by Nancy Bush
“Mom, I’ve got to go.” Will had cut her off when his cell phone started ringing. The call was from Barb and he suspected, which later turned out to be the truth, that he was being called in. “Is Noreen there?”
“She’s always here,” she’d said, sounding slightly put-out at the thought. “When are you coming to see me?”
“Soon.”
“Bring that girlfriend of yours.”
He eased off the phone. Damn disease. His mother was way too young to be suffering from it. If she couldn’t even remember Halloween, what was next?
He had called Barb back and then headed to the department. All the while he was grilled by Agent Sadowski, a particularly persistent federal agent whose suspicious manner rubbed Will the wrong way, his mind had followed paths of its own. Thinking. Testing. Adding pieces together. That niggling thought that was just out of reach.
And when the answer had come to him it was so obvious that he didn’t understand what had taken him so long.
“They all wear uniforms,” he’d said aloud, ignoring whatever last question the agent had asked him. “Inga Selbourne was a nurse, Jamie Markum was probably wearing the To You Today uniform when he ran across her, and Heather worked in a diner.”
The agent frowned.
But Barb was there and with him instantly. “You said Barry picked her up at her house and took her to Lover’s Lane…in her diner uniform? I’m not saying I don’t like your theory, but…”
“He knew she worked at the diner,” Will said. “He saw her there.”
“He’s a customer?” Barb’s brows lifted.
“We know she worked at the diner,” the agent said dampeningly, trying to keep control of what he considered his interview.
“Maybe,” Will had answered, and would have left right then except for the annoying Sadowski, who got all officious and demanded that Will finish telling him all about the events of the night before, even though he’d already reported everything to Nunce that very morning.
Now, he was just happy to be able to leave. He called Gemma on her cell from his car and finally she picked up. “There you are,” he said, relieved.
“I’m at the diner. You didn’t tell me it was Heather.” She sounded upset rather than accusatory.
“I know. I’ve been trying to call you.”
“What does it mean? Why Heather? Whoever’s doing this feels so close. First the nurse from the hospital, now Heather?”
He could have reminded her that Jamie Markum had been a victim as well, and she had lived and worked around Seaside. He could have told her his theory about the burn-psycho’s targets wearing uniforms. He could have tried to dissuade her a lot of different ways, but he understood what she meant all too well. It did feel close.
“Any news?” she asked.
“They’re still searching.”
She shivered. “Oh, God, I hope we’re wrong and she’s okay.”
Will didn’t answer because he couldn’t make himself offer platitudes he didn’t feel.
“I went to see Tremaine Rainfield this morning,” she said. “Regression hypnosis.”
“Learn anything?” Will asked, surprised. He thought she’d rejected the idea of helping out the younger Dr. Rainfield.
“Yes and no. Look, I’m kind of in the middle of talking to Macie. Can I call you back?”
“Sure. I’m headed home. But I’ll meet you at your place?”
“Okay…” She sounded a bit distracted. “Later.”
He hung up and drove the rest of the way to his house. He wanted to take a shower and change just to try to get the stink of the day off him. He wanted to see Gemma and explain everything to her. He wanted to make love to her.
He’d just stepped out of the shower when his doorbell rang. He had a moment of worry, thinking maybe his mother had found the keys again.
But when he opened the door Gemma was standing on the porch, in a black jacket and jeans, a wry smile curving the corner of her mouth, a bulky black leather purse he’d never seen before hitched over one arm. Her hair was down and seemed longer than he remembered.
“Hi, there,” she said.
He gazed at her, nonplussed. “I thought we were meeting at your place.”
She cocked her head. “Thought I’d surprise you. Was I wrong?”
He slowly shook his head. He’d expected her to blast him with questions about Heather and the burn-psycho, and he planned to tell her his progress on Spencer Bereth’s killer, but since she seemed to have put it all on hold he just reached out an arm and pulled her inside. She laughed at his bold move and then wriggled madly, like she wanted to get away. But when her eyes, wide and hazel, met his, whatever she read in his smoldering gaze brought an answering look in her suddenly sober expression. Her lips parted and she slipped her arms around his neck. “Let’s make love,” she said huskily.
“I don’t remember telling you my address. Did you read my mind or something?”
“Or something,” she said, giving him a quick smile. “I’m going to take you away from here. We’ll go somewhere where no one can find us.”
“I wish,” he said with feeling.
“We can combine work and pleasure. Let’s go to the beach. Stop by and look at that car again.”
“What car?”
“The one you think was involved in Edward Letton’s death?”
Will’s pulse was thundering, emotion and desire racing through his bloodstream. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you that,” he said slowly, thickly. Her hands had moved from around his neck and were sliding down his torso.
“I’m scaring you.” Her hands slid into his crotch, cupping him through his jeans and she sank to her knees, drawing down his zipper.
This was a new Gemma. He hardly knew what to think. “I thought you only read emotions,” he managed to get out.
