Dangerous Kisses (13 page)

"How long do you think we’ll stay out here?" When had she made the decision to stay with him on the boat instead of at her apartment? Probably when she’d dreamed about the killer reaching in her window and grabbing her. She’d awakened with her heart thundering, and even in his sleep Jake had wrapped his arms around her, comforting her.

"I don’t know. We’ll take it day by day, see if the guy makes a move or slips up. I think he’s probably more frustrated than he’s been since he began. The other girls had no idea to watch out for him. You do."

"But he made sure I knew by sending me chocolate and leaving me a message, by calling and taunting. What did he expect?"

"I’m guessing he wasn’t banking on me taking you out of his grasp."

"And that’s why he’s angry with you, too?"

"Partly. But I think it’s more he knew somehow that we were...attracted to each other."

"How would he know that? He’d have to be so close." A shiver ran down her back at the thought of the killer being someone she was near on a regular basis. A neighbor, possibly. Or, heaven forbid, someone at work. She searched her memories for anything out of the ordinary from any of the men in her apartment complex or office. Nothing came to mind.

"That’s what I suspect. I think it’s someone you’ve been near, maybe even met." He leaned forward. "I got the profile back from the FBI. I didn’t see anything that shed light on the killer’s identity but I need you to think about it, see if the profile matches anyone you know."

"Okay."

He went over the analysis, and she strained to match the profile with a face. When he finished, she shook her head.

"It could be almost anyone." It frustrated her that none of the specifics illuminated a light bulb in her memory. "Doesn’t it turn out sometimes that these guys are married with children? They have this secret life their next-door neighbors couldn’t have imagined?"

"Sometimes, yes, but I need you to focus on this profile. Does it match anyone you know?"

She rubbed her temples, trying to ward off the headache building there. She scanned through a typical day, the men with whom she’d come into contact.

The two musicians who lived across the breezeway. Carl, the apartment manager. Bill, other reporters, pressmen. Mailmen and the Fed Ex guy. The freckle-faced teen who changed the oil in her car. Even customers at the paper. None of them seemed like killers, but serial killers often didn’t. The thought that she could have stood next to a cold-blooded serial killer without knowing it chilled her insides. She rubbed her arms against the cold.

"Nothing stands out." She wished she could remember something that might help them. "Maybe I don’t know him. I don’t think I knew anyone who knew Maggie or Stephanie. Maybe the only reason he’s targeted me is because of my articles."

"Possibly, but something in my gut tells me he knows you."

The feeling of being scared of everyone and everything that had haunted her in the months after her mother’s death tried to reclaim her, but she fought it off. She would not live like that, afraid to face the world each day.

That her world currently consisted of the small confines of a boat didn’t bother her. It was simply a temporary reprieve before she went back to reclaim her life.

"Just keep thinking about it," he said. "Maybe something will come to you."

She nodded as she shoved her lukewarm eggs around on her plate, her appetite gone.

Despite the deadly seriousness of what she faced, Jake did his best to distract her. He dug a kite from beneath his bed, untangled the string as he climbed to the deck, and let the wind send it sailing into the bright blue sky. She stood wrapped in one of his heavier jackets and laughed at his antics.

He held the string out to her. "You try it."

She took the string and squealed when she almost let the kite fall to the lake’s surface. "Where did you get this thing? You don’t seem like the kite-flying type."

"I’m not that big of an ogre."

"I didn’t say that. It just seems frivolous, and you’re not what I’d call a frivolous guy."

"I found it floating in the water next to my boat one day. I figure some kid lost it."

"I haven’t flown a kite in years. Guess I haven’t been too frivolous either." She and Jake weren’t so different when it came to work. They’d both built their lives around it, lived and breathed it.

She caught him staring at her, a curious expression on his face.

"Why did you become a reporter?"

"To help justice be served," she said without hesitation.

"Why not a police officer, an attorney, even a judge?"

"Too much red tape, too many rules. They are all too constrained by politics. I wanted the freedom to expose things the police are forbidden to reveal. I’d always been a good writer, and I learned early on about the power of the press."

"How so?"

She reeled in the kite, taking the time to calm herself. Each time she thought of the days and months following her mother’s death, she was eleven years old again, feeling the anguish of a child whose mother had been ripped away.

