by Mallory Kane
Jack’s pulse sped up. Her favorite cup was missing? Was it an accident? Or was the stalker collecting mementos?
Chapter Three
Jack ate his rarebit, pretending casual interest as he mentally went over everything he’d seen since he first entered Holly’s house. There were no signs of a break-in. And as meticulous as she was, she would have noticed anything out of place.
Holly pushed her hair back, and Jack saw a faint glimmer of tears in her eyes. “Maybe I just misplaced it. I hope so. I loved that cup.”
He tightened his grip on his mug, resisting the urge to touch the corner of her eye and catch the tear that clung there. What the hell was the matter with him? He’d never in his life thought about stopping a woman’s tear with his finger. He’d never felt the slightest attraction to an assignment. He must really be tired. He concentrated on the missing cup. It could be a vital clue.
“Did everybody know how much that cup meant to you?”
“Everybody?” Her gaze turned sharp. “What are you saying? You think someone took it?”
He drank the last of his coffee, cursing silently. She was quick. He’d have to be careful. His question had reminded her that she wasn’t safe in her own house. He’d intended to use this first night to let her get used to having him around, become comfortable with him.
Too late now. This information was too important.
“Who has access to your house?”
She picked up her fork and drew circles in the congealing cheese. “Nobody, really. Debi, of course. And Uncle Virgil. I always lock my doors.” She stopped.
He watched her, waiting. Carefully keeping his expression bland, he resisted the urge to prompt her.
She toyed with her food and took a sip of coffee. “You think this person who is obsessed with me broke in and stole my cup?”
“You don’t seem like the type to lose things. You’re methodical, precise. You leave nothing to chance. After two weeks away, you knew exactly where the bread was.”
She laughed shortly as she picked up her plate and took it to the sink. “That’s because Debi never looks in the freezer. She orders out. It’s really not a big deal, Jack. I’m sure Debi broke the cup and threw the pieces away. Just forget it.” Her eyes flashed.
“Have you misplaced anything else in the past year or so?”
She sighed in exasperation. “I lost a makeup kit a couple of years ago. I’m certain Debi borrowed it and never brought it back. I’ve misplaced Brad’s class ring, but it’s probably in a box somewhere. And I couldn’t find a particular nightgown when I was packing for this trip.”
Jack’s skin prickled. “When was the last time you saw the nightgown?”
She wrinkled her brow. “Back in October. I bought it for—” Her cheeks turned pink and her eyes turned sad. “I’d never worn it.”
“What color was it?”
She stared at him, confusion clouding her gaze. “W-white.”
“And where did you keep it?”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “In the second drawer of the chest in my room, on the right side under some…other lingerie. Maybe Debi…”
Jack watched her slow journey from disbelief to doubt. “Is that really what you think?”
Her eyes were on him, the doubt gone, replaced by fear. “You’re telling me he comes into my house when I’m not here and takes things that belong to me.”
He felt her silently begging him to reassure her, but he couldn’t. He needed her to accept the reality of her situation, the reality of a killer who would do anything to possess her.
“Holly, there is someone out there who knows which of your possessions are most important to you, who watches you, who roams through your house while you’re not here. The sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner we can catch the bastard.”
He waited for her to crumple. Once stalking victims accepted the truth, they experienced an overwhelming helplessness and fear that sprang from a loss of control of their life. Some of them never recovered from that, even after the stalker was caught.
Her shoulders bowed and she gripped the edge of the counter as her face drained of color. Her eyes were huge, their golden-brown depths reflecting bewilderment and a flicker of panic. The corners of her mouth were white with tension.
He wanted to go to her, to gather her into his arms. It was an unfamiliar urge, an uncomfortable one. He’d received a few hugs from frightened or grateful victims, but he’d never in his life initiated a hug. He was pretty sure this was the first time he’d even thought about it.
“How does he get in without anyone seeing him?”
“He knows what he’s doing. Your neighbors may even have seen him around and thought nothing of it. Remember, it’s probably someone you know, someone your neighbors know.”
Holly felt the words peppering her like hail, stinging as they hit. Her mug rattled as she set it down. She wrapped both hands around it, holding it still, using it to stop herself from shaking. “How—how likely is that?”
He shrugged. “It would be hard for a stranger to be inconspicuous in this town. Besides, this has been going on for six years, if we believe the notes.”
“But Brad didn’t die here. He died while we were living in Texas. It was an accident.”
“And your fiancé disappeared, and Detective Barbour apparently had an allergic reaction. Seemingly unrelated events.”
“Tied together by the notes.” She didn’t want to acknowledge that truth, but she couldn’t help it. She shuddered. “I hate this! How can this person just come in and take over my life? Kill people I love? I can’t stand it.”
Jack reached across the table and put his hand over hers, squeezing gently. “Feeling exposed and helpless is natural.”
“Not for me.” She lifted her chin. She couldn’t give in to those feelings. She was afraid if she did she’d fall apart like Humpty Dumpty. “I need to figure out who’s doing this. I don’t want anyone else to be hurt.”
