Edge of Midnight (29 page)

“Kiss me again,” Eric demanded huskily. Mia lowered her mouth to his as she rode him, their passion embodied in the feel of his lips against hers. He nipped at her bottom lip, lapping at the hurt with his tongue and causing Mia to groan in response. It made her want more of him, made her drive down on him more deeply, over and over. A tightening sensation built in her core that only got stronger with each rise and fall of her body onto his, until she was so close to coming that his name escaped from her lips, her fingers catching in his short hair. Instinctively, he knew when she’d reached the point of no return. Mia gasped as he moved forward with her, pinning her onto the bed with his hard frame. He took control then, thrusting into her as she climaxed around him.

He came seconds after her, his body shuddering with his own release.

Afterward, Mia lay on her back, her dark hair spread across the pillow. Eric had turned onto his side facing her. She felt his eyes studying her, and she ran her fingers over the corded sinews of his forearm, feeling the light sprinkling of crisp, male hair on his skin. The room around them was black except for a silver shaft of moonlight reaching through a gap in the curtains.

“I hate the dark,” she whispered. She paused before confessing the reason. “My mother used to lock me in the closet when I was small.”

When he spoke, his voice was low. “I can turn on the bathroom light.”

She shook her head. “I feel safe with you.”

He pulled her closer, turning her so their bodies were spooned together. His breath felt warm against her hair. Her hand covered Eric’s on her stomach, his fingers brushing over the scabbed, reddened numeral on her skin. Like her nail beds, the wound was healing. But the carving would leave a scar. It was a part of who she was now.

Mia thought about what he’d told her earlier, about hearing his wife’s last moments on the digital recording that night. The same man who hurt her had brutalized him as well, although in a different way. He was broken, like her.

I’m in love with him.

She accepted that emotion, even as she understood there were no promises between them. All they had was now.

29

A
clock in the shape of the sun hung on the wall of the bungalow’s kitchen. Eric glanced up at it as he heard a car pull into the crushed-shell driveway outside. Peering through the small, curtained window above the sink, he sighed. Mia was still asleep, so he went to catch Cameron before he knocked.

Cam carried the Sunday newspaper, which he tossed onto the table as he entered. Walt Rudner’s byline was beneath the front-page headline:
Jax Serial Killer May Have Claimed Another Victim.

“It says a syringe was found at the scene matching the unsub’s M.O. We don’t have labs back on the contents yet and they’re reporting it,” he grumbled before heading into the kitchen.

Nor had the task force made an official statement yet, although a news briefing was scheduled for later in the day. Eric scanned the article, which gave Penney Niemen’s name as the deceased and listed the apartment building’s address. He thought of the deputies and forensics techs who had worked the scene. One of them had shared information about the syringe with Rudner, evidence that linked the unsub to last night’s death. He continued reading, his frown deepening as he reached the third paragraph.

Although an autopsy has yet to be conducted, a preliminary examination by the Duval County Medical Examiner’s office indicates the likelihood of foul play. An earlier victim, the only woman believed to have escaped the serial killer dubbed The Collector, resides at the same building where the suspicious death occurred, suggesting she may have been the intended target.

At least the article hadn’t given Mia’s name, maintaining some modicum of privacy.

“The building’s been all over the television this morning,” Cameron said as he returned with a mug of coffee from the kitchen. “I’m guessing you put Ms. Hale somewhere else for the night.”

Eric released a breath. He might as well tell him now. “She’s here, actually.”

Cameron’s gaze flicked to the bedroom’s closed door. “Then I’m going to assume you slept on the couch.”

“Let’s go out on the deck.” He didn’t want Mia overhearing their discussion. Stopping at the coffeemaker on the kitchen counter, he refilled his own mug he’d left next to the sink. A sliding glass door took up much of the room’s rear wall. Unlocking it, he pushed through the vertical blinds and went outside with Cameron behind him. It was still early, and the air outside was warm but not yet uncomfortable. A wood fence enclosed the small backyard, beyond which a few weathered beach houses could be seen on the posterior street.

“I want a watch put on her. We’ve got justification now. And I also want to use this place as a safe house,” Eric said.

Cameron leaned against the deck railing. “Why not just assign a detail to her apartment?”

“You’ve seen the building—it’s huge. The courtyard, verandas and staircases—there are too many places to hide and too many points of entry. It would take six or seven uniforms to properly secure it. This place is small and contained. We can put a single unit right out front.”

“And where will
you
be moving to?” he asked pointedly.

“I’ll be here with her at night. With the limited resources we have, it makes sense.”

Lips pressed together, Cameron looked over the yard with its mixture of grass and sand. In the far corner, a rope hammock hung between one of the fence posts and a scrubby grapefruit tree. “You never did have much of a poker face, Eric. How long have you been screwing her?”

Seagulls flew overhead, cawing as they headed to the ocean. His face heated. “It’s not like that.”

“You care about her.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

The admission must have given Cameron pause, because for once he was without a rebuttal. Eric had an idea of what was on his mind, however.

“Look, before you start, I don’t need a lecture on protocol. It’s been drummed into my head since I was a rookie. ‘Don’t get involved—’”

“I don’t give a damn about protocol. I’m not your supervisor.” Cameron placed his mug on the railing. “And let’s set aside the fact that she’s a reporter—”

“She’s been taken off the investigation.”

“You’re my
friend,
Eric.” His concern appeared genuine. “This psychopath
wants
her. Last night proved it. What if he gets to her, too?”

