Beauty and the Chief (2 page)

Turning, his eyes again rested on the young woman wrapped in a blanket. At least, tonight the beast didn’t win. The victim was alive. They had some keys that might lead to catching this guy.

As he walked to the police car he felt his heart stir as it hadn’t for a long time. One key he found very appealing. He chastened himself for the thought even as he took stock of Jillian Taylor. Her head was tilted to the side, leaning against the backrest. The light from the car illuminated her features. Dark eyelashes lowered to creamy smooth cheeks. Sweet, innocent, vulnerable, all ran through his mind as he stopped in front of her.

Longing hit him hard, making him want to reach down, and pull her up in his arms, so he could keep the dark, harsh world at bay. He didn’t want pain to have any place in Jillian Taylor’s life.

A quick nod to the policewoman and she moved off. Crouching down, he watched the peaceful face for a moment. He longed to brush back the lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek. Her eyes sprung open, bright, alert, but as they locked on his face, fear disappeared from the blue depths.

“You ready to go?” Mark found his voice odd to his ears, low and husky.

She didn’t ask where they were going, only nodded. Her large eyes fixed on his making him wonder if she, too, felt a stirring. Reaching out a hand, he helped her to stand then released her quickly. He extended his arm indicating the direction. “This way.” Again his hand found a way to her. Catching her elbow, he led her around the front of the car.

“We’ll −” A flash burst in front of his eyes, cutting him off. The gasp beside him caused him to spin. He felt the contact of Jillian’s body and wrapped his arms around to protect her. Looking back over his shoulder, the afterglow faded, so he could make out the solid built man with the camera up, ready for another shot.

“Clark, get that thing out of my face.” In the year he’d known the reporter, the man had always gotten on his nerves.

“It’s good press.”

“Not tonight. And you’re a reporter not a photographer.” Mark cut back, not withholding his annoyance from his voice.

“Hey, I’m a man of many talents and it makes it easier if I get my own shots. I have a good eye. Tell me who this beauty is?”

At the word ‘beauty,’ Mark heard Jillian’s little gasp. Tightening his arm, he pressed her to his side. She’d had enough tonight without facing the arrogant, pushy reporter.

“Out of my way, Clark,” he pulled Jillian into step with him, as he maneuvered around the man.

“Hey, come on, Richards. What’s going on down here? The public has a right to know.” The man moved back into their path.

“There’ll be a statement in the morning.”

“It was the killer. Then who’s the victim? She found the body? Did she see him?” The reporter pushed a mini recorder at them.

“Get that thing out of my face before I have you arrested,” Mark growled.

“You can’t. Freedom of the press. Now, what’s her name?” The camera flashed again.

“Edward!” Mark released Jillian, stepping in front of her. Shielding her with his body. “You’ll get your statement first thing in the morning, but for now, back off.”

His second in command came running up, shouldering his way between the two men. Taking the reporter’s arm, he tugged him away. “Come on, Clark. If you behave, I’ll let you get a picture of Miller over there doing his thing. Otherwise, we’ll take a run around the park. Maybe you can find some other sicko out preying on young women.”

“So it was the same guy. We have a serial killer on our hands.” The man’s excitement came through so that you could hear “good press” and “hot scoop” written all over his tone.

“Two killings don’t make a serial killer.”

Mark heard his second comment, knowing down inside it was wrong. They did have a serial killer − a sick mind lashing out, targeting beautiful young women. And, if they didn’t find him soon, more would die.

The maniac slipped up tonight. He’d err again, and they’d get him. Opening the door of his sedan, he settled Jillian in. Her face turned away from the night, pressing into the seat. Mark closed the door to shut out the conversation behind him.

“Two, you mean the victim’s still alive?” The reporter’s voice was hot with excitement. “Was that the victim? Come on, give me something Samuelson.”

Mark climbed in the driver’s side cutting out the further comments. Edward could handle Clark.

Mark started the car before looking across at the woman next to him. Her eyes were closed again. In the faint glow of the dash, he thought he could see her chin tremble. Leaning over, he caught the edge of the blanket, pulling it over and tucking it around the muddy knees of her sweat pants.

