by Rita Herron
Mark’s fingers tightened around her arms. His breath brushed her cheek. “What did he do then? Did he hurt you?”
Claire’s mind raced back. “He bent over me, then whispered that warning about bad girls.” Or had she been so terrified she’d imagined the breathy whisper of the man’s voice, imagined him talking about bad girls? It had seemed so real, yet one minute he’d been there, the next minute he had disappeared like a ghost in the wind.
“God, Claire.” Mark released a string of expletives. “He was in your recording room. He left you another rose.”
Claire’s legs nearly buckled. So she hadn’t imagined the man, the voice. “But we were alone, Mark…he didn’t hurt me.”
“Not this time,” Mark said gruffly, “but don’t you see, Claire? He’s toying with us, with you. He’ll be back, and next time…well, next time, we have no idea what heo.”
Claire dropped her head forward to shut out the images bombarding her. Images of the other two women lying facedown in the sand. Strangled. Alone.
Dead.
Was the killer taunting her to find him, or would she become one of his victims?
THE NEXT FEW MINUTES were chaotic. Mark had wasted valuable time holding Claire, yet the only way he could convince himself she was safe was to feel her in his arms. Breathing. Warm. Alive.
Switching back to professional mode, he ushered her into the station, ordered Drew to get a first aid kit, then hustled to talk to security. But as he feared, the killer had already escaped. He’d either come in disguise or he’d been so nondescript no one had noticed him.
Mark spent the next half hour reviewing the tapes from the security cameras, studying each and every person who had entered and exited the building.
No one stuck out, in fact the traffic had been minimal. The guard had watched the tapes with him and had identified every person on them. How had the man gotten in without being seen?
Unless he was someone who worked at the station…
“I want a list of every male employee in the building, along with a list of any visitors, repairmen, workmen, couriers, etc. who’ve entered the building today,” Mark said.
The security guard nodded. “It’ll take some time, but I’ll get it to you.”
He phoned Detective Black. “Listen, Black, Claire was attacked tonight in the stairwell. And the killer left her a rose.”
“Damn. He’s getting ballsy.”
Too much for comfort. “I don’t know if his visit to Claire means he’s going to kill again tonight, but you might want to stake out the beaches.”
Black agreed. “That’s a lot of territory, but I’ll get some extra men on it right away.”
“Good, we need to catch this SOB before he strikes again.” He clenched his fists, silently finishing the sentence.
Before he comes for Claire.
CLAIRE GRAPPLED for control while she described her ordeal to Drew.
“Dammit, Claire, I don’t want you going anywhere in the building alone.”
She smiled, his display of anger unusual. Mark was another story. He’d been like a boiling pot ready to explode.
“I’m fine, Drew. Besides, if the man had wanted to hurt me, he could have.”
Drew applied antiseptic to her knee, then placed a bandage on her scrapes. The smell reminded her of the odor she’d sensed in the stairwell, and in her house, yet it wasn’t quite the same. What was that scent? Some kind of surgical soap maybe? An antibiotic cream?
“You’re damn right he could have,” Drew said. “I’m tightening security. You won’t be alone anywhere in this building, not even for a minute.”
“Thanks, I appreciate your concern.” She started to stand, but he caught her hand.
“Claire, did Agent Steele tell you about the rose?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes. You didn’t see who delivered it?”
“No, I wish I had.”
Claire squeezed his hand in return. “It’s not your fault, Drew. Besides, we aren’t certain the rose is from the killer.”
He hesitated. “You’re right, I suppose. The card says it’s from your secret admirer.”
Claire stiffened. “I don’t have a secret admirer.”
“Ahh, Claire,” Drew said in an uncharacteristically thick voice. “That’s not true. You’re a beautiful woman. A lot of men are interested in you.”
For the first time since she’d met Drew, she detected a hint of personal interest. Heat radiated from his hand to hers, the tension palpable. “Thanks for saying that, Drew. But I’m a mess right now. It’s a good thing this is radio, not television.”
“It wouldn’t matter, you’d look great anyway.”
Claire blushed and pulled away. “Well, thanks again. Now, let’s get ready for the show, and pray we don’t receive another strange call tonight.”
MARK WATCHED Claire and Drew, his gut tightening when Drew squeezed Claire’s hand. The first time he’d met Drew, he hadn’t considered the guy a serious suspect. He was medium height, stocky build, wore glasses. Exactly the type of person to blend in, not attract attention.
And he could certainly go anywhere in the building without raising suspicion.
Drew had supposedly been in his office when the rose arrived, but he had had access to the programming room—what if he had placed the flower inside before everyone arrived? His concern when Mark had called for him to get first aid had seemed genuine, but Mark had heard of criminals hurting their victims, then showing up at the scene to rescue them and act as their savior.
Jotting down a reminder to check out the man’s past, he moved into the room and cleared his throat.
“Mark?” Claire asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you find anything?”
