Deadly Fear Page 7

“We need to call Hyde. We can switch motels, we can—”

  She laughed at that. “If the killer is watching us, he’ll just follow wherever we go. Not like there are a lot of places to choose from in Jasper.”

  True, but…

  “We stay on guard, Dante. That’s what we do. We tell the sheriff and we get his deputies to patrol so that we have extra eyes outside. If I see the perp again, I’ll get him.”

  “We’ll get him.” He shut the case with a snap and went back to her, closing the distance between them. “New rule. You see anyone—anyone—out there again, you come and get me before you go storming outside.” Luke didn’t want her facing the monsters alone. Not when he’d walk through fire to be by her side.

  Monica licked her lips. Her hands came up, pressed against his chest. The touch seemed to burn his flesh. So hot, but her flesh felt so soft and silky. “You should… go get dressed,” she told him, her voice dropping and getting that husky little edge that he’d never been able to forget.

  The edge that told him she needed. Wanted. Lusted.

  Just like he did.

  And Luke realized he was half-dressed, wearing just a pair of jeans. The rain had made her shirt all but transparent. They were wet. Close.

  Just as hungry for each other as they’d always been.

  An inch, maybe two, separated their lips. He wanted to close that distance and take her mouth. To plunge his tongue deep inside and taste her.

  But he’d already crossed the line with her once. His hands fisted. She’d made it clear what she wanted, and what she didn’t want. No sex. No emotions. Just business.

  He closed his eyes. Lust had his cock twitching, rising and swelling, and she was so close.

  Too close.

  He spun away from her. “Stay inside,” he ordered, his eyes opening. “When I come back, we’ll take that note in.”

  “You were right about me. Us. I didn’t want to remember, but—” Her voice, so soft, froze him. He had to strain to make out the words.

  He glanced back. Big mistake. Monica’s head was tilted to the right. Her eyes were narrowed on him.

  “Remember what?” Because he’d never had a problem remembering what it was like to be with her. To touch her and taste her and see the pleasure wash over her face.

  No, that hadn’t been a problem. Forgetting, though, had been pure hell.

  “Sometimes…” She licked her lips. “I want to feel.”

  Oh, no, the woman could not be jerking him around like this.

  She took a step forward. “When I’m with you, Luke, I’ve always felt so alive.” Monica shook her head.

  Luke. His name, finally rolling off her tongue with that nearly forgotten hint of a southern drawl. Oh, Christ. If he wasn’t careful, she would drive him crazy. Or have him on his knees.

  His cock throbbed behind the fly of his jeans. He tried to keep his voice firm when speech was nearly impossible. “What am I, then? Some kind of convenient screw?”

  Deliberately, he pulled out his gun. Put it on the sagging chair next to the wall.

  Her eyes held his as her chin tipped back. “You’re many things, but convenient isn’t one of them.”

  The woman had just made a joke. He was so stunned he almost laughed. Instead, he moved forward and caught her close.

  Not getting away. Not now. “Just sex?” Yeah, he was losing the power of speech because those words were definitely more of a rumble than anything else.

  Her lips parted. Ah, screw it. The hunger beat in his blood, the lust nearly blinded him.

  Taste. Take. And he did.

  She rose onto her bare toes and wrapped her fingers around him, clutching his shoulders and holding on tight. His mouth crashed onto hers, and she met him with wet lips, open and eager. Her nipples stabbed at his chest. Hard from the cold? Or from the stark need between them?

  Her tongue met his. A fast dart, then a slow stroke that had him shuddering. Monica had always known just how to use her mouth on him.

  And just how to push him past control.

  He caught her hips, yanking her closer. They stumbled a bit, and his leg bumped into her nightstand. A lamp hit the floor.

  The bed waited. Two steps away. Monica, naked in bed beneath him. How long had that fantasy haunted him?

  If she was willing, he wasn’t gonna be fool enough to walk away.

  Just sex.

  She wanted to feel? He’d make her feel.

