“I don’t know anything about you,” he replied, quite honestly.
Turning his back on her, he got in his car and drove away, leaving her standing there, speechless, confused and very much alone.
At LabTech, Marc found Gina hunched over her laptop. “Anything interesting?”
“Yes,” she said, taking off her reading glasses as she straightened. “Preliminary reports show consistencies between the semen samples obtained from both victims and the one from the Guajome Lake rest room, but it could take weeks for DNA confirmation. And still no hit in CODIS.” She closed the screen. “What have you got?”
He placed the container of urine on the desk. “If he tests positive, can you match the results to a specific crop or plant?”
She looked skeptical. “Maybe, if the grower used a certain kind of fertilizer, pesticide, or another traceable chemical. Your homegrown variety can also have unique qualities, such as astronomically high THC levels, but it’s a long shot, either way.”
Most investigative techniques were, he thought, taking Tony’s joint out of his pocket. “Can you run this?”
“Sure. Is it from the scene?”
“No.”
“From a suspect?”
“Not really. Not firsthand, anyway.”
She arched a dark, curvy brow. “So the paper isn’t evidence?”
“No.”
She tore open the joint to see its contents. “It’s definitely fresh, probably local. Good quality. You want me to have narcotics take a look?”
It was a good idea, but Marc didn’t want to bring the heat down on Tony, or his customers, who were mostly harmless, fresh-faced college kids. Like Anika Groene, he thought suddenly. “Not yet. See if you can match it first. I’ll take it from there.”
She smiled at his secrecy. “By the way, I’d make myself scarce, if I were you.”
He grew instantly wary. “Is Stokes around?”
“Not that I know of, but I heard she’s breathing fire.”
“She saw the paper this morning?”
“Yes, and your little psychic friend got herself a lawyer. Slapped homicide with a cease and desist order first thing this morning.”
When Marc caught up with her again, it was really raining. Huge, fat drops saturated Sidney’s clothing as she walked from the parking garage to her front doorstep.
He was waiting for her there, getting soaked, although he appeared oblivious to the downpour. His hair was thick and damp in the moisture-laden air, and his T-shirt clung intriguingly to the muscles of his chest. From his half-lidded eyes to his pseudo-casual stance, every aspect of his demeanor suggested barely restrained fury.
The amount of tension between them spiked higher than the humidity.
“What do you mean you didn’t have a choice about the photo?” he asked. “Did your lawyer advise you to go public?”
She took her keys out of her front pocket with a trembling hand, feeling the rain permeate her tank top. “What lawyer? Greg?”
“Your brother-in-law is your lawyer?” he asked, eyeing her with derision. “That is dysfunctional on so many levels.”
“Would you move? I’d like to get out of the rain.”
He didn’t budge.
“Did you read the article?” she asked, exasperated.
“Of course.”
She stared at him, for that explained it all. He didn’t appear convinced. Wiping the rain from her face, she said, “The picture they printed was taken before…”
“We almost had sex on a picnic table?” he finished for her.
Hot color suffused her face. “I wouldn’t have…”
“Oh, yes, you would have,” he countered smugly. “And so would I, if we’d been alone.”
She opened her mouth to deny it, and found the lie impossible to utter. “Crystal said she would destroy your career,” she murmured, returning to the subject of most importance.
His expression changed. “That’s why you consented? Because of me?”
“Yes. Now can I please get by?”
He moved aside a half step, giving her access to the front door, but only if she wanted to plaster her body against his. Refusing to let him intimidate her, she put her shoulder in the middle of his chest and grinded her elbow into his hard, flat abdomen as she turned the key.
He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in her attempt to harm him. To her chagrin, she couldn’t deny her own enjoyment in his proximity.
Why did he have to smell so good? Like freshly laundered cotton and rain, testosterone and Old Spice. At the base of his throat, his skin was dark and damp against the collar of his T-shirt. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the urge to put her mouth there and taste him, too.
“You should have asked me,” he said. “The Explorer isn’t a tabloid press. They would never have printed anything explicit.”
She moistened her lips, still staring at his neck. “She lied?”
“Yes.”
The door opened in, but she didn’t push it. Her eyes drifted up to his face. “Greg contacted your office?”
He was fixated on her mouth. “Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That you would sue for harassment if we continued surveillance.”
She put her head against the door, more weary than astonished by her brother-in-law’s underhanded machinations.
“He lied?”
“Yes,” she said, casting him a sideways glance. Her eyelids felt very heavy, and she wanted nothing more than to lean in to him, to taste his mouth again, to flatten her breasts against his chest and feel how his body responded to hers.
Then the hurtful words he’d said to her this morning came rushing back, and she squeezed the doorknob tightly, willing her hand to make it turn.
He didn’t know her. He didn’t want to know her.
Marc wanted her the same way Greg wanted her-in a base, purely sexual way. The only difference was that she wanted him back.
If he really knew her, he’d run the other way, she reminded herself. No one wanted a freak for a girlfriend. What man would feel comfortable around a woman capable of invading his mind, guessing his secrets, stealing his thoughts?
