The Seven-Day Target (11 page)

Libby’s bed was turned down when they entered the room, and two chocolate mints had been left on the pillow. She held one out to him. “Dessert.” She smiled.

She was so cute when she smiled. Their fingers met when he took the candy from her. He turned it over in his hand before tossing it on the nightstand. He wanted more than chocolate.

He closed the shades and watched her as she walked around the room, pulling her carefully folded nightgown from the large mahogany dresser and digging in her bag for her hairbrush. Her actions were fluid and easy, not at all resembling the self-conscious movements from the day before. She was actually relaxing around him.

Relaxation was not foremost on his mind. As he watched Libby prepare for the evening, he was drawn to the shape of her thighs, suggested but hidden by her skirt. She had a silver charm bracelet around one slender wrist, and he had an urge to nibble at the silver, teasing the delicate flesh of her wrist with his lips. He wanted to touch her again, to feel her hot bare skin writhing beneath him. Tomorrow was uncertain. He needed her tonight. He stepped forward.

* * *

Her toothbrush had fallen into the main compartment of her suitcase—no surprise, since she’d packed in a hurry. Libby had just managed to find it when she looked up and caught his gaze. There was no mistaking the look in his eyes, as if he’d searched her for the one thing she couldn’t bear right now.

“What?” she asked, trying to sound natural and hoping he couldn’t see her fingers trembling.

Nick took another step. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it, Libby.”

“Feel what?”

“The heat that always burned between us. The attraction we’ve always felt for each other, even when we were pretending we didn’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s ridiculous. I thought I made it clear how I felt for you.”

“You can’t hide it.” He straightened. “I see it written across your body.”

He advanced, moving with deliberate footsteps and a gaze that made her heart thunder. She instinctively retreated but stopped as her back pressed against the wall. This elicited a rakish smile and a chuckle from the back of his throat.

“We’re through,” she stammered as he came still closer, bracing himself against the wall with one hand. Blocking her escape.

“Through?” His warm breath fell on her cheeks as he leaned down. “You really think so?”

Now his lips grazed her ear, sending a shiver straight through her center. She felt his light breath on her skin, felt the animal heat of his strong arm as it fenced her in. Nick curved his body to bring his free hand to rest lightly on her hip.

“Yes. It’s over,” she said. “I feel nothing for you.” Her voice came out no more than a whisper, thick with desire.

Another chuckle, this one from deep within his chest. She stood helplessly still as he began to tease her shirt upward, exposing the sensitive skin on her belly. “So, I suppose this doesn’t do anything for you, then?” He trailed his fingertips along her waistline, eliciting a soft moan.

“No,” she gasped. “I don’t feel a thing.” Her skin was on fire, and an ache began at the juncture of her thighs.

He frowned playfully. “That’s surprising. I could have sworn I felt a reaction.”

“Nothing.”

As she spoke, he brought his hand fully under her shirt and round her bare back, pressing her closer to him. She felt the length of his hardness against her heat and sighed, allowing her head to fall back against the wall. His hot mouth was still beside her ear, but he brought his lips to the base of her throat as she arched her body toward him.

“Nothing at all?” He spoke the words against her throat, and she trembled as a current of fire and ice coursed through her.

She moaned. “Nothing.”

“This is troubling.” He again spoke to her neck, and Libby felt every hair on her body rise in response. Before she could react, he’d pushed one knee between hers and eased her legs open. She willingly complied. He kept one hand on her back but brought his other hand lower, blazing a trail down her waist to her thigh. With deft fingers he slid her skirt up, exposing her black silk panties. She moaned again as he tucked a finger beneath the leg of her panties and traced the edge of the fabric with a butterfly touch. “How about that?” he whispered against her ear. His voice was thick. “You
must
feel that.”

She was too breathless to answer, but he didn’t wait for a response as he guided her panties down her thighs. She cried out as he brought his hand back up to touch her, expertly stroking her until her knees began to shake.

“Oh...”

She braced herself against the wall of his chest, fumbling uselessly at his sweater. She managed to lift it a few inches, enough to slide her fingers underneath to feel the tight muscles on his stomach tense with need for her. He sank his forehead against the wall as she touched him and a groan escaped his lips. A thrill at her own power shot through her.