“I’m afraid not.” He glanced at Drew for a reaction, but Drew was watching Claire as if he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
Was he reading too much into Drew’s friendly concern or could the man be the secret admirer who’d sent the rose? The Midnight Murderer?
But how could he help with the show and phone in at the same time?
It was impossible.
Unless the message had been prerecorded…he’d check out that angle.
“Listen, Claire,” Drew said. “I have some business I have to take care of. My assistant is going to screen the calls for the show tonight.”
Claire nodded. “All right.”
Drew turned to Mark. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help catch this guy. I’m tightening security. Claire will be escorted inside the building at all times.”
“Yes, she will be,” Mark said. “I don’t intend to leave her alone for a second.”
Drew nodded, then excused himself while his assistant, a lean college intern named Bailey, took over.
Claire walked into the sound room, then turned to Mark. “I have an idea. What if I invite the killer to call in and talk to me? You could trace—”
“No!” Mark snapped. “For God’s sake, Claire, if you do that, you’ll have every nut across the state phoning in.”
“I don’t want any more women to die, Mark.” She reached for his arm, determined to convince him. “You said he’s playing with me. Maybe the key to catching him is for me to play the game. I could trap him—”
“Absolutely not.” Mark cut her off, unwilling to consider it. “It’s too dangerous, Claire. Just have some faith in me, I’ll find him.”
THEY WOULD NEVER find him.
He traced a finger over the rose petal, the delicate tips that had once been bloodred but had now turned brown with death. Closing his eyes, he imagined them scattered across the white sand like ashes, the remnants of a fire that had been snuffed out before it had had a chance to burn.
Like Claire’s feelings for him. If only he’d had more time with her. That would change soon.
But the others…they didn’t deserve a second chance. They hadn’t even bothered to be nice to him.
A ball of fury burst inside him, and
he opened his eyes, crushing the rose in his fist. He had been so close to Claire earlier. Had brushed her skin with his fingertips, tasted the fear in the air that had been fraught with tension between them. He had wanted her to look up at him and smile, to whisper his name and know that he loved her.
Dropping the battered flower on the floorboard of his car, he reached for the silk scarf he’d taken from her dresser and slid it into his pocket, then opened the car door and stepped out. He checked his watch, his breathing quickening when his next victim appeared from the shadows of her beach cottage.
She was right on time.
He’d watched her for weeks. Knew every detail about her routine, her likes and dislikes.
She always took a moonlit walk along the beach. Alone. At night.
Unfortunately, this one would be her last.
Chapter Eight
Have faith in me, Claire.
She did have faith in Mark where his job was concerned, but she didn’t believe he wanted an imperfect woman. Especially one who would be a burden and slow him down.
The signal buzzer dinged beneath her hand, and she startled, dragging herself back to work. When she’d first reviewed the list of topics for the show and realized tonight’s program focused on lovers who’d returned from the past, she’d almost changed the agenda. But she’d organized her list of topics weeks ago and refused to let Mark’s return alter her decisions regarding her work. After all, he had only reappeared in her life because of this case. When the police found the Midnight Murderer, he’d disappear again.
And this time when he walked away, she wanted her heart left intact.
The first two callers had suffered bitter breakups. In the first scenario, the husband had slept with the woman’s best friend. In the second, the man had embezzled his wife’s trust fund and absconded with all her jewels. Neither relationship could be salvaged, in Claire’s estimation, so she’d encouraged the women to face the truth about the men they’d once loved and move on.
“Claire, I don’t know what to do,” the caller said. “Just last week, I thought I was finally over my old boyfriend, but he showed up at my door yesterday with flowers and an apology that was hard to turn down.”
“How did your relationship end?” Claire asked.
“We were both young. I’d just graduated from high school, and he went off to college.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”
“It’s my third year of college now. He graduated and has a job in a computer company.”
“Was there someone else at the time?” Claire asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“So, you parted because you both needed to grow up?”
“He wanted to date college girls,” the girl said defensively. “He thought I was just a kid.”
“You probably don’t want to hear this, Annika, but you were just a kid. It sounds like he realized you both needed to explore life before settling down into a serious relationship.”
“Well, yeah…”
“Are you involved with someone else now?”
“Sort of an on-again, off-again.”
“Are you in love with the new guy, or do you still love your old boyfriend?”
The girl hesitated. “I think I’m still in love with my old boyfriend.”
“Is your new boyfriend serious about you?”
“He…yeah, he seems to be.
“But you don’t feel the same way.”
“I’ve tried to, but I can’t make myself feel romantic about him.”
Claire nodded. “If you aren’t in love with him, break it off. It’s not fair to lead him on or keep him around for convenience sake.”
Maybe that had been the reason Mark had let her go when she’d returned his ring. Thinking about leaving for his mission unattached had made him momentarily desperate, but once he’d shipped out, he’d realized he didn’t really want to marry.
“I’m afraid that’s true. I have kept Barry around because I was afraid of being alone.”
“Being alone is scary, but women need to learn to depend on themselves, and love themselves. Then they’ll have healthier relationships with men.”
