Sandman (29 page)

“You’re exaggerating.” Meagan tried to hide her smile.

“Oh, shut up and let me carry you into the house. Must you be so dammed difficult?” She stifled a laugh.

He marched up the five brick steps that led to the front door.

Meagan looked back at Shadowhawk, who had followed them in her own car. She was trailing behind them carrying Meagan’s crutches. “It must be a guy thing,” she said to her.

“Oh yeah, he’s asserting his machismo. Me, Tarzan, you Jane.” Shadowhawk smiled back.

***

Thomas ignored them. They were having a fine time at his expense. When he reached the door, he shifted Meagan in his arms and fiddled in his pocket for the keys. Once he got them out, Shadowhawk appeared beside him.

“You want some help with those?” His partner smiled, a glint of humor in her eyes.

He glared down at her a moment before relinquishing the keys. God forbid he refused her help or next thing he knew they would be accusing him of being a chauvinist pig! She opened the door and stepped aside. He tried to ignore Shadowhawk’s silly grin as he navigated Meagan through the threshold and laid her gently down on the couch in the living room.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked Meagan.

“Just water, thanks.” Meagan smiled up at him. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was a sarcastic smile. He didn’t wait around to find out.

Shadowhawk set the crutches within Meagan’s reach. “I’m going to take off now. I can see you’re in good hands.” She laughed before she leaned down and hugged Meagan.

“Thanks for everything,” Meagan said.

“I’ll call you tomorrow and see how you’re doing. Take care.” She opened the front door and yelled goodbye to Thomas before closing it behind her.

Thomas returned with a glass of ice water and a half-empty bottle of Aquafina, which he set on the table within easy reach. He sat opposite Meagan on the coffee table and watched as she picked at a loose thread on the hem of her sweater.

“Are you all right?” He wondered if she’d changed her mind about staying with him after all.

With her head down, he was able to stare at her at length without reproach. Once again he was struck by her beauty. Her porcelain skin was flawless. Her cheeks blushed naturally by the sun. He ached to see that wild red mane of hers fanned out on his pillow; her full, seductive lips made him hungry for a taste.

This unpredictable woman that had captured his heart was unlike any he had ever known. She was the complete opposite of Victoria. His wife had a quiet reserve. She had been as graceful as a ballerina; she didn’t walk, she glided with her head held high, her back ramrod straight.

The way Victoria had dressed was sophisticated; her entire wardrobe had been beige, brown or black. Always acquired from the same designer in London. On a day-to-day basis, she habitually had worn her thick brunette hair straight down the middle of her back. The ends had been trimmed precisely every six weeks. On those occasions when a gown was expected, when she had performed, or had gone to one of her numerous charity events, her hair had been pulled back in a classic chignon.

Victoria had been raised with wealth and prestige. She had been a debutante, for Christ sake. Thomas had always wondered what she was doing with a crass unsophisticated cop like him. He had been in awe of her, but in all honesty they didn’t have much in common.

On the other hand, Meagan was wild and unpredictable. Her thoughts tumbled out of her mouth, often catching Thomas off guard. She challenged him; she was honest to a fault. She was warm, intelligent, and downright comfortable to be around.

Meagan didn’t mind making a joke at her own expense. She made him laugh and they
did
have a lot in common. Although seven years his junior, in a lot of ways she was wiser. He thought he might know her better in this short time than he had ever known his wife. Victoria was a private woman.

You would never find Victoria sitting on the floor or wearing a pair of jeans. And although she liked the ocean, she would never actually swim in it. Even boats made her nervous.

Meagan was so full of life and he couldn’t imagine
his
life without her in it. A sudden wave of emotion crashed down on him, he needed to touch her. He reached out, caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.

“I’m fine,” she answered without raising her head.

“You don’t look fine.” He put his fingers under her chin and lifted her head. Her eyes gazed up, met his and stayed. They were full of confusion, or was it doubt?
Oh, no, she’s decided not to stay.

