Their Summer Heat (13 page)

At the very end were two messages by themselves. “What are these?”

When she didn’t receive an answer, she turned. Max crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. Logan had his hands in his slacks, eyes glued to the floor.

“These were sent to you two?” They didn’t have to answer; she saw it etched on their faces. “Have you traced them?”

Dan shook his head. “They were sent from a burn phone.”

“Of course, they were.” She turned back to the board and went back to Margo’s pictures. Lots of blood. Lots of rage. “Were they raped?” When they didn’t answer, she turned around again. “Were they raped?”

“Yes,” said Max.

“Do you have the autopsy diagrams?”

She looked at Dan, who glanced at Max. After a pause, Max nodded. Dan handed her a folder. The diagram confirmed what she had suspected. The man had slashed Margo’s breasts and the inside of her vagina. A serial killer and a serial rapist.

“Did he collect any trophies?”

“Not that anyone can determine,” said Dan.

After studying everything, she responded, “So, I’m the object of his obsession. The question is who is he?”

None of the men answered, but she was conversing with herself, really. Finally, Dan relayed his theory about how the list of gala ladies had been finalized four months ago and how he figured the psycho started planning then.

“Well, it has to be someone who knows me from school…or the deli…or the New York State Psychiatry Hospital…or DG Enterprises.” Damn, there were hundreds of unnamed people floating through her life.

“We’re checking into all those places, but so far, neither we nor the FBI has come up with anything,” said Dan.

She hadn’t realized she knew so many people. Well,
knew
wasn’t the right word. Acquaintances. She had no friends, because there was no time to have any, which may be why she enjoyed Logan and Max so much. Oh, the sex was off the fucking charts, but she liked them; they made her laugh. They spoiled her. They made her feel…special.

“Time for another nap,” said Logan.

“I’m not sleepy.”

“I know, but I am.”

He took her by her good arm and pulled her from the room. She didn’t protest because she was overwhelmed, not tired.

When they were out of earshot, Logan said, “I think you could use a hot bath, and then a rubdown.”

See, they were spoiling her again. Earlier, she’d checked out the tub, knew it was large enough for four people, with jets thrown in as gravy. “How can I say no?”

Max laughed. “You can’t.”

“Are there cameras in the apartment?”
Because that would be too much.

“Nope, just outside,” Max informed her.

“Good. Then lead the way.” She followed them down the long hallway and into a bathroom bigger than her entire apartment and adorned like a palace with its fawn-colored tile, dark honey cabinets, and a tub to die for.

She shucked her blouse and walked out of her flats, surprised to find the floor toasty warm beneath her feet. Logan turned on the water and fiddled with the stream until he was satisfied. After she got out of her pants, Max helped her into the bath and then wrapped a towel around her bandaged arm so she could rest it on the edge. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for the water level to rise, gushing faucets surrounding her with soothing, warm water. This was living.

Max returned with sliced cheese, apples and a wineglass.

“Do you two think I need to eat?”

“You were in Presbyterian for five days. I have it on good authority that hospital food isn’t tasty,” said Max.

“It wasn’t too bad, just too healthy.” She snagged a slice of cheddar and then her glass.

She watched as both of her experiments peeled out of their clothes and joined her. They settled into the molded seats, one on each side of the tub, their erections jutting out, but she forced herself to focus on everything else. Though she was extremely interested in a romp, she was tuckered out. Amazing how she had lain in the bed for five days and yet still felt as weak as a newborn.

Logan tasted his beer before adding, “We’re having steak delivered tonight. You need to build up your strength.”

From blood loss. She vaguely remembered the red everywhere, and Dan squeezing her arm. She took a sip to wash away the image. “Hmmm. This isn’t wine. It’s my champagne.”

Max sipped his whiskey, grinned and said, “Bought a whole case. But you can only have a small glass.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re tryin’ to spoil me.”

“Is it working?” asked Logan, a grin on his face.

“Maybe…” Hell, yeah, it was working. The clothes, the place to stay, the most fabulous bubbly in the world…

Max turned on the jets for the tub and water pelted her lower back. She took another sip, placed her glass on the side, and then reclined her head on the padded headrest.