"When my mother was killed, there was shock and sadness throughout the community. Kimmerville, Illinois, is small enough that many people knew my mom. She’d treated them at one time or another, or had dealings with them through the farm.

"But everything blew up when the media found out there had been another carjacking incident only the week before. That person wasn’t a local and only got roughed up a little when the carjackers shoved him out of the car, so the story never made it out of the police department. They thought it was an isolated incident. I guess they didn’t want people to panic." She looked at Jake, recalling his same argument after they’d found Maggie’s body.

"Did they interview the other victim?"

"Yeah. I was too young to know how any of it worked at the time, but when I got older I went back and checked. An officer who’d been on the force at the time said they’d interviewed the guy, but he hadn’t been able to provide any type of identification. And there were never any more carjackings, so there weren’t any other witnesses."

"Did the police say why they thought your mother was killed when the other guy was only pulled from the car?"

"They figured Mom screamed or fought back, and the guy panicked, afraid someone would hear her." Sydney’s throat tightened, and tears filled her eyes. "After all these years, it still hurts as bad as it did then. Mom never got to see me graduate, go to college, get my first job."

Jake turned her in his arms and kissed her forehead before pulling her next to him. It felt so incredibly right to lean on him for strength and comfort.

She dreaded the day when he’d no longer be there to offer her a shoulder to cry on, an embrace to collapse into.

After a few minutes, he kissed the top of her head. "If we want to eat anything besides stale bread, we need to weigh anchor."

Sydney stepped back and shook off the remainder of her dreary mood. "I really need to pick up some clean clothes too," she said. "And my laptop if I want to get any work done."

During the next couple of hours, they shopped for groceries, picked up the things Sydney needed at her apartment, and stopped by the justice center so Jake could check in and pick up some files. Sydney did her best to ignore the questioning looks Detective O’Malley and the other squad member in the office sent Jake’s direction. Jake did a better job of ignoring them than she did.

When they were back in Jake’s car, she asked, "So, what are the odds the entire department won’t be gossiping about us by sundown?"

"Less than zero."

Sydney was surprised that she really didn’t care.

When they returned to the boat, Jake guided them to a spot near the island. Sydney set up her makeshift office at the little kitchen table while Jake went up on deck to make phone calls. Sydney booted her laptop, then just sat staring at the cursor. She needed to dive into a new investigative or feature piece, but she kept wondering if Bill had made a decision about her first-person account. When she’d talked to him that morning, he’d said he’d read it and was considering running it. She could tell his stance on keeping her off the story was warring with his journalistic instincts that he had a great piece on his hands. Despite his genuine concern, her money was on him running it. She wondered how Jake would react.

Focus, she needed to focus on getting some work done. Okay, feature piece. She thought of and cast aside half a dozen ideas, none of which spoke to her. Her thoughts turned to Jake, who she could hear talking up on deck though she couldn’t understand his words. Probably talking to O’Malley or one of the other Murder Squad guys.

That was it. A feature on the Murder Squad. Lots of people probably didn’t know they existed or what they did.

She climbed the steps and waited until he ended the call he was on. "I’d like to do a feature on the Murder Squad."

The hesitance clouded his face instantly. "You would have to ask the chief."

"I’m not fishing for an expose here."

"Still, all requests have to go through the chief and Public Affairs."

"Okay, fine, off the record then."

Jake sank into a lawn chair, evidently resigned. "So far off the record, you can’t see the record."

She smiled and asked a few background questions, which he answered with some semblance of thoroughness.

"Are there any women on the Murder Squad?"

"No."

"Hmm, you need to rectify that situation, I think."

"Hey, it’s not my fault. I’d say they’ve got good sense to stay away if they want a life outside work. The hours are long, the work frustrating, and you want to wring people’s necks on a regular basis."

"But you love it."

Jake glanced out across the water to where a family of ducks was floating by. "I don’t even know if I love it. It’s more like it has its hooks in me and won’t let go. I’ve done it so long, I don’t think I could do anything else. I’d always be wanting to jump into cases and round up the scum."

"Send them to jail and throw away the key?"

"Something like that."

She understood his drive, his need to see justice triumph. But mixed with that admiration was concern for his safety.

She stayed on deck when he went below to call Kevin. A few other boats were out, mainly fishermen, but they kept their distance. She wondered if the killer was aboard any of them, but was determined not to stay below, hiding like a mole. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cower.

