Victoria's Destiny

by L. J. Garland

  When he turned back, his chest tightened, and lust shot straight to his groin. Mercy. She’d discarded the teddy for the bed sheet. Having artfully draped a cotton swathe around herself, she stood before him, a Grecian princess. Hell, she could wear a damn sackcloth and still be gorgeous.

  “I thought I’d go with you, if that’s okay.”

  “Absolutely.” He followed her to the kitchen. She’s not running for the door. Guess that means the sex didn’t mortally suck.

  She perched on a barstool, and he got fresh glasses and wine. Pulling a plate from the cabinet, he laid sliced cheese on one half and threw some crackers on the other. Meager offerings, but he’d do better next time. If there is a next time. He set the snack on the counter. Yeah, I’m in deep all right.

  Vicki drank the wine then nibbled on a cracker. Her gaze drifted over his body while he moved around the kitchen, and he enjoyed the attention, his hard-on tenting the front of his sweats. After emptying her glass, she set it on the counter.

  He held up the wine bottle. “More?”

  “Please.”

  He filled her glass, topped off his own then placed the bottle back in the refrigerator to keep it cold. When he turned back, he noticed her furrowed brow. “What’s up?”

  “What?” Staring at him with wide eyes, she shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “I’m a detective, remember?” After what they’d just shared, he didn’t want her to revert to keeping secrets. Leaning against the counter, he offered a gentle smile. “So, what’s bothering you?”

  She sighed so heavily he could almost see the thousand pounds of guilt and worry she carried on her shoulders. “Becca.”

  “You should tell her about your vision.” The words came out before he could sensor them.

  Her brows drew together. “If I can’t change the outcome, I see no sense upsetting her.”

  “But telling her would keep her alert. Might even save her life.”

  Vicki shook her head. “My mom and dad? I had a vision about them. Called halfway around the world to warn them, and it didn’t change a thing. They still died. Telling them or not telling them, the outcome still would’ve been the same. It was des—”

  He raised his hand. “Yes, I know. Destiny.” He gave her a hard stare. “But she should still know. We’ve got an officer watching her every move. She’s going to figure out something’s up. Might as well be the truth.”

  Vicki squeezed her eyes closed. Her fingers curled into fists on the granite countertop.

  “Hey.” River placed his hands on top of hers, a deeper level of understanding surging within him. It must be horrible to know every time someone she loved would die. “Why don’t you give her a call, see how she is?”

  Relief flooded her face. “I think I will.” Sliding from the barstool, she scurried to the couch and snatched her cell phone from her purse.

  River strode to the bedroom to give her some privacy. He picked up the pillows from the floor, tossing them against the headboard. Retrieving the bedspread, he folded and laid it across the foot of the bed. He snatched up his discarded clothing and dropped it in the hamper.

  When he turned, he spotted Vicki’s dress in a crumpled pile on the floor. Next to it lay her sexy green lace teddy. His pulse quickened, the memory of why the items lay there flooding his brain. He picked up the dress and, grasping the sleeves, he shook out the silky fabric, placed it on a hanger, and hung it on the closet door.

  He plucked the teddy from the floor. Just holding the lacy confection sent need racing through him. Burying his face in the lingerie, he inhaled deeply, her scent torturing him further. Wonder if she’d put this back on, so I can take it off again. With care, he laid the alluring undergarment across the chair in the corner of the room.

  “She’s fine.” Vicki stood in the doorway, a smile on her lips. She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Found out she’s still with Lenny. Talk about too much information.”

  River chuckled. “An odd match for sure, but who knows what draws two people to each other?”

  “Hope it’s okay, but I agreed to meet them for breakfast.”

  “Oh.” He’d wanted her to stay longer.

  Her eyebrows rose, and she gestured toward the living room. “I can call her back. Tell her you can’t make it. It’s no big deal.”

  “No.” He crossed the room, joining her at the doorway.

  “I didn’t even take into consideration you might have something else to do.” Her eyes grew large. “Oh my God. Work. You’ve got to go to work tomorrow.”

