by Debra Webb
Chances were he would never know.
The lady kept her secrets, and she would be gone soon.
Just yesterday he'd dreaded her arrival.
Now he couldn't exactly say he looked forward to her leaving.
At times, life could sure twist a guy's balls.
Hard as he tried, he couldn't keep his mind from wandering back to the investigation. How could anyone be so warped as to cut out a person's heart? The idea that the killer from twenty years ago had never been caught seemed even more horrific given that detail. Kale considered the idea that Valerie Gerard had been murdered so heinously by someone she knew and his chest tightened. As crazy as it sounded, that made it all the worse. How could this have happened here?
As much as he wanted to believe, and as often as he prayed for it, his optimism that Alicia would be found safe was losing oomph fast.
After wine and the homemade chocolate layer cake his mother had insisted they all had to try, Kale helped Newton with her coat. She said her good-byes to his folks, got a hug from Polly before the kid rushed off to the computer and MySpace.
"I'll walk you out," he offered.
That she didn't protest surprised him. She usually made no bones about her ability to take care of herself. Not tonight. She led the way across the porch and down the steps.
At her car she turned to face him. "Thanks, Conner. Tonight was nice."
"My sister's a little kooky," he admitted.
"Your sister is sweet and hilarious." Newton smiled. "She speaks her mind. I like her."
That smile, the one he hadn't seen until tonight, did things to him he was sure Sarah Newton didn't intend. Man, when her unusual lips tilted that way… amazing. They kept his attention lingering far too long. When he met her gaze she was watching him… the way she'd been watching his family all night.
He swallowed, yearned to… No. No. Not a good move.
"It's really not that complicated, Conner."
An alarm echoed in his head. "What's… not… that complicated?" Busted. Again.
"If you want to kiss me, just do it. Life's too short to spend it wondering if you should have, could have, or if you ever will have the chance again."
The lady read minds, did she? "I don't usually—"
"Gimme a break, Conner."
Before he could put together a witty comeback, she grabbed him by the face, pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him. His body reacted in ways his brain had no chance in hell of catching up to. He didn't even want to try.
She kissed him fast and furiously. It was over way too soon.
"See." She licked her lips. "That wasn't so hard."
Whatever he should have said, he didn't. He threaded his fingers into that silky hair he'd been dying to touch all damned night and he kissed her back. Slower, deeper. She tasted a little like sweet chocolate and tart wine. Mostly she tasted like soft, hot woman.
He leaned into her. She reclined against the car and her soft curves cradled his rigid frame.
This kiss was never going to be enough.
Her palms glided down his chest, one sliding around his hip to pull him closer. The other molding to his cock.
"Now that," she whispered between desperate kisses, "however, is extremely hard."
"This…"—he gulped the cold air—"is going to sound like a seriously bad line, but your place or mine?"
"You didn't get your coat," she reminded. Her knee inched between his thighs. Higher. Higher.
He groaned. "I'll… ah… come back for it."
"Hop in."
She reached behind her and opened the driver's side door. Sliding behind the steering wheel and across the console, she settled into the passenger seat.
He got in, started the engine. "Where to?"
Her eyes were closed, those lush curls crushed against the headrest. "I don't care. Just go."
He roared out of the driveway and headed toward his place. That was closer than the inn.
At the first intersection, he turned onto Main.
She was watching him again. Not analyzing this time, savoring… maybe devouring.
"Just park somewhere," she urged, her hand skimming his thigh.
He took the next left, pulling into Bay View Cemetery.
Shit. Why did he turn here?
"There's no parking here after dark," he explained, his voice thick with need. Dammit. "I should—"
"Stop talking."
She was coming across the console before he got shifted into park. He didn't argue. He shoved the gearshift forward, hit the switch, and turned off the headlights.
"Seat," she ordered.
He reached around her and down, pulled the lever to send the seat sliding as far back as possible. She pulled the recline lever, pressed him downward. Without another thought or even a breath his hands were under her dress, caressing those sleek thighs and that perfect, tight ass.
Her fingers trailed up his fly, then down. His found their way to hot, damp panties.
"Condom," she murmured.
Shit. "Wallet."
He wanted to reach for it, but he couldn't take his hands off her. One finger slipped into that incredible slick heat. She moaned her approval. He closed his eyes and imagined his cock following that scorching route.
She dug into his pocket, pulled out his wallet. When she had the condom in her hand he snagged it, ripped it open with his teeth. She pulled his dick free of his jeans. He groaned at the feel of her cool fingers on him.
"Hurry," she urged.
He slid the condom into place and she sank onto him with a satisfied sigh.
Her lashes fluttered downward. She whimpered this little sound that made him crazy. He wanted to kiss her again, but he couldn't stop looking at her. Couldn't stop squeezing those firm, smooth thighs.
She started to move. She arched her torso, never slowing down the rhythm. He had to touch her breasts. His palms molded there. Had to taste her. He pulled the scoop neck of her dress aside, and the lace of her bra, then dragged her forward until his mouth closed over a firm nipple.