  They hit the bed. The mattress groaned, sagging beneath their weight.

  Her legs came up, locking around his hips. Not good enough. Too much clothing between them. Way too much.

  He tore his mouth from hers and kissed a path down her neck. Monica moaned, arching beneath him. Oh, yeah, he remembered what she liked, and he knew what she needed.

  Her nails bit into his shoulders. “Luke…”

  Shit. His back teeth clenched, and he fought to hold onto his control. That husky voice could break him if he wasn’t careful.

  He lifted up, pushing his palms flat against the mattress on either side of her. That shirt would have to go. He grabbed it and yanked up.

  Sweet hell. The woman had perfect breasts. Tight, dark nipples, firm and round flesh. If she still tasted as sweet…

  His mouth closed around a nipple. She did. He licked, sucked, and her hips rocked against him as her hold tightened around him.

  “Lose the jeans!” She managed, her breath panting. “Ah… I can’t—hurry!”

  She’d always liked the sex fast. Fast and hard and in the dark.

  But it wasn’t dark now. She’d forgotten the light, and he could see that pale flesh.

  He bit her. Light, not too hard.

  Not yet.

  She shivered beneath him, and her hands slipped down, sliding over his back. Lower, going down to the top of his jeans.

  Okay, the first time would be fast. His hand pushed between their bodies. Jerked open the snap on his jeans.

  But the second time, he’d savor her. Savor and taste until she screamed.

  Or came. Again and again.

  A high-pitched jingle of sound exploded from somewhere behind him.

  Monica’s breath caught. She stared up at him, eyes widening.

  Ignore the damn phone. Ignore it.

  He bent to kiss her again.

  “No.” A whisper. Soft but certain.

  Because his luck could never, ever be good.

  Another loud ripple. She swallowed, and he saw the hard motion of her throat. “This late… could be Hyde. Or—or the sheriff.”

  His hands fell away from her, and he rolled back onto the bed, clenching the covers in his fists. “Get it.”

  He smiled when he saw the shadows part.

  Really, they should have known better than to leave the light on. But Agent Davenport had kept her light on all night long.

  Interesting.

  Those who used lights usually feared the darkness.

  This was going to be so much fun.

  The ringing in his ear stopped. There was a click, then, husky, soft, “Hello?”

  So. Much. Fun.

  Monica swallowed and her hold tightened around the thin cell phone. This time of night—it had to be the Bureau. “Hello?” She said again. “This is—”

  “Agent Davenport.”

  A man’s voice, grating and hard.

  Static crackled.

  “Who is this?”

  Behind her, she heard the rustle of bed covers and then the creak of the floor as Luke edged toward her.

  Laughter flowed over the line, and her shoulders stiffened. She knew what was coming next, even before the bastard said—

  “Tell me… what scares you, Davenport?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. A vision of blood and a swirl of darkness flashed through her mind.

  Trapped, waiting for death, just like Laura.

  The blade slicing deep, over and over. Just like before.

  Victims screaming, begging for help. Help that wou
ldn’t come.

  “What scares you?” A whisper now, taunting.

  Her teeth clenched. “Not a damn thing,” she gritted. “Not a—”

  Click.

  The phone bit into her palm. She forced herself to ease her grip. It was either ease the grip or shatter the cell.

  “Monica?”

  Luke’s deep voice, still tinged with the rough need that had burned so hard moments before.

  Before.

  She glanced back at Luke. “It was him.” The note hadn’t been enough. He’d wanted to make a personal connection. To taunt. Was that the way he always worked? They’d have to pull all the victims’ phone records and see what they could find.

  “The damn killer was just on your phone? He’s got your number?”

  She’d need to call in at headquarters. Get them to trace the call A-fucking-SAP. Ten to one, though, it would go back to a disposable cell. She glanced down at her caller ID.

  No, it wouldn’t be an easy trace. This guy wouldn’t be so sloppy. He wouldn’t get tripped up so fast.

  “Monica?” Luke stood right in front of her. “What’s happening?”