“Come on in,” she said, pushing open the door. “I’ll get you a towel.” Going in ahead of him, she grabbed a towel off the rack in the bathroom. She avoided glancing into the mirror, afraid of the raw need she would see reflected there.
Marc stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He seemed unsure if he wanted to commit himself further by stepping into the room, and his reluctance to impose upon her was twice as appealing as his tough guy façade.
“Here,” she said, shoving the towel at him.
He hesitated, his eyes on the way her wet tank top molded to her chest. “I think you need it more than I do,” he said gruffly.
She didn’t have to glance down to know the circles of her nipples were revealed by the damp fabric. She could read it in his hot gaze. Clenching her hands into fists, she whirled away from him, storming up the staircase to change her shirt.
Outside the door to her bedroom, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Someone had been in her house. Someone had…“Oh God,” she said, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Marley.”
In the middle of the bed, the cat was stretched on its back, spread-eagled, tied to the wrought-iron posts with black thread. Its coat was dark with congealed blood, and it appeared to have been disemboweled.
“Oh my God,” she repeated, nausea rising to her throat.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Marc pushed her back against the open door, putting his body in front of hers protectively. “Go outside,” he said after looking into the bedroom. “I’ll check the rest of the house.”
She nodded, tearing her eyes away from the mutilated cat. Above the bed, a newspaper clipping was pinned to the wall with a large kitchen knife. She didn’t need a closer look to know what it depicted. Shuddering, she navigated the stairs on weak, rubbery legs
.
Marc waited until she was safely outside before moving. Feeling numb, she closed the front door behind her and hugged her arms around herself until he came out again.
“It wasn’t your cat,” he said.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to see the horrifying image.
“Your cat is under the bed.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Grumpy-faced little calico, right?”
“Tortoiseshell,” she corrected, intensely relieved.
“I have to go.”
“You-what?”
“Lacy and some others are on the way.”
She blinked at him in confusion. “Aren’t they close by? Watching? How could they have let this happen?”
“Your lawyer’s cease and desist order put a halt to surveillance this morning.”
“I didn’t know.”
His expression indicated he thought otherwise. “Don’t go back inside until they get here,” he suggested, then got in his car and drove away, his tires making slick tracks in the dark, still-wet street.
Detective Lacy and two uniformed officers gave her house a perfunctory search, using the bare minimum of effort, resources and congeniality.
Sidney gathered that Greg’s oh-so-helpful interference had not endeared her to the Oceanside Police Department.
The newspaper, knife and thread the perpetrator used were hers. Other than the dead cat, there was no evidence of a break-in. One of the officers took a few photographs, another dusted for prints, and after Sidney offered to take care of the carcass, they left.
As soon as they were gone, Sidney locked and relocked all the windows and the doors, checked and rechecked them, ran her hands over every edge and corner, searching for the point of entry. Finding nothing, she also felt around, groping furniture and rummaging through shelves, looking for an impression of the cat-killing vandal.
If he’d worn gloves, that explained the lack of fingerprints, but had he also done it to thwart her? Then again, how could he know she used her sense of touch for psychic readings?
The newspaper article had maligned her character and attacked her integrity, but it hadn’t revealed that particular secret.
Sidney secured Marley in a pet carrier, afraid she would try to hide again or run away, and went about the unpleasant task of dealing with the remains. She cut the makeshift bonds and folded the limp, lifeless body into a heavy-duty garbage bag, then stripped the bed. Into another bag went the sheets, pillow covers, mattress pad and even her beloved chenille blanket. Thankfully the mattress itself wasn’t damaged.
The bag of linens went in the trash, the cat in her freezer. It would have to keep until tomorrow when she would drop it off at Vincent Veterinary Clinic.
That done, she decided to clean and sanitize every square inch of her house. She felt dirty, just standing inside it, almost as if the villain had soiled her belongings the same way he’d soiled the ladies’ room at Guajome Lake Park.
She scrubbed down the floors, walls, bathrooms, windows and countertops. She sprayed the mattress, pillows and couch cushions with disinfectant. When the doorbell rang she was dusting the top of the bookshelf. Sidney was so startled by the sound she almost fell off the chair she was standing on.
It was Marc. Folding her arms over her chest and tapping her foot, she made it clear his presence was unwelcome.
He took in her frazzled appearance, from the dusting rag in her gloved hands to her hair, covered by a hillbilly handkerchief, and had the nerve to smile. “How’s your cat?”
“Which one?”
“The live one.”
“She’s edgy. Like me. What do you want?”
“I’ve been assigned to protect you.”
“Spy on me, you mean?”
“No. That would be grounds for a lawsuit.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Look, Sidney, I can make sure anyone who comes in here has to get by me first, but I can’t do it from outside.”
“And if I refuse?”
He sighed. “Then I guess I’ll wait for you to go to sleep, jimmy that loose latch again and come in anyway.”
“What loose latch?”
He winked at her. “Let me in, and I’ll fix it.”
God, he was infuriating. And so charming, when he wanted to be, that she felt some of her anger seep away. “Where will you sleep?”
He breezed by her. “I’ll take the couch.”
