more involved.
Love caused pain. Period. It had destroyed her when she was young, and then she’d faced a different sort of loss with Jason’s death. She wasn’t willing to go there again. Which meant that Harrison’s defection this morning should have pleased her. It just made it easier to pretend that nothing had happened, but somehow her heart hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Actually, it can be better,” Harrison was saying. “You’ve also got A-Tac on your side. And trust me when I say, it doesn’t get any better than these guys.” He smiled at her then, the warmth in his eyes almost her undoing. At least they were still friends.
“As much as I appreciate the accolades,” Avery said, “we’ve got a killer out there. And if I understand correctly, Madison can’t afford more than a couple of days with us. So we need to hit the ground running.”
“So what have you got?” Drake asked, pushing back in his chair so that it was propped on two legs as he leaned back against the wall. He and Simon were watching the two newcomers warily. And Hannah suppressed a smile. Some things at least hadn’t changed, the alpha males clearly marking their territory.
“Not as much as I’d like,” Madison said. “Right now, you’ve got what appears to be an isolated incident. Which makes it harder to profile. But there are certain tells that would seem to point to the fact that this isn’t the killer’s first time around the block.”
“Meaning you think he’s killed before?” Simon asked, his gaze speculative.
“Yes. I do.” Madison nodded, standing up to move to the front of the room, her hand resting protectively against her swollen belly. “People don’t just jump into this kind of organized sadistic torture. They work their way up to it.”
“So have you found anything that looks like this guy’s warm-up act?” Simon asked, his gaze moving to Harrison.
“No. Nothing in the area,” Harrison replied. “Which makes the whole thing a little bit weirder. These guys usually don’t stray very far from their comfort zone. So you’d expect to find something local with a similar MO. Or at least some sign of a killer building his fantasy. But so far, we haven’t found anything.”
“What about widening the search radius?” Avery asked. “I know these guys like to keep to their own backyards, but in our business, sometimes it’s all about the exception.”
“Well, profiling works off of predicting behavior. But I agree there are always people who fall outside the parameters,” Madison agreed.
“Unfortunately, the only parallel we found when we widened the search was the cyber killer,” Tracy said, her voice low and husky. Sexy. Hannah shook her head—angry at the train of her thoughts. She wasn’t in the running for Harrison. And even if she was, every other woman wouldn’t automatically be competition.
“The guy that killed Harriso
n’s sister?” Simon asked, eyebrows raising. “But wasn’t that like nine years ago? I mean, isn’t it weird for someone like that to suddenly resurface after all this time?”
“It’s rare, but not unheard of,” Madison said. “Sometimes there are extenuating circumstances. An unsub winds up in prison. Or some change in his life prevents his continuing to kill. Or maybe something happens to relieve the stressor. Most of these guys are reacting to something negative that happened in their lives. Sometimes real, sometimes imagined. Then when something happens to change any of those circumstances—”
“Like being released from jail,” Drake prompted.
“Exactly.” Madison nodded. “In that case, they’re free to resume.”
“So if this guy found something to tame the beast, so to speak,” Hannah said, “and then for some reason that situation changed, he could be right back where he started.”
“Sometimes it’s even worse,” Madison added. “But we don’t think this is the work of the cyber killer.”
“What about the photograph on Sara’s computer?” Hannah asked. “Surely that would indicate a connection to the cyber killer.”
“A connection, yes, but nothing that links concretely to the actual killer,” Madison said, as Harrison brought the photograph up on the overhead screen. “Anyone could have taken this. At any time.”
“But the black and white and the crime scene tape—” Hannah began, but Harrison interrupted.
“I analyzed the digital image early this morning and couldn’t find anything that proves it’s an old shot. But I also couldn’t find any evidence of tampering either. Which indicates it wasn’t photoshopped. So it could be the real deal. Or someone could have physically staged the shot. There’s just no way to verify for certain.”
“Do we know if the house still exists?” Simon asked.
“It does,” Tracy nodded. “And the appearance, especially at night, is still pretty much the same.”
