Something Wicked: HarperImpulse Romantic Suspense

by Campbell, Angela

  “That wasn’t a complaint,” she said as she tried to move against him. Her voice was husky. Needy.

  He pressed her down with his body and devoured her lips while his hands made short work of the bra. She made that soft whimpering sound again when his fingers cupped her breasts and played with the mounds, lifting them so his lips could enjoy them the way they both wanted.

  She adjusted beneath him, tangled one of her naked thighs around his, slid her hand down between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around him, tried to press him into her. He sucked in a breath. He’d come too fast if she kept doing that.

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away. “You can play later. Now it’s my turn.”

  Before she could argue, he slid his hand down and stroked through her curls with two fingers. Her hands clutched at his biceps as her hips moved against him. Up and down he explored, finally pushing into her tightness. Her muscles squeezed him as he started to move with deep glides, up and down, teasing her depth a little more with each push.

  “Please, Dylan.”

  He liked hearing her say his name like this. He caught her gasps with his mouth as her orgasm approached. He felt it build inside her like a vortex until she trembled beneath him, her muscles in spasm around his fingers as she jerked her head away and cried out.

  He gave her a moment to recover while he made a quick search for the condom in his wallet. Sheathing himself, he settled back between her thighs and wasted no time sinking into her, knowing she would be more than ready for him.

  “Sweet heaven, Dylan.” She grabbed his shoulders and met his thrust. “You’re too darned good at this.”

  This time he was the one to make a sound, groaning as she squeezed him deeper. She was so snug. So hot. Over and over he pounded into her, slow at first, then faster as she got used to him being inside her again. Her fingers left his shoulders and tangled in his hair as she pulled his mouth down to hers, even as her legs wrapped around his hips and held on for the ride. He’d wanted to give them both pleasure, but he didn’t think he could hold on long enough. She felt too damn good. He tore his mouth away and groaned into her neck as his own release spilled out.

  He didn’t realize until after he came that so had she. Her cry of pleasure had been soft, but unmistakable in his ear.

  He’d made her come twice. He felt pretty pleased with himself.

  “Dylan?” Her voice was still raspy when she finally spoke again.

  “Hmmm?” He kissed her shoulder and rolled so that his weight was off of her. Already, sleep nibbled at his mind.

  “We need to talk.”

  Why did women always want to talk after sex? He pulled her close and was trying to get them both more comfortable on the sofa when she said, “That napkin,” bringing him back to the present. “He wanted me to see it.”

  “Shhh.”

  Just a couple of hours of sleep was all he wanted now. As long as she was in his arms, she was safe. He didn’t have the energy to think about anything else.

  ***

  Alexandra awoke with a start.

  Glancing down, she saw that she was dressed again and not in her bed. She was half-lying on the floor of…what was this place? This was some kind of stage. A theater, maybe? She knocked against the wooden floor. It was solid, but no sound came from the movement.

  She was dreaming.

  Pushing herself to her feet, she glanced out at the rows of seats facing her. Her heart gave a quick jump in her chest when she saw a man standing in the back. He was too far away and too hidden in shadows to see his face, but she recognized his shape.

  The man from the bar.

  The killer.

  And he was watching her.

  This is a dream. This is only a dream. He can’t hurt you.

  She needed to see his face. Needed something to give Dylan so he could catch this guy. She climbed from the stage and moved toward him. He waited until she was about twelve feet away to turn and move through a set of doors. Following him, she couldn’t help but note the beautiful architecture of the building. It looked like something out of Gone With the Wind. As she entered what seemed to be a large, spacious lobby, she also noticed the darkness outside the windows. It was nighttime here.

  The man quickly moved up a grand set of stairs. The soft carpet beneath her feet had a pattern lined with red. The man passed the second landing and continued up. There were three floors, she realized.

  She followed him down a hallway, passed a large mirror that didn't show her reflection. She stopped and watched as he hesitated outside of a doorway. The door was brown. The trim around it was white, and the wall was red.

  So much red.

  The man glanced over his shoulder as if he felt Alexandra behind him. His face was still too shadowed for her to see his features. The hall was only lit by the dim glow of streetlights pouring through the windows outside.

  Alexandra moved closer.

  The man faced forward again and pushed into the room. He quickly shut the door behind him. Alexandra hurried to follow, but the door handle wouldn’t turn for her. She slammed a fist against the solid wood and groaned in frustration.

  A woman’s muffled scream shattered the silence.

  Alexandra jerked awake, chest heaving, blurry eyes struggling to focus. Beside her, Dylan mumbled and turned on his side.

  She was awake. This was real.

  And so was the feeling of dread heavy in her stomach.

  Chapter Seven

  Dylan’s fingertips touched cold, bare wood instead of the magazines and junk that cluttered his nightstand. Had his alarm clock moved? He slapped his hand around the space, trying to muffle the sound of his radio.

  “Eh-hem.”

  Warm fingers caught his and shoved something hard and cold into his palm.

  His phone. Scrambling to sit up, he managed to take the call before his voicemail snagged it. “Collins.”

