by Julie Miller
“Avoiding your emotions is how you keep your energy up?”
She opened her eyes and lolled her head to the left to face him. “It’s a defense mechanism and you know it, Dr. Harrison.”
He grinned at the reference to his earlier claim that he didn’t need a Ph.D. to understand people’s behavior. “Personally, I think you use up less energy if you just go with the flow of what you’re feeling instead of trying to reason out all the potential consequences.”
“That can be your dissertation topic when you decide to become a full-fledged behavioral psychologist.”
Boone’s grin became a chuckle. The woman’s clever sense of humor revealed she was a lot tougher than she looked. “So, since we’re talking hypotheses...” she giggled at the big word coming out of his mouth “...what’s this new theory you have about the Rose Red Rapist?”
Her smile faded and she turned her focus back out to the men and women still working the scene in front of her house. But talking was what she did for a living, and she was willing to share. “I’ve been thinking this for a while—that this stalking bit doesn’t fit the profile of our unsub. Our rapist is a cockroach who doesn’t want to be seen. Who is so good at not being seen, in fact, that, after all these years, we have virtually no description of him. I’ve seen the man in the brown coveralls twice now. A stalker wants someone to know he’s there. And after my run-in with that guy tonight... I think we’re looking for two unsubs. The rapist and—”
“—a copycat who identifies with him?”
“At least a fan who thinks he’s helping him.”
As horrible as the thought of having two whack-jobs out there was, Boone could see the logic of her idea. “The guy in your house tonight—the stalker—he may even think he’s protecting his...hero...from KCPD, the task force and the face of that task force. You.”
Kate nodded. “Me. I’m thinking this unsub is younger. He’s following all the publicity of the case, and might see Rose Red as a role model. He has the compulsion to hurt women, to terrorize them—but he hasn’t progressed to the stage of attacking them.”
Boone’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “What about tonight? He attacked you.”
“That was a fight-or-flight reflex. He wasn’t expecting to find me there. He just wanted to get away and I was in his path.” She faced him again. “He heard or saw the big, scary cowboy coming into the house after him, and ran out the opposite direction.”
“And plowed into you.”
She reached up to touch the mark on her cheek. “What do you think he hit me with? It wasn’t a gun. Or a knife.”
“From the pattern of the damage done in your bedroom, CSI Hermann thinks he was armed with a box cutter.” Boone stretched his arm across seat to brush her soft golden hair away from the injury. “You’re damn lucky you didn’t lose one of those beautiful eyes.”
He felt her skin warming beneath his touch and leaned across the seat to kiss her. But a firm hand in the middle of his chest stopped him from getting too close. “Not here.” She dropped her hand and glanced out the windows. “Not where the others can see us.”
“I think they’ve already got an idea about us, Doc.” Boone pulled his hand away, turned on the headlights and shifted the truck into gear. “I’m just not sure you’ve got the same idea.”
His foot was still on the brake when she slipped her hand out of her pocket again. He could see the little tremors in her fingertips as it slid across the seat toward him, out of sight from all the cops and coworkers and curious onlookers outside. Maybe she did have some inkling of that idea.
Boone reached out, swallowed up her hand in his and held on tight.
She offered.
He accepted.
His instincts were telling him to hold on to this woman any way he could. He likened this uncertain relationship to taming a stubborn, ill-used filly. The desire to work with him was there. But it would require patience and practice and building an unshakable trust before she could truly be his.
Now he just had to make sure a raping killer and his blossoming protégé gave them the time he needed to make that happen.
Chapter Eight
The last of the bubbles had popped and gone by the time Kate decided she’d soaked long enough in the hotel room’s spacious bathtub. She reluctantly opened her eyes and forced her jelly-soft muscles to wake up so she could unstop the drain and climb out.