  She swallowed. No more time for pleasure. Back to death. And wasn’t that always the way for her? “We need to get that note down to the station. And we’ve got to talk to Hyde, right away.”

  “Sonofabitch.” He swung toward the blinds, his hands clenching.

  Was he watching them now? Because this guy, she knew he liked to watch. But what he didn’t know, not yet… was what scared her.

  If she had her way, he never would.

  No one would know.

  He whistled while he walked down the long hospital corridor. He looked like he belonged, so no one even so much as questioned him as he strolled right through the place.

  His boots squeaked on the tile. He glanced down, and his reflection shone back up at him.

  Mighty fine.

  He rounded the nurses’ station, tossing up a wave. The guard was there, just as he’d known he would be since Miss Sissy Sue Hollings worked the night shift. Pretty little Sissy Sue with her corkscrew curls and slick red mouth.

  The deputy barely glanced his way. The guy was too busy leaning over the counter and hitting on Sissy Sue.

  So he whistled and strolled down the hall, then took a left. Ah… there. Room four-oh-eight.

  Too easy, really.

  He slipped into the room. Silence greeted him. No hiss and moan of machines. Perfect. He pushed back the green hospital curtain that enclosed her bed and saw his little survivor.

  Laura’s eyes were closed, the lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. No cuts, no bruises—not on her face. He glanced down at her hands.

  Ah, there we go.

  Torn nails. Jagged and discolored flesh. She’d tried to get out on her own but failed.

  He wanted to talk to her. To find out what it had been like. Those moments after she’d awoken and realized she was in her personal hell.

  How terrifying. How perfect.

  He reached for a pillow, but he… hesitated.

  This seemed so wrong. To die like this, sleeping. So easy.

  A smile lifted his lips. Really, this wasn’t his way at all.

  Laura Billings had feared the darkness, feared being trapped. He’d given her a taste of that hell.

  But now, she’d fear him.

  In seconds, he had his gloves on. Ready for work.

  He let the back of his fingers skim down her cheek. The doctors had pumped her full of drugs. He knew it—that’s what they did with the patients who wouldn’t stop screaming. And after Laura had snapped from her silence, she’d screamed and screamed.

  He’d heard some of the nurses talking about those sweet screams downstairs.

  “That poor girl…”

  “Can you imagine? Trapped in the ground…”

  If only they knew.

  He stroked her face again, and her eyelids flickered. Ah. Good.

  No time to waste.

  When her eyes opened, confusion appeared first. A furrow etched a line between her brows. She licked her lips. “Where—”

  “Shh…” He put his finger against her lips. Then he lifted the pillow. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it faster this time.”

  Then it came. The fear. Blossoming in her stare, growing, spreading, making those pretty eyes bulge as her mouth opened to scream.

  Too late.

  He shoved the pillow onto her face. Caught her wrists in his left hand and held her while she thrashed.

  She fought more than he’d expected. Once, she almost got free from him.

  Almost.

  Then… she was still. So very still. No more fight left.

  If she’d been hooked to the machines that were pushed in the corner, one of the nurses would have been racing to the room, wondering why the patient had flat-lined. A lucky break for him.

  He touched her again. Couldn’t help it. She was still warm. He could feel her warmth through the gloves. Not that the warmth would last long now.

  When he lifted his hand, he saw the tremble that shook his fingers. Not from fear, never that.

  Carefully, he arranged her pillows.

  One last look, because death could be such a thing of beauty, then he slipped from the room.

  When her cell phone rang again, Monica was ready. She answered even before the first ring was finished. “Davenport.”

  “We traced the cell,” Sam’s voice, high with excitement. “Are you armed?”

  What? Her gaze met Luke’s. He stood just across the room, arms crossed over his chest. “I have my weapon here.”

  At her words, he took out his own gun.

  “The cell phone came up as registered to Laura Billings—”

  Dammit.

