by Sherri Hayes
She padded into the bathroom in her bare feet, figuring she’d go ahead and get ready for bed. When she emerged ten minutes later, she found the kitty cat pajamas she’d brought with her—since moving in with Paul and Chloe, she’d had to make adjustments to her sleepwear—and put them on.
Megan was about to crawl into bed and see what she could find on television when she heard what sounded like something crashing to the floor next door. Jumping up, Megan went to the door connecting her room with Paul’s. He’d gotten them adjoining rooms to make it easier for Chloe, but since the little girl was with her grandmother, Megan knew the noise had to be coming from Paul.
“Paul? Are you all right over there?”
No answer.
“Paul?”
Still nothing.
Without stopping to think, Megan turned the handle on the door. It wasn’t locked, and it opened easily.
She peeked inside, and what she saw had her scrambling across the room in a hurry. Paul was balanced—barely—against the dresser that supported the television. He looked as if he’d just come from the bathroom, and he was drunk. Not a little drunk, but can’t-walk-straight-or-talk-without-slurring-his-words drunk. She’d never seen him like this.
“Meg-Meg-an.” He sighed, and attempted to raise his arm toward her as she wrapped her arm around his waist. He was twice her size, and in his current condition, he was dead weight.
With little help from him, Megan moved him a few feet over to the bed. He plopped down so hard he bounced.
Once she was fairly sure he wasn’t going to topple over, she glanced around the room. That was when she noticed the bottle of scotch on the coffee table. Most of the bottle appeared to be gone, and as there was no one else in the room, she had to assume he’d drunk it all himself.
“Will you be okay for a minute?”
“Su-sure.” Paul smiled up at her, and she felt something flutter in the pit of her stomach.
Stop it, she told herself, as she marched back into her room to get some ibuprofen.
He was still where she left him when she returned with something for the headache he was bound to have come morning. She took one of the glasses provided by the hotel into the bathroom to fill it up with water, before returning to stand directly in front of him. “Here. Take these. If you drank as much as I think you did, then you are going to have one massive hangover in the morning.”
Without comment, or protest, Paul downed the pills like they were candy. She handed him the water, and he drained that within seconds as well.
When he was done, she took the glass from him, and went to refill it. Again, he drained it when she brought it back to him. Once he polished that one off, Megan set aside the empty glass. She couldn’t help but wonder what had brought this on, although she was pretty sure she knew.
Megan was lost in thought when she felt Paul’s fingers brush the outside of her legs. At first, she thought it was unintentional, but then he got bolder and flattened his palms so that they were bracketing her waist. She could feel the heat of his hands through her clothes. Megan knew she should push him away—he was drunk, after all—but she couldn’t. She wanted to see what he would do.
“Always wear . . . most in . . . testing . . . p . . . jamaszzz.”
She swallowed. He noticed her pajamas? Since when? “I like cats.”
“Mmm.” Paul slipped the pads of his thumbs under her shirt, and began making circles against her belly. It was incredibly intimate—more intimate than a lot of the sex she’d had. This felt different. It was different. This was Paul. He wasn’t like the guys she normally hung out with.
“Paul?” Her voice cracked. Why did she feel as if this was her first time?
Again, he ignored her, and this time he leaned forward, pulling her closer. He lifted her shirt, exposing her stomach, and pressed his lips against her skin.
Megan reacted in the only way she could, by placing her hands on his head, lacing her fingers through his hair. What was happening?
Paul continued upward with his exploration—pushing her shirt out of the way as he went—until he reached her breasts. He cupped each one, filling both his hands, and began kneading and lifting them. Her nipples hardened, and she felt her body react in other ways. She knew she should stop him, but she couldn’t. Megan had dreamt about this . . . how it could happen . . . but she’d never imagined it would be like this.
He eased her left breast into his mouth and began sucking on it as though it was his life source. Megan moaned. She was a woman who liked sex, and it had been almost five months. No matter how wrong she knew this was, if he was willing, she wasn’t going to say no.
Hearing her pleasure, Paul released her breast, and leaned back on the bed, pulling her down with him. He cupped the back of her head, and a second later, his mouth was covering hers—his tongue pushing against her lips—begging, demanding entrance.
She opened her mouth, and his tongue surged inside, licking and caressing. Megan could taste the alcohol on his breath, but she also tasted him—something that was uniquely him. Even with Paul being drunk, she could tell he was a good kisser. He angled her head exactly the way he wanted it as he continued his assault on her mouth.
Megan felt him snake his other hand down her body and into her pajama bottoms. He didn’t waste any time going for what he wanted. She gasped as his fingers found just the right spot between her legs. Her body was overheating. She just . . . she just . . .
Suddenly, he stopped kissing her and his hand stilled. The fingers that were tangled in her hair dropped onto the bed.
She opened her eyes and looked down at the man beneath her. His eyes were closed, his mouth opened, and he was snoring softly.
Well, that’s a first.
Not ready to extract herself just yet, Megan reached up and caressed his face. He’d said her name. He’d known it was her. If nothing else, he’d known who she was. If she never got another opportunity to have him, she at least knew that he wasn’t completely indifferent to her. He found her attractive—at least on some level.