She looked up at him as if surprised, then glanced away, oddly thoughtful. “I see a whole lot more than I want to,” she admitted. With that, she stepped back, gently dropped her purse to the ground, then slid her arms out of her jacket and stood before him in a black, long-sleeved, body-hugging T-shirt. Slowly, she pulled it over her head, posed before him in only a bra.
“So, are you just going to stand there?” she breathed.
Danger, Will Tanninger. Danger. Danger.
He heard the voice inside his head. He sensed there was something very wrong with Gemma. Maybe this was the alternative personality Rainfield had believed she possessed. Maybe she existed after all. Maybe that hypnosis session had released her. He needed to think clearly, keep her at arm’s length.
“You’re not acting like yourself,” he said.
With a flick of the back clasp, her bra was dispensed with. She slipped out of it, dropped it to the floor, then moved toward him, crushing the globes of her breasts against his chest, wrapping a leg around his. “I don’t feel like myself,” she admitted. “I want you. Now. Don’t say no…”
Her mouth captured his and her tongue flicked inside his mouth.
Will tried to keep a handle on his emotions, but she’d consumed his thoughts ever since they’d made love. He wanted her and damn the consequences.
They moved to the bedroom as one, his arm clamped around her, their mouths together. She stripped off his boots and jeans and shirt and everything else, then pushed him onto the bed. He lay there, mesmerized, as she unsnapped her jeans and did a slow wriggle, letting the denim slide down her hips and long thighs. He saw the scar on her hip, the indent from the missing hipbone. She kicked off her shoes, stepped out of her jeans and pulled the wispy panties down with extended fingers, watching him.
“My God,” he murmured.
“You’re mine,” she said.
“You got that right,” he admitted and she slid on the bed atop him, sliding herself over him, along the length of his shaft, but lightly.
“We’re going to take our time,” she breathed into his mouth. Then she suddenly moved from the bed and dug through his pockets till she found his cell ph
one.
“You can’t turn that off,” he said as she pushed the End button.
“Yes. I can.”
With a flick of her wrist she tossed the phone toward the doorway. Then she slid down his body and wrapped her mouth around him and began to suck with ever increasing pressure.
Barb Gillette was sick of manning the desk. She wasn’t exactly Will’s partner. That’s not how the sheriff’s department worked. It was more of an understood thing, but somehow she’d become relegated to the “stay at home wife” while he was out in the field. And she was tired of being control central.
Punching in his cell number, she was sent straight to voice mail. Her brow furrowed. Odd. Will never turned off his phone. She tried again and the same thing happened.
“Barb, can you come here?”
It was the sheriff, and though she generally was eager to be summoned, she was also sick and tired of the federal agents who acted like the sheriff’s department was somehow under their employ. She should have left with Will. She should have.
“Sadowski has been telling me Will’s theory about the vics all wearing uniforms,” Nunce said, indicating the agent. “You think that’s right?”
Barb nodded. “We always knew he was targeting them somehow.”
“So, he’s got some problems with authority?”
“Women in authority,” Barb said. “I’ve been trying to reach Will without a lot of success. He’s on the Bereth murder, too.”
“I need to talk to him,” Sadowski said presumptuously.
Barb stood on one foot and then the other. She had a sense of time ticking by. “I’ll try to find him. Was there anything else?”
“Does Will think the perp lives around here?” Nunce asked. “Since two of the abductions took place in Laurelton and Quarry.”
“We’ll know more when we find Heather.” Barb knew Nunce was just throwing out these comments to keep Agent Sadowski happy. It didn’t help her need to get moving, however.
“Sit down, Detective Gillette,” Sadowski barked. “You’re making me nervous.”
“With all due respect, I need to get back to my job.”
“I need some information,” he retorted.
“Call 411,” she said, and left the room in three long strides, knowing she would be reprimanded and not caring a whit.
Will lay on his back as long as he could stand it, then he flipped Gemma over and drove into her, feeling a little like he was living someone else’s life. She threw back her head and moaned, her hands clasping the covers. She moved with him like an animal and when his heavy-lidded eyes searched for hers, he was faintly surprised to see her gazing at him in a predatory manner.
Danger…
But then her mouth opened and her throat arched and her body thrashed. “Uh…uh…come on…oh, come on…”
Will exploded inside her, his body stiffening as his thoughts skittered away, lost in sensation. He collapsed against her as her own orgasm went on and on, her fingers raking down his back till he was certain she’d drawn blood.
He lay on her, both of them gasping for air as if they’d run a marathon. Finally, he pulled away from her, his gaze studying her face as his emotions came back under control and he was able to think more clearly. He didn’t know this Gemma and frankly, though he was physically excited by her, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know this Gemma much better.
He rolled off the bed, intending to get his phone, but quick as lightning she jumped up and beat him to it. “No, no, no,” she said. “Not yet.”
“Gemma, I have to turn it on.”
“You’ve been down less than half an hour. Wait a sec.” She put a finger to her lips and stepped out of the room.
He started to follow her but she said, “Uh, uh. I’m coming right back.”
Will grabbed up his boxers and jeans and pulled them on, catching sight of himself in the mirror. He lifted a hand and ran it through his own tousled hair and froze in the act. It was his right hand. He dropped it and did the same action with his left hand, watching himself. Left. Right. Left…
Realization dawned. He could see it in the reflection of his own stunned eyes.