  “We used repeater triangulation to pick up the GPS chip in the phone… Monica, the phone is right outside your room… Whoever called you—”

  “Laura Billings is still in the hospital.” Her gun was in her hand, and she hurried for that door. “It’s her attacker, playing a game.”

  “Be careful! You don’t know—”

  “Dante’s here. I’ve got backup.” She hung up the phone. Took a deep breath. “He called from right outside.”

  A muscle flexed in Luke’s jaw.

  They went out together. The light near her room flickered, sending out bursts of sickening yellow. Monica’s gaze swept the lot. Left. Right. Left—

  The SUV waited just a few feet away. The first place she would have gone to the next morning. The one thing she would have seen.

  In seconds, she was at the vehicle. No broken windows. The doors were still locked. Luke covered her while she ran around to the rear.

  The phone had been tossed beneath the back tire. It was still on; it had to be so that Sam could track it with the FBI’s satellite.

  Damn him. Her gaze swept the lot once more. Long gone now. But he’d wanted her to know. He’d wanted to make absolutely certain that she knew he’d been close enough to touch.

  Or to kill.

  CHAPTER Six

  Monica stared at the body. The closed eyes, the parted lips. The raw and bruised fingertips.

  Laura Billings had cheated death once. She hadn’t been so lucky the second time he came calling.

  The muffled sound of sobs reached her ears. The mother. Monica’s hands clenched. Mary had thought she’d gotten her daughter back.

  So very wrong.

  She cleared her throat and forced her gaze to lift from the body and lock on Davis’s hard stare. “What happened.” Not a question. “You had a guard here. Why the hell am I looking at a dead woman?”

  Their only witness. Killed when a deputy was less than fifteen feet away.

  Unbelievable.

  A muscle flexed along the sheriff’s jaw. “If you’re saying my man—”

  “We’ve got a dead woman on your watch.” Monica stepped back for the crime scene tech. “That’s what I’m saying.” She could have screamed right then. They
’d needed Laura. So close. So close to ID’ing the killer and now—

  Now he’d finished his job with Laura. Dammit.

  A ripple of movement beside her. “I want to talk to the deputy,” Luke snapped.

  Yeah, so did she. She jerked her thumb toward the door. “Outside.” The scent of death was just growing thicker in the room.

  Thought I’d managed to save one. Finally.

  But the killer had just been waiting. Biding his time—and screwing with me.

  She eased around the techs at the door and caught sight of Laura’s parents. Her gut clenched.

  Mary’s watery eyes found her. “You… I thought you… s-saved her.”

  Staring into those eyes, seeing the pain… Monica swallowed. “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.” So cold and brittle. “We’ll do everything in our power to apprehend—”

  Mary blinked. She shook her head and seemed to fall apart. “I don’t want him c-caught!” she cried. “I want my baby back!”

  Monica turned away. “I need to talk to… that deputy,” she spoke through gritted teeth as her temples throbbed. “And she… needs to be taken away from the crime scene.” Mary didn’t need to see them wheel out her daughter’s body.

  Luke pressed his hand against the base of her back, guiding her forward. They rounded the corner and saw more uniforms and nurses. One woman—fresh-faced, pretty, with thick curls—sat huddled behind the desk with her shoulders hunched and her chin down.

  Deputy Pope stood next to her, his dark head bent, a trembling hand running over his face. Beside him, another deputy, tall, with a shaved head and a small brown goatee, stood with his hands clenched.

  “Vickers!” The sheriff’s voice barked behind her and the taller deputy flinched. “Son, you got one hell of a lot of explaining to do!”

  His head whipped up. Pink stained his cheeks and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I-I swear, sir… I-I didn’t leave my post all night—”

  This was so not the place for an interrogation. Too many eyes. Too many ears.

  Monica pointed to the small white door across from the nurses’ station. “That the break room?”

  Curly nodded.

  “Good.” Monica drew in a deep breath. Jesus, she hated the smell of hospitals. “Go in there, deputy.” Once inside, he wasn’t getting out until she figured out exactly what had happened.