Looking up, he found himself staring into fathomless, watery blue eyes. They called to him. What was it about those eyes? So compelling. He clutched the wheel to keep his hand from going to her face again to cradle the softness.

As if conscious of his desire, her face tilted down shyly to stare at the folds of the blanket around her. Floodlights coming in from the rear window gave her an ethereal glow. She’d have the wide, innocent, doe-eyes if they had been brown instead of vivid blue. His heart leapt.

She certainly did have a powerful effect on him.

Clearing his throat, he drew her attention. “Miss Taylor, I’d like to take you to the hospital to be checked out.”

Jillian shook her head. “It’s not necessary. I’m not hurt − just a few bruises.”

“I would feel better though if you were checked out. You’ve had quite a shock.” He paused a moment. “It would also be better for us. When you struggled with the man you were in direct contact. It’s possible you could have skin, blood, or hair samples on you that could help.”

He noticed again her chin trembling. The burning urge to take her in his arms and sweep her fears away ached in him, but he remained still in his seat.

“The officer … tech … he already … my hands.” Her voice and petered out to a whisper.

“I know. It’s all right. I’d just like to have you checked out again.” This time, he was unable to counter his reflexes, as his hand reached to squeeze her arm through the blanket. “Would you mind? I already have an investigator at the hospital.”

“You’ll be there too?” The words came out so sudden Mark could tell they surprised her also.

“Yes, I’ll stay there with you.” He gave her arm another squeeze, while telling himself that it didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t uncommon for victims to affix themselves to one person as their lifeline. There was no special reason that she chose him as hers. Still, a quiver of pleasure raced through him that she had.

He frowned at his next directive. “There is another thing. If we could get your jogging suit to run through the lab for smudges and …” A tear glistened in the corner of her eye. I hate this. She’s been through enough for one night.

“Of course, if we could stop at my condo. It’s just at the other end of the park so I could get some other clothes.” She sounded stiff, making him feel like more of an ogre.

“Certainly.” He figured there’d be less contaminates there than they’d pick up at the hospital. Putting the car in gear, he drove to her condo was made with only a couple directions and the punching of the keypad to gain entry at the gate to break the silence.

The porch light glowed through the heavy fog like a guiding beacon to a secure port. But when the young woman jumped at his touch on her elbow, Mark wondered if, after a night like this, there was any place that would make Jillian Taylor feel secure again?

She unlocked the door and stepped in, keeping her back between him and the keypad on the wall as she punched in the number deactivating the alarm.

By her instinctive caution, he could tell Jillian Taylor was normally a careful with her safety. It was just an odd sequence of events that put her in the deadly position she had been in this night. But the same could be said for about a thousand other hapless people each day. The wrong place, the wrong time, and they were in the midst of bad situations.

“I’ll just go up and change.” Her words broke through his thoughts. Her voice seemed stronger now in the surroundings of her own home.

“Fine, just remember not to wash.”

“They … they already.”

“I’d like to have it done again.” He cursed himself as her face paled, but swallowing, her shoulders straightened.

She nodded, turning the corner to the stairs, leaving him to wander around.

Stepping forward, he looked around the corner into a well-lit kitchen. Except for a glass, bowl, and spoon in the sink, it was neat and tidy. Either she hadn’t had dinner yet this evening, or she stopped on the way home. He guessed the former. Sitting off to the side, in the corner of the floor, were two large metal bowls on a mat. One contained water while the other remained empty, waiting.

Another step took him into the large, open living area. To his right, light spilt in from the opening over the kitchen counter into the dining room, or what would be the dining room. For Jillian, the room contained a large antique roll top desk holding a computer and a small stack of papers.

On the other wall was a drafting table with several rolls of paper and an assortment of pens, pencils, and other tools laid out around the top. There was no dining table so Jillian either did little entertaining or no more than could fit at her small table in the kitchen.

He turned to the main living area. The room spoke of sheer elegance but, at the same time, was warm, inviting and comfortable. No contemporary, modern stuff, he thought with pleasure. Rich cherry wood tables and entertainment cabinet, rose and blue print couch, and blue chairs all tied together with a large oriental area rug centered in front of the fireplace. All in all, it was classy, not overly feminine so it would leave a man feeling uncomfortable in the room.

