Attempted Matrimony

by Joanna Wayne

  “Serious as a skydiver yanking the chain of a malfunctioning parachute.”

  Her stomach tied itself into an all too familiar knot. “It doesn’t end. It just never ends.”

  She listened as Dallas told her what he knew about Malcomb’s parents. More of Malcomb’s lies. More secrets. More tattered fragments of a man she couldn’t begin to understand. She twisted the gold band on her finger, then took it off and hurled it as far as she could. It splashed as it hit the water, rippling the surface. “I hope it doesn’t poison the fish,” she said.

  “Better the fish turn up dead than you. Now let’s talk about where you’ll be while I go to Monticello.”

  “That’ll be a wasted trip for sure. Malcomb’s parents can’t possibly know what he’s up to.”

  “But they know him, or at least about what he was like growing up. The more I know about him, past and present, the easier it is for me to get inside his head.”

  “It’s not a place I’d want to be.”

  “Monticello?”

  “No. Inside Malcomb’s head.” She thought for a minute, tried to imagine what his parents would be like, if they knew that Malcomb had become a doctor, if they knew of his tastes for the depraved. “I’m going to Arkansas with you, Dallas.”

  “Absolutely not. It’s police business. Besides, it’s no place for you. You’ve got too much to deal with as it is.”

  “I don’t see how a trip to see Malcomb’s parents could make it worse. Besides, you’ll probably get a warmer reception and find out a lot more about Malcomb if you go with his wife instead of just showing up as a nosy cop. We can say I was in the area on business and wanted to look them up.”

  “Who will I be, the chauffeur?”

  “You’ll be my co-worker.”

  “That’s a lame story.”

  “So, if they don’t believe it, we’re no worse off because I’m there.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  But he was weakening. She could tell by the tone of his voice. “You want me out of the house. If I’m in Monticello, I’ll be out of the house.”

  “What will you tell Malcomb?”

  “That I’m visiting a relative or a friend. I’ll think of something.” But if he found out where she was really going or that she was with Dallas, he’d be furious. She could all but see his eyes and veins bulging as he fell into one of his furious states.

  Only it really didn’t matter anymore. The marriage was over. In fact, it had never really been a marriage at all. “What do you say, Detective Mitchell?”

  “That I’m probably about to make a huge mistake.”

  “So when do we leave?”

  “I have to take care of a few things first. I could probably get out of here by late afternoon.”

  “How far is it to Monticello?”

  “A little under two hundred miles.”

  “Won’t that put us there too late to call on the Lancasters?”

  “I was planning to get a room and drive out to their place first thing in the morning.”

  Which meant she’d be spending the night with Dallas. The two of them in a strange town far away from Shreveport. Things were not the same between them as they had been nine years ago. She was too emotionally drained to feel the same breathtaking obsession. Too mentally exhausted to experience the exuberant passion. At least she hoped she was.

  But the attraction was still there. It crept inside her every time he was near. She’d be lying to herself if she denied it.

  “You can have your own room,” he said.

  “Do you always read my mind?”

  “That time it was pretty obvious.”

  “It’s not that I’m afraid of you, Dallas, or that it wouldn’t be wonderful to sleep in your arms or to…”

  “To make love with me?”

  “See, you do read my mind.”

  “You’re married. I respect that, even if I don’t respect your choice of mates.”

  “It’s not just the marriage. It almost seems voided now—worth no more that the ink used to sign the license. All lies and deceptions. It’s just that I can’t deal with any kind of relationship now. My emotions are too raw. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

  He grew quiet. Dallas might be able to read her thoughts, but she had no idea what he was thinking. But then she never had. “What time should I be ready to go?”

  “I’d like to beat the five o’clock traffic out of town. Would four-thirty be too early?”

  Four-thirty. Before Malcomb got home. That would work out better. She could give him the message by phone, tell him she was going out of town to visit a friend. Now it would be she who was lying, playing his game. Only she’d be terrible at it.

