by Sharon Sala
Ben sat back down. He was so damn confused that it didn’t bear thinking about.
Then January added, “What I’ve been trying to get said is…the same man, whoever he is, called me today. Again he told me to leave him alone, and this time he wasn’t only angry, he seemed ill, or in pain. I asked him point-blank if he had anything to do with the missing men. He sort of went off his rocker. I asked him if he had taken Bart Scofield, too, and do you know what he said?”
“I don’t even know what you’ve been saying,” Ben muttered.
January glared.
“He said that Scofield had been the wrong one.”
Suddenly she had Ben’s attention.
“What?”
“The wrong one. He said Scofield had been the wrong one. I asked him if he’d taken the other men. He told me to leave him alone, that I was messing everything up.
“I kept asking him why he was doing it and he said he couldn’t go back. I asked him back to what, and he said hell. He said he was walking in his shoes so he wouldn’t go back to hell.”
“Okay, so you got a phone call from a nutcase who said a murdered man was a mistake, which is certainly suspicious. However, if you don’t know who this Sinner is or what he looks like, then how are we to find him and interrogate him?”
“Well, that’s your job. Mine is news. I felt it was my duty to tell you about the phone calls.”
“Do you really believe he’s responsible for all this?”
January hesitated, then nodded.
“Yes.”
“Why? Nothing you’ve said, except for that bit about the cab and Scofield being the wrong one—which, by the way, could be interpreted a couple of different ways—ties a street preacher to a kidnapping and murder.”
“Would it change your mind to know that the names of at least four other missing men are Simon, Matthew, Andrew and James?”
“I don’t see what you’re—”
January ticked the names off again, adding one other bit of her theory to the pot.
“If you knew that a man who was trying to recreate the life of Jesus Christ had begun kidnapping men with the names of Simon, Matthew, Andrew and James, and one named Bart—Bartholomew—whom he called the wrong one…what would you think?”
Ben felt the blood draining from his face.
“The disciples…Christ’s disciples. But why?” he asked.
“Remember how he said he was ‘walking in his shoes’? What if he was being literal? What if he thinks that recreating Jesus’s world and walking the same path that Jesus walked—in His shoes—will keep him out of hell? He kept saying he couldn’t go back to hell.”
Ben got up and paced toward the window, then stopped and paced back to where January was sitting.
“How much of this can we prove?”
“None of it.”
Ben stared at her as if he hadn’t heard her correctly, but her expression never wavered.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, now I know why you didn’t want to make this an official statement, but you did give us somewhere to start, and that can be made known. We can say that you got an anonymous call from a man who said that Scofield’s murder was…a mistake. That’s close enough. Officially, we won’t mention the possibility of a connection between the other missing men and Bart Scofield, but trust me, I won’t forget it.”
January felt a huge sense of relief. Finally someone besides herself was in on the theory.
“There are a few other weird things that the Sinner is reported to have done.”
“Like what?” Ben asked.
“Several months ago, there was a lot of talk about a street preacher passing out coupons for a free fish sandwich at Captain Hook’s Fish and Chips to everyone who stopped to listen.”
“I don’t get it,” Ben said.
“It’s a stretch, but think of Christ feeding the multitudes with the baskets of fish and the loaves of bread. Fish sandwich. Fish and bread.”
Ben’s gut knotted.
“You’re really on to something, aren’t you?”
January nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
Before he thought, he moved closer to her, then took her by the shoulders.
“Be careful. If you’re right about the connections, then you’ve got to remember that this man who calls himself the Sinner is also a murderer. And he knows who you are. Probably where you are. I don’t want to get a call one night and find out that you’ve become one of his victims.”
His grip was firm on her shoulders. The expression on his face was dead serious. But it was the look in his eyes that made a believer out of her. January sighed. She’d been waiting on this moment ever since the first time.
“You’re going to kiss me again, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Finally,” she said, and slid her arms around his neck.
Seven
Subconsciously, Ben had known getting involved with January DeLena could be dangerous, but he hadn’t known it might be lethal. The moment their lips met, he lost his sense of self. She consumed him with nothing but the kiss—tender, even timid, and yet filled with such passion.
For January, the kiss sealed her fate. She didn’t know how she was going to survive the rest of her life without this man, but she couldn’t let herself believe this kiss was anything more than the inevitable outcome of their ongoing sparring. Ben didn’t know, and she didn’t have the guts to tell him, that she’d been in lust ever since the day she’d first seen him. Then the kiss had changed everything. With very little effort, her lust could so easily turn to love.
Ben was the first to pull away, and he did so with a groan.
“This probably shouldn’t have happened,” he said softly, as he cupped her face and traced the shape of her lower lip with his thumbs.
January’s knees went weak. “But it did.”
A crooked grin replaced the concerned expression on his face.