  “It’s okay.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Tomorrow is Saturday. I’m off. I would love to go to breakfast with you and your friends.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled, her eyes darkening with interest. She reached for him and, moving into his arms, she caressed his bare chest.

  “Though there’s still one question.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Will I be pouring one cup of coffee in the morning or two?”

  Rising onto her tiptoes, she kissed him. “Two, please.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  She is mine.

  He paused on the deck and breathed in the cool night air, the slightest hint of salt floating on the breeze. The waxing moon offered abundant light, and in the windows of the locked French doors, his ghostly reflection stared back at him. Strength and power surged through every cell in his body. Sweet anticipation.

  Damn, I feel strong. Powerful.

  Flexing his fingers, he formed a fist, the latex glove stretching over his knuckles. Turning, he scanned the yard. A few scrub pines shifted with a gentle breeze. A dog barked in the distance. A safe, quiet neighborhood.

  Idiots.

  He pulled the nylon mask over his face. Couldn’t be too careful, what with all the high-tech forensics nowadays. Strands of hair, bits of skin cells, a simple eyelash, for God’s sake. But then, that’s what made it exciting. Staying one step ahead.

  With a quick jerk of his arm, he rammed his elbow through the small pane. The sharp crack of breaking glass tore through the air. Reaching through the opening, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

  Sweet silence. He smiled.

  As he crossed the unfamiliar living room, his skin tingled, and he savored the fact his prey lay sleeping nearby. Hunger welled in his chest, his hands clenching as he remembered the well-endowed redhead who’d handed him takeout at the Italian restaurant.

  She will serve my purposes just fine.

  His fingers itched to touch her skin, to trace where he would cut her. To feel the knife in his grip, the power of his god surging through him, guiding his hand. He would dig deep inside her chest and yank out her heart, his offering to the deity that gave him immortality.

  A drop of sweat trailed down his neck, sending a wicked shudder through his body. Yes, tasty dreams. Eager breaths rasped through his parted lips. Oh, sweet blood.

  Extending his arms out with palms up, he turned in a slow circle, gathering the imperceptible threads of strength his god dispensed. Potent strands of power clung to him, featherlight yet unmistakable, each burrowing beneath his clothing, through his pores, and into his hot, pulsating veins. He sucked in a breath, tasted the salty coolness of the ocean on his tongue. An indomitable force, he stalked down the hallway, skimming his fingertips along the walls on either side.

  Nudging the door open, he stepped silent as a wraith into her bedroom.

  She lay there, her chest rising and falling in the depths of sleep. The cold moonlight caressed her skin. The thin sheets swathed her body, outlining the curves and dips of her delicious form.

  He pulled the bottle from his jacket and retrieved a pristine handkerchief from his back pocket. Eagerness burned within him. Opening the container, he slid the folded cloth over the hole. With a quick tilt of his hand, liquid saturated the handkerchief. After capping the bottle, he returned it to his jacket.

  He eased onto the sid
e of the bed, the mattress giving beneath his weight. He studied her features relaxed with sleep. Her smooth face and closed eyes. Her full lips forming neither a smile nor a frown.

  Her peace would not last. Serenity would transform into terror.

  Soon.

  With an intense stare, he willed her eyes to open, for her to gaze upon him. When her eyelids fluttered, satisfaction surged through him. She is the perfect gift to my god.

  Slowly, her eyes opened. Heavy with sleep, her brows knitted in confusion as she struggled to separate his form from the surrounding shadows. Her lips parted to form a word.

  His pulse quickened, but he lingered, drawing the sumptuous moment out. He waited in the moonlight on the edge of her bed. Waited for her to realize he was not a dream, not some nightmare she’d conjured in the elusive realms of sleep.

  No. I am something else.

  Her eyes widened with focus. The moment of comprehension struck. Her body convulsed, her hands thrashed beneath the sheet, and her knees bent and jerked.