“The only thing you need to do is stick close to me and let me do my job.”
She sniffed and shook her head. “I will not sit back like a southern belle on a verandah waving a paper fan while I wait for you to save me. I have to do something.”
“You’re doing exactly what you should be doing, pretending to be my wife. It’s important that you act like nothing has changed. Don’t forget, I’m the one he’ll target, and we have to let him do that without arousing his suspicion. Because when he comes after me, I’ll be ready.”
Holly heard the steel in his voice and saw the cold resolve in his gray eyes. This was more than just a job to him. “Why do you do this?”
Jack’s expression closed down and he dropped his gaze to his mug. “Do what?” he asked too casually.
“Set yourself up as a target to protect a perfect stranger.”
He shrugged without looking at her. He obviously didn’t like the question.
“It’s my job.”
“That’s no answer. You chose your job. My question is why.” This man who was so controlled, so professional, acted as if no one had ever asked him the question before, as if he didn’t know how to answer. He shifted in his seat, then stood and took his dishes to the sink. He spoke without turning around, his voice remote and carefully even.
“Someone I knew was stalked and killed a long time ago. I decided I wanted to keep that from happening again.”
“Oh, Jack…” She didn’t know what to say. So this wasn’t just a job for him. He’d obviously cared deeply for whoever had been killed.
Before she could think of an appropriate response, he faced her, back in official mode.
“By tomorrow morning I need a list from you of everything that’s gone missing in the past six years.”
She stood and paced. “Why is this person doing this? You know all about stalkers. What does he want from me?”
Jack wished he could take her in his arms and calm her agitation and fear. But that would only help for a moment. He needed
to stay focused so he could help her rid her life of this menace forever.
He crossed his arms over his chest, quelling the urge to reach for her, to comfort her. His next words would terrify her, but he hoped they would also prepare her for what was to come. “He wants to possess you. He may even want to be you. He probably has a shrine where he keeps pictures and mementos.”
Her eyes filled with anguish.
“Pictures?” She shuddered and rubbed her arms. “How can I not know who he is? I know everybody in this town. They know me. These people grieved with me when my parents died. I treat them in physical therapy. I teach them in aerobics classes. I have lunch with them.” She pushed herself to her feet and picked up her dishes.
Jack felt a jolt of compassion for Holly as the dishes she carried rattled against each other. He tried to make his tone comforting, because he knew his words were ominous. “That’s the classic serial-killer profile. Most of them are quiet, unremarkable people. People you could live next door to and never know what they were doing.”
He stepped aside as she went to put her dishes in the sink. Then, without thinking about what he was doing, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “We’ll get him, I promise,” he said gently.
Holly looked at Jack, at his straight, generous mouth, his sculpted cheekbones, his cold, determined eyes. She thought about the way he’d assessed and cataloged every single person on the airplane, his immediate suspicion about her missing cup. She believed him.
“Sure you will. I mean, that’s what you guys do, right?”
His fingers lightly brushed her cheek. His eyes softened. “You better believe that’s what we guys do.”
The warmth of his hand went all the way through her. She had an urge to lay her cheek against his strong wrist, but she resisted. “Thank you,” she said.
He raised a brow. “For what?”
“For being straight with me. For explaining things to me. I’d rather know what to expect than be kept in the dark.”
He smiled, barely a movement of his lips, but she could see the ice melt in his eyes.
“There goes that need to be in control again.”
She laughed softly and shrugged.
He reached to turn on the water in the sink and groaned quietly.
“Move over, gimp.” She nudged him out of the way with her hip. The casual touch was like flint striking rock. It sent sparks dancing across her skin.
“I’ll take care of the dishes,” she said quickly. “It’s after midnight and you need to put heat on that shoulder. There’s a heating pad in the top drawer of the chest in the guest room. We have to be up early tomorrow.”
“Early? Why?”
Holly turned toward him, her hands on her hips. “Because the whole town is probably going to be on my doorstep at daybreak to check out my new husband.”
Jack grimaced. “Small town,” he said.
“Small southern town,” she retorted. “Jack?”
He’d started toward the bedroom. He stopped and angled his head. “Yeah?”
“I don’t know how to act with you. What are we supposed to do?”
His gray eyes sparkled as he grinned. Her heart fluttered. The transformation was amazing. His whole face lit up and his harsh features turned devastatingly handsome. She tried to focus on what he was saying.
“We’re supposed to be married. So act like a newlywed. Remember, it’s me he wants. His purpose is to keep you pure, by killing those who threaten your purity.”
“You keep saying ‘he,’ as if you know.”
Jack nodded. “Serial killers are virtually one-hundred-percent male.”
“S-serial killers?” She started to shiver.
“Go to sleep. We’ll go over to the police station tomorrow. I want to see the originals of those notes.” He lifted his hand as if to touch her face, but instead he backed away and headed down the hall.
Holly stood there, his words echoing around her like a disembodied voice in a horror movie. Stalkers. Serial killers. How had her life gotten to this point?
“Oh, by the way.”