He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and never let her go. He wanted to assure her that he would do everything in his power to make certain no one ever hurt her again. But he feared if she knew the depth of his feelings he would frighten her away.

After everything she’d been through, he wouldn’t blame her if she never trusted another man as long as she lived. But he wanted to prove her wrong. He swallowed hard. “Okay, spill it.”

“Well …are you
sure
Jordan was the Sandman?”

His mind snapped out of its reverie, his hand dropped from her face. He jumped off the couch and started pacing.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. The guy was batshit crazy, I know. What I’m trying to say is that he was
so
crazy,
so
out there, that I wonder if he didn’t just fantasize about being this famous serial killer.”

Thomas stopped and stared at her.

“Like he wanted to take credit for everything the Sandman did, himself. Maybe he copied things he had read in the newspaper, or heard on the news. You had to know him to understand, I guess, but the guy was just so over-the-top dramatic about everything that I wouldn’t put it past him, that’s all.”

Thomas turned his back on Meagan and marched over to the window. He didn’t want to think about Jordan Roberts. He didn’t want to remember what a sick son of a bitch he was. But most of all, he didn’t want to relive the moment he thought he’d lost Meagan forever. It was bad enough that his mind replayed that image of her when he least expected it. Her lifeless body, bound to that table, covered in blood.

Every night since it had happened, he’d been having the same bad dream. He’d arrived too late and Meagan was dead. The Sandman had gotten away. He would wake up drenched in sweat. He’d have this undeniable urge to see her, to touch her, to know that she was still alive. That was one of the reasons he needed her here, with him. He needed that constant reassurance.

***

Meagan watched Thomas turn into a completely different man before her eyes. His gait, his stance, everything about him turned rigid. One second he was tender and warm, the next he was all but stomping around the living room like a child having a tantrum.

She stared a hole in his back willing him to turn around. When he didn’t, her impatience grew thin.

“Are you going to answer me, or not?” she finally yelled.

He spun around and confronted her. “Dammit, Meagan!”

She had no idea why anger seethed from every pore of his being. Her question was a valid one. Why was he so dead set against answering it?

His features softened slightly.

“Without a doubt,” he said under his breath.

“Without a doubt what? I make you mad? You want to smack me? Or Jordan was The Sandman?” She was so frustrated she wanted to hit him, too bad she couldn’t reach that far.

“Yes to all of the above!” He turned away, then added, “Let me put it this way: if he weren’t dead, he would have been sent to death row with all the incriminating evidence we’ve found.”

“Like what?” Meagan urged.

He looked at her sideways. “Stop it. I don’t want to talk about this. Just leave it alone. Dammit!” With that, he marched out of the room, headed for the kitchen.

When he didn’t return, Meagan grabbed the crutches off the floor and tried to pull herself up. She was weak and the pain meds made her woozy, but she finally made it up on the third try.

Each time the crutches landed on the hardwood floor, the thud sent pain reverberating through her entire body, but she was angry now. No way was she going to put up with him just walking out. He didn’t get to say when this discussion was over. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now!

FORTY-SEVEN

Meagan came around the wall and found Thomas standing on the kitchen side of the counter. The counter itself divided the kitchen from the dining area and contained the sink as well as the dishwasher. Meagan presumed it was so whoever was doing the dishes could look out at the ocean. Of course, it was probably so a person could talk to the people seated at the table.

Thomas had a glass in his hand that held about two inches of amber liquid inside. A bottle of scotch stood nearby. The moment he caught sight of her he slammed the glass on the tile counter, shattering it in the process. “Shit!”

“What the hell, Meagan!” He stormed over, lifted her up under her arms and carried her over to the kitchen table. He kicked a chair aside so he could set her down, then pulled out a second chair to rest her leg on. Lastly, he snatched the crutches up off the floor and stood them up on the far side of the room.

“What are you trying to do, bust those fricken’ stitches open the first day you’re out of the hospital?” He went back to the other side of the counter and cleaned up the mess from the broken glass.

“I’m going to have to use the crutches sometime. It’s not like you can carry me to the bathroom every time I have to go!”