“You’re right. My mom’s done okay on her own.”
“That a girl. If you still have feelings for your old boyfriend, and you believe he’s sincere, maybe you should give him another chance.”
“I do want to try,” the girl said. “But I can’t forget that he hurt me.”
“No, but you can sort through the past together so you can move on. Leaving things unsettled may be holding you back from loving someone else. And if he’s sincere, who knows?”
“You’re right, I can’t keep running scared.” The girl thanked her and hung up.
Claire considered her own situation. Unfortunately, she had yet to meet another man who stirred her desires and yearnings like Mark had. Was she holding on to the past? Unable to allow another man in her life because her heart still belonged to Mark? Had she been running scared the past year?
But she couldn’t settle things between her and Mark without revealing the truth about the night she’d lost their baby.
And that was one truth she wasn’t ready to disclose—it would be like tearing out her soul.
Now her future was even more uncertain—the killer might be targeting her as his next victim.
HAD CLAIRE thought of them when she’d been talking to the girl? Their past was fraught with problems. Him leaving. Now her accident.
Everything had changed. He had changed.
After all he had seen, after watching his fellow soldiers die and knowing that he should have been with them, he didn’t deserve to have Claire.
Claire had changed, too.
She’d always been independent and strong, had been full of life, ready to take chances. She’d been caring but passionate. Now, she seemed remote, as if she’d accepted her plight and had devoted herself to her work. Her caring nature was evident, at least for her patients, but what had happened to her passion for life?
Still, even though she was erable, she was determined not to rely on anyone. The very reason she’d moved to Savannah. Mark had to admire her tenacity and her ability to cope. And he still couldn’t prevent the tide of desire that washed over him every time he was near her. It had nearly overcome him the first time he’d met her, and hadn’t diminished during their time apart. Instead, it had grown in intensity, pounding inside him stronger and more earnest than ever. Sometimes he wasn’t sure he could fight it any longer. But he should.
Claire had moved on. Why couldn’t he?
Pushing his feelings aside, he phoned Detective Black while Claire kept the radio conversation flowing. Mark filled Black in on the earlier events. “You have the beaches staked out?”
“We put as much manpower on it as we can.”
“Have you guys found a connection with the roses?”
“Devlin said Lassiter’s name showed up. Apparently he grows his own roses. We’re getting a warrant to check his property, and see if he might have grown the variety the killer is leaving.”
Mark rubbed the bridge of his nose. That might be a break. “Good. I’ll fax you a list of all the employees at the radio station,” Mark said. “And I’ll copy them to Agent Devlin, too.”
“We’ll check the database and see if any red flags pop up.”
“I don’t care if it’s a misdemeanor, a complaint from a woman that was dropped, I want to know everything you find,” Mark said. “This guy’s getting bolder, showing up at Claire’s workplace, following her home.”
“That means he’ll get sloppy, make a mistake,” Black said. “Then we’ll catch him.”
Mark grunted, then hung up. They’d better catch him before he got close to Claire again. If he laid one finger on her, Mark would kill him with his bare hands.
HIS HANDS tightened around the long stem of the rose as he plucked the petals and scattered them across the sand. The thorns bit into his fingers.
>
He welcomed the pain.
The sharp prickles distracted him from the fact that Claire had been offering advice to a young, silly girl, while all the time he’d heard the wistfulness in Claire’s voice, as if she still wanted Mark Steele.
He had been so close to her earlier. Had brushed her hair. Had inhaled her evocative scent.
And he’d felt the fear emanate from her.
She knew he was strong. Whole. A man.
A man who wanted her.
A man who always got what he wanted.
Dropping the last petal onto the woman’s buttermilk-pale skin, he removed the portable phone and punched in Claire’s number. When her voice echoed over the line in welcome, he lifted his head and closed his eyes, pretending she was there beside him, reaching out her hand to soothe away the pain from the thorny needles.
from the ones who had betrayed him. Like the woman lying dead in the sand.
“HELLO, THIS IS CLAIRE, you’re on the air. Who am I speaking with?”
A low, throaty voice murmured, “Did you get the rose, Claire?”
Mark froze, then motioned to the assistant to substitute music for air time, make sure the trace was intact and that the phone call was on the private line so it wouldn’t air. They didn’t want to scare people even more. The citizens of Savannah were already frightened, and rightfully so.
“Yes,” Claire said into the microphone. “But you didn’t mention your name.” She lowered her voice to a sultry pitch. “Tell me more about yourself.”
Mark balled his hands into his fists. She was baiting the man, leading him on.
The caller made a husky tsking sound. “I love your sexy voice,” he said, ignoring her question. “It makes me hard for you.”
Mark fisted his hands.
“Why do you choose roses?” Claire asked, ignoring him this time. “Do they have a special meaning for you? Did your mother grow roses?”
“I don’t want to talk about my mother, Claire. Now why aren’t we on the air?”
“It’s more intimate this way,” Claire replied. “And why don’t you want to talk about your mother? Didn’t you two get along?”