by Julie Miller
“Did he touch you?”
Her head shot up. “He tried to kill me. He walked up to my car...after it crashed. He... I heard him coming through the brush... I tried to get out, but...”
Pike could see the panic stirring in Hope’s pale skin and trembling mouth. If she hadn’t run out of patience yet, he had. Ignoring the cameras, the questions and his superior officer, Pike scooped Hope into his arms and lifted her from the chair. “She’s done answering questions.”
“Miss Lockhart!”
As soon as Hope curled her fingers into his collar and laid her head against his shoulder, Pike carried her across the driveway to his truck.
Kate Kilpatrick took over the press conference and diverted most of the reporters’ attention to her. “Please. Miss Lockhart’s car was totaled. She’s lucky to be alive. She needs her rest.”
“Can you give us a description?”
Dr. Kate’s voice faded in the distance. “For obvious reasons, the police don’t want to give away all the details of these crimes. But we are looking for a white male, late twenties to forty—”
“I can walk.” Hope’s lips moved against Pike’s neck in a weary protest, but he just held on tighter. He didn’t set her on her feet until they reached the black-and-white K-9 truck. And even then, it was just long enough to get the door unlocked and open before he lifted her onto the passenger seat. “Where’s the beast?” she asked, looking into the backseat.
Pike reached across her lap to fasten the seat belt. “My brother Alex took Hans for the night. He’ll drop him off at your apartment once we get there.”
With Hans gone, what fight she had left seemed to drain right out of her. “I hope that was enough. I tried.” She squeezed her eyes shut and turned away from the crowd.
“You did great.” He pulled a stadium blanket from under the seat and covered her up. “I’ll get you home, Hope. Just as fast as I humanly can.” He smoothed her hair off her face and earned a nod of appreciation, or maybe just understanding, before Pike closed the door and hurried around the hood.
A stern-faced Spencer Montgomery stopped him in his tracks. Pike pulled up to his superior height, irritated by protocol and unspoken accusations and his own guilt. “Detective?”
Spencer Montgomery couldn’t be intimidated. He pulled back the edges of his jacket and propped his hands at his waist. “Don’t mess this up, Taylor. We need our perp to think she knows exactly who we’re after.”
“She said enough.”
“Are you getting emotionally attached to this woman?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir, you won’t blow this sting operation, or yes, sir, you have feelings for her?”
The promise of the coming winter chilled the late-morning air. But there was something as warm and certain as it was unfamiliar filling Pike’s chest when he looked inside the truck to see Hope huddling beneath the blanket. He nudged aside the detective before opening his door and climbing in beside her. “Both.”
Chapter Ten
The cut on his forearm stung like the annoyance Hope Lockhart had turned out to be. He tossed back the whiskey in his glass and poured himself another while the woman who’d doctored his wound sat on the edge of the bed, towel-drying her hair.
“Be a love and pour me one of those, will you?” she asked.
For several seconds, he stood at the drink cart, his hand fisting around his glass so tightly it should have cracked. He drank that shot down, too, needing the sharp burn of the liquid to cut through the anger stirring in his blood and poisoning his thoughts. When he could think again, he poured himself a third whiskey, and filled a glass for her before taking the drink to her.
“I told you to let me handle it.” He nodded toward the television they’d just turned off. “Now it’s all over the news. Hope Lockhart is talking.”
With a smile that was as smug as it was seductive, she clinked her glass against his, then drank the whole thing down like a man. “I’ve given you the perfect alibi, taking the van out to north Kansas City for you while you were here in town. You should be grateful.”
Grateful? To a woman?
He took the glass she handed him back to the cart. He tried to simply set it down, but couldn’t help himself. There were maids to do this kind of thing, but he picked up both glasses and carried them into the bathroom, where he washed them in the sink, removing saliva and fingerprints and any other contaminant that might linger. He dried them with a towel until they sparkled, lined them up, just so, on the counter, then washed and dried his hands until they were pink and chapped and just as clean.
