Carla Cassidy

by Scene of the Crime Killer Cove

  He’d already been through the agony of losing three people he loved: his father, his mother and Shelly. Although he wasn’t in love with Claire, he cared about her deeply and refused to consider losing her to some nutcase with a grudge against him.

  What had been the motive of the person who had attempted to take Claire tonight? Was it possible he’d simply meant to scare her, or had the person had deadly intentions? Was it possible the goal was to kill Claire and leave her body in the swampy lagoon in an effort to somehow frame Bo for another woman’s murder? It would definitely shake everything up if Bo returned to town and another young woman was killed and left in the lagoon.

  “Bo?”

  Claire pulled him from his thoughts. “Sorry, I was just thinking about the next move for us,” he replied.

  She sat up straighter and he pulled his arm from around her. “What do you mean? The next move for us is that we keep doing what we’re doing. We continue to try to find Shelly’s killer.”

  “It’s not that easy after what almost happened here tonight.” He moved several inches away from her. “I have to consider that you having contact with me has put you in danger.”

  “If that’s the case then I’m now on notice and can be better prepared,” she replied with a lift of her chin. “I’m not going to let some creep dictate what I do and with whom.”

  Bo raked a hand through his hair, knowing that she was stubborn enough to continue the investigation with or without him, still putting her potentially at risk.

  “As far as I’m concerned we have three options. The first is that I forget this whole thing and go back to Jackson. The second is that you forget this whole thing and distance yourself from me and anything to do with Shelly’s murder.”

  “I don’t like those options,” she replied with a touch of petulance.

  “The third option is that you move into my house where I can be sure that nobody can get to you again.”

  She stared at him, her eyes reflecting myriad emotions...apprehension, a touch of residual fear and something else he couldn’t identify. “So you’d be like my personal bodyguard?”

  “Exactly.”

  She frowned and looked around the room and then back at him. “And it would be a strictly platonic roommate arrangement?”

  “I would never take advantage of you, Claire,” he replied softly.

  “I have to admit, I’m more than a little shaken up by what happened, and the idea of being here all alone is a bit scary.”

  “Then pack a bag and let’s get out of here,” Bo replied.

  As she disappeared into her bedroom, Bo quickly processed the bedroom situation at his place. His mother’s bedroom still hadn’t been completely cleared. The bed had been stripped and he wasn’t sure he was emotionally ready to allow anyone to sleep in there yet.

  The easiest thing to do was for Bo to put Claire in his bedroom, and he’d bunk on the sofa. There was a door that connected his room to his mother’s bathroom and that would give Claire more privacy in a home where two men lived.

  With the arrangements set in his head, he stood from the sofa and walked to the front window. He peered out into the darkness and wondered who in the hell had attacked Claire.

  He’d known she wouldn’t agree to stop investigating Shelly’s murder. At this point he wasn’t even sure she’d stop if he went back to Jackson. He was only grateful that she’d agreed to come to his place where he could make sure she stayed safe.

  He turned away from the window as she came back into the living room, this time carrying a bulging duffel bag, a rigid set to her shoulders. “I hate that some creep is making me afraid to stay here,” she said. “I hate being chased out of my own home.”

  “Hopefully, Trey and his men will get to the bottom of this quickly and before you know it you’ll be back here.”

  She eyed him dubiously. “I don’t have a lot of confidence in Trey and his men finding their way out of a paper bag. Trey is too busy sucking up to Mayor Jim Burns to be a good leader in the department. He doesn’t want to solve crimes, he just wants any perks that come with his position.”

  She drew a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m rambling and being cranky.”

  “You’re allowed to be cranky,” he replied gently. “It’s late and you’ve had a traumatic experience. Let’s get out of here and get you settled in at my place.”

  Bo stepped out of the front door and onto the porch first and then froze. He was vaguely aware of Claire moving next to him even as his focus remained solely on the items on the porch.

  “What the hell?” he muttered as Claire gasped.

  On the porch was a beige doll that looked like a stuffed gingerbread man. Sexless and faceless, the doll sported three redheaded pins stabbed into the area that would be the doll’s heart. There was also a note written in bold red lettering big enough to read by the living room light Claire had left on, which flowed through the front window.

  YOU BELONG TO ME!!!!! The words screamed from the page and once again Bo’s blood chilled.

  Chapter Eight

  It was just after two and Claire was snuggled beneath sheets that smelled of Bo. She’d been too upset to argue with him even when she’d realized that in giving her his room, he planned on sleeping on the sofa.

  All she’d really been able to think about was that her harmless secret admirer was obviously an obsessed stalker who no longer wanted to date her but wanted to kill her.

  They hadn’t touched the voodoo doll or note but rather had called Trey back to the house where he’d collected the evidence. Then they had followed him to the station where she’d told him about the notes and flowers she’d received from somebody she hadn’t given a minute’s thought to in the past week or two.

  Trey had questioned her for about an hour, forcing her to think about each note she’d received, the kind of vases that had been left and who she thought might be her secret admirer.

