SEE HER DIE (13 page)

Too bad he got himself dead first.

“Yes,” Mac said in answer to Novak’s question and to the man’s utter surprise. “Actually, I do.” Duncan waited silently on the other side of the room. He’d learned the first week on the job with Mac not to speak or show any emotion no matter how startled he might be at what he witnessed.

“Please, gentlemen,” Novak gestured to the sofa and chairs, “make yourselves comfortable. This discussion could prove interesting.”

Mac didn’t have any hard evidence connecting the murders of the women to Harrison’s death, but, in his gut, he knew they were connected. Harrison’s murderer might have been a woman, but a man had killed those women. The preliminaries on the first two victims had confirmed sexual assault. However things started out, the evidence showed the victims had resisted. Surprisingly the killer had left behind seminal fluid, which could ultimately identify him. Mac wondered if Brian Novak was that stupid.

He dumped Elizabeth, so he must be. That notion seared Mac’s brain like a hot blade. He blinked it away, refused to allow her into his thoughts right now. She had become a distraction he couldn’t afford.

Mac took Novak up on his invitation and settled on the sofa. Duncan remained standing near the door. That routine was another thing he’d learned. When two agents attended an interview, one always stood to maintain the subliminal intimidation factor.

“Do you have an alibi or don’t you?” Mac asked.

“I was at a party,” Novak said smugly. “Ned was supposed to be there, as well, but I guess he ran into a snag, so to speak.”

The man’s treatment of Elizabeth Young aside, there was something Mac didn’t like about Novak. Maybe it was that beach-bum tan or the windblown way he wore his blond hair. Could be the earring or even the blatant way he stared at Mac. From his manner of dress to his posture, the man clearly thought he was God’s gift to women. Men, too, Mac decided. He hadn’t missed the way Novak sized up Duncan when they arrived. Poor Elizabeth. She hadn’t had a chance against a smooth operator like this. A lamb in the crosshairs of a wolf.

Mac clenched his jaw and attempted again to banish her from his mind. For the hundredth time he marveled at just how much difficulty he was having with this case... with
her
.

“I’d say he did,” Mac replied, not the least bit amused by the man’s gallows humor. “Why don’t you give me some names of people who can verify your whereabouts?”

Novak drained his glass and set it aside. “Certainly.”

As Mac jotted down the information, Novak rattled off a lengthy list of names and phone numbers. When Mac had crossed the
t
on the last one, he lifted his gaze to the other man’s. “I don’t see Elizabeth Young on your list. Aren’t you two involved?”

That was the one time since they knocked on the guy’s door that Duncan glanced at Mac. Yeah, yeah, he knew the answer to the question. But this bozo didn’t know what Mac knew and what he didn’t. Truth was, he wanted—no, needed Novak’s take on the relationship. What did that make him? A masochist?

“That relationship ended months ago,” Novak said with a practiced laugh. “Your people really need to sharpen their investigative skills.”

Mac nodded and made another note on his trusty pad that had absolutely nothing to do with Novak or Elizabeth or this case. “And what exactly was the nature of your former relationship?”

Novak took a deep breath and then slouched back on the couch, allowing his shirt to fall open and offering up his well-defined chest for display. Oh, yeah, this guy was bleeping big time on Mac’s
gaydar.

“Well, let’s just say I did her a favor.” Novak inclined his head. “I gave sweet little Elizabeth the opportunity to grab the brass ring and she went for it. She couldn’t wait to get out of that pathetic little dump of a town. I helped her achieve what she wanted and she made it worth my while.”

Mac tensed before he could stop himself. Every muscle in his body jolted with the need to pound the hell out of this scumbag.

A knowing smile lifted one side of Novak’s mouth as he leaned forward and braced his arms on his knees, his gaze focused intently on Mac. “She’s very good.”

Fury sent Mac’s blood rushing to his head, throbbing there in time with the stampede in his chest. His fingers tightened around the pen as if it were Novak’s neck.