  Alexandra lifted her eyebrows and smiled as she cast a slow glance over his naked parts not covered by the sheets, then turned and moved away from the bed. He wiped a hand over his face. He distantly remembered trudging up the stairs and tumbling with her into her bed at some point.

  She had clothes on. Pajamas. When did that happen? How long had he been sleeping?

  There was no sunlight, only the dim glow of a lamp in the corner. Still dark outside. The aroma of coffee aroused his taste buds and helped pull him further out of his fog.

  “Where’ve you been?” Reedus said. “I thought you were gonna call me to check on what we found at the bar.”

  The glowing red numbers on the bedside clock told him it was a little after midnight. About four hours had passed. He’d been sleeping heavy, too. “Sorry. I’ve been, uh, tied up with something.”

  Alexandra, who had curled up in a chair in the corner, cup of coffee in hand, smirked a little as she raised the mug to her lips and sipped.

  “I’ll bet.” Reedus coughed and Dylan recognized the hiss and pop of a beer can being opened. “She wouldn’t happen to be blonde, would she? Talks to dead people in her spare time? Did she tie you up or did you tie her up?”

  “You’re hilarious, Reedus.” Dylan cleared his throat and shifted into a more comfortable position on the bed. Last thing he needed was word getting around he was sleeping with a consultant. He rubbed at his eyes. “What did you find?”

  “Not a damn thing. Did you question the bartender when you were there?”

  “Not for very long. Why?”

  “He noticed the suspect was wearing those tight surgical gloves when he handed him his beer, so our suspect came prepared. No prints. Nothing.”

  “Wonder if the killer’s OCD.” Dylan brushed the hair back from his forehead and sat up, tossing his legs over the side of the bed and wondering where his pants were. “Can we get the bartender in with a sketch artist tomorrow?”

  “Got him coming in at 10 a.m. today. You gonna be there, or are you still gonna be tied up with your girlfriend?”

 
Jackass. “I’ll be there, don’t you worry.” Dylan ended the call and tossed his phone onto the bed. He spotted his pants hanging beside hers on the stair railing. She must have carried them up at some point. Stepping into them, he sent Alexandra a sideways look. Still curled up drinking her coffee. And smirking.

  “Hey there.”

  “Hey.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Have a good nap?”

  “And then some.” He gestured toward her mug. “Got any extra?”

  “Help yourself.” She nodded toward a small coffee pot on the counter outside the bathroom. “I don’t think I have any lids though. I’m sure you need to get home.”

  He plucked his shirt from the railing. “I could use a shower.” Later, he decided. He needed a change of clothes more.

  She tilted her head and watched him. Her eyes sparkled with interest as he shrugged into his shirt. “Are you married?”

  He chuckled. “You wait until now to ask me that?”

  “Excuse me. You’re my first one-night stand. I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to say or do here.”

  He was glad to hear it. “I don’t think so, baby.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not your first one-night stand.” He nodded toward her bed. “By definition, we’re at least a two-night stand now.”

  She blew out her breath. “Next thing you know, we’ll be living together.”

  He loved her sense of humor. He leaned down and tasted her lips, licking at the flavor of coffee she left on his mouth. “I could probably be convinced.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Do you do laundry?”

  She mock kicked him in the shin. Chuckling, he fingered the sleeve of the silky pink pajama top she wore and wondered how fast he could get her out of it. “When did you get dressed?”

  She shrugged. “An hour ago, maybe.”

  “Why?” He straightened and moved to the coffee pot. Her sigh carried across the room and mixed with the sound of the liquid pouring into one of the paper cups the hotel provided.

  “I had a nightmare.”

  “Sorry. You had quite a scare earlier. That would do it for me.”

  He turned in plenty of time to see her rolling her eyes. “I don’t have nightmares the way most people do, Dylan.” She sat her empty mug aside. “I think I had a vision of the next murder.”

  Every muscle in his body tightened into painful awareness of what her words meant. The next murder. “It’s already happened?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Sometimes when I dream things, it’s precognitive. Other times, it’s already happened. I really have no way of knowing until after the fact.”

  Did he believe her or assume she was still trying to con him? Dylan knew the moment had come for him to make that choice. And it was a lot harder to do now that he’d gotten to know her better. And slept with her. Again.

  He leaned back against the counter and took a sip of his coffee. He supposed there was no harm in giving her the benefit of the doubt. “What did you see in your dream?”

  ***

  Alexandra wondered if Dylan was just humoring her again, or if he’d finally decided to be open minded about what she was capable of and what she could do for his investigation. Either way, nothing would change what she’d seen.

  So she told him everything she could remember. Every detail down to the red walls and patterned carpet.

  His brow furrowed as he listened, and he shifted so he could cross his arms. That was the classic I’m-Not-Giving-You-A-Chance stance she was used to from most men. But then he said, “That sounds like the Dock Street Theater.”

  Her shoulders relaxed on a sigh as Alexandra realized she’d been expecting the worst from him. He’d surprised her. That didn’t happen often.