“Did it ever,” he said, then remembered why he’d come. “I’m going to follow up on everything you told me.”
She nodded. “I expected you to.”
“I can’t promise anything,” he added.
She lifted her chin in a defensive manner. “I didn’t ask for promises.”
Ben’s eyes darkened.
“No, you didn’t, did you?” He sighed. “But I want you to promise me something.”
“Like what?” January asked.
“Be careful. It’s not good that some nut has fixated on you.”
January frowned. “Other than asking me to leave him alone, he’s never threatened me.”
“Yes, but if you’re right about him, then we know he’s capable of murder.”
January’s heart skipped a beat.
“I never…I mean, I didn’t think of—” She backed up a step. “Yes, of course you’re right. I’ll be more cautious.”
Ben hated this. He’d put fear on her face, but for her sake, she had to be wary.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you, it’s just that when you’re dealing with the mentally unbalanced, there’s no predicting what might happen.”
“I’ll be careful, and…thanks for coming by.”
Ben had just been dismissed. After the kiss they’d shared, it wasn’t the way he wanted to leave her, but she was holding the door open for him to exit.
“If you have any further contact with your caller, let me—”
“I will,” January said, then looked away.
Ben started to reach for her, wanting to regain the connection they’d just shared, then changed his mind. For professional reasons, he needed to maintain some distance.
“Good afternoon,” he said.
January glanced back at him, then nodded.
“You, too.”
He moved out of the foyer and into the hall outside her door. He turned around for a last word, only to have the door closed in his face.
“Well, hel
l.”
The abruptness of their parting was as unexpected as her call had been. He dug in his pocket for the car keys and then started toward the elevator, but the farther he got from her door, the more unsettled he felt. They’d shared something unexpected, but very special, when they’d kissed. Walking away like this felt wrong. He was all the way to the elevator when he suddenly turned around.
January was still in the foyer, reliving every moment of Ben’s visit, when her doorbell rang, startling her from her musings. She glanced through the peephole and saw Ben. She groaned. She’d maintained her composure so well before, but now she was going to have to pretend indifference all over again.
Tentatively, she opened the door. “Did you forget something?”
“Yes.”
He kicked the door shut behind him and pinned her against the wall.
“What are—”
He kissed her. Hard. Leaving her with no doubt as to what he’d forgotten or what he wanted.
January moaned against the pressure of his lips, then wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
Ben shuddered as he swept her up into his arms. “This may be a—”
“Don’t talk.” She pointed down the hall. “First door on the right.”
His eyes narrowed sharply as his nostrils flared. He moved without thought other than to get this woman naked and in bed.
The bedroom door was ajar. He kicked it open and strode in, still carrying January. The bed was to the left of him. He moved toward it. When his knees hit the edge of the mattress, he gently laid her down, then followed her descent.
Without wasted motion, he stretched the full length of himself on top of her just long enough to realize they were a perfect fit, then slid his arms beneath her and rolled until she was the one on top.
January went from captive to captor as they rolled, alleviating the brief moment of panic she’d felt at being so out of control. At that point, she rose up on her elbows and stared down at his face.
His eyes were dark with passion, his lips glistening with moisture from the kiss they’d just shared. She could feel his body changing beneath her, and shuddered with sudden longing to be one with this man.
“You better not regret this later,” she muttered.
His voice was low and husky. His arms tightened around her back.
“Same goes for you, lady.”
She nodded. “Fine, then.”
“Honey, you aren’t just fine…you’re perfect.”
Then his eyes darkened even more as he cupped the back of her head and pulled her down.
Her lips were soft, yielding to the demand of his own, yet her touch was urgent—a silent plea for everything he had to give her.
Insanity came quickly, marred by the frustration of too many clothes between them. Before January knew it, Ben was tearing at his own clothes and helping her off with her own at the same time.
His shoes and her sandals.
His jacket and her dress.
His shirt and pants.
Her pink bikini panties.
Everything—until finally there was nothing left to remove but the wrapper on a condom he’d laid on the end table beside the bed.
Ben was beyond thinking.
The job.
His partner.
The District of Columbia Police Department.
A dead man named Bart Scofield.
They might as well never have existed. At this moment, nothing mattered but January. Even as he was kissing her, he was aware of the silken texture of her skin. When she straddled his thighs and then reached for the condom, every muscle in his body tightened. And when she peeled the condom from the wrapper and fitted it on him, he groaned.
January leaned forward, and as she did, Ben slid his hands around her back and pulled her down, crushing her breasts against his chest and her lips against his.
Body to body, hearts beating in time, they rode the building wave of need until waiting another moment longer to be together was impossible. With one swoop, Ben rolled, taking January with him. Instinctively, she shifted to accommodate the weight of his body, and then stifled a cry when he slid between her legs.