“She’s always a little hesitant at first,” Novak went on, pretending to be oblivious to Mac’s reaction. But he knew. He knew and he enjoyed it immensely. “Has something to do with her devoutly religious upbringing, I suppose. I was only her second sexual experience. But,” he shrugged, “as hard to prime as she is, once you get her started, man, is she hot.”

Mac put his pen and paper away and stood, his control was slipping way too fast. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve checked out your alibi.”

Novak pushed lazily to his feet and led Mac to the front door, which he opened.

Mac wanted to beat the hell out of him. He’d never before in his life wanted to hurt a man over a woman, but he wanted to tear Brian Novak limb from limb.

Duncan was already heading down the corridor to the elevator, but Mac hesitated in the doorway. “I wouldn’t leave town if I were you.” His gaze locked with Novak’s. “There will be more questions.”

Novak leaned against the doorframe as if being visited by the FBI was an everyday occurrence. The bastard didn’t even have the good sense to be worried.

“Take her, Agent MacBride,” Novak said softly, knowingly. “You won’t be sorry.”

Mac’s fingers curled into tight fists of rage, but somehow he held himself back. “Thanks for your cooperation.”

He walked away without a backward glance. As angry as he was, the only thing he could think about was that video and the images it held. The way her body moved…the way her lips parted as she struggled toward release. By the time he reached the elevator, he was as hard as a rock from merely thinking about Elizabeth and what Novak suggested.

He stepped into the waiting car and Duncan punched the button for the lobby. “Strange character, huh?”

Mac’s only response was a grunt. He couldn’t think clearly enough right now for a proper one. Every ounce of blood in his body had raced to his dick.

He had to close his eyes against the truth he wanted to deny.

Novak had seen it. Had rubbed it in.

Mac wanted Elizabeth. He wanted her riding him slow and easy at first, and then hard and fast, her head thrown back in ecstasy. He wanted her touching him, kissing him. He wanted to feel her lips, her tongue on his skin. And then he wanted to take her with such intensity that she wouldn’t even remember a jerk like Brian Novak, much less Ned Harrison, when it was over.

He wanted her all to himself.

Suspect or not.

Mac shook himself. He’d lost it. That much was clear. “Duncan, I want you to take the surveillance on Young tonight.”

His partner was about to protest but one look at the ferocity in Mac’s eyes and he changed his tune. “Sure,” he muttered. “Why not?”

~*~

“It’s the right thing to do,” Elizabeth told herself under her breath one last time.

Leaving the subway she glanced around again. No sign of the guy who’d been watching her. She’d had a hell of a time, but she was pretty sure she’d given the agent the slip. If she’d driven her truck, she would never have been able to do it. But she’d parked it in an alley and then disappeared in the subway before the guy realized what she was up to. Then she’d ducked into a group of missionaries while he searched for her in the crowd on the platform. He was so certain she’d gotten on the train that he’d climbed aboard for a second to look for her. When he moved farther down the platform, she’d sneaked aboard the car he’d just checked. She’d watched him search for her as the train took off for its next stop.

Then she’d walked the ten blocks to the midtown brownstone that was Dr. Ned Harrison’s office. It was really dark along this part of the street. Trees and overhanging architecture all but blocked the meager light from the streetlights. But she knew her way with her eyes closed. What a joke. Look at what it had gotten her.

Nothing but trouble.

With the spare key Annabelle had given her now tightly clasped in her hand, Elizabeth slipped into an alley and then down the backside of the row of brownstones. She tried without success to calm her racing heart, to quiet her breathing. What if she was being watched this very minute? She checked the alley in both directions. Nothing.

Keeping close to the wall, she moved toward the rear door that would lead into Ned’s offices. Annabelle had explained she had a key because she’d been his attorney. Since he had no surviving family, his attorney would be the most likely person to settle his affairs. Annabelle gave every indication of being just as scared by the murders as Gloria and Elizabeth. This kind of aggressive action seemed their only recourse when they couldn’t know who to trust. Elizabeth ignored the little voice that warned this was all wrong somehow.

She had to do it. Had to help exonerate herself. If they could prove the Gentlemen’s Association was involved in Ned’s death, then she would be free and clear. But they needed hard evidence.