  She’d had little information to give him. She’d been in a state of shock after realizing the threats against her weren’t because of her helping Bo prove his innocence, but rather specifically directed at her and had nothing to do with Bo. She’d gotten her first notes and letters long before Bo had shown up in Lost Lagoon.

  She now shivered and pulled the sheet up closer around her neck despite the warmth of the room. Her breathing grew shallow as she remembered those moments of being trapped in the plastic bag, unable to see her assailant and incapable of fighting back.

  What would have happened if Eric hadn’t been sitting on his front porch, if he hadn’t heard her scream? She believed she’d be dead.

  What had changed her secret admirer from a person who left her sweet little notes and freshly bloomed flowers to a madman who had tried to run her over with a car and kidnap her?

  Ultimately she thought maybe it did come back to Bo. Whoever was after her was jealous and angry that she and Bo had been spending every waking hour together. The creep probably thought she and Bo were lovers and in his warped mind she’d belonged to him and now deserved to die for cheating on him.

  She’d seen television shows and documentaries about stalking and obsessive love. The cases didn’t always end well. She shivered again, and fear once again rose up inside her. She’d been damned for something that hadn’t even happened. Her stalker felt she’d betrayed him with Bo. But you could make it happen, a little voice whispered inside her head. You could make it happen right now.

  She thought of being held in Bo’s arms, of his lips taking hers as their bodies melded together. Partners with benefits, he’d joked. But tonight was no joke. She wanted him. She needed him to take her away from her own scary thoughts.

  Why not make love with Bo? She knew he wasn’t her happily-ever-after, but at the moment that’s not what she needed from him. She needed his warmth, his heart beating next to hers. She wanted him to assure her that she’d truly survived the night and that her life wasn’t just about fear.

  Without giving herself a chance to reth
ink her desire, she got out of bed and pulled her robe around her. If he was already asleep, then she wouldn’t wake him.

  She crept down the darkened hallway and paused at the threshold into the living room. “Bo?” she whispered.

  By the moonlight drifting through the living room windows she saw him sit straight up. “Claire, is something wrong?”

  “I’ve decided I want to be partners with benefits and I want to explore those benefits right now.” Speaking the words out loud only made her more certain that she wanted him.

  The physical attraction, the sexual tension between them, was undeniable, and they were both single, consenting adults. She was no starry-eyed romantic who expected anything from him other than the physical pleasure and sense of safety she knew she’d find in his arms tonight.

  “Claire, you’ve had a traumatic night.” He didn’t move from the sofa. “Maybe now isn’t the time to make a decision you’ll later regret.”

  “I don’t believe in living with regret,” she replied. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing. I want you to make love to me, even if it’s just for this one night.” She gripped her thin cotton robe closer around her, wondering if she was making a complete fool of herself.

  He stood. Clad only in a pair of black boxers and with the moonlight appearing to be drawn as if by magic to shimmer on every muscle and lean structure on his body, Claire’s breathing grew shallow once again, only this time it had nothing to do with fear.

  She nearly stopped breathing as he advanced toward her. He stopped when he stood inches from her, his body warmth radiating out to engulf her; his mere closeness drove every bad thought and fear out of her head.

  “Claire.” He raised a hand and placed it on her cheek. “You know I want you, but I also need you to know that I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  “Neither am I. I’m just looking for tonight.” She turned her face into his palm and kissed it. “Just tonight, Bo.”

  He moved his hand from her face to the back of her head and pulled her against him as his mouth found hers. He tasted of fiery desire and mindless pleasure, exactly what she’d wanted, what she needed from him.

  When the kiss finally ended, her knees were almost too weak to lead him down the hallway to his bedroom. The room was completely dark with only a faint sliver of moonlight whispering through the crack in the blinds.

  Claire shrugged out of her robe and immediately got into the bed and covered up with the sheet. Bo took a moment longer and she knew he was taking off his boxers.

  When he got beneath the covers with her there was nothing between them. They were warm skin and hard muscles and soft curves as he pulled her into his arms and their lips once again found each other.

  As he kissed her, his arms moved from around her and his hands began to explore her. He caressed her shoulders, and then glided his palms across her breasts. Her nipples hardened at the brief touch as his hands continued a path down the flat of her stomach and then down the sides of her hips.

  It was as if he were a blind man seeking to “see” her through his fingertips. It was also an erotic dance of touch that left her shivering with a desire she’d never felt before.

  She reciprocated, running her fingers across his broad shoulders and chest. His stomach was an easy six-pack of taut muscles and before she could caress him any further he rolled over on top of her, his hardness against her as he kissed and tongued first one breast and then the other.

  She tangled her hands in his hair, her hips automatically moving beneath him as the fire inside her grew to mammoth proportions.

  She felt as if from the moment she’d met him they’d indulged in some form of foreplay that had her ready for him to take her now, this instant.

  But he seemed to be in no hurry as he stroked her skin and kissed her lips, her throat, and once again covered one of her breasts with his mouth. A gasp escaped her as he licked and teased the taut pebble. She squeezed his shoulder muscles, mindless with pleasure. He was fire and she was being consumed by his flames.