  They sat for a minute more, as if neither of them was ready to get back to the world of horrors that awaited them. She wondered what would happen between them when all this was over. Would Dallas just disappear from her life the way he had before? No explanations? No apologies? If he did, she’d probably miss him like crazy, might even go through the kind of heartbreaking withdrawal she had before. But for now, she was just thankful he was here.

  THINGS WERE HEATING UP fast. DNA testing indicated that it was Jim Castle’s sperm that had impregnated Karen Tucker. And, as with the first three victims credited to Fastidious Freddie, the body of the newest victim, in spite of looking clean, was contaminated with tiny hairs, smears of body fluid and well-placed bloodstains from at least a dozen different DNA matches.

  Last, but definitely not least, Dallas had discovered that Penny Washington had made a short phone call to the Lancaster residence at the same time that Nicole had received what she believed was a prank call. Now Penny was nowhere to be found. She hadn’t shown up for work that day and she wasn’t at home. Neither was her son.

  And here was Dallas, driving to Matilda’s house to pick up Nicole for a trip to Monticello. It had been Nicole’s idea to meet him there. Matilda had agreed that she could leave her car parked in her garage overnight. Malcomb would likely call Janice and put her on the spot, might even convince her to tell him that Nicole was with Dallas. But Malcomb had never met Matilda, wouldn’t know to give her a call.

  The trip would most likely be a long drive to reach another dead end. So why did he feel as if he were getting a temporary reprieve from the mounting complications, as if being offered a slice of coconut cream pie when he was expecting stale bread? The answer was easy enough. He’d be spending the next few hours with Nicole.

  He couldn’t shake her from his mind, and it was way more than the investigation that haunted him. She was different from the teasing, seductive coed of nine years ago. Less impetuous. More mature. Still sexy as hell, and like it or not, she still affected his libido as no woman had before or since.

  But for now, he’d have to keep his libido inside a closed zipper and concentrate on being a friend. Until this point, every second they’d spent together had been focused on the murders and Malcomb’s possible involvement in them. Dallas planned to change that during the next few hours. Get her to talk about herself, her interest in teaching, her life before she’d been caught up in this murderous whirlwind.

  She needed the break. He needed the break. He’d forgotten how it felt to get a full night’s sleep, could barely remember what it was like not to walk, talk and eat without Fastidious Freddie sharing the activity.

  Dallas pulled up in front of Matilda’s house, a white frame in an older, well-kept neighborhood. Nicole and Matilda were sitting in the porch swing. Nicole stood when she saw him, gave her friend a brief hug, then started down the steps. The wind caught her hair, tossed it like silk threads. Her walk was feminine, with just the right sway to fire a man’s imagination. Her shirt, the color of buttercups, was just clingy enough to hug her firm, perky breasts.

  And there he went again. Keeping his distance for the duration of this trip might well be the second most difficult thing he’d ever done.

  The first had been walking out of her life
nine years ago. There were some mistakes a man never forgot.

  MALCOMB SAT IN HIS private nook over the garage. The lights were low. The room was warm. His Scotch was cold. And spread out in front of him were his trophies. Four of them. Black-and-white photos, blown up so that he could see and remember every detail. He’d have to stop soon—at least for a while. Even incompetent cops would get lucky if he kept flaunting his superiority.

  The revered officers of the law, with their silly little DNA tests and archaic way of dissecting a crime scene, were almost a joke. He could see them now, freaking out over the contamination he provided. And it was so simple. The operating room was a veritable smorgasbord of DNA. One day’s bloody trash provided enough samples to spoil countless investigations. And he had other sources at the hospital, as well. Any man in a white coat did.

  Malcomb didn’t give a damn about the cops, except that one of them had invaded his life and would be sleeping with his wife tonight. It was difficult to imagine that Nicole thought Malcomb so stupid that he wouldn’t know. He’d kill her as he had the others, but he wouldn’t leave her body for anyone to find.