Champagne and men was her new jingle.

The only problem she had was a serial killer. God, it didn’t make any sense. Summer Heat was a nobody—figuratively, of course. She valued herself; she was worthy but not at the level someone would kill for her.

“Stop it,” said Max.

Her gaze collided with his.

“Whatever this is…” she started.

“Insanity,” offered Logan.

“No way your fault,” said Max.

She opened her mouth to respond, but Logan scooted at an angle from her, reached down, and snagged her calf. Two thumbs pressed gingerly into her instep, and her eyes rolled back in her head.

“What were you going to say?” asked Logan.

Summer cracked an eye and caught him grinning. “I…I…don’t know.”

“Good.”

She did know, because she wasn’t that distracted. “I recognize manipulation when I see it. I was going to say that you are correct—it’s not my fault. However, we are all a product of the choices we make, and I can’t help but wonder what choice I made or didn’t make that would cause a psychopath either to evolve or somehow attach himself to me.”

“You should prepare yourself. You may never have the answer,” said Max.

Because the bastard was on the shoot-first-ask-later list. “I know.” She truly wanted the man dead, preferably before another woman had to suffer. But it was true. She needed to ask him why, face-to-face. Why her? Why a poor southern girl who’d never hurt anybody was the object of this bizarre puzzle.

Max had slid close, grabbed her hand, and massaged her palm. “What can we do to make you forget…even for a little while?”

The offer was so sweet, her lower lip quivered, the emotional dam susceptible to collapse. She shook her head and fought the overwhelming burn in her eyes and throat.

Logan abruptly stood. “Let’s get you out before you prune.”

She let them take over, dry her off with strokes so gentle butterfly wings would be unharmed. Before they could finish, she crumbled. Huge tears rolled like a river, and she was powerless to control them.

Logan held her, stroked her back. “Let it all out.”

After settling her into bed, they crawled in with her. She clung to them like a lifeline and prayed for the madness to stop.

After dinner, Logan, Summer and Max retired to the living room.

“Do you want to watch TV?” Logan asked.

“Sure.” She flopped onto the couch, winced when she jarred her arm.

Logan knew restlessness plagued her; she’d told them she’d done more
nothing
over the past week than she had in her entire life.

Logan paused at several shows, but after a second or two, she shook her head and he moved on.

“Wait,” she said. “Keep it right there. This is a great song.”

Logan had never heard the tune—it was a country song, and he was partial to rock—but Summer wiggled in her seat in time with, “Hell, yeah, turn it up, right on. Hell, yeah, sounds good, sing that song.”

She sang every word, and he had to admit the lyrics were interesting.

“You like country music, huh?” he asked.

“Nope. I looove country music. It’s hilarious, sweet, deeply soulful and occasionally heartbreakin’. It runs the gamut of emotions.”

Logan excused himself when she sang “5-1-5-0. Somebody call the po po.” He had an idea. When he got back, she crooned, “Red solo cup. I lift you up, let’s have a party, let’s have a party,” using her tea glass as a prop.

Max grinned from ear to ear and sang the chorus to the catchy tune.

The power of country music hit Logan hard as he listened to the words of a song called
She Don’t Know She’s Beautiful
. Summer had no clue how stunning she was, or maybe she just didn’t use her looks like most women he knew. She was wholesome. She was real.

When
Why Don’t We Just Dance
played, she extended her hand to Max. He popped up, pulled her close and swayed, being mindful of her arm. He twirled her around and around before handing her to Logan. Her girlish laugh echoed in the room and made him wonder when was the last time she had enjoyed herself.

Then
Almost Home
by Craig Morgan came on, and Logan sensed the change in her, hugged her tight. Halfway through the song, his shirt was soaked.

“You want me to turn it off?”

She shook her head violently, buried into his chest. Her agony was like talons shredding at his soul. He wanted to take her sorrow away.

When the last note died on the longest song in Logan’s life, he picked her up and deposited her in his brother’s lap.

Max handed her a tissue, and she blew her nose, then buried herself against Max.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes. I love that song.”