She cried out.
He caressed her legs, rubbed her ass, stroking that intimate seam. She felt so good. So soft and hot. And…
She was coming.
He didn't interfere. Let her maintain control, let her keep moving up and down, up and down, until she captured that explosion of sensations.
Her breathing ragged, she leaned down and kissed him. Her hot, tight cunt was slicker than ever, pulsed with pleasure.
When she'd savored her own pleasure as long as he could bear to wait, he lifted her hips, then slowly lowered her. He groaned with the effort, couldn't manage anything but that one back-and-forth movement. Up. Down. Slow. Jesus, she was tight. Hot. Wet.
She made those sweet sounds again… her body tensed.
She came again.
His cock pulsated with every squeeze of her amazingly taut muscles.
Then he came.
She sagged against him until their breathing slowed and the cold started to invade the car.
He touched those silky curls, loved the feel of her hair, the lavender smell.
She raised her head, looked at him. He couldn't read her eyes in the dark, but he felt her tension. Not the kind they'd just shared, either.
"Don't get any ideas, Conner." She pulled free of him, taking his breath, then slid across the console and righted her clothes. "For me, that's it. No relationships, no attachments period. Just sex."
A little disoriented by her sudden about-face, he shoved his gloved dick back into his jeans and zipped up. What the hell did he say to that?
Totally at a loss for words, he fired up the engine and backed out of the cemetery.
By the time he'd reached his parents' house he'd managed to pull together a reasonable response. "I shouldn't have let things get out of control. I don't do casual sex, Newton." He parked her car next to his Jeep and turned to face her. This time he could see her eyes in the dim glow of the dash lights. "That won't ha
ppen again."
She shrugged. "Fine by me."
"Fine," he snapped back, but the word was lost to the sound of her slamming the door.
He sat there a moment then got out. It was her car. She walked around him, got behind the wheel and drove away.
He watched her taillights fade in the night.
Yep. People from New York were definitely nuts.
Or maybe he was the crazy one.
CHAPTER 19
The Overlook Inn, 10:50 P.M.
Barton watched from the window as Sarah Newton parked her car, then hurried inside. He stayed in the shadows on the far side of the lobby as she rushed up the stairs. He touched his cheek and fury tightened his lips.
There was no reason for her to stay in Youngstown now.
She should have left today.
But no. She wasn't finished ruining lives.
He shuffled across the lobby, around the reception desk, and into his office. He closed and locked the door. For a full minute he stood staring at his desk.
What did he do now?
If she wouldn't leave…
With a burdened breath he ambled behind his desk and dropped into the chair.
What the hell did he do?
His hands shook as he unlocked the desk and reached into the bottom drawer on the left. He withdrew the journal and held it in his hands without opening it.
He didn't have to open it.
He knew the words by heart.
… the first plunge of the knife split the porcelain flesh and blood bloomed forth like a river of crimson…the heart quivered…
Barton shuddered. Squeezed his eyes shut. Tried to stop the words. But they would not go away... they were permanently etched in his brain.
...the tip met bone and he was forced to grind and slide sideways until the blade sank deep into muscle and tissue... each plunge of the knife sent blood gushing, spilling onto the cold stones... yet he did not stop... not until he was done.
...and they were both dead...
Dear God... what had he done?
CHAPTER 20
2313 Beauchamp Road, 11:30 P.M.
Jerald peered through the powerful lens of the telescope, surveying the chapel and the woods that surrounded it like a natural fortress.
Half an hour ago the police officer charged with overseeing a local youth group's prayer vigil at the chapel had climbed the stone steps and walked the length of the structure several times. Eventually he had sought the warmth of his cruiser. Jerald presumed the officer would remain for a time to ensure none returned with mischief in mind.
Jerald stepped away from the telescope. It was almost midnight and he was tired.
… you can't watch every minute.
Sarah Newton was right. He couldn't keep a constant vigil. Jerald sighed. That was someone else's responsibility now. But he could protect his own.
He moved quietly to the second floor. The door to his daughter's room was open, the television blaring at its sleeping audience. A smile touched his lips as he neared her bed. He loved her so very much. Until she'd come into his life he hadn't known it was possible to feel so thoroughly connected to another human being.
She slept so peacefully. Worry tugged at his heart. He wanted her to have a rich, full life. Unburdened by his weaknesses. As if on cue his hands trembled, felt numb.
Whatever it took, he reaffirmed, he would protect his daughter and his wife.
He slipped from her room, closing the door behind him. He would keep those he loved safe… no matter the cost.
Down the hall he paused at the double doors leading to the master suite. Still closed. His wife remained angry with him. They had argued again over what was best for their daughter.
He walked away, chose a guest room for the night. It wouldn't be the first time he and his wife had taken a night apart. After more than two decades of marriage it wasn't so unusual to need space. It was the subject of their disagreements that grieved him so deeply.
She would never understand.
This was a situation Jerald would have to handle alone.
