by Joanna Wayne
“Okay. I can provide the scissors, but I’ll need some help popping the corn.”
The kids exploded in excitement. Jack squeezed her hand. Warmth flushed her skin. Situational attraction, she reminded herself. All the same, the effects were almost overpowering. As the song said, she had better watch out.
“I’m a master popcorn popper,” Jack boasted, following her into the kitchen while Rebecca and Timmy raced away in search of colored paper.
“Somehow I knew you would be.”
“I hope you’re not angry, about the tree, I mean.”
“You should have asked me first.”
“I know. That’s a bad habit of mine. I’m an impulsive kind of guy.”
“I’m not an impulsive kind of woman.”
“So I’ve noticed. But maybe you should be. All work and no play makes for boring memories.”
She poured a smattering of vegetable oil into a pot. “My memories are adequate.”
Jack leaned against the counter, watching her. “Adequate. That must make for some great late-night fantasies.”
She turned and met his gaze. His dark eyes taunted her, and a new tingle of anticipation crawled up her spine. She fought the feeling.
Jack Carter had no right to barge into her private life, no right to make friends with her young charges. No right to be in her kitchen, popping corn, making ornaments, making fun of her life-style. No right to remind her that she was a woman with urges that hadn’t been satisfied in a very long time.
He was a cop and she was his link to a murderer. No matter that he blamed his impulsiveness for his actions. She seriously doubted he did anything without a reason.
“Exactly how does this evening fit into your crime investigation, Detective Carter? Is getting close and personal supposed to make me more amenable to revealing personal secrets of my patients?”
“The thought crossed my mind. I gave it up immediately. I don’t think anyone makes you do anything you don’t want to, Drag—Dr. McKnight. My reasons for bringing the tree over are purely selfish.”
At least he admitted it. She added some popcorn to the oil.
“I’m a long way from home,” Jack continued. “And seeing as how we have a dangerous murderer on a holiday rampage, it looks like I won’t be flying out to Abilene this Christmas.”
“I’m sorry.” She was. Sorry that Jack wouldn’t be going home for Christmas and sorrier that he got to her so easily, made her react inappropriately to everything he did. “It’s hard for me to think about Christmas trees knowing someone might be murdered any second.”
“I know. I spent the afternoon questioning Maggie Henderson’s family, searching for a link between her and you. Nothing seemed to click, but I’ll let you look at my findings tonight and see if anything jumps out at you.”
The corn started popping, and Jack shook the pan with a ferocity more suitable to fighting off street criminals. Susan had misjudged him again. He’d obviously spent the day working on leads. Now he was thinking of Rebecca and Timmy.
“This is enough for the kids to start on,” he said, pouring the popped corn into the pottery bowl she’d set on the table. “Unless they eat more than they string.” He sprinkled salt on the popcorn and then held up a bite for her to sample. She parted her lips and he slid the fluffy nugget between them and onto her tongue.
“Perfect. You have a way with popcorn as well as children.”
“Experience. I was the oldest of nine children. Mom and Dad both worked in the family business, so we all took a share of the household chores. Mine was usually cooking and babysitting.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t marry and have a houseful of kids of your own.” An unexpected tightness settled in her chest. “Or, are you married?”
“Not now. I tried it once, a few years ago. It didn’t work out. Fortunately, my wife found out she didn’t like living with a cop before she got pregnant. But I have a passel of nephews and nieces back in Texas. Uncle suits me better anyway. No dirty diapers, no homework, no discipline.”
“All fun and games.” Her counseling tendencies took over. “I’d say you might be shortchanging yourself. Just because your first marriage didn’t work out doesn’t mean you couldn’t be a good husband and father.”
He stepped closer, his eyes flashing, his smile devastating. “Dr. McKnight, are you proposing to me?”
“No, of course not, I…” Susan’s face burned, and she was sure it glowed a bright hue of crimson. Damn him. She wasn’t used to being flustered. She picked up the bowl of popcorn and headed for the living room to decorate a Christmas tree with Jack Carter.
No doubt about it. She’d taken complete leave of her senses.
IT WAS TWO HOURS, four bowls of popcorn and a dozen renditions of “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” later when Susan tucked Rebecca and Timmy into their beds and settled into her chair. She took a sip from the goblet of wine Jack had waiting for her.
She hated to admit it, but the evening had been fun. A striking contrast to the way her day had started. But now the holiday merriment was over and she and Jack were returning to a world of terror. The rapid swing between the two extremes set her stomach churning.
“I have the printout here on all the patients who were at the Center during the year you worked there.” He handed her the computerized list. “The names with asterisks by them are still there. The others have been released, moved to a prison system or transferred to another facility. This is the code I used to designate which.” He tapped the end of his pen on the legend for his codes.
“How do you do it, Jack? You play as if you don’t have a care in the world and then jump back into your cop role like it was your life.”
“It is my life. All of it. The good, the bad and the ugly. There were three murders in the city last night, two the night before. That brings the count to seven for the week, and we still have tonight to go. I face this kind of violence day after day, year after year.”