Nick collected himself and continued to touch her, his eyes trained to hers. “Did you feel that? Was that a yes?”

He sounded so far away. She pressed herself against his hand, moving her hips rhythmically as a tension began to gather. Reaching up to grasp Nick’s hair with both hands, she ran her fingers through the thick waves and brought his mouth to hers. He flicked his tongue against hers, matching the rhythm of his fingers. They were locked in that embrace until she pulled away and rested her head on his shoulder, clasping the strong arms that held her captive. Libby gasped as the tension inside of her shattered and she finally found her release, shuddering against his hand.

When the moment had passed, she fell back against the wall. Nick raised her panties and smoothed her skirt down then leaned forward and kissed her soundly on the mouth. He pulled away and allowed his breath to fall against her cheek. “How can you say you don’t feel anything for me?” he demanded.

Libby swallowed. She tucked her blouse into her skirt and stepped aside. “You bastard,” she choked as she smoothed her hair. Then she turned and stormed away to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

* * *

She sat on the tiled floor for what seemed like hours, waiting for her knees to stop shaking and her breath to steady. She’d really done that. He’d brazenly approached her, lifted her skirt and touched her, and she’d
enjoyed
it. Every second. That wasn’t even worth lying about. But now she had to face him and his smugness at having brought her into submission, and that’s what made her cheeks burn.

She drew a hot bubble bath and slid into the tub, watching her legs go red from the heat. The spice of his cologne hovered on her throat, and when she touched her arm, she imagined the skin on his stomach beneath her fingertips, hard and trembling. She closed her eyes to imagine his skillful touch again. Then she sat up.

This was a problem, this feeling as if she hadn’t had enough of him. It’s not like she’d asked for him to touch her like that. They had a history and maybe there was some lingering attraction, but he’d taken advantage. She reached for the washcloth and the soap and lathered her skin, scrubbing the traces of Nick’s scent. Then she leaned back against the hot water, the tightness in her muscles melting inch by inch until she was weightless.

Perspective comes in hot baths. She’d made a mistake with Nick. They could not be involved again, they simply couldn’t, and when he gloated, she’d have the satisfaction of telling him that he was not to try anything like that again. Better still, there would be no more touching. No hand on her back or fingers brushing her hair. How easily they’d fallen into those comfortable habits despite her best intentions. She could forgive herself for the lapse in judgment, since after all, she was afraid for her life and not thinking straight. He should have known better.

Libby skimmed her hand over the surface of the water that appeared as the bubbles faded. That puzzle still weighed on her. Seven tons hatred. They must have considered most options, hundreds of combinations. She thought of the woman in the photograph and the bruises around her throat. The poor girl. A steel ball of fury tumbled in Libby’s stomach. They would get the bastard who’d strangled her.

Her heart stopped. Strangled. The largest case of her father’s career as a prosecutor had come when she was still in diapers, when he’d prosecuted the Arbor Falls Strangler...what had that case been called?

She pulled the plug on the bathtub drain and stood as the water emptied in a whoosh. She wiped the remains of water and bubbles with a thick terry-cloth towel and then climbed into the complimentary white bathrobe, her heart pounding. The Arbor Falls Strangler. That case would be about thirty years old by now. If she remembered correctly, he’d terrorized the town for nearly ten years before he was caught.

By the time she emerged from the sauna of the bathroom, Libby felt wild with excitement. Nick was sitting on the bed, and his eyes were drawn with concern as he saw her. “Libby, I’m sorry—”

“The letters. Where are they?”

He blinked and she repeated herself. He then pointed dumbly to the table where the wooden letters lay in a pile.

“It’s a case name.” She was breathless as she arranged the letters. “Look! That’s why we have the
v,
for
versus.
”

Nick was standing at her side now, watching as she worked. “I’ll be...”

“And since it’s a criminal case, it’s State v. something.” She stared at the remaining letters and then triumphantly reworked them. “There. That’s it.”

A smile crept over his face. “
State v. Henderson.
It works.”

“
State v. Henderson.
My dad’s biggest case when he was a prosecutor. The case that he said made him judge.” She folded her arms across her chest. “The Arbor Falls Strangler.”