Em, that didn’t make any sense. “Why do you love it?” Logan asked.

“It reminds me of my grandparents. They lived on a big farm, and I couldn’t wait to see them every summer. Granny always cooked somethin’ sweet, and granddaddy taught me to fish with a cane pole in the creek. There was always somethin’ to see or do, and even though they were what you’d call dirt-poor, they had the most love of any people I’ve ever known. I miss them.”

Max kissed her hair. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“Me too.”

In an effort to change the subject, Logan asked, “Do you like any other genre?”

“Alicia Keys’
New York
. Her song inspires me every time I hear it.”

“Really. I have a surprise for you,” said Max. “Stand and wrap up in the blanket.”

After folding her like a burrito, Max ushered her out onto the balcony, grabbed a remote, and punched some buttons.

The opening notes of Alicia Keys’
New York
merged with the night, and chills skimmed across Summer’s skin. She leaned against the iron railing, gazed out over the skyline. Central Park was a dark spot amid all the partially lighted buildings.

But it was beautiful.

Peaceful.

She wanted to raise her arms and belt out the words but didn’t have the guts to follow through with her heart. With the last note of the piano, true peace settled over her.

With all the craziness swirling around in her life, she was the happiest she’d been in a long time. She’d realized with her jobs, her schooling, just striving toward her goals, she’d forgotten to live.

She turned to face the brothers. “I’m ready for bed, and I’m ready for you two to fuck me at the same time.”

“I’m not sure you are prepared for that,” said Logan.

“Why?”

“Your arm.”

“Is sore, but I really, really need you two. I want to experience you both…inside me. I need to feel alive.”

Skepticism was etched on their faces, but she wasn’t made of fragile glass.

“Please. I don’t think you can break me.”

“Oh, baby girl,” said Max. “We’d never hurt you, but there will be pain, and you’ve suffered enough.”

Pain. Something real. “I’m ready.”

Summer walked down the hall to the bedroom, hoping they’d follow her. She shucked her clothes and crawled onto the bed. Her men were uneasy, and perhaps, so was she. But, with all the craziness, she could die tomorrow, so experiencing something as outrageous as anal sex during a threesome—well, hell, she wouldn’t pass this up.

Once again, her lovers peeled out of their clothes. “I’ll never, ever get enough of you two strippin’ for me.”

“We’ll strip for you anytime,” said Logan.

He reached her first, pressed her into the bed, kissed her, the evidence of his arousal lying against her hip. She sucked in his extremely masculine scent. His breathing was even, where hers was ragged. As she clung to him, her body hummed with anticipation and a little fear.

“Are you sure you’re ready for me to fuck your sweet pussy and for Max to rock that ass of yours?”

They meant well, but she needed this, all of this, all of them. “I’m past ready.”

She let her arms slip over his back, felt his muscles ripple under her touch. She loved the way their bodies covered hers. Logan left her lips, kissed her throat, and she couldn’t help but rub against him like a cat in heat. He traveled down, down until he settled between her legs. A hot, wet tongue licked straight up her cleft, darted in and out of her dripping pussy. Her hips lifted of their own volition, wanting more of the pleasure he could give.

Searching, she found Max eyeing her, caressing his cock with long, lazy strokes. His intense gaze caused her insides to seize.

Her body arched, and she hissed at the wicked lashing on her clit. Blood infused her labia as her nub pulsed. She was close, so close, but she didn’t want to come alone.

“Please,” she said. “I need you two inside me.”

Logan lifted his head; heat filled his eyes before he rolled over, taking her with him. She settled her slick pussy over his cock, sank down slowly, enjoying the delicious slide of his girth.

“Wait,” said Logan. “I need a condom.”

“Not tonight,” she said. “Never again. I’m on the pill, and I want to feel every long inch of you two.” To hell with doctor checkups. Tonight, life was too short to play it safe.

Logan grinned, lifted his hips, grinding against her. “Damn, you’re wet.”

Suddenly, Max was there, pushing her down. Summer buried her nose in Logan’s neck as cool gel trickled down her ass. He traced the crack to settle against her puckered hole.