“The hell I can’t!” He held his head down, refusing to look at her. His hands were splayed on the counter. The muscles in his rigid arms strained the sleeves of his t-shirt. The veins bulged all the way down to his hands.

“Thomas, you’re being ridiculous. I’m not a doll, I won’t break.”

He hazarded a glance at her. He looked as if he was going to start breathing fire any minute. Then just as quickly, he stared back down at the counter and shook his head.

“Don’t you think I’ve earned the right to know everything? We’re talking about a man I thought I was in love with, shared a bed with, almost married for heaven’s sake.” She took a deep breath. “A man who killed my dog, my friend, and dammit, almost me!”

“Don’t remind me,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” Meagan leaned forward not sure she’d heard him correctly.

He whipped his head up so fast it was a wonder he didn’t get whiplash. “Fine!” His face scrunched up in anger.

She flinched at the sudden outburst.

“What the
fuck
do you want to know? Do you want all the
grisly
details? Like all the body parts we found in his
nice…big…
freezer? Or should I say his trophies? How he had Polaroid’s of all the victims so he could relive his precious memories over and over again? How he placed some of those pictures in plastic bags with the girls’ severed breasts so he knew
exactly
which pair belonged to whom?”

His eyes glazed over as he continued his rant. Meagan thought he was mad before, but now he bordered on hysteria.

“Or how we found the computer he used to lure his first victim? Or maybe how he acquired most of his prey by simply putting a knife through a tire, then following them until they pulled over?

“How about the way we found his wife? Oh, that’s one for the record books. We found her tied to their bed. He used an axe for that one. He left that weapon at the crime scene. But the
best
part was how we had to identify her. That was done by the few fingers left at the scene and a tattoo, because her head’s still missing!”

***

Thomas stopped. He was out of breath. The silence that followed was deafening. When he finally focused on Meagan, tears silently fell down her cheeks.

“Oh, God, Meagan, I’m so sorry.” He raced over, dropped down on his knees and took her face in his hands. He wiped her tears away with his thumbs. “I’m such a shit.”

He pulled her against him, stroked her hair.

“Dammit,” he cursed himself under his breath.

He pulled back and stared into her eyes. What he saw was hurt and pain. All the things he’d wanted to protect her from and here he was just piling on more.

Another tear escaped her eye. He leaned forward and kissed it away. He kissed the corners of each eye, her forehead, then he tenderly kissed her lips. When she didn’t resist, he kissed her again then pulled away. They gazed at one another.

He waited for her to say something, anything. Instead she took his face in her hands and kissed him. When their tongues touched for the first time, it was as if a lightning bolt had struck him. The current sent a shiver straight down to his groin, and he moaned into her mouth.

He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close. As the kiss grew more passionate, his arousal increased. Immediately he needed to feel her body. He pulled her out of the chair and molded her against him. Her feet dangled inches from the floor while he deepened the kiss.

Meagan wiggled out of the embrace. She was breathless, her face flushed, her lips red and swollen. He was taken aback, that was, until she threw off her sweater and tossed her bra aside. He sighed at the beauty of her breasts, neither small, nor overly large, but full and perfect.

His right hand gently cupped one breast, while his mouth leaned down to the once injured nipple letting his tongue trace the almost-healed cut. He lightly pinched the other breast and was awarded by a deep throaty groan. His erection strained harder against his pants.

Without taking his mouth from her breast, he kicked off his shoes, then fiddled with his jeans. Within seconds his pants
and
shorts were down around his ankles. He stepped out of them and pushed them aside with his foot.

Meagan broke the kiss and gazed down his half-naked body. She raised her eyebrows, then a seductive smile tugged at her lips. He bit back a laugh at her obvious approval. He thought he would explode right then and there. He snatched her up, and set her on the table.

As quickly and carefully as he could, he removed the last of her clothes. He gazed upon her curvaceous body in awe. The superficial cuts had scabbed over; the rope burns around her wrists were almost healed. He just needed to be mindful of her injured leg.