Nick smiled proudly and reached out to hug her but stopped himself and instead pressed his hands to his waist. “You did it, Lib. The Arbor Falls Strangler, huh?”

“So you know what we have to do now, right?”

He nodded. “Research. Lots and lots of research.”

Chapter 8

T
hey stayed up into the night piecing together information on the Arbor Falls Strangler before finally falling asleep at three in the morning. They were up again early. Libby placed a few calls to the D.A.’s Office and managed to locate the Henderson case files.

“They were moved to a storage facility in Stillborough. It’s a little under an hour from here.”

Nick called Dom while Libby got ready, and then they headed toward Stillborough.

“Will Henderson is local mythology,” Libby said, thinking about the macabre websites they’d found that were devoted to the crimes. “He stalked women and then killed them. And if this particular online account I read is correct, he left signs for his victims, too. It was an elaborate cat-and-mouse game.” She turned to Nick as he drove. “Will Henderson died in prison soon after he was sentenced. He hanged himself. So what does it mean that someone is copying him now?”

“Could be a family member of Henderson’s, or it could be someone who’s as interested in the folklore as others apparently are.” He straightened. “Between you and me, this feels more personal than a copycat killing.”

“I agree.” She gripped her cardboard coffee cup. She was drinking a lot more coffee than she should be, and she didn’t care. Her arms pimpled as a chill went through her. “No one followed us, right? You talked to Dom, and there were no more signs?”

“None. It was quiet last night. Nothing at our houses. Everyone in the police department is on high alert now that McAdams is one of the victims.”

She nodded silently but couldn’t brush down her anxiety. Today was day four, which meant another sign was scheduled. The killer had already gone to horrifically impressive lengths to deliver his promised signs.

Nick cleared his throat. “Far be it from me to gossip, but I found out that my buddy Dom had dinner with your little sister last night.”

Libby’s eyes widened and she felt her shoulders loosen by a millimeter as Nick changed the subject. “Really? She left the hotel?”

“No. Apparently he brought her Chinese takeout, and she didn’t trust him so she made him eat it in the hotel lobby with her.” Nick broke into a broad grin. “She thought he might be the killer.”

There was that prickle again on her arms. “Well...can we be sure he isn’t?”

He looked at her. “Libby, Dom didn’t—”

“We don’t know anything for sure. He’s the only one who knew we were staying at your parents’ house, besides McAdams. We can’t trust anyone.” She pulled absentmindedly at the seam of her jeans. “Maybe Cassie and Sam should go to a different hotel, just to be safe.”

“He was my partner for years. He’s a police sergeant.” Nick’s jaw was tight. “It’s not him.”

“Why is he showing up at her hotel, checking up on her? That’s strange behavior, isn’t it?”

He laughed dryly. “Maybe he likes her. Sometimes people do strange things when they like each other.”

“I don’t want him near my sister.”

She pulled out her cell phone, ignoring his protests. “Cassie,” she said when her sister answered. “Dom showed up at your room last night?”

Cassie snorted on the other end of the phone. “Nice to hear from you, Libby. Good morning to you, too. Sleep well?”

She rolled her eyes at the phone. “Answer my question.”

“Yes, Dom came over last night. He brought me dinner.”

“Why is he bringing you dinner?” Libby shot Nick a look as he groaned.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him that.”

“It’s strange, and I think you and Sam should leave the hotel and go somewhere else. Don’t tell Dom.”

“Go somewhere else!” Her shrill protest reminded Libby of their teenage years and of the many life-or-death arguments they’d had over who had used the other’s makeup. “He’s the police sergeant, Libby. He’s not a serial killer.”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that he would drive so far out of his way to bring you dinner?”

Cassie was quiet on the other end. Then she said softly, “Why do you think it’s so strange that a man would do something nice for me?”

Libby’s stomach tightened. “You know that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Maybe he likes me. Is that so wrong? So weird? Maybe he worried that it would be hard for me to get out of the room because of Sam. That doesn’t make him a serial killer.”

Libby closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “This is not the time to worry about your love life. Go somewhere else and don’t tell anyone.”

“You sound like Dad,” Cassie spat.