The chill of an increasing breeze was what finally forced her to descend the stairs. After one more phone call, Jake followed.

"Kevin said he’d be by in a couple of hours with some photos of our less than desirable citizens to see if any of their faces ring a bell for you."

"You invited him here?"

"Yeah, thought there might be a tiny chance to quiet some of the gossip if he came out here."

"Oh, okay." As the words left her mouth, she noticed the hungry gleam in Jake’s eyes.

He wanted her again. A hot flush sluiced through her.

The cabin seemed to shrink around them, making her more and more aware of his presence. He walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps.

"I can think of a couple of ways to spend those two hours," he said, his voice husky.

"Flying a kite?"

"Not exactly." He captured her lips with his, sending her mind sailing like the kite had only hours earlier.

Sydney stretched, a bit embarrassed that it was the middle of the afternoon and she was still in bed. Granted, there hadn’t been a lot of sleep involved, just the light dozing after another round of fabulous lovemaking.

She turned onto her side to watch Jake sleep. The ease with which he fell into a deep sleep told her he didn’t get enough rest. Not that she wasn’t guilty of the same deprivation. She stared at the masculine lines of his face, those lips that could be both fierce and tender, his strong shoulders.

She traced the outline of his jaw with her fingertips, then dropped them to his chest, hard and taut even in sleep.

"Did you not get enough?" He suddenly rolled atop her, very much awake.

"I think I need to rest for awhile."

He collapsed onto her, but without crushing her with his full weight. "Good, because I think you’ve worn me out."

She giggled, a strange, girlish sound she hadn’t uttered in years. "Maybe you’re out of practice, Detective Radley. Perhaps you need to build up your stamina."

He lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. "I didn’t hear any complaints about my stamina a few minutes ago."

Before she could make another sassy retort, he captured her mouth in a mind-spinning kiss. How did he keep doing that? She drifted in a sea of decadence and indulgence, soaking Jake into her very pores until he abruptly pulled away.

"What’s wrong?" she asked just before she heard it — a boat engine, close and getting closer. Her thoughts flew to the killer. Was he coming for her when she was at her most vulnerable? Or was she letting the situation make her paranoid?

Jake glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. "Damn. He’s early." He leapt from the bed, grabbing clothes as he went.

It took her a moment to realize he meant Kevin. At first, relief washed over her, then mortification. One didn’t have to be a top detective to deduce what their rumpled appearance meant. There wasn’t enough time to dress and tame their hair, to hide the fact that they’d spent the past hour naked and enjoying more than each other’s company. Her whole body blushed.

The boat motor shut off as Jake was shoving his shirttail into his pants. Shoeless and still looking like the god of sex, he strode toward the stairs.

"Stay here," he said.

"Oh, yeah, that’ll fool him."

"Would you rather prance up there with your hair going in seven directions?"

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Later," he promised, making her blush all over again.

As soon as he disappeared, she fled to the tiny bathroom to try to get her bed head under control. She stared in the mirror and used Jake’s hairbrush to brush out her long locks. Her hair wasn’t sticking out in seven directions. Two or three maybe, but definitely not seven.

She washed her face, rinsed out her mouth and pulled on her clothes, trying vainly to smooth out the wrinkles. Once fully dressed and as unsexy as she could make herself, she made the bed then chuckled at herself. One look would be all it’d take for Kevin to know she’d been pleasured, and pleasured well. He’d probably already figured that out the minute Jake emerged from the cabin.

Still, she made the effort, wanting to keep the fragile relationship she’d forged with Jake to themselves and fearing it would crumble when it met the inquiring gaze of an outside party.

With a deep breath, she climbed the stairs. "Oh, hey," she said to Kevin when she reached the deck. "Dang, it’s chillier than when I came up here earlier. I was hoping it’d gotten warmer so I could sit up here for awhile. Gets pretty boring sitting down there staring at the paneling."

She hadn’t fooled him. She could tell that by the quick glance he shot Jake. After that, she couldn’t quite make eye contact.

"Would you like some coffee?" she asked Kevin while pretending to shield the sun from her eyes.

"That sounds nice. Thanks." Kevin handed the mugshot books over to Jake. "I’ll be glad when we get all of these online. They’re a pain in the butt to drag around."