Like Rebecca.
Eric felt sick at the thought. “We’re not going to let that happen. She’s going to end up dead if she continues running around Jacksonville by herself. It’s by sheer luck she’s not the one lying on a slab in the M.E.’s freezer right now.”

Cameron checked his watch. “Speaking of, we’ve got the Niemen autopsy at eleven and the news briefing at two-thirty. They’re also going to want an update on the Karen Diambro abduction—not that we have anything new to tell them—as part of it. In the meantime, I’d like to go by the crime scene.”

Eric nodded. “We’ll take Mia with us. She’s going to need to pack some things. Afterward, I can have a deputy bring her back here and stay with her until we can make a more formal schedule.”

He glanced through the glass doors into the kitchen. Mia stood at the coffeemaker, her back to them, unaware of their presence. At least she was dressed. When Eric had left her in bed that morning, she’d been gloriously naked. He’d yearned to make love to her again, but he knew she needed to rest. Her sleep had been fitful last night, at best.

“Give me a few minutes to talk to her alone, all right?”

He left Cameron on the deck. Mia turned abruptly when she heard the door’s glass panel slide open, her face pale.

“I’m sorry.” He came into the kitchen, placing his mug on the counter. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I didn’t know you were outside.” She held her own coffee mug in both hands, cupped between her palms. Faint, violet shadows smudged her eyes.

“I got milk,” he said. “In the fridge—”

“Is that Agent Vartran?” she asked, seeing Cameron, who had apparently taken the opportunity to make a call. He paced the deck’s cedar planking, his phone to his ear. A blush stained her cheeks, and Eric figured she was wondering how much the other agent knew about them.

“Yeah. We have some things to do. But we’re going by your apartment first.”

Misinterpreting, she set the mug on the counter. “Just give me a few minutes to pack up, all right?”

“Mia.” He gently caught her wrist, halting her retreat. “You don’t understand. I’m not…dropping you off. Agent Vartran and I think you need to stay here for a while. I’d like you to come with us and get some more of your things. Whatever you need.”

Her lips parted slightly as she looked at him. “For how long?”

“Until we catch this guy.” Eric went with her into the living area. “I’ll be with you at night. During the day or when the investigation calls me away, we’ll have a JSO squad car right outside.”

“Why can’t we do this at my apartment?”

“The unsub knows where you live. He can’t come after you again if he doesn’t know where to find you. Besides, resources are limited and it will take less men to protect you here than at your building.”

“Today’s Sunday. What about tomorrow? I have to go to work.”

“You may have to take some time off.”

“I can’t,” she said. “I won’t. I’m already in trouble with Grayson.”

“I’ll talk to him—”

“That’s not a good idea.” Mia rubbed a hand over her eyes. “The
Courier
’s considering more layoffs. I need to be there and be productive. After the investigation’s over, I have a life I’ll need to get back to. And I’ll need my job. If you haven’t heard, they’re hard to come by in the newspaper business these days.”

Stress was visible on her features. The past several weeks had been a disruption, he knew. It rankled him that Grayson Miller was putting additional pressure on her right now.

“We’ll figure something out, all right?” He stepped closer, sliding his hands over her arms in a consoling gesture. “Even if that means giving you an escort to and from work.”

She didn’t appear happy about the prospect.

“Do you trust me?” he asked in a low voice.

Mia gave a faint nod. Eric turned as he heard footsteps in the kitchen. Cameron came into the living area.

“Ms. Hale,” he said in somber greeting, then shifted his attention to Eric. “I just got off the phone with Scofield. She got a heads-up—Karen Diambro’s ex-husband is talking to the media. He’s complaining the task force isn’t doing enough to find her. The segment’s going to run on the evening news.”

He shook his head, irritated. “We’ve been busting our asses looking for her, with men working overtime. We’re doing all we can. I don’t know what else he expects.”

Eric released a breath, feeling the heavy weight of responsibility on his shoulders.

“He expects us to find her.”

Crime scene tape still cordoned off the apartment building’s courtyard, appearing out of place among its serene, gurgling fountain and stone benches. Two deputies, a male and female, remained stationed at the front to keep out the unauthorized. Flashing his shield at the officers, Eric placed a reassuring hand against the small of Mia’s back as they entered.

“I guess I don’t have to ask where the body was found,” Cameron commented under his breath. A cleanup crew was at work, one of them using a pressure washer at the base of the stairs to remove Penney Niemen’s blood from the concrete.

Eric noticed Mia had turned her head away from the scene.

“I’m going upstairs, if that’s okay,” she said.

He motioned to the female deputy. “Go with her, please.”

The cleanup crew halted their work long enough for Mia and the officer to slip carefully past them and climb the steps to her apartment. Concerned, Eric’s eyes followed them up to the landing.

“So tell me how this went down.”

Eric walked Cameron through the likely scenario of what had taken place, culminating in the deceased’s skull being repeatedly bashed against the concrete, based on the M.E.’s initial assessment. He pointed out the planter at the base of the staircase. “The syringe was found over there, the needle upright in the dirt like a dart. We figure it was lost in the struggle on the second-floor landing and ended up falling into the planter.”

Wearing sunglasses, Cameron glanced around the courtyard and building. “I see what you mean. There’s a dozen different places around here for someone to hide. It would take a platoon to seal it down.”

“There’s a set of staircases on the building’s rear, too. It’s basically a duplicate image of the front, although the courtyard in back has a swimming pool.”

“Nice place,” Cameron noted.

“Mia said the current owners renovated it from a single estate home into three units. It was built in the 1920s by a gangster who made a fortune bootlegging alcohol.”