“Someone has to be the adult here,” she snapped. They exchanged tense goodbyes and disconnected the call.

Libby sat back in her seat and exhaled loudly. “She is just impossible!”

Nick glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Did that make you feel better?”

She turned herself away from him and folded her arms. Nick continued the drive in silence, his jaw set firmly. Let him be angry. She didn’t care if she upset him or Dom; she had to do what was best for her sister. Cassie was her family, and Nick was not.

* * *

The Stillborough storage center was little more than an enormous warehouse in the middle of a field, miles off the highway and accessible only by a narrow road riddled with potholes. Nick was quite familiar with Stillborough. The prevalence of street drugs and violence had landed him and his FBI colleagues in the old mill town more times than he could count, chasing the drug supply that fed larger surrounding cities. He hadn’t even needed to consult a map during the drive from Great Springs.

He couldn’t ignore the gnawing in his stomach. He took several detours along the way to the warehouse to check for following cars. Leaving the room again was a risk, but the information in those case files could help them to crack the case open. When the Arbor Falls P.D. was at a virtual standstill in its investigation,
not
taking the trip to Stillborough seemed the bigger risk.

Nick pulled his car into a spot near the entrance. He turned off the engine and looked at Libby. “Ready?”

She looked at him with those wide blue eyes and an impenetrable expression. “I’m ready.”

She was angry that he’d defended Dom. She stepped out of the car and proceeded toward the entrance without bothering to wait for Nick. He watched her for a moment, admiring the way her black wavy hair caught the sunlight, cresting midway down her back. His gaze then dipped lower, and he was momentarily hypnotized by the seductive sway of her hips as she marched away from him. Her focus was almost unbearably sexy.

Last night he’d sat on the bed while she’d bathed, waiting for her to emerge from the bathroom so he could apologize. Not that he was sorry for doing something they’d both enjoyed. Just thinking about the feel of her breath on his neck made him hard again. But he’d upset her somehow. He hadn’t meant to. She wasn’t making an apology easy for him, though. Each time he’d tried to talk about what they’d done, she changed the subject. He kicked himself mentally for complicating things between them just when it seemed they were starting to get comfortable again.

He exited the vehicle and followed her.

They walked through a single glass door propped open to admit fresh air into the dank warehouse. There was no reception area to speak of, just aisle upon aisle of gray industrial metal shelving, stacked floor to ceiling with cardboard boxes. To the right was a small office with an open door and a man sitting behind a mound of paperwork. He looked up at them over the bifocals sliding halfway down his nose. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Libby Andrews, from the District Attorney’s Office. I spoke with you a little while ago.”

“Yes, John Lankowsky. I manage the warehouse.” John was bald, with small brown eyes that darted to Nick. “Are you a Fed?” he asked.

Nick’s gaze shot to Libby as she tried to suppress a smirk. “Not today,” he replied.

The man placed the paper in his hand on top of an already staggering pile on the desk and stood. “
State v. Henderson.
I had the boxes pulled a while ago. We have thirteen of them, but there may be a couple more.”

“I’m sure Libby explained that we’d like to go through them,” Nick said.

“You can do whatever you want for the next eight hours,” John replied. “But after that we’re closing, and you’ll need to leave them here.”

Libby furrowed her brows. “Eight hours?” She turned to Nick. “Thirteen boxes. We’re going to need more time than that.”

“We don’t have more time than that, Libby.” Nick nodded to John. “You have everything set up in a conference room, I assume?”

He snorted. “You could call it that.”

He led them down a seemingly endless aisle to the very back of the warehouse, where a brown metal door opened to a small room with a Formica table. Cardboard boxes were stacked against the walls. Nick looked at the one closest to the door. The box was labeled State v. Henderson #8.

“Here you go,” John said flatly as he gestured to the room. “Make sure you keep this rubber doorstop down because the door locks automatically and you won’t be able to get back in if you leave.”

“Thanks,” said Libby as she walked toward the boxes and began to read the labels.

