“She wanted marriage, and he of course did not. She was so sure that she had him wrapped around her finger. It was almost as if she had some kind of leverage. And don’t ask me what. For once in her life she was very quiet about juicy details. I can tell you when she left Darius, she jumped into another man’s bed within days.”
“Who?”
She folded her arms. “I don’t know his name. But he made deliveries to the museum. She never brought him around, and I was planning my wedding at that point and wasn’t so worried about her dramas.”
He stared down at the woman’s lifeless eyes, savoring death’s stillness. He brushed knuckles against her warm skin, knowing her temperature had already dropped a few degrees. In an hour she’d feel cold to the touch, her limbs would stiffen, and she’d be harder to manage. He’d have to get her into the melting vat soon so that the liquid could strip the flesh from her bones and erase all traces of evidence linked to her death.
His father had always said, “Cover your tracks. If you’re smart enough you’ll never be caught.”
And he didn’t want to be caught. The idea of living the rest of his life in a small gray cell conjured nightmares for him. So he would do as his father had once advised and erase the evidence from her body.
If only he could erase his own evidence from his body. The scars and mutilated skin, such a source of bitterness, would be with him until he died, and his flesh decayed away from the undamaged bone beneath.
He stroked her pale skin. He didn’t have to take her right at this moment. He had a little time to savor the quiet stillness—the way her chest did not rise and fall with breath, the way her gaze did not judge or recoil from his naked body.
Death brought its own special beauty to a woman that nothing in life could match.
For so long, he’d denied his taste and dark yearnings to kill. He’d put all his energy and power into blending in and simply disappearing.
But that had changed a couple of years ago. He’d met his partner. Seen the dark need in his eyes and known together they would be invincible. Together, they’d taken a hooker. When his partner had finished with her, the creature inside of him, hungry after its long slumber, would not be denied. It no longer whispered that he kill. It shouted and demanded that he kill.
And so he’d answered the call. One, two, three, four, and now five times.
Killing the hookers had been satisfying for a time. But then he’d grown bored. What was the point of genius if no one knew about it?
So, they’d agreed upon the actress. And now the hooker turned good girl. He wasn’t afraid of the cops at all now. He was smarter than they were.
He stared at her a long moment and then leaned forward and pressed his cheek to hers, inhaling the growing scent of death. He cupped her face, stared into the vacant eyes, and kissed her on her lips, savoring the chilled, still softness. With his fingertips he traced her jawline, her collarbone, and then he circled her nipple. He grew hard.
Other women intrigued him far more than this one ever would. Soon he’d find them and release them from their frantic holds on life. Their limbs would still, and the heat would evaporate from their bodies. They too would become perfect.
But until then, he had this one. He slipped his hand under her torn blouse, squeezed her breast, and slid his hand down her flat belly. There’d still be warmth inside of her to welcome him. He smiled.
For the next few moments, she was the perfect woman.
Chapter 19
Saturday, October 8, 8 A.M.
Angie had dreamed of Kier. She was not sure where last night’s dreams had come from. They’d been dark and erotic, and they’d stirred her from slumber well before dawn. It had been a long time since she’d felt desire, and she’d missed it. Craved it.
She had always had a healthy sexual appetite. There’d only been a few men in her life, but she’d enjoyed them all. That had all changed with Donovan. His sweet, soft words had set her up so perfectly for the cutting betrayal that had left her so wounded and fearful.
Now as she stared down at the morning paper and Donovan’s byline on the front page, she wondered why she’d given that creep so much power. Why was she denying herself because he’d been such a shit? She’d never been afraid of risk before, and yet he’d turned her into a risk-phobic ninny.
Donovan’s article was an artful blend of fantasy and fact. He’d turned Sierra into a saint. He’d taken jabs at Angie and the cops, namely Kier and Garrison, questioning why there’d been no leads since the body had been found five days ago.
Five days. Kier and Garrison had worked almost around the clock in that time. She knew cops well enough to know that they barely had time to shower during an investigation. And to top it off, Kier’s girlfriend had broken up with him.
Her mind skipped to Kier’s face last night. Dark circles had hung under his eyes, and fatigue had softened his rough edges. He would hardly want or expect her pity. In fact he’d likely resent it. But she found a tender spot for the man.
Maybe that moment of tenderness is what had stirred the dreams.
Angie’s cell phone rang. The shrill tone yanked her attention from the morning paper. She glanced at the caller identification. Eva.
She flipped it open. “It’s good to see you know where your phone is.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I saw the missed calls.”
She picked up a steaming mug of coffee, raised it to her lips, and paused. “You drive me crazy when you don’t answer.”
“I can only hope my winning charm makes up for it.”
Angie laughed. “You sound like you’re in a good mood today.”
“I am.”
“So, I assume you worked out your issues with the good detective.”
“I did.”
“Any salacious details you can share with the lonely lawyer?”
Eva laughed. “Sorry, no.”
“Too bad. So what prompts this call?”
“Remember when you said not to tell Garrison about our family connection to the Cross family?”
Angie set down her cup. “You did.”
“I did.”
She pressed fingertips to her temple. “And?”
“He wants to talk to you. So does Kier.”
Heat rushed in her face. “When?”
“One hour. At headquarters.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Garrison says it’s a friendly chat.”
“What about Kier?”
She dropped her voice a notch. “Kinda pissed.”
Angie’s laugh had a nervous edge. “Great.”
“But you’ll come?”
“See you in an hour.”
Malcolm stood at the dry-erase board in the conference room, staring at Sierra Day’s name. He’d drawn a circle around it and from it lines that extended to the names of those who’d wanted to kill her. Her husband. Her lover. Dixon?
And then there was Fay. Dead twenty-eight years. An employee of the Talbot. Darius Cross’s mistress.
And then there was Lulu. Missing. From her name he had only one line, and it extended to Dixon’s name. He knew Sierra, and he sure as hell had a reason to kill Lulu.
Malcolm wrote another name. Angie. He circled it three times, and then drew lines to Sierra, Fay, Lulu, and Dixon.
Right now the only common denominator was Angie.
Malcolm’s cell phone buzzed. “Yeah.”
“It’s Garrison. Eva and I are here.”
“I’m in the conference room.”
In a few minutes, Garrison and Eva appeared in the doorway. Both looked tired but in a good way. Eva had a glow, and Garrison had lost the angry edge that had left him so sharp and brittle last night. They were holding hands.
He didn’t resent their happiness, but it sure as hell didn’t improve his mood. “You two look chipper. Work out the kinks?”
Garrison nodded. “We did.”
“Good for you.” He looked at Eva and managed to soften the gruffness in his voice. “So wher
e is that sister of yours?”
Her cheeks held a glow. “She’s on her way.”
“I’m very curious to hear what she’s found out about your family.”
“She gave me some of the highlights last night, but I was a little distracted. She can give you the full report.”
“Can’t wait.” Angie had sat with him last night, and for just a few moments he’d felt a strong tangible connection to her. His attraction to The Barracuda hadn’t shocked him as much as it had the first time. In fact, he was getting used to it. Maybe that was what bothered him now. He felt a connection. And she didn’t.