  Wanting to bring him as much pleasure, she reached between them and grasped his hardness. He hissed a swift intake of breath at her intimate touch.

  She stroked him slowly, loving the feel of his velvet-soft skin encasing rock-hard and ready muscle. And then he touched her intimately, moving his fingers against her most sensitive spot.

  She tried to maintain her focus on pleasuring him, but as his fingers moved more quickly her intentions disappeared beneath the building tide of imminent combustion.

  Her climax shuddered through her, first tightening every muscle in her body and then leaving her weak, gasping and boneless.

  Before she could catch her breath he positioned himself between her thighs and entered her. She closed her eyes and reveled in the fact that his body surrounded her and filled her.

  He whispered her name just before he captured her lips with his, kissing her with fervency, with passion unleashed. His hips moved against hers and she wrapped her legs around his back to pull him closer, deeper into her.

  He stroked faster, finding a rhythm that once again built up a tension inside her that was both tormenting and exhilarating.

  Once again he took her over the edge and at the same time she heard him gasp her name as he stiffened against her in his own release.

  She unwound her legs from around him and he rolled to his back next to her. The only sound was of them both trying to catch their breath. Although she couldn’t see him in the darkness of the room, she felt his movement against the mattress and knew he’d shifted positions. She turned on her side in his direction.

  “That was amazing and totally irresponsible.” His breath was warm on her face.

  She knew immediately what he was talking about. “I’m not promiscuous, and I’m on the pill,” she replied.

  “Then I’ll just go back to the fact that it was amazing,” he replied. “And I haven’t been with anyone since Shelly.”

  Claire was surprised and touched by the admission, somehow honored that she’d been the first woman since his lost love. “Thank you, Bo.”

  He laughed. “Don’t thank me for doing something I wanted to do and would do again anytime of the day or night.”

  Once again she felt the mattress move and saw the faint illumination of him standing next to the bed. “Get some sleep, Claire. It will soon be morning.”

  Although she was disappointed that he apparently had no intention of staying with her for the rest of the night, the fear that had chilled her before they’d made love was gone, banished by what they’d just shared and the knowledge that she was safe in his home.

  “Good night, Bo,” she said, already drowsy as the last of her adrenaline seeped away.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said and then he was gone.

  Claire curled up on her side and hugged the pillow where his head had just lain to her chest. She definitely wasn’t eager to face the morning when she’d have to fully embrace the frightening thought that somebody close to her, somebody who had been her “secret admirer,” no longer wanted to date her, but potentially had murder on his mind.

  Chapter Nine

  Despite the late night, Bo was awake at seven. He remained half tangled in the sheet that covered him as he thought about the events of the night before.

  There was no question in his mind that Claire’s secret admirer had gone rabid and was now a real and present threat to her safety.

  Thinking about what had occurred between them in the darkness of night sent a surge of warmth through him. Making love with her had been everything he’d imagined and more. The scent of her, the taste of her, was now in his blood, and having her once wasn’t enough.

  But he knew if they made love again it would only be at her bidding. She was in control of that aspect of their “partnership.” He had nothing more to offer her than the here and now, and the last thing he wanted was for emotions to get tangled up and messy and lead to heartbreak for either one of them.

&
nbsp; There was no question that he cared about her a lot, but that didn’t mean he was willing to ever give his heart to any woman or to Lost Lagoon again.

  Claire had a good life here. She loved her work and the people, and she would continue to have a good life here long after he was gone. But first they had to figure out who had tried to take her last night; who possessed a twisted love for Claire that had turned into something dangerous?

  Thoughts of her safety pulled him up from the sofa and down the hall to the bathroom. Thankfully before he’d turned his bedroom over to Claire the night before he’d grabbed clean clothes for today.

  It took him only minutes to shower, dress and then head into the kitchen to get the coffee brewing. Jimmy wouldn’t be up for hours and he hoped that Claire slept in, as well.

  While waiting for the coffee, he dug around in one of the drawers at the small desk in the corner of the kitchen and found a new notebook. He carried it and a pen to the table and set it in the center.

  Starting today they would not be working from Claire’s notebook on Shelly’s death. They would begin a brand-new investigation to find the identity of her secret admirer.

  He finally sat at the table and curled his fingers around a mug of the fresh brew and thought about their second interaction with Trey the night before.

  The lawman had appeared to take everything seriously, including the fact that the perp had obviously been watching Claire’s house while they’d been there the first time that night.

  The doll and note hadn’t been on the porch when Bo had initially arrived, nor had they been there when Trey and his men had first shown up. Whoever had placed the items on the porch had waited until the lawmen had left, indicating that he’d been watching the place the whole time.

  The only name Claire had mentioned to Trey in the way of suspects was Neil Sampson, the city councilman she’d dated and broken up with months before.

  Bo intended to press her this morning to come up with some other potential suspects. Claire was bright and beautiful and he couldn’t imagine fewer than several men being attracted to her. She might be too obtuse or too naive to recognize their friendly smiles as some sort of sick romantic interest.