Her scar. Gemma’s scar. It had seemed slightly different to him but now he realized it was on the wrong side. Gemma’s scar was on her right hip. Whomever he’d just made love to—correction, had sex with—had a scar on her left hip.
They weren’t the same woman.
They were twins.
The scars were from some kind of surgery.
Separated twins.
Siamese twins.
This woman was not Gemma.
She reappeared in the doorway with silken ropes…and a .22 pointed directly at his heart.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not this Gemma person and I knew you’d figure it out.”
“You’re her conjoined twin.” His voice was dry, arid as the Sahara.
He saw the blood drain from her face, then quickly return, suffusing her cheeks with color. “Yes,” she said, and he saw she’d realized it for the first time. “That’s what the doctor did. That’s why I was a gift.”
“A gift?”
Her lip curled. “To a man who found me attractive at a—young—age.”
Will’s hands were up. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, staring down at the gun.
“Yes, well, that remains to be seen.”
“Gemma needs to know about you.”
“She’s not the only one who reads minds, you know. Emotions. You’re trying to distract me so you can get away. You’ve figured out that I was the one who took care of Letton. And Bereth. And Kev.”
“Kev?”
“Nobody should have to go through what I did. Nobody. They all deserved to die,” she said tautly, then hitched her chin toward the bed. “You need to lie down.”
“I can’t.” He kept his gaze trained steadily on her.
“I will shoot you,” she said conversationally. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will. I can’t have you going to find Gemma. I need some time to think.”
“I’m not going to lie down.”
To Will’s shock she pulled the trigger.
Blam!
A bullet whizzed past his ear, nearly deafening him.
“Lie down,” she said.
She meant what she said. She was a killer. Gemma’s sister…“What’s your name?”
She took a step toward him, the gun at his breast bone. “Lie down.” Then she laid her palm on his chest and gave him a push. He sank to the bed. “I won’t hurt her, and I don’t want to hurt you. But I’ve got to figure this out.”
He believed her. He also suspected that Barb was trying to get hold of him, that if she didn’t reach him soon she would come looking for him, that the first place she would start was his house.
He lay back and wondered if he could take the chance to overpower her. But there might be collateral damage. A stray bullet could kill either one of them, and he sensed she was telling the truth about just needing some time.
“Take this rope and tie your right wrist to the bedpost,” she directed. Her eyes, so clear and wide, were like Gemma’s and yet he knew he would be able to tell them apart from now on.
If there was a from now on.
Be smart, he told himself. Rely on Barb.
“Who are you thinking about?” she asked sharply. “Who is this woman? Not Gemma?”
“I’m thinking about staying still,” he said as he clumsily looped the silken rope around his right wrist and tied it to the bedpost. The gun waggled around dangerously in front of him.
She tied his left wrist herself, tugging on the ropes hard, then checked and further tightened his right wrist. Will’s circulation was constricted but the rope fabric was slick. He was certain he would be able to free himself in time.
It was the amount of time that mattered.
“If you hurt Gemma…” He couldn’t finish the thought.
“I won’t kill her as long as you stay here.”
“I won’t leave.”
“Liar.”
To his surprise she leaned into him, examining him closely. “You love her,” she said, running a finger along his jaw. She then licked the line her finger had trailblazed. Will pulled back and she suddenly straddled him.
“I’ve just got to figure out what to do about you…” she whispered. “I haven’t wanted a man in a long, long time, but I want you. You.”
As if he were the mind reader, Will realized he’d underestimated the danger to Gemma. He hadn’t counted on being the prize. Though this woman swore she just needed time to think, she was emotionally unstable and she could easily change her mind.
“Stay with me,” he whispered.
“Nice try.” She gave him a quick smile. “I’ll be back.”
And then she was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gemma walked out of the diner to her truck and Charlotte came flying at her heels. Her face was fraught with worry. “Who took Heather?” she demanded.
“Will’s looking into it. And the FBI. We should know something soon.”
“Is this because of Mr. Bereth?”
Gemma, who’d been thinking about Will and Tim and Heather and the diner, finally gave Charlotte all her attention. “No, of course not. This is something else.”
“But you were following him. And that other guy was following you. Is that who this is?”
All the hairs on Gemma’s arms felt like they were standing at attention at once. “Oh, no. That was…”
“Was what?” Charlotte demanded when Gemma trailed off into silence.
“It’s two separate cases. And we don’t know for certain where Heather is.”
“Yeah?” Charlotte was skeptical.
“The authorities are on it. We just have to wait.”
Gemma left with Charlotte staring after her, a line drawn between her brows. She picked up her cell to call Will when it rang in her hand. Not recognizing the number, she said cautiously, “Hello.”
“Gemma LaPorte. This is Detective Gillette with the Winslow County Sheriff’s Department. I’m looking for Detective Tanninger.”
His partner. Barb. “Uh…he’s not with me,” she said. “I was going to call his cell phone.”