He pulled a bottle of vinegar from his toiletry bag and poured the liquid over his hands, sterilizing them before rinsing again. Then he dabbed on enough cologne to mask the tangy scent and returned the glasses to the drink cart.
He might be a sick man. But he wasn’t a foolish one. “I don’t like that you made the decision without me. I’ve been keeping a close eye on Hope. I don’t think she knows as much as the police claim.”
“Didn’t you hear her at that press conference?” The robe the woman wore barely covered the curves of her body as she stood and sauntered across the room to him. This woman tempted him. Repulsed him. She was good at her job and good for him, and he hated that he needed her. She’d hurt him deeply, yet he couldn’t walk away. He owed her far too much and she knew him far too well. “She saw your surgical mask.”
“Because you wore one today.”
“Because she saw you that night. I never got that close to her car, or she’d be dead by now.” She touched her fingers to his jaw, and his skin crawled, even though he knew she’d just come from the shower. “She knows the color of your skin. She may know more, but she’s too broken to share it.”
“You think Hope is lying?”
She pulled the towel from her hair and tossed it onto the bed. “You obviously do, too, or you wouldn’t be spying on her.”
“Then why hasn’t she called me out? She knows me.”
“She’s afraid of you.” She combed her fingers through her hair and shook the dark layers behind her back in a move that was probably meant to entice. But all he saw was the damp wad of towel soiling his bed. “I’ve looked her in the eye, just like you. That woman’s afraid of her own shadow.”
“Then we have nothing to worry about.”
She faced him, backing up that beauty with cold, hard logic. “We have everything to worry about. Haven’t you ever read fairy tales? The ugly duckling turns into a swan. The poor little ash girl becomes a princess. She’ll change. She’ll snap out of this stupor she’s in. She’ll come up against something or someone she fears even more than you. It may not be today or tomorrow, but one day, she’ll name you for the ogre of the story you are.”
“Ogre?”
The bitch smiled. “How many women have you raped? You’re not exactly hero material, are you?”
“And you’re no princess.”
“I don’t claim to be. I’ve always taken whatever steps are necessary to get what I want and to protect the people I love. I’m a survivor. Are you?” She tucked her fingers into the belt at his waist and inched closer to him, close enough for the heat of her body to seep into his. “Do you want me to take the necessary step of killing Miss Lockhart? Or do you plan to wait for her to destroy us?”
“I’ll take care of Hope myself.”
“You’ll have to get rid of the boyfriend, too, because I think dead is the only way he’ll let anyone get past him now.” Her fingers moved behind his zipper. Despite every urge to deny her affect on him, his body leaped in response to her touch. “Think about it, darling. Have you ever killed a man?”
“I’ve never killed a woman, either. That’s all on you.”
“You just destroy lives and let them live with the physical and mental pain you inflict. Isn’t my way kinder?”
He fisted his hands at his sides, refusing to give in to her seduction. “There’s not a kind bone in your body. I never asked
you to clean up what I do. I never made a mistake before you got into my head and turned me into some kind of misogynistic lunatic. I never asked you to take care of me. You’re a selfish, ambitious bitch like every other woman I’ve known.”
She pressed her body against his and smiled. “And yet you stay with me. You keep coming back to me because you know I’m the only one who understands you—who can handle what you need to do.”
“Stop it!” He picked her up by the shoulders and threw her onto the bed. “I don’t need handling!” When she dared to sit up and reach for him, he flipped her onto her stomach and pushed her face into the pillow. “You make me sound like a child who needs to be taken care of. I assure you, I am no child.”
She rubbed her bottom against his traitorous response to her cunning wiles, and he jerked back, giving her a few precious moments to raise her head up and catch her breath. “I protect you because I love you. I do it because you won’t take care of yourself. There’s nothing I won’t do for you, darling.”
Then she made the mistake of looking at him. He never liked to see a woman look him straight in the eye—as though she was his equal, as though she had the right to challenge him.