“Have mercy,” Ben gasped, when she locked her ankles at the base of his spine.
With one simple stroke, all the emptiness and loneliness of January’s life was gone.
“Make love to me, Ben.”
“Oh, lady…I already am,” he said softly, and began to move.
The rhythm of their bodies matched the rhythm of their hearts, keeping time to a song only lovers could hear. Over and over the beat continued, taking them further and further away from reality until, finally, it was January who fell first.
One moment she was lost in the mind-blowing pleasure of their lovemaking; in the next, it was as if she’d been slammed against a wall. The force of her climax made her lose her breath as she swiftly came undone. Before she could gather her senses, Ben cried out. One low, guttural groan that came from deep inside him shattered the silence in the room.
“Lord,” Ben whispered, as he buried his face beneath the curve of her chin.
Then, once more, he took her in his arms and rolled, until this time they were lying side by side and face-to-face.
January felt disoriented and weightless. She clung to him in mute desperation, as if she would float away if he suddenly let go. Ben seemed to sense her panic and held her just that little bit tighter.
“January…honey, are you all right?”
She shuddered.
“I may never be all right again.”
He sighed as he held her, but he knew what she meant. They were forever changed by what had just happened.
“But I’m not sorry,” January added, as she combed her fingers through his hair. “Never sorry.”
“Me neither,” Ben echoed.
Before they could say more, his cell phone rang.
“Well, hell,” he muttered.
January sighed. “Reality surfaces.”
He swiped a shaky hand across his face. As he reached for the phone, January rolled away, sat up, then quickly disappeared into the adjoining bathroom.
Ben had a brief glimpse of her shapely backside before the door closed between them. He glanced at the caller ID, recognized his partner’s number, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up before answering.
“Hey, Rick, what’s up?” he asked.
Meeks frowned. He was still pissed that Ben had gone to the reporter’s home alone.
“Where are you?” he asked.
Ben eyed the crumpled sheets and the clothes they’d shed in wild abandon.
“Uh…in traffic.”
“Good. How far are you from the station?”
“Maybe thirty minutes. Why?”
“The heat’s coming down from the mayor’s office pretty hard. Captain has called a press conference for five o’clock. He wants everything we know on his desk within the next hour so he can prepare a statement.”
“Yeah, okay,” Ben said.
“So…?”
“So what?” Ben asked.
Rick cursed beneath his breath.
“DeLena…did she give you anything valid?”
Ben stifled a groan, thinking about what she’d told him, and then what they’d done. She’d given him more than he’d ever expected. Trouble was, he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do about it—or her.
“I’ll tell you all about it when I get to the station.”
“Yeah, all right,” Meeks said. “Later.”
“Yeah…later,” Ben echoed, and reached for his clothes.
At that point January came out of the bathroom wearing a lightweight bathrobe and a smile. It faded slightly as she saw he was already dressing.
“Duty calls,” Ben said.
“Of course,” she said, and then came around the foot of the bed, took his slacks from the bedpost and handed them to him.
“Thanks,” he said.
January
shrugged. “No problem,” she said softly. “I’ll give you a little privacy.”
But when she started to walk past him, Ben caught her by the wrist and pulled her to him.
“I don’t want privacy, I want you,” he growled, and then raked her lips with a hard, almost angry kiss.
January moaned, then kissed him back.
The moment was brief, but it did not lessen the passion that still simmered between them.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Ben said. “This isn’t some hit-and-run piece of ass…not for me it’s not. We might not have meant for this to happen, but by God, it has, and I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”
“Me neither,” January said.
He smiled. “As much as I regret it, I really have to go.”
January nodded. What he’d said had gone a long way to untying the knot in the pit of her stomach.
“I understand,” she said, and handed him his shirt.
“I’ll call you,” he answered, then pulled it on and began to button it.
As he did, he noticed that the third button down from the top was missing, and he seemed to remember yanking at the shirt hard enough earlier to send the button flying. A swift knot of longing came and went in his belly, but there was no time to follow up with a repeat session. He glanced at his watch, then skipped past the missing button and began to tuck his shirt into his slacks.
“Promise?” she asked.
Ben paused. “Promise that I’ll call you? Count on it.”
“I will.”
Ben put on his jacket and then patted his pockets to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind. But when January followed him through the apartment, then let him out the door, he had a feeling that he was leaving something very important behind—his heart.
January stood in the foyer for a few moments after he was gone, then reached for the dead bolt and gave it a turn. The click of tumblers punctuated his exit.
Meeks was at his desk when Ben got back to the precinct. When he saw Ben, he grabbed his coffee cup and stood up, nodding toward the break room.
Ben followed him there.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“You,” Meeks said.
Ben frowned. “What are you talking about?”