“I don’t see how you survive.”
“I couldn’t do anything else. It’s in my blood, the same way being a psychologist is in yours. But enjoying life’s in my blood, too, and I don’t make apologies for it. It keeps me sane.”
“And out of psychologists’ offices.”
“So far.”
Susan went through the list. She’d been at the Center for one year, six years ago. She’d done an internship with her father and then realized that working together brought her no closer to him than just being his daughter had. He cared far more about work than any human being. She’d left then and pursued her own career.
The list of names she was looking at now was just that. Except for a few patients she’d been genuinely fond of or seriously disliked, the names on the list didn’t jell with faces or facts. Six years and hundreds of patients later, it was impossible to remember accurately.
Frustration took over her reasoning. “I can’t do this, Jack. I can’t look at a list of names from the past and decide one of these people is a serial killer today. I know what you want, but I just can’t pick one out and say, okay, this is the man. Go get him and all of this will be over.”
“I’m not asking you to. All I want are possibilities, leads. A place to start. So far we’re hitting dead ends.”
“There’s Gabriel.”
“I’m working on that. I need something to place him at the scene of the crime or else find a link between him and Maggie before I can bring him in for questioning. But, believe me, I haven’t ruled him out. I’m having him tailed tonight. I’ll know if he comes near here.”
“What if we’re looking in the wrong places? What if the killer’s not one of my patients and never has been or if there’s some link not connected with my role as psychologist? That’s possible, isn’t it?”
“Anything’s possible.” He took her hand and gingerly pulled her to the couch beside him. “Let’s consider other options. Have you ever received threats?”
“No.”
“Has anyone be
en stalking you?”
Susan took a deep breath. “I’m not sure.”
Jack sat up straight, his eyes penetrating steel. “Either you’ve been stalked or you haven’t. Which is it?”
“Lately, I have the feeling someone’s watching me.”
“Since the murder, you mean?”
“No, before that. The first time was about a month ago. I was leaving my office later than usual. The streets were deserted, except for a few passing automobiles, but it was as if I could feel someone watching me.”
“What did you do?”
“I looked around. I didn’t see anyone so I dismissed it as a case of nerves.”
“Was that the only time?”
She sighed. Feelings without facts to back them up. The detective was going to write her off as a paranoid fruitcake. Still, she plunged ahead. “One evening, the kids and I came home from the park about dusk. When we walked in the door, I noticed a funny smell.”
“Define funny.”
“Actually, not so much funny as different. It was woodsy, acrid, like someone drenched in a bottle of aftershave. So strong it was nauseating. Similar to the odor on the note the other night, but much stronger.”
“So you think someone had been in your house while you were out? Someone wearing an overdose of cologne?” His eyebrows arched questioningly.
“At first I did. But the alarm was still set.”
“Did you call the police?”
“And tell them I smelled a strange odor in my French Quarter apartment? They’d still be laughing.”
Jack flexed his hands into tight fists and then straightened them, over and over, like some bizarre ritual. Finally, he turned and took her hands in his. “You have to be careful, Susan. All the time. There’s no way to know what this man will do next”
Susan swallowed the fear that balled in her throat. She had to stay rational, work with Jack, outplay the lunatic at his own game. She could never do that if fear paralyzed her mind.
“I don’t want this man near the children, Jack. I’ll pay for extra protection if I need to, but I want them guarded at all times. And I don’t want them to know what’s going on. They’ve come so far this year, made unbelievable adjustments. I won’t let a madman steal their happiness and security away.”
“It’s not just the children I’m worried about.” Jack’s voice was low and husky. “You have to be careful, Susan. Of everybody. Sometimes the very people you trust the most are the ones who turn against you.”
Something in his voice set off new alarms inside her. “You sound as if you have someone specific in mind.” She thought about the people in her life whom she trusted the most. One name popped to the front of her mental list. “You surely don’t mean Lucy. She can barely kill spiders. They’re part of God’s plan.”
“I’m talking about your secretary, Bobby Chambers.”
Susan stiffened in protest. Jack was way off base. “Bobby’s not a psychopathic killer. He’s a hardworking guy who’s trying to get ahead in life. He goes to night school two nights a week. He’s studying to be a computer programmer. Once you meet him, you’ll know the idea of his being a murderer is preposterous.”
“I have met him.”
“When?”
“In your office last night. He was at your desk, reading files.”
Anger swelled instantly inside her, until she thought she might explode. As always, she maintained control, forcing her voice to remain steady and firm. “What were you doing in my office last night, Detective Carter?”
She listened while Jack detailed events from the night before. If he was telling the whole truth, she would fire Bobby immediately. What he had done was extremely unethical, but he wasn’t a killer. If she was that wrong about Bobby, she might as well take down her sign and find a new profession.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?” she demanded.
“It slipped my mind this morning.”
“It didn’t suit your purpose this morning.”
“You’re right.” He walked to the piano stool and sat, fingering the keys. Finally, he turned to face her. “I have a personality problem. You probably already recognize the signs. I get too involved in my work. When a young woman gets strangled, I take it personally.”