Nick scanned the surrounding warehouse, looking for anyone or anything that seemed out of the ordinary. A few uniformed employees appeared to be taking some kind of inventory of the boxes several aisles away from the room, but the warehouse was otherwise eerily silent. He drew his hand toward his hip, unbuttoning his holster to have quick access to his gun. Nick turned to Libby, keeping an eye on the door.

“What do you think, counselor? Any suggestions as to where we should begin?”

“Sure,” she replied as she pulled a box from the top of a stack and set it on the wobbly table. “But maybe I should defer to the Fed in the room.” She gave him a slight grin as she returned to the box and opened it.

Nick looked down at his clothes. “Jeans and a T-shirt. I hardly think it makes me look like a Fed.”

“It’s not your clothes, it’s the way you carry yourself.” She thumbed through the files in the box. “Let’s just say that no one would think you taught kindergarten.” She pulled a stack of papers from a file. “Here, I found the index.”

Libby placed the papers on the table and ran a finger down the top sheet. Nick came closer, catching the sweet smell of her perfume. His eyes scanned the typewritten list. “What are we doing with this?”

“I don’t know,” Libby admitted. “I sort of feel like we’re looking for a needle in a haystack, but I figure I’ll know it when I see it.”

The index was nearly thirty pages long and listed the files in each of the boxes. Libby’s eyes narrowed as she pored over the pages. “Dad was meticulous about his files. Everything in its proper place, labeled and cross-referenced.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

“Box five,” she said, ignoring the remark. “It looks like that contains information about witnesses.” She marched over to the stacks and began searching the box numbers. “You would think they would at least pile these things in some kind of reasonable order,” she muttered.

“You would also think they would have better rodent control in a document storage facility,” Nick said as he opened a box. “Here’s box five, but it looks like someone made a nest out of a notebook.”

“Yeah, well, half of these boxes are warped, and can you smell the mold?” She sighed. “Why isn’t anything ever easy?”

Nick was beginning to ask himself the same thing as she neared him and he was again encompassed by her smell. He didn’t know what the fragrance was called, but he’d always found it intoxicating. He remembered nights in Libby’s bed, when she was asleep, pressing his face against the side of her neck to inhale her scent: a heady mixture of woman and whatever this perfume was. Jasmine? Lilac? Like it mattered. Whatever the fragrance, it was making it impossible for him to focus on anything else.

He cleaned out the scraps of paper from the old mouse nest while Libby eagerly thrust her hands into the box. He watched with fascination as she removed a stack of files and took a seat at the table. The girl was unstoppable when she set her mind to something.

“Libby.” She looked up at him. “About last night...” He shifted from one foot to the other.

She stopped him with a quick wave of her hand. “Forget it.”

“What?” Impossible. That was the last thing he wanted to do, anyway.

She pressed her hands to the table. “Tension is high and we made a mistake. Let’s forget it.” She tilted her head slightly as he hesitated. “Right? Isn’t that what you were going to say?”

Well, no. He was going to tell her that he meant every word he’d said and that he didn’t regret a single second. He was going to tell her that she still drove him wild with desire and he could barely think straight anymore. But those words would obviously be wasted breath, because she didn’t feel the same.

“Forget it. Yes, I was going to say that.”

* * *

With every tick of the second hand on the large institutional clock on the wall, Libby felt her chest constrict. She wetted her dry lips, fumbling through the documents before her with clumsy cold fingers. Would the suspect interrupt to deliver his sign? She read the words on the page over and over, not making sense of the markings.

The clock continued its steady pulse. Each second brought her closer to day seven, and here she was with less than eight hours to pore over thirteen boxes of attorney files in the hopes of finding anything to shed some light on who might be trying to hurt her. Libby tucked her hair behind her ears. She had no idea what she was looking for.

The folders she grabbed contained pages of handwritten and sometimes typed notes documenting her father’s research in preparation for trial. Mostly the notes concerned witness interviews. “Interesting,” Libby said softly.

“What is?”

Nick was staring at her, and she blushed, realizing that she’d been talking to herself. She pointed to the pages in front of her. “I’m reading notes from an interview Dad had with a detective. Apparently after Henderson was arrested for the Arbor Falls killings, a few mugging victims in a separate investigation identified him. Looks like he used to hang out near bus stops and rob old ladies.” Libby shook her head. “Scumbag.”