Anandi put on her backpack as Isabelle stood, a little shaky at first.
“You might want to sit for a few minutes,” Anandi said.
“Where are the beige lockers?” Isabelle asked.
“The what?”
“Somewhere Angela passed beige lockers, not these gray ones.”
“Hmmm,” Anandi said scowling. “Well, there aren’t any as far as I know.”
No. That wasn’t true. Isabelle sifted through the visions. The images of the beige lockers were interspersed with the hospital. They have to be here–and maybe a clue about Angela as well.
CHAPTER SIX
Mac saw Isabelle shut down the moment they’d returned to the Caras’s home. She’d been up after the reading at Angela’s locker because her vision of the beige lockers had proved valuable. Though not yet open for use, the new changing area and lounge were still accessible. Given the location of Angela’s parked Prius and her last known location at the lecture hall, the construction area made perfect sense–a shortcut between the two. Though it had been devoid of any clues, Mac had been able to use the information anyway. County USC Medical Center was equipped with several hundred security cameras. Given the theorized route that Angela had taken to her car, that narrowed the video surveillance footage down to something manageable.
“That’s good news,” Ben said.
Outside, night was falling and Sergeant Dixon had used surface streets to get them back to Hancock Park rather than sit in the monumental L.A. rush hour that more resembled a parking lot. The three of them had talked about the route through the construction area and how the Priest must have gravitated to it immediately. Though the sergeant had found it surprising that the killer would strike so soon, given his previous pattern of going months without activity, Mac pointed out that he hadn’t managed to kill Esme or complete the mutilation he typically visited on his victims. Whatever fantasy he was enacting hadn’t been satisfied. But Isabelle had been of the same opinion as the sergeant. Though the search for the Priest hadn’t turned up leads, his sketch had been widely circulated and his face had clearly been seen–by her and Esme.
And that was one of the reasons that Ben was personally involved with this case. He understood that his daughter might be the only person in the world who could testify against this serial killer and, even now, she was recovering at home with a black-and-white police car parked on the curb and an FBI agent in the house at all times. As they entered the Caras’s living room, Mac saw the tiredness in his mentor’s face and the way he’d seemed to age years in only weeks.
“Why don’t you head home, Ben,” Mac said. “I’ve arranged for an agent to spell Sharon but, until there’s another call or something turns up on the video, there’s not much more that we can do.”
The analysis of the recording in Washington DC had turned up very little. The forensic linguist hadn’t been able to glean any slang that might date the Priest nor any technical jargon that might relate to his work background. Unfortunately, the fact that his grammar and diction were good but that he could get foul-mouthed described a large section of the male population.
Neither of Angela’s parents were in the living room. A single uniformed police officer, Sharon, and another Special Agent were the compliment of law enforcement. As requested, Sharon had sent all available eyes and ears to watch surveillance videos at the hospital. Isabelle and Sergeant Dixon hung back, staying near the front door.
The chiming doorbell signaled the arrival of Sharon’s replacement. Sergeant Dixon pointed him in her direction.
“You know,” Ben said, slowly heading to the front door. “You’re welcome to stay at the house. Anita and Esme would be delighted.”
“That’s thoughtful of you, Ben,” Mac said, even as his mind scrambled for some excuse not to go. The only place he wanted to be was with Isabelle. “But Sharon and I are already booked into a hotel and I think we’re all pretty beat.” The dark circles under Ben’s eyes told Mac that he’d be able to relate to that. In fact, Ben looked like he’d lost some weight. Despite wanting to be here to see the Priest finally captured, Mac guessed that Ben was reliving his own nightmare. Esme’s slow recovery was his daily reminder. She would need at least two more surgeries to repair the damage to her knee and she would probably never run again.
“Yeah,” Ben agreed. “It’s been a long day.” Ben nodded at the sergeant and pointedly ignored Isabelle as he opened the front door and turned to Mac. “Thanks again, Mac,” he said, extending his hand. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
As they shook, Mac said, “Get some rest and we’ll start fresh tomorrow.”