  He moved to retrieve his phone, and she took the chance to wash her mug in the bathroom sink. She listened as he called and asked an officer on duty to go and check the theater for any signs of disturbance. When she re-emerged, he was sitting on the bed, putting his shoes on.

  “I need to run to my place and get a few things. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

  She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “You’re coming back?” The idea sent a thrill of happiness dancing along her spine.

  “Yeah, I’m coming back.” He reached for his jacket and shrugged into it. “I thought we could go over some files since we’re awake and will probably stay that way now that we’ve got caffeine in our blood.”

  Of course. His return was work-related. She should have known that. Idiot.

  He closed the space between them, tugged her hard against him, and nipped at her mouth. Flames of arousal immediately licked through her body as her hands rested on his arms. How had this frustrating cop reduced her to one of those women who went weak at the knees with one kiss? Figure that one out.

  “I don’t like what I saw on that napkin. I doubt the captain would let me place a patrol on your hotel, so I’m keeping an eye on you until we either catch this guy or you leave town.”

  He pressed her hips into his and her mouth ran dry. She licked her lips. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  “You’ve got one anyway.” His look was wolfish as he stared at her mouth. “We’ll discuss my payment later.”

  That sounded promising. “I’m aware you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “What question?”

  “Whether you’re married or not.”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I was.” He frowned as he pulled away. “No girlfriend either. Just a stray cat I feed every now and then when she wanders up to my door.”

  She was glad to know her intuition was still on target there. “If it matters to you,” she held up a bare hand, “neither am I.”

  His eyes danced with humor as he started down the stairs, keeping his focus on her. “I know.”

  She crossed her arms and leaned over the loft wall to watch him leave. “How do you know?”

  “Background check.” He rattled the doorknob as he squeezed through the door. “Make sure this locks behind me. I’ll be back in ten minutes tops.”

  ***

  The Grim Reaper—that’s how he thought of himself these days—glanced at the clock above his television and pressed the channel up button again on his remote control. It was almost time for the morning news. He hadn’t slept all night, anticipating the Live 5 News logo and a quick lead into a breaking news segment. Almost time. His fingers drummed the padded armchair in excitement.

  Would they call him the Reaper or the Grim Reaper? Reporters liked brevity, but he hoped they didn’t shorten his moniker too much.

  A soft thud outside his front door stirred his excitement in a different direction. Ah, the newspaper. He hurried to retrieve the Post and Courier, expecting to see a large headline taking up much of the front page. Serial killer targets Charleston. He hoped it was something like that. He liked the way that sounded.

  Shutting the door behind him, he opened the paper and felt dumbfounded when the main headline read S.C.’s jobless rate falls to 8.6% in September. He quickly skimmed through all the pages, then skimmed again.

  Where was the story about him?

  He urged himself to calm down. Maybe Collins hadn’t been able to reach the newspaper by its deadline. Maybe the cop had decided to skip the newspaper altogether and give the TV news an exclusive.

  Yes, that’s probably what it was.

  The chime of the newscast’s theme song interrupted his thoughts and drew his attention to the television. This was it. The moment he’d planned everything for.

  That pretty brunette he liked appeared on the screen. She must have been filling in for Margaret, the usual morning anchor.

  “Good morning, Charleston. I’m Stephanie Rodriguez in for Margaret Dolan who is on vacation today. This morning police are searching for two men they say robbed a convenience store in Goose Creek and left a store employee fighting for his life.”

  What? The Grim Reaper turned the cha
nnel to another local news station. The male anchor was rattling off details about the same story.

  He’d been trumped by armed robbers?

  He settled back in his recliner and waited, feeling his blood simmer as each story became even more mundane and stupid. By the time the weather segment began, the truth was slowly sinking in.

  Collins hadn’t done as he’d demanded and revealed his presence to the news reporters.

  Asshole.

  Slamming his fist on the side of the chair, he stood and headed for his special room. The young cop wasn’t going to cooperate. That’s fine. But Collins would regret this.

  They all would.

  ***

  Dylan shut the door to his captain’s office behind him and rubbed his eyes.

  Already he was getting pressure from the last murder victim’s well-connected family to bring in a suspect. As if it were so easy.

  He’d been going over the case files half the night with Alexandra and didn’t have a clue who this killer was, or why he was doing this.

  His thoughts went back to what Alexandra had said yesterday. Copycat. He’s fascinated by death. She’d said the guy loved slasher films and got excited watching them.

  If she was right, he should be looking at half the whackos that lived in Charleston. It was that copycat suggestion that worried him most. Were there two killers, or was one killer copying crimes from another city?

  He’d asked Reedus to run a comparison through the system. The results wouldn’t be back for a few more hours.

  Alexandra was kneading the tension out of her shoulders when he made it back into the conference room where he’d left her with the case’s files. He’d had to check his email and voicemail and follow up with a few calls on the other cases in his log. Then Capt. Deveraux had wanted an update.

  “Sorry to leave you for so long.” He poured them each a cup of coffee and then handed one to her. He wished he could massage some of the tension away for her, but he didn’t dare touch her where he could be seen by his co-workers. He’d make it up to her later, in private. “Have you had any more clues or visions or whatever it is you do?”