She jumped. Jack stood in the doorway, his face planed in shadow.
“I put my stuff in the guest room, but I’ll be sleeping with you.”
Holly’s throat closed up. Shock and panic raced each other through her body, all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes.
“You’ll what?”
“We can’t take the chance that your stalker might see anything that would tell him we aren’t sleeping together. We’re pretty sure he has access to your house. So everything must point to a happy newlywed couple. You have a king-size bed, don’t you?”
Holly nodded slowly. She felt paralyzed. A vision of him in her bed, tangled in her sheets rose before her eyes. The inside of her mouth tasted like cotton and a thrill of something that felt a lot like fear streaked through her. She realized she was still nodding, and stopped.
Jack looked amused, which would have infuriated her if she’d had any room for more emotion.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll stay on my side of the bed. I’m an honorable man.”
JACK DIDN’T ENTER Holly’s bedroom until he was sure she would be asleep. He’d walked through the house, turning off the lights, checking the doors, listening for any sound that might indicate that the stalker was watching. With the house completely dark, he peered through the living room blinds at the street, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
When he eased open the door to Holly’s room, the candles he’d lit earlier illuminated her bed like a pale spotlight. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed in sleep. She looked young and untouched by the worries of the world. Her hair was spread across her pillow and one hand rested near her cheek.
Her innocence and beauty made his throat hurt. He stepped over to the window and peered through the blinds he’d closed earlier on his inspection of the house. He made a mental note to remind her to leave them closed.
He wondered as he blew out the candles what she’d thought about them. He’d lit them to lend a romantic glow to the room, so whoever might be watching from outside would see what was expected from a new husband and wife on their first night home.
He sat down on the bed and looked at the gold wedding band on his finger. It felt odd. He’d never worn a ring, and this one had bothered him all day. He twisted it, considering its symbolism. Although this marriage was only a cover, although he was Holly’s husband in name only, he was sobered by the meaning of the vows he’d taken and what the ring represented. He’d vowed to honor and protect her, and he would do that with his life.
He lay down, acutely aware of the woman beside him, her soft breathing the only sound disturbing the silence.
He’d never had a long-term relationship with a woman. He’d never thought much about the rest of his life, but he’d always assumed he’d live it alone. Somehow tonight, that thought was not comforting.
He shifted, trying to relax his tense muscles. It had been a very long day, and from what he could tell, it was going to be a very long night. His shoulder ached, but that wasn’t why he was wide awake. The image of Holly lying there, her face and arms golden in the candlelight, her hair spread over her pillow, was still burned into his retina like the afterimage of an explosion.
It was no leap to imagine being over her, his body molded to hers, bathed by her dark amber gaze as she opened herself to him. He threw an arm over his eyes in a futile attempt to stop the vision, and controlled his growing arousal by sheer force of will.
What the hell was wrong with him? He had never reacted sexually to a victim before. To him, stalking victims were to be protected, not lusted over.
Grimly, he recited the Code of Federal Regulations and ran his thumb along the smooth surface of the gold ring until he finally went to sleep.
Monday, June 23
“So the chase takes up one’s life, that’s all.
While, look but once from your farthest bound
At me
so deep in the dust and dark,
No sooner the old hope goes to ground
Than a new one, straight to the self-same mark.”
Yes, love. Although at first a rage burned within me when I saw another defiler had turned your head, a new hope was born in me when you looked out your window into the darkness and saw me there, watching you. I watched as he forced you to close the blinds. You cannot come to me yet, I know. But it is still me you really want. Until then, my dearest love… “So must I see, from where I sit and watch.”
HOLLY RAN ALONG the early morning streets, lifting her face to the breeze that evaporated the sweat from her skin as she stretched her gait and found her rhythm. It wouldn’t be long before the south Mississippi air became as hot and suffocating as a sauna, but this morning it was invigorating. Green overhanging branches along the boulevards shaped sunbeams into pixies that danced on the ground around her feet as she ran. The air smelled faintly of honeysuckle and gardenias. The streets were quiet as the little town of Maze began to wake up.
But inside Holly, a huge argument was raging. When she’d woken up this morning, she’d been shocked to find Jack in bed beside her—until her sleepy haze evaporated and she remembered.
He was sound asleep, his thick eyelashes resting against his tanned cheeks, his hair mussed as if he’d been restless in the night, his breathing soft and even.
She’d watched him for a few minutes, fascinated by the beauty of his face and body. He couldn’t be considered traditionally handsome, his features were too strong. But the curves and planes of him were harshly elegant, like the stark beauty of an untamed desert.
She’d almost touched him. The urge to trace his features, to slide her fingers along the sinewy muscles of his arm was almost irresistible.
How was she going to sleep in the same bed with him? His presence reminded her of how safe she’d felt with Brad beside her. And how lonely a bed could be.
She almost stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk. Taking a deep breath she admonished herself. Pay attention. Concentrate on the rhythm of the exercise. There was no future in dreaming about waking up with Jack at her side. When all this was over, he’d be gone.