She wrapped a warm towel around her middle and crossed to the mirror to run a comb through her hair and fluff the short strands into place. She could wash her hair and relax the tension from her body with a steamy bath, but there was no toning down the evidence of going head-to-head with the intruder who’d broken into her house. Leaning over the sink to get a closer look, Kate gently touched the sickle-shaped cut beneath her eye. Her cheek wasn’t as swollen as it felt, but she’d be wearing a natural blue, purple and violet blush for a while.
Every bruise on her body stood out against her pale, freshly washed skin. The chill that shimmied down her spine and raised goose bumps across her arms and legs could be attributed to the variations in temperature between the bath water and the air, but she suspected her sudden inability to feel warm had a lot to do with being up for nearly twenty-four hours, and suddenly, fully, realizing just how close a call she’d had.
Whether she’d confronted the Rose Red Rapist or a wannabe sidekick, her injuries could have been so much worse. She might be lying in the morgue like Janie Harrison had, instead of lying in a hotel bathtub until every cell of her body had finally relaxed. Unable to shake the chill, Kate pulled one of the fluffy white terry robes off the back of the door and wrapped it around her body, towel and all. She tied the sash around her waist and opened the bathroom door.
“It’s as rejuvenating as a long ride on a good horse, isn’t it.” Boone Harrison was stretched out on the sofa in the suite’s sitting area, with his feet propped on the coffee table in front of him. His voice sounded drowsy in the room’s dimly lit shadows. But Kate had a sense of unblinking eyes focused squarely on hers, as if he’d been watching the closed door the entire time she’d been in there.
Feeling her temperature rising again beneath those warm brown eyes, Kate knotted the robe a second time, wondering if it was possible for him to tell that she’d left her pajamas in her bag in the suite’s separate bedroom. “Well, the scenery may not be as striking, but I bet it’s a lot easier on the muscles.”
Boone rose from the couch and strolled across the room. “Depends on what scenery you’re looking at.”
He lifted the collar of her robe and pulled it to the base of her throat, covering the top of the towel and stretch of skin she’d inadvertently exposed across her chest.
All the blood seemed to rush to Kate’s face as she plucked the collar from his fingers and clasped it together at her neck. His suggestive compliment and teasing smile warmed her in ways a bath and robe could not. Good grief. She was almost forty and blushing like a schoolgirl. Time to check her hormones and remember why they were sharing this hotel suite in the first place.
She moved toward the clock on the coffee table before consciously remembering to breathe again. “It’s five in the morning. Do you need help unfolding the sofa bed out here?”
“I got it covered, Doc. I set out the spare pillows and blanket, pulled all the blinds in both rooms—for security’s sake, as well as keeping the sun out when it comes up. I verified that one of Montgomery’s squad cars has circled the place at least twice. And the Do Not Disturb sign is on the door.”
“You’ve been busy.”
He grinned. “You were in there a long time.”
She returned his smile, then changed direction toward the bedroom door. “We have permission to sleep in as long as we need before the task force debriefs, but I think we’d better say good night.”
If Boone had picked up on the raw nervous energy she felt, he was either too tired or too polite to call her on it. “Everything’s locked up tight so yo
u can get some rest, Doc. I still want to jump into the shower if you’ve left me any hot water.”
“A little.” She wasn’t such a schoolgirl around a mature, virile man that she couldn’t throw out a little teasing, too—or appreciate that his presence here did make her feel safe. Safer, at any rate. “I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I? Drawing this guy out so we can catch him?”
She could tell he still wasn’t completely sold on her theories about the case. “If that bastard or his sick little sidekick shows his face, I will take him out before they can hurt you. I promise you that.”
It was a promise she desperately wanted to believe. “Good night, Boone.”
“Good night, Kate.”
Weary and wrung out both physically and emotionally, Kate changed into her pajamas and crawled under the covers. She’d barely turned off the light and rolled over before falling into a deep, hard sleep.
Exhaustion claimed her body.
But her mind couldn’t seem to shut down and let her rest.