  She’d simply disappear. Her and Ronnie. And this would all be his. The house. The Dalton money. The social position.

  The police would suspect foul play, might even suspect he was behind the disappearances, but they’d never prove it.

  He might not even need to kill after that, might finally put the demons to sleep. It would be just Dr. Malcomb Lancaster and his souvenirs. Finally at the top, where he’d always belonged.

  THE FIRST DROPS OF RAIN plopped on the windshield as Nicole and Dallas approached Ruston. Within minutes they were in a downpour, the rain falling so fast and heavy it rendered the windshield wipers almost useless. A pickup truck passed them, hit a puddle of standing water as it did and fishtailed. Dallas had to swerve onto the shoulder to miss the truck.

  “How about some coffee?” he asked. “I don’t like driving in this.”

  Nicole stared out the window, into the rain and darkness. “Where would we find a diner?”

  “I saw a sign back there for a motel and restaurant. We should be coming to it soon.”

  “We’ll get soaked getting from the car to the door, unless you have a very big umbrella.”

  “Don’t even have a small one. I have owned them before, but can’t ever find them when I look for them. I’ve decided my car eats them.”

  “Reached this conclusion after exhausting your investigative skills, did you?”

  “Don’t be so smug. Cars are a lot sneakier than murderers.”

  “I’m so glad I’ve put myself in your hands.”

  That stirred a few wanton thoughts. He let his imagination have sway for a few seconds, but didn’t come back with any of the suggestive comments that popped into his head. Nicole had started to relax on the drive, show glimpses of the carefree, witty young woman he remembered.

  He didn’t want to make any move that might put her on edge, though for some reason he couldn’t put the past out of his mind tonight. Maybe it was the fact that she was only inches away from him. Or maybe it was the way she smelled. He didn’t know much about perfume, but the fragrance she was wearing sure wreaked havoc on his restraint system.

  But he suspected it was that same chemistry that had pounded him the first time he’d seen her, prancing around her father’s reelection headquarters, way too cute for her own good and knowing it. Way too good for him and not seeming to give a damn.

  They’d had chemistry. Still did. Nine years ago he’d run from it. Now he was engulfed by the need to keep her safe, the ache to make love with her. He wasn’t sure where one stopped and the other began anymore. It was just all there, all the time. His hands were clutching the wheel, his mind on Nicole, when the car began to bounce and knock.

  Nicole sat up straighter and put a hand on his arm. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

  He groaned. “Tell me you’ve always had an unquenchable desire to change a flat tire in a driving rainstorm.”

  “Nice try, Detective.”

  He slowed the car, put on his emergency blinkers, thankful to see a dirt road at the outer limits of his headlights. Changing a flat in a monsoon would be bad enough without being slammed from behind by another vehicle.

  “It’s pitch-dark,” Nicole said, as he pulled onto the dirt road, then stopped and killed the engine. “How will you see to change the tire?”

  “I have a flashlight in the trunk. I’ll prop it on something so that it shines on the right spot.”

  “Can I help?”

  “No reason for both of us to get drenched.” But he liked the offer. Made him feel as if they were a team. “Keep the home fires burning,” he said, opening the door and scooting from the car.

  By the time he got the trunk open and the spare tire and tools out, his hair was drenched and rivers of water were dripping off his nose and chin and streaming down his neck to slide beneath the collar of his soaked shirt. No need to hurry. He couldn’t get a lot wetter than he was right now.

  He flicked on the flashlight, thankful but not surprised that it shot out a strong, steady beam. Unlike umbrellas, a flashlight was a mainstay in his work. Never knew when you’d need to provide your own illumination at a crime scene. He usually had a yellow police slicker handy, too, but he’d gotten so much blood on it at the last drive-by shooting he’d worked that he’d had to trash it, and just hadn’t picked up another.