Leaning down, she pressed a soft kiss to his parted lips before removing his hand from her pants. Megan knew she needed to go, but she didn’t want to leave him with his feet hanging off the side of the bed.
It took some time, but eventually she was able to get his feet up onto the mattress and him into a position where she was confident he wouldn’t fall off in the middle of the night. His head was near the foot of the bed, and his feet at the head, but it worked nonetheless.
Satisfied she’d done the best she could, Megan debated whether or not to sleep on the couch in his room or go back to her own. It was a hard decision, but she reasoned that he probably wouldn’t want to be babied come morning, so reluctantly she went back to her room. The only concession was that she left the adjoining door open.
Curling up in her bed, Megan looked toward the open door. What would have happened if Paul hadn’t fallen asleep? Unfortunately, she might never know.
It sounded like someone was scraping their nails on a chalkboard, and what Paul wanted more than anything was for them to stop. His head was pounding, and the noise wasn’t helping. He cracked open one eye and quickly closed it again, as the sun shining through the window only made things worse. How much did he have to drink last night? He couldn’t remember. From how he was feeling, though, it was a lot.
As gently as he could, he sat up. The pounding in his head increased slightly. He took a few deep breaths until he was sure his head wasn’t going to fall off, and then made his way into the bathroom to relieve his bladder.
After taking care of business, he took a long look in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot and he had dark circles beneath them. He looked as if he’d been to hell and back, and he felt that way, too.
Making his way back out into the room, he shielded his eyes as best he could as he walked across the room to close the heavy curtains. Once they were pulled tight, blocking the light from outside, the pounding in his head decreased
a little more. Not willing to take the chance, however, Paul went to his bag and dug out some painkillers.
Downing them easily, he glanced at the clock. It was already after nine, which meant Chloe and his mom would be calling soon. He needed to clean himself up. Paul didn’t want his daughter to see him like this.
Thoughts of his mom calling brought his mind back to what woke him in the first place. He went to retrieve his phone from on top of the nightstand near the bed, and sure enough, he had one missed call. It was from his partner, Janey Davis.
Dialing into his voice mail, he listened to her message. There had been another homicide last night. The third one in six months, all with the same MO: young woman, in her late twenties/early thirties, found in her home with her throat and wrists slashed.
With the first one, they’d thought it was a possible suicide, but the cuts were too clean and the angles wrong. Add to that the difficulty of slashing both one’s throat and wrists. When the second victim turned up with identical cuts along her throat and wrists, it was obvious they had a killer on their hands. With victim number three, the higher-ups were going to start wanting answers.
Knowing he needed a shower before he called Janey back, Paul tossed his phone down on the bed, and went to grab some clothes. That’s when he noticed the door between his and Megan’s room was open. He strolled over to the door and peeked in. Megan was still asleep, curled up in her bed with the blankets tucked under her chin, and her hair in complete disarray.
A flash of his hand cupping the back of her head, her green eyes fully dilated staring back at him, filled his vision for a split second, and then it was gone. He shook his head, not understanding where the image came from. Nonetheless, it was enough to cause a reaction below his waist.
Knowing he needed some distance, Paul scurried out of the doorway and back into his room, quietly, yet firmly, closing the door behind him. He really needed that shower, and now he knew it was going to have to be a cold one—an ice-cold one, from the looks of it. Where had that image come from, and why now?
Paul felt much better after his shower, with one exception. He couldn’t seem to get that image of Megan out of his head. It made no sense to him. She’d never looked at him that way before, and he’d never touched her like that. The flash made no sense to him, but he couldn’t shake it. And every time it popped up, all his efforts to calm himself were for naught.
Knowing he needed a distraction, as soon as Paul was dressed, he dialed Janey. She picked up after the first ring. “Up late partying?”
He snorted, and felt it from his head to his toes. The medicine had helped his headache, but that didn’t mean it had gone away completely. “Hardly.”
“Oh, man. I need to show you how to party right, then, Daniels.”
Paul chuckled. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I manage just fine.”
She made a noise through the phone that sounded a lot like the raspberries he blew on Chloe’s stomach from time to time. “Suit yourself. You know you’re always welcome to come out with us anytime, though.”
His partner and some of the other detectives from the station regularly invited him to come out with them after a shift, but he’d always made the excuse that he had to get home to Chloe. He had no idea how he would dodge that once she got older, but for the moment, it worked. None of them pushed, except for Janey, and he figured that was because she knew he was only using Chloe as an excuse.
Janey and Paul had been partners for five years. She’d been there when he’d lost Melissa, so she knew all the ups and downs he’d gone through. Janey knew more than most when it came to how much he still grieved for his wife, because she was there beside him every day.
Wanting to change the subject, Paul brought up the reason she’d called him in the first place. “Another victim turned up last night?”
“Yeah. Everything was the same as the other two, right down to the angle of the cuts. This guy knows what he’s doing. Doc says he’s confident now that the cuts were made by someone with a medical background.”