From the darkest shadows of dream land she heard laughter. Not teasing. Not funny.
Painful laughter. It was a man’s and a woman’s voices, mocking her. Wounding her.
Kate thrashed in the bed, fighting to wake herself before the nightmare could claim her. But she wasn’t strong enough to spare herself.
“You think you’re so smart.” Vanessa Owen wandered out of one dark corner of the hotel room as horrid dreams came to life. She walked hand in hand with Kate’s husband, Brad. “You have no clue about men and women and the world, Kate. They don’t need you. They’ll leave you behind.”
Brad was dressed in the tuxedo he’d worn on their wedding day. The gold ring she’d given him glinted with an unearthly green light. “So smart,” he laughed. “So stupid. We all leave.”
They walked up to the bed and circled around her. Laughing. Pointing. Kissing. Forcing her to watch their happiness while the bed beneath her turned mucky, spongy like black quicksand.
“Stop. Don’t do this.” Kate argued with the haunting images to make them disappear. They leaned over her, pushed her down, surrounded her in the black hole that sucked her down into the murky abyss. She reached for her husband. “I love you.”
“Not good enough, Kate.” His laughter deepened, filled up her ears.
“You said you loved me.” She caught hold of his hand, but she was sinking. Drowning. “You gave me your word.”
“I lied.” He let go of her hand and she plummeted into the darkness.
“Stop.” Kate clawed her way to the surface. She struggled to wake herself, to find her way back to the real world of light and hope. “Stop it!”
“So, so smart.” Vanessa leaned over her. Her long, curling hair dangled in Kate’s face, caught in Kate’s mouth and choked her. “So, so stupid.”
“Stop.” Kate tried to brush it away, to speak, to protest—to beg if she must. But her arms were trapped, her body pinned.
The corners of the room swirled with shadows, circling around, closing in. Other hands were on her now, dragging her down. Squeezing the air from her lungs. Stopping up her mouth. Crushing her throat.
She tried to scream, but the unseen hands wielded slashing silver blades. They cut her tongue, sliced her throat.
Stop.
Laughter.
Stop.
Darkness.
Stop.
Silence.
“Stop!”
Kate flung herself out of the grasping pit of darkness. The scream tore through her and she startled herself awake.
She clutched at her neck and opened her eyes, unsure what was reality and what was nightmare. She was still in her hotel room. There were still dark corners. Still shadows.
There was one tall, dark, broad shadow, in particular—throwing open the door to stand silhouetted against the light from the other room.
“Doc?”
* * *
KATE KICKED OFF THE COVERS that had wound around her body and scrambled onto her knees and across the bed to flip on the lamp.
The small circle of light chased away the darkest of the images that terrorized her. It also gave shape and form to the figure standing in the open doorway.
“Boone?”
“Yeah, Doc, it’s me.”
His gaze swept around the room. He opened the closet door, checked behind each curtain, then crossed to the bed. Details registered now that the shadows were fading. He carried his gun pointed down at his side. His damp hair glistened like polished onyx, run through with shards of silver. His hastily buttoned jeans rode low on his hips, as if he’d jumped out of bed and run in here, expecting to find an intruder.
The only intruders had been the cruel images conjured by her emotions. Kate’s hands fisted at her throat and stomach. She was still breathing hard and deep, and her heart thudded against her ribs.
“I was having a nightmare.”
“You think?”
Her gaze dropped briefly to the gun. But the rock-steady gaze and piercing alertness of the man standing above her compelled her to tip her chin up to face him. She pulled the covers into her lap. “I woke you. I’m sorry.”
“At least I know you’ve got a good scream in case you really are in danger.”
She knew she was meant to laugh, but couldn’t quite summon the sound from her throat. Boone tucked the gun into the back of his jeans and sat on the edge of the bed. He pulled her hands off the covers and rubbed them between his palms. “God, woman, you’re like ice. I heard you cry out and came to check. I thought your friend found a way to scale the building and break through a locked window to get to you.”