He grabbed her by the hair and pushed her face back into the pillow. “Then stay away from Hope. I want to be the one who punishes her for betraying me. Say you understand. That you’ll do nothing more to interfere. Say it!”
Her muffled voice struggled to answer. “Yes. I understand. You want to take care of Hope.”
“No. I need to be the one who does it. Your part in this is finished. She’s mine. Understood?”
He pushed harder until the only answer she could give was a nod.
He left her gasping for air on the bed as he strode from the room. The hunger was eating through his blood now. The rage consumed him. And there was only one way to curb the sickness and assuage his need. The rational part of his brain knew he’d just been manipulated into this. And yet that only fueled the compulsion to prove he was the one in control of his life.
Hope Lockhart wasn’t the submissive speck on the wall he’d thought her to be. She had knowledge of things that could ruin him. And that gave her a power over him that no woman had a right to.
He grabbed his keys and slammed the door on the way out. The gasps from the woman on the bed had turned to laughter. But he refused to hear her.
It was time to prepare for the hunt.
* * *
HOPE STIRRED RESTLESSLY as she dozed, unable to fall into the deep sleep she needed.
There were still parts of her body that were a little tender after smacking her head against the window and being jostled in her seat as her car had banged across the ditch and bounced up the hill. But she’d found a comfortable position in her own snug bed, was plenty warm beneath the sheet and quilt and even had on her old, comfy favorite—a white cotton nightgown.
But sleep eluded her because she couldn’t shut down the images in her head. A white van filling up the space in her rearview mirror. Shadowed eyes above a stark white surgical mask. Golden lights bouncing off her bedroom walls. And that crawling sense of someone watching, someone she couldn’t see, someone tracking her down and closing in just as surely as two red heeler mixes running down a frightened girl on a dirt-packed road, knocking her to the ground, tearing at her skin.
Hope gasped as her childhood memory blended with the grown-up nightmare of this past week. She rolled onto her back, forcing her eyes open and letting them adjust to the dim illumination from the streetlamp outside her window.
Her gaze settled on the tall silhouette of the man leaning against the doorjamb to her bedroom. Instead of being startled, she smiled. “It’s not polite to stare.”
Pike’s low-pitched chuckle reached across the room like words of comfort. He unfolded his arms and straightened, taking a step closer to the glow from the curtains. He was still a blur until she picked up her glasses from the bedside table and put them on. His blue eyes were warm as he came into focus, but she could see the marks of fatigue lining his face. “I don’t want to let you out of my sight again. Ever. This guy is more ruthless and resourceful than I imagined. I thought you’d be safe away from this neighborhood. He must have followed you out of the city.”
Despite the disturbing topic and the distance of the room between them, their voices sounded hushed, intimate somehow, in the dusky light. Maybe it was the connection to another human being who truly understood what she was going through that made this perfunctory conversation feel so soothing. “Or he knows my schedule. He knew where I’d be.”
“That means he’s someone you know.” His shoulders lifted in a weary sigh. “Doesn’t make me feel any better.”
She wasn’t the only one whose life had been turned upside down this week. “You need sleep, Pike.”
“I’ve got one job, Hope. Keeping you safe. I blew it.”
“I don’t blame you.” She pulled the covers to her chest and sat up in bed. “From the beginning, I understood the roles we had to play. You’re the neighborhood cop. I’m the wedding planner. You moved in to protect me while I’m here, but if you follow me all over the city, then this guy will never make his move and you’ll never catch him. Right?” He shifted on his feet, remaining silent. “And you did save me. You told me how to slow down my car. Your voice kept me from panicking. I could be dead instead of a little dinged up around the edges.”