He got up and paced the room, his hands fisting as the muscles in his arms grew taut. “When I know there’s a madman walking free on the streets, especially one already planning the murder of his next victim, I don’t eat, I don’t sleep, and I don’t play by the rules. I can’t, because the killer doesn’t.”
He turned to face her, his eyes dark and penetrating. “But I will find this man, Susan. And I will stop him. If that makes me a monster, then I’m a monster.”
She stood and faced him. Her words struggled past a lump in her throat. “And kissing me and decorating a tree with my children are all a part of doing whatever you have to in order to find your man?”
“No.”
He captured her gaze, and she felt the tension crackle between them. She stood her ground and didn’t back away.
“Rebecca and Timmy are wonderful children,” he said, his eyes boring into hers, their smoldering depths eating away at her resolve. “I enjoy every minute I spend with them. You should learn to do that yourself.” He stepped closer. “But when I kiss a woman, it’s because I find her desirable, because I damn well can’t stop myself.”
His hands fastened on her shoulders. His face was inches from hers. Unwelcome desire rose inside her. The same smoky desire she read in Jack’s eyes. She tilted her face toward his. And then his lips were on hers, demanding, devouring. She swayed against him, stunned by the power of his kiss and the emotions boiling inside her.
The inhibitions that ruled her life went up in smoke. She wanted Jack’s mouth on hers, his tongue tangling with hers, his arms pulling her ever closer, exactly the way he was doing right now.
When Jack finally pulled away, she struggled for balance and for the reasoning power that had vanished with Jack’s kiss. “We shouldn’t…”
Jack stopped her in mid-sentence. “Don’t analyze what just happened between us, Susan. You wanted it. I wanted it. Let it go at that. We have enough to fight without fighting each other.”
She stepped away from him.
“Don’t worry. I have to go now. The beeper at my waist is going crazy. I’ll talk to you in the morning. In the meantime, don’t leave this house unless you talk to me first. Do you understand?”
“I’m not a prisoner.”
“No, but if you mess with me, you will be. I will not let you get killed just because you’re too stubborn to listen to reason. Now lock the door behind me.”
Before she could respond, he was gone. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and she leaned against the heavy wood door frame, too shaken to move.
Long minutes later, she went to the bedroom and stripped. She needed a shower and sleep. She needed her brain to work and her body to respond to her own dictates and not the sensuous advances of a man who was temporary and all wrong for her.
Situational attraction, born of proximity and the bonds of necessity. How many times had she told patients to ignore the fiery emotions such encounters generated? How many times had she been amazed at their inability to do so, even when the attachment it produced brought them nothing but pain?
She took a deep breath and stepped into the shower. She’d deal with this tomorrow. Tonight, she needed rest.
Sunday, December 19
1:30 a.m.
SHERRY HORNSBY SAT upright in the bed in her new townhouse, the one she’d moved into when she’d left Gabriel. She shivered in the dark, listening. The house was quiet. She must have dreamed the noise that woke her.
No, there it was again. A tearing and scraping sound. Fear pummeled her insides. “Gabriel, is that you?” No one answered her call, but a cold draft stung her skin. Someone had opened a window or a door. She grabbed the phone and frantically punched in 911. The phone never rang. The line wa
s dead.
“Gabriel, if that’s you, say something, or I’ll shoot.” Only she was lying. She had no gun. She looked around for anything that would do for a weapon. Opening the drawer by her bed, she rummaged for something sharp. Nothing was there but a metal nail file. She clasped it like a knife.
There were shuffling sounds outside her bedroom door now. She jumped out of her bed just as the door to her bedroom swung open.
“Don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me.” She tried to run from the masked and cloaked figure, but strong arms wrapped around her. She fought, biting and scratching wildly with the metal file. But she was no match for the intruder’s strength.
The man bound her arms and legs and then threw her across the bed.
“I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me,” she begged as the silk scarf grew tighter around her neck. “No, please…” Her words died in her mouth. She tried to breathe as pain shot through her lungs and the room turned black.
Chapter Six
Sunday, December 19
3:30 a.m.
Lucy Carmichael stirred in her bed. An eerie feeling of contentment spread through her body, like someone had snuggled up beside her. She stretched to get a better look at the clock. It was hours past the witching hour, but she felt totally bewitched.
“Is that you, Stephen? Were you missing me like I miss you, or do you need to tell me something?”
There were no answers to her questions. She didn’t expect there to be. It had been almost a year since her husband had suffered a heart attack and died, but nights like this she felt him just the same, and she liked the feeling that he was watching over her.
Not that she was afraid of staying alone. She’d spent the biggest part of most nights alone even before Stephen had died. Musicians kept lousy hours, and Stephen had been one of the best horn blowers in New Orleans. But back then she’d known he’d be coming in when the night’s work was done. Knew he’d be there in the morning, sleeping soundly next to her, his big, hairy arms wrapped around her ample breasts.