  With lightning speed, he slammed the handkerchief over her nose and mouth, muffling her terrified screams. He lay across her body, pinning her to the bed, rendering her struggles useless. He smirked. Damn, but I love this part.

  Stifled shrieks gave way to soft moans. Her eyes rolled back, the whites flagging her surrender. Eyelids shuttering closed, her body stilled, the chloroform doing its job. She lay there, waiting for his god to accept her as an offering.

  Not here.

  He rose, retrieved a plastic bag from his jacket then dropped the damp handkerchief inside and tucked it into his pocket. Prepared to leave with his prize, he threw back the sheet, revealing the pink tank top and bikini panties clinging to her voluptuous body. What a delicious sacrifice to my god. He lifted the redhead’s inert form over his shoulder.

  On entering the living room, he paused, a noise on the deck bringing him to a halt. A scuffing sound came from outside the French doors. Someone had discovered his entry point.

  Not expecting a confrontation, he’d arrived with nothing more than the chloroform. He laid his prey on the floor then ducked into the kitchen. Grabbing a carving knife from the butcher block, he melted into the shadows and waited.

  The door opened. A flash of light sliced the darkness. Broken glass crunched beneath the unknown visitor’s feet.

  He tightened his grip on the knife handle.

  “Oh, shit,” a male said. The sound of shoes treading over hardwood followed. The visitor passed the kitchen and knelt next to the immobile redhead, the large flashlight he placed on the floor next to him a location beacon.

  Idiot. Imbued with his god’s invincibility, he slipped from the shadows. His steps silent, his breath even, he approached the man from behind. A single blow with the butt of the knife sent his adversary sprawling. Seizing the discarded flashlight, he swung, clubbing the guy in the temple. A satisfying crack filled the air. The light sputtered, went out.

  Dropping the makeshift weapon, he then reached beneath the man’s arms, dragging him from the living room to the entryway. He flipped the man onto his stomach then turned to retrieve the knife he’d left on the floor.

  The guy moaned. His hand moved to the gash the heavy flashlight had inflicted.

  Returning, he straddled the intruder, grabbed a hank of hair, and jerked his head back, exposing his neck.

  “Nyaa,” the man gurgled, the sound utter nonsense.

  He laid the honed steel blade against the man’s throat and prepared for the splash. Grinning, he pulled the knife, slicing tender skin and tearing the windpipe. Hot blood. The sweet coppery scent filled his nostrils.

  He released the guy’s hair. The body dropped forward, slapping against the wet hardwood. He looked at the knife in his hand then tossed it next to the body, the metal blade singing when it struck the floor.

  Before turning away, he peered down. Moonlight streamed through the door’s sidelight, illuminating his adversary’s back. He paused, cocked his head, and read the word printed in white on the dark jacket.

  Police.

  What the hell? Had a neighbor heard the glass shatter when he’d broken into the house? He shook his head. No, I was a ghost.

  The officer had been sent to watch the girl? His jaw tightened. So, had the illustrious Detective River Chastain figured out a way to anticipate the next victim?

  He’d left notes to taunt River. Perhaps he’d gleaned something deeper from the messages, giving him an advantage. He would have to contemplate the possibility River might be a step ahead. The thought induced his fingers to curl into a fist. He definitely needed to up the stakes.

  Pivoting away from the dead officer, he returned to his prize. He lifted the supple rag doll then laid her over his shoulder and walked to the open French doors. With a final glance, he stepped outside. Slipping through the shadows, he strode across the deck, intent on delivering the redheaded waitress to his god’s sacrificial altar.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  River opened the Malibu’s passenger door and stared as Vicki extended one long leg into the sharp morning sunlight. Exiting the car, she stood fidgeting next to him on the sidewalk. He perused every dip and curve. Mercy, after what they’d done the night before and the scant hours of sleep they’d stolen, how she continued to look so beautiful bewildered him.