“I can see the bruises on your forehead and shoulder from here. Sorry, honey. You can’t talk me out of feeling guilty.” He came to the side of her four-poster bed, bringing the worn comfort of his flannel shirt and jeans into view. She could also now see the gun and badge strapped to his belt—and the concern he wore like the uniform and body armor she usually saw him in. He plucked the covers from her hands and shook the wrinkles from them. “Lie back down. I’ll wait a little longer, until you fall asleep.”
“But I can’t sleep. My brain won’t shut down. And you can’t stand there forever.”
“Watch me.” The man took his job seriously enough that she had no doubt he’d stay at his post for days if he had to, no matter what it might cost his health or peace of mind.
But she didn’t need the bodyguard keeping watch over her to chase the rapists and killers and from her dreams tonight. She needed something more than the gun and the badge. “Pike, would you stay and talk to me?”
A grin creased his scruffy jaw. “What have we been doing?”
She pulled the covers from his hands and patted the quilt beside her.
“Oh.” The edge of the bed dipped when he sat and took her hand. “Better?”
Instead of being grateful for the interlocking fingers she’d grown to love, Hope pushed up onto her knees and threw her arms around his neck. “Now I am.”
For one self-conscious moment, she thought she might have misread his caring nature, or that she’d pushed the limits of their charade too far. But with a breathy groan against her ear, he wound his arms around her and drew her up against his chest, lifting her off her knees and cinching her up so tight against his warmth that she felt the imprint of every button and belt buckle through the thin cotton of her nightgown. He rubbed his sandpapery jaw against her cheek and neck, catching loose tendrils of hair between them, kindling tiny sparks of friction that danced across her softer skin.
In the next moment, Hope was back on her bottom in the bed and Pike was leaving her. She quickly reached for his hand, instantly missing his strength and heat. “Pike—?”
“Shh.” He squeezed her hand, whispering as he smoothed her hair away from the knot at her temple. She reached up too late to stop him from pulling her glasses off her face and setting them back on the nightstand. “I guess neither one of us is sleeping unless we do it together, right?”
Together? Wasn’t that what she’d been subconsciously asking for? She held her breath when he stooped down to untie his boots. After he stripped off shoes and socks, the belt followed. She started breathing again, quickly, but soo
n realized her anxiety came from anticipation, maybe even a hint of impatient curiosity, not nerves or fear. Not of Pike. No, this man would always take care of her, she realized, as he carefully set his heavy black gun and badge on the bedside table. He might teach her things the same way he trained his dog, and speak plainly without a sugarcoating for anything, but his heart was pure gold. The shirt buttons came next, and Hope squinted in helpless fascination while he peeled off the blue plaid flannel and hung it on one of the bedposts. So much bare skin. So much man.
Although the jeans stayed on, he unsnapped the waist before sitting down beside her and sliding his long legs beneath the sheet. The mattress shifted and Hope tumbled into that wide expanse of naked chest. But the shock of warmth and hardness and Pike’s unique musky scent quickly gave way to curiosity and then need. When Pike gathered her in his arms and lay back, Hope tentatively turned her cheek into the pillow of his shoulder. Her hand hovered above the terrain of his chest, feeling the warmth from his skin. But she was unsure exactly where to put it until he caught it and pressed it against the sleek arc of muscle over his heart.
“Breathe, Hope.” His voice was husky and deep in the twilight above her. “If you don’t relax, I’m going to think I’m scaring you, and neither one of us will get any sleep.”
Her breath rushed out on a noisy sigh and her body closed the last bit of distance between them. Hope idly wondered if Pike could feel her breasts pillowed against his side through the thin layer of cotton knit that separated them the way she could. She’d never been draped against a man before. She liked that he was a furnace and that she seemed to be softer in places where he was harder so that their bodies could snuggle so closely together.
He must be just as aware of her body, too, because he seemed to know when she finally grew comfortable with the physical intimacy. “That’s better. So what do you want to talk about?”
Her toes played nervously with the soft denim that hugged his calf. “Anything. I can’t shake the feeling that he’s out there, watching me. All the time. He knows everything about me and I...I don’t know who he is.”