She shut the door behind him. “I was going to sleep there. My bed is…” Her throat closed up around the words.
His eyes wandered over her face. “Have you eaten?”
She shook her head, swallowing back tears.
“You need to,” he decided, striding into her kitchen and browsing the fridge. “What have you got?”
“There’s some fresh meat in the freezer,” she said, unable to stop the hysterical laughter bubbling up inside her.
He looked. “Very funny. Why is it in there?”
“I’m taking the body to Bill tomorrow.”
“For an autopsy?”
“Just a disposal,” she said, coming up behind him. “Why? Do you think he could find out something?”
“It’s worth a try.” He transferred the plastic-wrapped body from the freezer to the refrigerator. “Freezing can alter the evidence, disrupt the consistency of the organs, change the weight of body fluids.”
She suppressed a fresh wave of nausea.
He slammed the fridge shut. “Let’s go out to eat.”
Chapter 10
Marc awoke with a start, momentarily disoriented. His hand was reaching out to pick up his Glock before he knew what he’d heard to alert him.
The sound of an intruder outside reminded him where he was. At Sidney’s house, playing bodyguard. Stokes would have a conniption if she found out.
Rolling off the couch, he made his way to the kitchen window and crouched under it, staying low. Sure enough, someone had removed the screen and was trying to wiggle the window until the faulty latch disengaged.
They didn’t know he’d already fixed it.
From his vantage point, he could see the glint of blond hair and hear muffled curses. Lowering his weapon, he stood and flipped on the backyard lights.
Samantha Parker jumped sky-high.
“You scared the hell out of me!” she shrieked when he opened the door.
“Sorry,” he lied. “Someone broke in today. I thought you were a burglar.”
Her glassy eyes slid down the length of his body, pausing on the gun he held at his side. “Sid was robbed?”
“Nothing was taken, that I know of.”
“Thank God,” she said with a wicked smile. “I was going to ask her for a loan.”
Sidney’s sister was spoiled, self-absorbed and drop-dead gorgeous. She was also clever enough to know her own faults, and unpretentious enough to laugh at herself. Against his will, he liked her.
“Ah, Detective, you’re a heartbreaker when you loosen up,” she said as she passed by.
“Lieutenant,” he corrected.
She arched a sultry glance over her shoulder. “Look good in your boxer shorts, too,” she said. “Are you screwing my sister?”
“Not yet.”
She laughed. “Still working on it, huh? She’s a tough nut to crack.”
He gave the patio a once-over before he turned off the light and locked the door. “That’s what your husband said.”
Her spine stiffened at his words. “Oh really?” she asked. “And when did the two of you have the pleasure of meeting?”
“The other day, when you dumped off your kids with Sidney and disappeared. He came by looking for you.”
She whirled to face him, her blue eyes icy. “I’ve been going through some emotional turmoil lately,” she defended. “Why should Sidney be the only one who gets to act loony?”
“Does it run in the family?” he asked, intrigued by her admission.
“Mental illness? Sure it does. Mama’s South
ern.” Rearranging her features from snow queen to sex kitten, she settled herself in the spot where he’d just been sleeping. “Daddy met her in Lafayette, Alabama, on leave. Whatever she had must have been contagious because he’s been crazy in love with her ever since. Or-” lowering her voice, she slid her hands over the rumpled sheet in the guise of smoothing it “-just plain crazy.”
“He was in the service?”
“Bomber jet pilot,” she said, her tone softening with pride. “Won a medal in Korea, another in Vietnam.”
Marc was surprised. “You two were Air Force brats?” he asked, setting his Glock down on the empty chair.
“Oh, no. Mama made him quit. She blamed him for the way Sidney turned out, too. Said Agent Orange mutated her genes.”
Marc couldn’t tell if she was serious, or if Samantha was one of those women who told wildly exaggerated stories just to get attention. “Where are they now?”
“They have a condo in Miramar, close to the base. He watches the jets fly by every day. It’s the saddest thing you’ve ever seen.” She tilted her head to one side, assessing him. “If you’re looking for a way to get to Sidney, asking about Daddy is a good start. She was the apple of his eye.” Her lashes fluttered. “It’s so Elektra.”
“Were you jealous?”
“No, but Mama was.” Her gaze traveled over him again, lingering on his bare chest. “I’d love to talk all night, sugar, but I’m wore out. You wanna share this couch with me, or go upstairs to work on Sidney?”
He tried not to react to the provocation. “I’m not here to work on her. There’s a killer out there somewhere, in case you haven’t been keeping up with the news.”
With a wide yawn, she unsnapped her designer jeans and pushed them off her hips, revealing a tiny pair of black lace panties.
Marc wondered why Sidney’s plain cotton briefs turned him on more.
“No man would rape me.”
His eyes rose to her face. “Why not?”
“’Cuz I’m easy.” Stretching out on her belly, she smiled.
“Tempted?”
“I’d have to be dead not to be,” he said, although he wasn’t having any trouble resisting her. Samantha was just his type: sexy, blond and available, in a no-strings-attached kind of way. But when he looked at her, he saw her only as Sidney’s troubled sister.
Dangerous to Touch Page 11