As Ben headed to his car, Mac, Isabelle, Sergeant Dixon, and Sharon gathered in the driveway. Mac’s rental car waited across the street and the sergeant’s SUV was at the curb. But as they approached the vehicles, Mac realized that he and Isabelle really did have to go separate ways. Sharon needed him to take them both to the hotel.
“I’d be glad to drop Sharon off at the hotel,” Sergeant Dixon said. Startled, Mac shot him a quick look. But the sergeant’s face didn’t betray a thing, as though the suggestion were simply something that made sense. “Do you have a suitcase?” Dixon said to Sharon.
“In the trunk,” she answered, completely nonchalant, as she and Dixon headed for the rental.
Do they know about Isabelle and I?
Ben had already driven off and, as Mac unlocked the car with the remote, he glanced at Isabelle. She stood close enough to touch, her amber eyes gazing steadily into his.
“Don’t question it,” she said lowly.
He didn’t, not for a moment, but he hadn’t realized how transparent he was. Only the shutting of the hatch on the SUV brought his attention back around.
“See you tomorrow,” Sergeant Dixon called as he got in the driver’s door.
Though he couldn’t see her, Mac heard Sharon’s door close.
“Thanks!” Mac replied.
And then, just like that, he was alone with Isabelle.
• • • • •
Though Isabelle knew she was in a hurry, it seemed as though Mac was positively racing. They’d nearly run up the stairs to her apartment and, as the door slammed behind him, Mac’s hands flew to either side of her face and suddenly his mouth was on hers. Though their teeth clicked, he seemed not to notice. His lips were hot and demanding, the touch of his hands like heated brands. But they quickly left her face and he immediately tugged the zipper of her dress completely down. Nor had he stopped walking. With a steady gait that forced her to backpedal fast, they were moving steadily toward the bedroom.
Mac was wasting no time and that was fine with her. Her hands tore at his clothes, leaving his jacket in the living room, the tie near the kitchen, and his shirt in the hallway. Her dress was lifted over her head, still stepping backward, and when she opened her eyes, she watched Mac’s chiseled pecs flex as he lowered the garment to the bedroom floor. The muscles of his big arms rippled and she looked down to where his narrow waist disappeared into his pants. Simultaneously, she unbuckled his belt as he undid her bra.
His body was every bit as magnificent as she’d remembered. The broad shoulders were rounded, his pecs dusted with fine, dark hair, the flaring muscles along his ribs tapering down to the lean hips. She pushed the pants and briefs down over them, helped by the weight of the belt. A thin line of hair ran down the middle of his corrugated abs but before his clothes could drop further, they caught on his bulging arousal. Isabelle had just been about to peel them off when the back of her legs met the bed and she fell backward onto it. The headboard knocked against the wall as Mac followed her to the bed, leaned over her and roughly tugged her panties down. Her shoes toppled to the floor as his sweeping motion knocked them loose.
Quickly, he took a condom from his pants pocket, peeled his briefs and pants down to the top of his powerful thighs and sheathed himself. Not bothering with his pants but kicking off his shoes, he climbed onto the bed, his lithe and muscular body movin
g like a powerful predator, pure animal and incredibly male. Isabelle spread her legs, already wet for him, and as he loomed over her, she felt his rigid shaft slide up her inner thigh. Aching, desperate need moved her, as she raised her hips to him and his swollen erection drove straight into her.
• • • • •
Mac moaned loudly and heard Isabelle’s sharp gasp below him. They slotted together perfectly as he slid into her hot depths, the feeling of it so much more luxurious than he’d remembered. He embedded himself deeply, his back bowing as his legs settled between hers and he straightened his arms. She’d been so ready and the moment that he’d fantasized about every night was finally here.
“Isabelle,” he hissed as he drew his hips back and he looked down the length of her body.