  “I feel silly walking into a diner wearing a dress like this.” A shy smile touched her lips, and she ran her hands over her waist, smoothing invisible wrinkles. “I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “Ridiculous.” Placing his hand against the small of her back, he scooped her into his arms, capturing her mouth and tasting the coffee he’d brought her in bed earlier. “But if you’re worried, I can take you back to my house, and we can spend the entire day in bed.”

  “Tempting.” Her eyes glittered with desire, and his pulse jumped. “But I promised Becca we’d meet her and Lenny for breakfast. And she went to a lot of trouble to bring me a change of clothes.”

  “See, that’s where your artist friend and I differ. Becca brings you clothes.” He kissed her again. “I prefer you without.”

  Giggling, she pushed against his chest. “Down, boy.”

  “I’m just saying, is all.” Grinning, he wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her toward the entrance. Of course, if she had said yes, he would’ve had her back in the Malibu in a flash. But she held her friendship with Becca in high regard, and he appreciated it.

  When River opened the shop door, delicious scents of fresh-baked bread teased his nose. His stomach growled. The soft clatter of dishes and silverware along with the sizzle of bacon hitting the hot grill filled the air. Patrons lined the counter, smartphones in hand. Light conversations coursed through the shop like background music.

  “There they are.” Linking her fingers with his, she led him to a table near a window.

  Becca and her reporter sat together, staring at a laptop. Their heads inches apart, they spoke in muffled tones. When Lenny glanced up and spotted Vicki and River, he closed the computer, concealing whatever might be on the screen. River studied their faces. What are those two up to?

  “Ah, now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Lenny’s eyebrow peeked above his round glasses and a smirk twisted his mouth. “I see you two got a little somethin’ somethin’ in the late-night hours.” He pumped his arm in a crude gesture. “And might I say, Victoria, you are lookin’ fine this morning.”

  Stumbling to a stop, her cheeks and chest flushing, Vicki glared. River shot the idiot a warning stare.

  Becca laughed and slapped the reporter’s shoulder. “Lenny. Stop it.”

  “Well, it’s the truth.” He faced her, wide-eyed, and gestured toward Vicki. “She does look great.”

  Bracelets jingling, her friend grabbed a satchel from beside her chair. “I’ve got everything you need right here.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured, accepting the bag.

  “I’ll go with you.” Becca turned to Lenny, wagged her f
inger. “And that’s not the way you compliment a woman.”

  “What?”

  With a snort, she took Vicki’s arm and propelled her toward the ladies’ room.

  River sat across from Lenny and waited for the reporter’s attention to return from Becca’s retreating backside. When he twisted back around, the longing in his eyes hinted he might not have worked past her defenses yet. His drawn brows also alluded he knew a good thing and was terrified of screwing it up.

  Amused, River smirked. Yeah, he’s got it bad.

  Lenny clutched the sides of his laptop. “Man. The guy who dumped her at the altar was an idiot.”

  A willowy waitress set two mugs of steaming coffee on the table and smiled at River. “What can I get you, sugar?”

  He had no idea what Vicki might want. “We’re not quite ready to order yet.”

  “Well, my name’s Shelly. You just let me know when you’re ready, hon.” With a nod, she headed to another table.

  River glanced at the bathroom door the women had disappeared through. How long would they be in there?

  “So, did you find anything on my memory card that Detective Dauscher took?” Lenny pushed his glasses up his nose then drummed his fingers on the laptop.

  Unfortunately, seizing the camera card had done little in moving the investigation forward. There had been no picture of the mysterious Matthew. River had ended up working with a sketch artist at the police station for over an hour and had almost been late to his dinner date.

  “Just a lot of unflattering pictures of Vicki.” He reached for his cup.

  Lenny stared out the window, his eyebrows knitting. Guilt. Good to know the guy has a conscience.

  “Do I get it back?” He shrugged. “I’m already using my backup card, but those things aren’t cheap.”

  “Sure. Can’t guarantee there’ll be anything on it, though. My partner’s a proponent of returning items in pristine condition.” River drank the robust coffee and gestured toward the laptop. “You on the Internet?”