It was something the medical examiner had brought up with the other two victims they’d found, but he’d been reluctant to go on record with it. Apparently, with this third victim, he felt he had enough evidence to support his theory.
“I suppose that narrows it down some. It will give us a place to start, at least.”
“Anything is better than what we’ve had to go on so far.”
That was the truth. This was one of the more frustrating cases he’d worked on in his fifteen years with the Indianapolis police department. There were no prints at the scene and no DNA left by the killer. There were no obvious signs anyone but the victim had been in the house at the time of death.
“When are you heading back?”
There was a knock on the door that joined his room to Megan’s—the one he’d closed about thirty minutes ago. “We should be back tonight.” He paused. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you when I get back and we can talk about a game plan.”
“Don’t sweat it. Enjoy your family time. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”
The door cracked opened, and Megan peeked through. Her hair no longer looked as if she’d had someone running their fingers through it. Paul swallowed. “Okay. Sounds good.”
Janey hesitated. “You sure you’re all right?”
Paul’s gaze never left Megan’s. For some reason, he couldn’t look away. “Yeah. I’m good.”
Before Janey could interrogate him any more about his strange behavior, Paul disconnected the call. He set the phone down on the nightstand, feeling strangely uncomfortable as Megan opened the door further and stepped inside his room. She’d dressed, and was wearing an outfit he’d seen her in several times before. Why, then, did seeing her bare legs peeking out from beneath her skirt bring with it a flash of having those legs bracketing his hips?
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your call.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay. Janey was only calling to give me an update on things.”
“Oh.”
When Megan didn’t say anything more, he turned away from her and began to gather his things in preparation for their departure. “Are you about ready to go? I figure we can meet Chloe and my parents downstairs for brunch before we head out.”
She didn’t respond right away. “Paul?”
“Hmm?” He didn’t look up, feeling the need to concentrate on what he was doing and not on her.
“Do you remember anything from last night?”
That made him stop. He looked over at the bed, and then to the coffee table where the bottle of scotch sat, almost empty. “I guess I drank a little too much.”
She didn’t comment.
Paul didn’t remember getting into bed last night. And, given the door had been open this morning, he figured Megan, at the very least, must have checked on him. Maybe she’d even helped him to the bed. Either way, she was clearly concerned. “Thanks for checking on me. I usually don’t go that overboard.”
Megan took two steps toward him and then halted. He met her gaze and there was something there—behind her eyes—something he couldn’t understand. Before he could ask her, however, she turned around and headed back toward her room. “I’ll get my things and meet you in the hall.”
He watched her disappear through the door, closing it behind her. For some reason, he felt as if he’d done something wrong, but for the life him, he couldn’t figure out what it was.
Chapter 4
Megan tried her best to pay attention to what Chloe was saying as she sat next to her while they ate. As Megan had asked, Paul met her in the hallway outside their respective hotel rooms and they rode down in the elevator together. He didn’t say anything on the way down, but she could feel him looking over at her from time to time. It was tense, and Megan knew why, even if he didn’t.
They met Chloe and her grandparents downstairs in the lobby a little after ten. The little girl was wearing a new outfit Megan had never seen bef
ore. Megan guessed that Marilyn had been more prepared for last night’s sleepover than she’d let on. It was cute, and very Chloe.
Paul loaded their luggage into the vehicle since he, Megan, and Chloe would be leaving immediately after brunch, and then joined the rest of the group in the hotel’s restaurant. It didn’t escape Megan’s notice that Paul sat as far away from her as possible, even though the chair right beside her was empty. Was he remembering, or was it only in response to the obvious tension that was hanging in the air between them? She couldn’t be sure.
Chloe recounted everything she could remember about the wedding, the reception and, of course, her sleepover with her grandparents, more than once. Each time, she added something she’d forgotten the time before. Concentrating on what the little girl said was difficult, though, since Megan’s mind was still firmly set on what had happened with Paul the night before and what had—or hadn’t—happened this morning.
She was acutely aware of Paul on the other side of the table. She knew every time he took a drink of his water, or rubbed at his temple, trying to relieve the hangover she knew he must have. It took everything in her not to say or do something, but she knew he probably wouldn’t appreciate it. Especially in front of his family.
They were about halfway through their meal when Trent, Gage, and Rebecca joined them. Trent pulled out the chair beside Megan and plopped down. “Morning, sunshine.”
Trent was a flirt, and normally Megan would laugh at his antics. She didn’t have it in her this morning.
He, of course, noticed. “What happened, and whose ass do I need to kick?”
Luckily, he’d leaned in and said it so low that no one around them heard him. The last thing she needed was her sister picking up on her less than stellar mood. “Nothing. And no one’s.”
His frown told her just how much he didn’t believe her.
She tried again. “Really. I just . . . didn’t sleep all that well last night.”
Trent looked her in the eye, still frowning. He looked over at Paul and then back to her as his frown increased. Everyone pegged Trent as the jokester of the family—he was the least serious of the four brothers, usually—but Trent was observant. He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “All right. But if you need to talk, I’m here, okay?”