She lay naked below him, her full and pink-tipped breasts heaving with her breaths, her satin-smooth skin stretched tight across her incredibly flat tummy. He watched as the creamy flesh of her hips pivoted from the bed and her entrance tugged on his length. Slowly, he glided out, savoring the slide of her warm flesh against him, seeing her supple abdomen twist and flex, her mound rise up under him, until the urge to thrust was too much. In one, single motion, he drove up into her, watched her perfect breasts jiggle at the impact and heard her breathy moan. Her hips ground against him, pushing and gyrating, seeking satisfaction but his were eager as well.
Again he drew back and plunged into her. The resistant flesh split and her moist center enveloped him again. But her small cry of pleasure, though dim through the increasing rush of blood in his ears, was like fuel on a fire. His hips rocketed to life and his engorged flesh pounded into her. In a fierce explosion of thrusts that shook the bed, he moved hard into her, over and over. As though making up for lost time, his body flexed wildly, driven by a rhythm he didn’t control. His back arched and his buttocks tightened hard as his pelvis flew forward, hammering into hers. Though he delved deeper with each rhythmic push, he could not get enough of her. Each plunge, each delicious penetration into her core, only fueled the next. Every muscle in his body strained to fill her and, to his disbelief, Isabelle pressed upward to meet his every thrust. She was gorgeous, her sinuous body writhing, all but vibrating in response to his relentless pounding.
Her breath came in ragged gasps and his burned in his throat but still his body wouldn’t stop. It was like a dream and he waited to wake up, as he had so many times before, but the joining of their bodies was real. Isabelle was real. And the urge to sink himself into her, lose himself there in ecstasy did not fade.
Though his hips still pumped at a furious rate, he lowered himself to her thrashing form, wound an arm behind her back, and quickly rolled to his.
• • • • •
Although Isabelle found herself on top, the pumping of Mac’s hips had never paused. Again and again he surged up inside, filling the deepest part of her, until she no longer knew if she ached with need or his wild penetrations. She rode him, rocked on top of him, and sucked in lungfuls of air. Even with her weight, his pelvis whipped upward, his abs crunched tightly, and his entire body nearly jackknifed. Every muscle and sinew of his powerful form stood out. His skin glistened with sweat, his eyes shut tight with the effort. The sight of him seized by the deepest throes of passion was so erotic she couldn’t help but stare.
Without warning, though, he suddenly sat up, one hand landing behind him on the bed and the other racing up her back. And this time, as his hips bucked upward yet again, he pulled down hard on her shoulder.
A grunt was forced from her lungs and his erection swelled as his immense shaft filled her completely. She cried out at the agonizing ecstasy of it as his hips continued their wild pumping and his hand tugged her down in perfect time. Over and over, he speared up into her, his body wracked with the convulsions. Over and over, she gave her body up to him completely. But as the repeated collisions spread her entrance, stretched the walls of her body, and hammered her sweet spot, a deep pang erupted there, followed by another. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as her hips began to thrash. A high, dry whimper escaped her lips as her lower body erupted in a spasm of pumping, frenzied need.
Mac gripped her tightly, still bucking between her legs, slamming upward, grunting with each new thrust. The air poured out of him, rushing down her body, even as new heat began to spread between her hips. A familiar tension began to coil in her abdomen as her sweet spot pulsed with blinding need. Her thrashing ground the tortured little flesh on him, his thrusts crushed it between them, and as the spiral of tension threatened to rip her apart, she clamped down viciously on his swollen member.
God, the feeling of it was like steel as pleasure mixed with pain and Mac’s brief groan let her know that he’d felt it. But still he plunged upward, savage and unstoppable, grunting loudly now, pulling her down to him. A deep clench convulsed her as a rush of sensations swept through her. Her climax erupted out of nowhere, like a sudden blow, and it took her breath away. Her abdomen erupted in a chain of undulations that radiated from the tip of his penetration and seemingly out through her skin. Her clenches flowed along him, ferocious, glorious, as unstoppable as his thrusts and her entire body shuddered.