As they descended into the cabin, Sydney forced herself not to look at the bed to see if it had a giant, blinking, neon sign above it that said "Recent sex had here."

To his credit, Kevin went straight to the table and spread out the books opposite her open laptop.

"Why the mugshot books?" Sydney asked. "Do you all have a lead?"

"Nope. The books are out because we don’t have any leads," Kevin said. "We’re hoping for a miracle, but my gut tells me he’s not in here."

"Why?"

"Because the killer’s smart and these guys aren’t."

As she began to turn the pages, examining each photo carefully, Sydney had to agree. They looked like the dimmest bulbs in the pack.

"Hey, he looks familiar." Then she looked at the name. T.J. Bifford. "Oh, that would be because I covered his arrest for trying to rob the ER at Vandy. Definitely not bright."

Even though none of them had expected her to magically ID the killer, the sense of failure descended on the room when she closed the final book. "Sorry."

"Not your fault," Kevin said. "Worth a try. Well, gotta go." Kevin hopped up and slipped the books under his arm.

"Got a hot date?" Jake asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes I do." Kevin grinned wide.

"I swear, you date more girls than anyone I’ve ever known."

Kevin shrugged. "Hey, if you’ve got it..."

They followed Kevin up to the deck.

"I want to know the minute anything happens," Jake said suddenly, bringing the reality of the situation back into full light.

"I’ll call if we find out anything." Kevin looked back at Sydney. "Don’t let him con you into cooking for him. He’s not quite civilized, and he might revert back to his Neanderthal self."

The wicked glint in Kevin’s eyes and the way he fought a full-fledged smile almost made her laugh.

"Weren’t you about to leave?" Jake asked.

Kevin winked at her before he started the engine on his boat.

They watched him gun the boat across the open water, growing smaller by the second. She turned her head to find Jake staring at her, his eyebrows slightly raised.

"It’s boring down below, huh?" He moved toward her like a panther stalking its prey. "I guess I’ll have to try a little harder to impress you."

She found her voice just as he stopped mere inches from her, so close his warm breath caressed her face. "I thought you said you were worn out."

"I’m a patient man. And you’re not going anywhere."

****

Despite the always present concern about a stalker waiting for the right moment to pounce and the fact that she and Jake did actually do some work, Sydney felt as if she’d embarked on a mini vacation. They played poker — strip, of course — and watched some daytime TV, making fun of the people on the talk shows and muting the sound so they could invent their own crazy dialogue for the soaps. By the time it started getting dark, their stomachs were growling at each other like two territorial dogs.

"Guess it’s time to eat." Jake pulled a couple of steaks and potatoes from the supplies they’d bought.

Sydney followed him up to the deck, but as he uncovered the grill, her teeth nearly chattered.

"Go back down before you freeze," he said.

She didn’t argue. To make herself useful, she set the table and pulled out the box of chocolate cupcakes. She placed one individually wrapped cupcake next to each plate just as Jake entered the cabin to retrieve some tongs to turn the food on the grill.

He eyed the cupcakes. "We sure have a high-dollar dessert, don’t we?"

"Hey, it’s chocolate. Can’t go wrong with chocolate."

Left with nothing to do when he returned to chef duty, Sydney sank onto the lumpy couch and opened her laptop. She did some research about meth labs for a series she was working on about the growing drug problem in rural areas. The stories and statistics were depressing.

She switched over to her continuing research on serial killer cases, not because it was any less depressing but because she wanted to know everything she could about what made this guy tick.

After several minutes of reading about the bizarre and disturbing things found in the homes of serial killers – personal items such as victims’ underwear and thousands of pictures of the women they stalked before killing them – Sydney shut her computer. Never had looking into the minds of criminals made her so queasy. Of course, she’d never been a target.

Wanting to focus on life instead of death, she eyed the table and wished for some candles. But she didn’t bother to look for any. Jake Radley didn’t seem like the kind of man who’d even think about buying candles. If he didn’t have electricity, he’d just sit in the dark or leave.

Without anything to occupy her mind, it wandered. She worried that Jake might be a target of the killer up on the deck, but she tamped down her overactive imagination. She couldn’t see anyone sneaking up on Jake. He was too alert, too poised to react at a moment’s notice.