No one would understand.
Except… perhaps Sarah Newton.
CHAPTER 21
Midnight
Hours passed before it was clear to proceed.
The cold finally had gotten to the inept cop hanging around and he'd gone home.
Five minutes more and tonight's work would be complete. Fear and remorse would paralyze them all. Efforts to find the killer would intensify.
The bitch whimpered.
"Shut up!"
Stupid, stupid, snobby bitch.
The needle pierced her right eyelid. The nylon thread slid easily through. Pull tight-Last stitch.
Very nice.
Six stitches each Neat Not nearly as much blood as the lips. Or maybe the pills had helped.
Another disgusting moan.
Fury ignited. "I know how to shut you up."
One, two, three, four carefully prepared pieces. Everything had to be exact. Even in the near darkness, the jewels glittered.
"Now. To crown the queen."
Tug the mouth open. The bitch had better not bite.
"This is the last time you'll ever be beautiful."
One, two pieces tucked deep inside.
The dying bitch coughed. Gagged.
"Don't you puke on me!"
Three, four. Done.
Shove the mouth closed. Press the tape into place.
"Perfect. Now comes your punishment, you bad, bad girl."
After having lain long minutes on the stone floor, the knife was cold.
Raise it high. Thrust it deep. Over and over.
The wounds gushed, spouting crimson and making the excitement build and build and build with each precisely numbered and placed plunge into smooth, flawless flesh.
And then the message they would all see.
The blood was hot. Formed the letters as if it had been made for just this purpose.
Sit back and assess the work, no mistakes.
"Perfect."
Soon it would be done.
Gazing across the treetops a triumphant smile formed. "Now who's the devil?"
They would all see.
But their eyes would deceive them.
Exactly as planned.
CHAPTER 22
717 High Street, Sunday, March 1, 6:00 A.M.
Christopher Mahaney's hands shook as he lifted a mug to his lips.
Father, forgive my sins. Give me peace, heavenly Father.
For days, Christopher had silently chanted that petition over and over. Still he felt no peace.
Rather, each day, the turmoil inside him continued to surge, increasing in intensity.
His hand wobbled. Coffee sloshed onto his skin. He plunked the cup onto the counter.
"Father, forgive me…" His urgent whisper faded into silence. He closed his eyes and begged for mercy.
How much longer could he bear this immense cross?
Hadn't he been punished enough?
The sin was not his alone. They had tempted him. Drawn him to the darkness… to the evil sins of the flesh.
"You're up early."
Christopher whirled around. Met his wife's accusing gaze. His heart lurched, ached. He tried not to hold her partially responsible. Had she been any kind of mate, perhaps his gaze would not have strayed… perhaps he would not have failed the test. Now she insisted that he protect her. Protect the niece he'd been forced to support. Fury twisted deep in his blemished soul.
He should go. Pray for forgiveness for his selfish thoughts. This was not the time to place blame or to resent his responsibilities. This was the time for action… for seeking guidance.
"I'm going to the chapel to pray." He'd only just made the final decision. That Valerie's body had been placed there was a sign. Christopher must pay attention to the signs.
"Do you think that's a good idea?" His wife rubbed her hands together and grimaced.
The pain. He under
stood. She suffered so. Perhaps that was her punishment for failing to do her wifely duty.
"It's necessary," he insisted, forcing his faulty heart to dispel the selfish emotions.
Deborah shook her head. "The only necessary thing, Christopher, is for you to find a way to stop her. She's going to keep digging until she finds something." His wife's worried gaze settled on his. "You know she won't give up. Something has to be done."
Her words were far too true, but he did not want to hear. Movement in his peripheral vision distracted him. He frowned, inclined his head to the right so that he could see past his wife. His niece hovered just beyond the doorway. "You should go back to bed, Tamara." She was always lurking about like that. No matter that Christopher had attempted to cleanse her of her impurities… she would no doubt turn out to be a whore just like her mother.
Deborah twisted toward the girl. "Stop eavesdropping, child, and go back to bed."
Tamara slinked off to the stairs. She had no one else in this world. Only him and Deborah. Christopher had taken a solemn oath to guide her in the Lord's path. He could not fail in the task. That would only add to his mounting shortfalls.
If… things took a turn for the worse, what would Tamara do? What would Deborah do?
"That girl is into something," Deborah charged. "I caught her sneaking back into the house at quarter of one this morning. That's twice in as many weeks."
Worry heaped heavy onto Christopher's already burdened shoulders. "Was she with her friends?" Dear God, could his wife do nothing to help herself and her sister's child?
Deborah untethered her long braid of hair in preparation for arranging the meticulous bun she always wore, her once nimble fingers struggling with the effort. "She won't say. Apparently she thinks just because she's eighteen now she doesn't have to answer to me. I think she's running with the Pope girl. You know that child is wild. You're going to have to do something, Christopher." Deborah arched an eyebrow. "About both those worries."
What did she expect him to do?
He shook his head before dropping it in shame. "What else can I do?"