But as the crest of passion was about to sweep her away, she drug her hands down Mac’s heaving chest until her gloved fingers found his nipples and she squeezed.
• • • • •
Mac felt his back suddenly arch and his shoulders slam back into the mattress. With an anguished cry like that of deliverance, he exploded inside Isabelle. Quickly, her fingers found his nipples again and he groaned loudly as the pleasure in the hardened tips and the ecstasy in his groin became one. His hot seed spewed upward, total release flooding from his body in a rush so intense he thought it might drive him mad. His hands gripped his head as it threatened to explode and he grabbed his own hair as the incredible climax spiraled even higher.
His straining shaft jerked back and forth inside her and he was sure he must have split the condom but it was impossible to stop. Pulsating surges of pleasure flowed along the distended shaft. The tight core of her convulsed in ripples along him, just as her fingers twisted his aching nipples, and his climax spewed forth yet again in a white-hot eruption. A shuddering groan escaped him as he nearly tore the hair from his head and his entire body shook. Pulsing life flooded upward in agonizing pleasure and he knew the only way it would stop was to push her hands away.
But he couldn’t.
Instead, he abandoned himself to the living dream, his torso twisting, his back arching, feeling her weight on his hips, and her fingers tug at the painful nubs. Again his aching shaft bucked inside her but he was no longer able to groan or cry out. And as a last chain of clenches milked him, one after another, and her fingers squeezed in time, he could only grunt repeatedly at the torturous, glorious stiffening deep inside her until the last of his seed shot upward in a final moment of painful bliss.
His body went completely limp. Only deep, shuddering gasps moved his chest and finally Isabelle released his nipples. Though that was painful too he was far past caring. He felt her unmount him and collapse heavily to the bed next to him. Labored and ragged, their harsh and uneven breaths were the only sound for several minutes.
Mac wanted to get up, fetch water, get under the covers, but the deep peace that had settled over them was like a too-heavy blanket. Though his arms and legs felt like lead and his eyes refused to open, he moved closer to Isabelle, helped her settle into the crook of his arm, and only then did he realize he’d never taken off his pants or briefs. But as her head settled onto his shoulder, he exhaled loudly in utter satisfaction.
“I missed you too,” he whispered and he felt her smile.
CHAPTER SEVEN
That was another day without news coverage.
Prentiss slammed his empty can of beer down on the folding table hard enough to crush the can and also make the table flex.
He’d watched the entire, dumb, news broadcast and there’d been nothing.
Nothing!
Only now did he realize the drawing power that kidnapping the daughter of the head of the FBI in LA had brought. But that had just been dumb luck. Angela, though pretty, was just a medical student and apparently not the daughter of anybody famous.
“Well,” he muttered. “If you want something done right, do it yourself.”
He got up from the folding chair and turned off the small TV set on the kitchen counter next to the sink. Then, he crossed the dingy, little living room to the cardboard storage box that served as his dressing room. Lying at the bottom, under the scrubs and white lab coat were his makeup and props. He took out the other disposable phone, turned it on, and dialed 411. He was immediately connected with directory assistance.
“Yes,” he said. “I’d like a phone number for KTLA News in Los Angeles.”
• • • • •
“I can’t believe you got me gloves!” Isabelle exclaimed, delighted.
Grinning, she turned the delicate, dusty, green gloves over in her hands. They were beautiful, the leather so thin it looked like a second skin.
“I hope they fit,” Mac said.
He sat next to her on the edge of the bed, arm around her waist. They’d been dressing when he’d brought them out of his luggage. She set them down in her lap and immediately took off her grey, linen ones. She’d just been about to pick them up when she hesitated.
Who has touched them?
“My understanding is that the finished leather is so sensitive,” Mac said, “that the seamstresses wear gloves to protect it from the oils in their skin.”
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