Taking a deep breath for courage, she pushed away from the concealing security of the shadowed wall and moved to the door. Though there was no exterior light nearby to worry about, there was just enough moonlight to guide her movements. Thank God the police hadn’t padlocked his office as they had his apartment. Made sense since his home—not his office—was the scene of the crime.

She had the key inserted into the lock when she heard it.

A footstep... something.

Before she could turn around, a strong arm snaked around her throat. A punishing hand clamped down on her mouth. The scream she tried to deliver died in her throat.

His angry breath on her cheek, his scent provoked a jolt of recognition—of dread—through her. She felt his hard body pressed against her backside. Tried to jerk away. Twisted to break free, but he only held her more tightly to him.

His lips close enough to touch her skin, he whispered, “I knew it was you.”

Chapter Eight

“Open the door, Liz,” he ordered, his voice savage and cold.

Even before he’d used that pet name for her, she’d known it was him. An all-too-familiar tremor had quaked through her the instant he touched her... the instant she felt his breath on her skin and she smelled that hideously expensive cologne he wore.

“Let go of me, Brian, or I’ll scream!”

He laughed that condescending sound that personified the very essence of his macho mentality. He considered himself above all others, especially her. Why hadn’t she seen that when they first met? Why hadn’t she picked up on what a bastard he really was?

“So scream,” he taunted. “Who’s going to hear you?” He reached for the knob, gave it a fierce twist and kicked the door inward. “We’re going to talk.” Shoving her inside ahead of him, he quickly closed the door behind him.

Elizabeth scrambled to regain the equilibrium she’d lost physically as well as mentally. Too many possibilities for her to choose just one swirled wildly amid the confusion and irritation clouding her ability to reason. Why was he here? What did they have to talk about?

Brian moved to the long table in the center of the dark interior and switched on one of the brass reading lamps. The dim glow pitched the space into long shadows, but she would have been fine without the light. She had firsthand knowledge of every inch of this room. After all, she’d helped decorate these offices just months ago. How else could she have afforded such an exclusive therapist? She’d worked hard to make Ned’s suite of offices into everything he’d wanted. This room was no exception.

Ned’s professional library
. The walls were lined with book-filled, gleaming mahogany shelves. A single conference-style table, also mahogany, surrounded by upholstered armchairs served as the focal point. Built-in brass reading lamps lined the table, four of them altogether. The classic reading lamps gave the room a more intimate ambiance than overhead lighting. Between each set of lamps was a granite ashtray for the cigar smokers.

The far corner of the room was equipped with a bar complete with a wine fridge, a state-of-the-art coffeemaker and a small marble sink. A Monet print hung next to a shiny brass rack that held mugs and glasses. The bar offered a wide array of liquors. A humidor stored the finest in imported cigars. Ned had insisted he needed the very best to entertain colleagues and
special
clients.

She’d learned the hard way just what
special
meant to him.

Ned Harrison hadn’t missed a trick. Whatever he wanted, he got. No matter the cost. He’d once lived in the upstairs portion of the brownstone, but fame had sent him in search of more elaborate housing. Now the rooms above his offices served as mere storage. She wondered briefly if it had all been worth it. Had his primal urges been worth dying for? She’d pretty much concluded that his murder had something to do with those very urges—and the Gentlemen’s Association.

Who would ever have suspected? On the outside he’d been all charm and grace and appeared to have the world by the tail. All one had to do to join him in his glorious life was be obedient and submissive to his demands. Yet somehow he’d always managed to make her think it was what
she
wanted. It sickened her now to realize how naive she’d been.

“Sit.” Dragging her attention back to the present, Brian motioned to one of the chairs.

He loved tossing out those one-word commands as if she were a dog or other well-trained pet. Hadn’t she been exactly that?

But those days were over. “No thanks,” she threw right back at him, folding her arms in defiance.

Those pale-gray eyes, as hard and icy as a frozen lake, gazed relentlessly into hers as he started toward her. She fought the urge to run. She would not let him have his way. Not again. Not ever again.

“I said sit!” He jerked out one of the chairs and clamped a hand on her shoulder and with crushing strength propelled her into the waiting seat.