But what if the killer had a gun and took a shot at Jake from somewhere out on the lake? With daylight fading, a shooter might even get away. Or get to her before she figured out how to get the boat under way.

Despite the chill, she climbed the steps and joined him by the grill, which thankfully gave off some warmth.

"Miss me?" he asked.

"My, my, you do think highly of yourself."

"Honey, you’re the one who put those thoughts in my head. All that panting and moaning is good for a guy’s ego, among other things."

She swatted him hard on the upper arm. "No wonder you don’t have a steady girlfriend. You turn into Egoman at the slightest provocation."

"I wouldn’t say the provocation was slight."

She huffed and moved to the edge of the boat, scanning the horizon. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but then according to Jake she might walk by a killer on a daily basis without even knowing it.

****

Jake watched Sydney as she searched the surface of the lake. They might tease and laugh, but there was no escaping the reason behind their self-imposed exile. A killer with black violence in his heart had targeted her and wouldn’t rest until he bent her to his will and finally broke her.

His gut clenched at the thought, and his hands itched to squeeze the life from the killer as the nameless man had done to Maggie and Stephanie. In theory, everyone deserved a fair trial, but sometimes Jake had trouble with the concept when the accused was so obviously guilty of heinous crimes. He wouldn’t change the policy even if given the chance, but it sickened him all the same to see cold-blooded killers warm and well fed while their victims

lay sealed up in graves before their lives really got started.

Jake tried to shake the disturbing images by refocusing his attention on the food atop the grill. He flipped the steaks a final time and pushed the potatoes off to the side.

When he looked back at Sydney, his heart tumbled over itself. Her long hair floated in the breeze, and the cool wind had pinkened her cheeks. He ached to touch her, tell her what his mind had screamed as they’d made love — that he’d fallen in love with her. It still amazed him, how it had all happened with blinding speed, catching him unaware. More than once, he’d almost blurted the words. Could he be selfish enough to tell her, perhaps having her return the feelings, only to rip her life apart?

He stabbed at the meat, transferring it from the grill to a plate. When had he become so fatalistic? Before meeting Sydney, he’d rarely thought of being killed in the line of duty, had simply accepted it as a chance he took each day he put on his badge.

"Is it ready?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Good. I’m starved."

Eating on the deck would have been nice, even romantic, but the persistent breeze had begun to hint of the coming winter. Even below, they could hear it whistling around the edges of the boat.

When something hit the side of the boat, they both started, showing just how jumpy they were. Jake went up to determine the source of the sound but only found a log floating beside the hull. "Probably washed off the island," he said when he told Sydney what he’d found.

Despite his hunger, Jake spent almost as much time watching Sydney eat as enjoying his own food. When she finished her steak and potato and bit into the chocolate cupcake, he hardened beneath the table. Damn, he was hornier than a deer with a full rack.

"You’re a decent cook," she said as she leaned back from the table.

"It’s the grilling gene. Men are born with it."

She smiled, nearly shattering his heart with the beauty of it. When she slid her hand across the table to clasp his, he turned his palm up and ran his thumb over the soft skin on the top of her hand.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"For being so stubborn."

"Gee, thanks."

"No, really." She sighed before continuing. "I really needed to get away, but I would have never done it on my own. It’s like I’m addicted to work, like if I’m not there things will fall apart."

"I can relate."

She caught his gaze and held it with those hypnotic green eyes. "Maybe we both need to learn that the world will go on if we’re not at the office."

"Maybe so." The idea of working less and spending more time with Sydney tempted him, but he pushed the seductive image aside. When they caught the man stalking her, things would go back to the way they were before, him working just as much and her pushing him at every turn with her demands for information. At least that’s what he told himself.

"Why do you hate reporters so much?" she asked, as if she could read his mind.

"Hate is a pretty strong word."

"You don’t have to soften it for me. I know what I saw that day you found Maggie. If looks could kill, I’d have been as dead as her."

He winced. "I didn’t know you then."

"No, you were going on past experience, I’d say." She skimmed her fingers along the flesh of his palm. "What did a reporter do to you that made you hate us all?"

He stood and made for the stairs, needing to get away from the images flooding his mind, twisting his gut in knots. He would have made it too if Sydney hadn’t risen just as abruptly and blocked his path.