She watched his hands and felt the magic effect they had on her. So rough in texture, so gentle in touch, his big hands were sheltering, soothing—and shared an abundant warmth her nightmare had stolen from her.
“I’m afraid the only danger is inside my head.” She squeezed her eyes shut against the gritty sensation of gathering tears. “I think too much, don’t I? And then an idea gets stuck in my head and I’m too stubborn to believe any differently.” She blinked her eyes open and the evidence of all her frustration, fears and fatigue spilled over. “I can never just leave well enough alone.”
“Hey, none of that. You’ll get your bandages wet.” He caught the first tear with the tip of his finger and wiped it away. He patiently caught another, and another, until she sniffed and regained a dubious control over her emotions. “You want to talk about it?”
She wiped away the next few tears herself and sniffed again. “I’m the counselor. I’m supposed to help other people talk about things.”
Boone got up to stack the pillows against the headboard, straighten the covers and tuck them securely around her. The bed shifted when he sat back down on top of the duvet beside her. He leaned back against the pillows and pulled her into his arms, nestling her injured cheek against the firm heat of his chest.
“You talk to me,” he ordered on a velvety-toned whisper.
The armor surrounding Kate’s heart cracked open, without any hope of repairing the protective barrier this time. Without thinking, she wound her arm around his waist, found damp, warm skin to hold on to, and leaned into his strength and comfort.
For several minutes, he simply held her in silence. Kate’s head cleared as she drank in the spicy, fresh scent of his skin. She pulled strength from him and felt his abundant heat slowly working its way through her body. The shelter of Boone Harrison’s arms chased away the threat from the shadows and her imagination.
Trusting that he meant what he said about listening, she began to open up and share a little about the nightmare, and the realities that triggered it. She talked about her marriage and Brad’s affair with Vanessa—how the relationship and people expert had felt like a failure—clueless, betrayed, heartbroken. She talked about rebuilding her life and focusing on her career, how she felt a special affinity for female victims of violent crimes and often did pro bono work helping them find their voice and confiden
ce again. She talked about the things she’d seen the Rose Red Rapist do to a woman, and how driven she felt to get him off the streets so those victims could stand a chance of emotional recovery.
Every fear, every compulsion, had woven its way into her nightmare. The emotions, the personal threats. She’d wanted to fight, to defeat those demons. But she’d been helpless, powerless, a victim herself all over again.
Boone’s fingers stroked the hair at her temple. His steady breathing and strong heartbeat evened out the tempo of her own. And he listened. Just as he’d promised. He listened.
“...and I couldn’t talk. They humiliated me and hurt me and kept me from speaking. I just wanted somebody to listen.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that dream.” His fingers paused their gentle massage.
“No?”
“Honey, once you get an idea in your head, nobody’s ever going to shut you up.”
With that, Kate did laugh. She was ready to now. They both laughed. She felt close to another human being. And all was right in her world. For now.
And then another kind of closeness filled the hushed intimacy of the room. Boone tunneled his fingers into her hair, cradling her nape and the side of her jaw as he tipped her head back and kissed her. Kate anchored her hand at his shoulder and held on as he gently, tenderly, explored and reassured. She welcomed him into her mouth, tasting the minty bite of his toothpaste, savoring the catlike rasp of his tongue sliding against hers.
She slid her fingers up into the coal-black silk of his hair and pulled herself more fully into his leisurely, thorough embrace. He kindled an ember of heat deep in her belly, and it spread into every limb, into every cell, until every inch of her, from the tips of her breasts to her once-frozen toes, was on fire.
“Kate.” Just as her brain was shutting down and her body’s craving to crawl right into his heat was taking over, Boone rolled away.
But he pulled away from the needy clutch of her fingers for only a few moments. He reached behind him and then she heard the heavy thump of his gun being set aside on the nightstand. “Boone?”