  He propped the flashlight on an empty coffee thermos he’d pulled from the trunk, and directed the beam toward the tire area. It didn’t hit just right, but it would have to do. Crouching, he jacked up the car and picked up the lug wrench. A few quick turns. Two lugs were off when the flashlight slipped off the thermos and plopped into the mud. He muttered a few choice expletives that didn’t help at all, then propped it up again. If it fell this time, he’d have to scavenge for something else to wedge the light.

  He worked quickly in spite of the rain—until the light slipped again. This time the glass covering was caked with layers of slippery mud. He cleaned it as well as he could with his shirt, then decided to give the thermos one more try. Two more minutes and he’d have the tire changed.

  “I’ll hold that for you.”

  Dallas looked up, stunned to see Nicole standing beside him in the pouring rain. Rain slid down her face, and her clothes clung to her body, outlining every swell and hollow. She was drenched, the way she’d been the very first time they’d…

  His breath burned in his lungs and he was hit with a blast of sensations that tore away everything but some primal animal need that had a will of its own. He forgot the tire, forgot the rain, forgot everything except Nicole.

  And then she was in his arms and his mouth was on hers. The past, the present, the future—they all ran together, blended with the rain and the passion, and the whole of his life seemed condensed into this one moment in time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nicole plunged into the delirium as if catapulted by churning waves. It wasn’t that she didn’t know what she was doing, but she was fueled by a hunger so elemental, so integral a part of her, that she couldn’t stop. Dallas’s mouth was on hers, stealing her breath, setting her on fire.

  Oblivious to the drenching rain, he ran a trail of kisses from her mouth down her chin and the length of her neck. The terror and confusion of the past few days disintegrated, burned away in the torrid heat of the moment. Nicole was crazy with desire, electrified by yearnings that had been buried so deep inside her she’d forgotten they existed.

  Dallas’s hands were everywhere at once, tangled in her hair, cradling her breasts, slipping beneath the waistband of her slacks and inside her panties. She felt the hard metal of the back fender against her backside and Dallas’s body pressing into her from the front. Even the pain felt part of the moment of wild abandonment, as if all the rules had been thrown out.

  She held on, her fingers digging into his shoulders and her mouth kissing and suc
king his wet flesh. She reached between his legs and touched his arousal through his soaked jeans. Rock-hard. Past ready. He slipped his hand beneath hers and unzipped his jeans. His fingers explored her, and she felt the warm rush of moistness pool in her panties as she worked her hand inside his clothes and wrapped it around his erection.

  He pushed her slacks past her hips. They slid down her legs to the mud below. The two of them were both shaking now, drowning in desire so strong it consumed them.

  Dallas. Always Dallas. She’d never needed anyone the way she needed him right now, needed the release and the passion, needed something to hold on to while her world slipped away. Nothing in her life had ever felt this right.

  But it was wrong.

  Crying out in pain from a hurt that sprang from deep inside her, she pushed him away. “I can’t, Dallas. I just can’t.”

  He let go of her and jerked away. She couldn’t see his eyes or his expression in the darkness, but she knew from the way he’d moved so quickly that she’d hurt him.

  He banged a fist against the closed door. “Damn it, Nicole. How do you do that? Just turn it off like you had a spigot?”

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said. “It just did.”

  “Boy, did it happen.” He turned away from her. “You’ll have to give me a second to regroup.” His voice was husky and low.

  She put a hand to his arm. “It’s not that I don’t want you, Dallas. I do. But not like this.”

  “I know.” He moved in close again, faced her, but didn’t touch her. “The ring may be sleeping with the fishes, but you’re still a married woman.”

  “That’s part of it. But it’s more than that. I can’t deal with us until I have closure with Malcomb—and with the murders. I hope you understand.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “We need to get out of this rain.”

  “The tire’s still not fixed.”

  “I’d almost forgotten it,” she said. “See what you do to me?”