He should do something like this with his living room. He hated what Felicity had done to the room. Luckily, that and the bedroom were the only two rooms she’d redecorated, and she had taken the bedroom furniture with her when she left. It was the only thing she had wanted from him besides money and position. He hadn’t given her the position she craved, and there hadn’t been much money either when she left. Too bad she hadn’t taken the living room furniture.

A myriad of pictures sat on the mantle. Several of an older couple − her parents. Some he guessed were friends or siblings. Several contained shots of Jillian. In one picture she was smiling at the camera with a playful sensuousness that made his breath catch in his chest.

Forcing his attention away, he focused on the painting over the mantel, couple of pintail ducks swimming through reeds set in a cherry-wood frame. The artist did a nice job, picking up the likeness perfectly. Maybe he would see about something like that for his office.

J Taylor, the signature, tucked neatly in the reeds at the corner, caught his attention. Jillian Taylor, he looked around the apartment, did that fit her? It could be a relative, or just coincidence. He eyed the painting.

“Should I put these in a bag?” She stood at the bottom of the stairs in a snug pair of worn jeans and an oversized blue sweater. Comfort clothes. Her arms extended out the bundle of clothes leaving no doubt, she wished never to touch them again.

Quickly he stepped forward taking them. “I’ll put them in an evidence bag in the car. Thank you.”

“I didn’t ask again − were you able to find out anything about Abby, my dog?”

“Sorry. I should’ve told you before. All I could find out was she had two cuts, and they’ve taken her to Mountain View Veterinary Clinic. Eliza Jones is the veterinarian there. She handles our police dogs. She’s very competent.”

The young woman in front of him seemed so vulnerable that it called out to him to do something more. “We can call from the hospital and check on her if you’d like.”

“Yes, please.” Jillian wrapped her arms around herself.

“Ready?” He motioned to the door.

Jillian hesitated. He guessed she didn’t really want to go back out into the dark night. “I’ll get my purse since I’ll need ID.” She waited to move, tension filled the air.

He could see her chin tremble.

“I didn’t wash my hands or brush my hair.” The words rushed from her lips followed by a half sob.

Mark found himself resisting the urge to step forward and wrap his arms around her. He thought he had won his inner fight when she took another trembling breath. The next thing he realized, his arm went out around her pulling her close. Her head came to rest against his chest, tucked under his chin.

“It’s okay now. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He moved his hand up and down her back. Neither said another word for several moments until Jillian stepped back. He let her go immediately feeling a strange sense of loss.

“I’m ready.” She looked up rather shyly before turning to her closet to get her purse.

***

Mark leaned his head back against the wall. He had been in the waiting room nearly two hours. It was past one o’clock. Another night he wasn’t home to see Jordan before bedtime. He cursed himself once again. Boys needed their father around them, especially when there wasn’t a mother in the home. Mrs. Morris was wonderful. She’d been their housekeeper for nearly three years now, but he knew it wasn’t the same for Jordan. He wished Jordan could have it like he did through his youth.

Yeah, sure his dad was always busy and in the public view with his political career, but he always made sure Mark never felt like he was lacking attention. He tried to emulate his father, yet, here it was another night away from his son. Well, no matter what time he finally got to bed, he would make sure he was up to see Jordan before school in the morning.

He looked down the hallway again hoping to see Jillian Taylor coming. If it seemed to be a long night for him, it must feel like an eternity for her. At least he had been able to put some of his time to use.

Through Delaney’s market, they had found out the other woman’s name was Sandra Cannon. Her parents had been contacted, and he had talked to them for quite a while when they arrived at the hospital, waiting for their daughter to come out of surgery. So far, the prospects were looking good. She was expected to survive though she might be in critical condition for some time.

He had also been able to reach Dr. Jones and find out that Jillian’s dog had been stitched up and was going to recover fully. Eliza told him it would be a couple of days until the dog could go home and there wasn’t much use coming tonight since the dog was sedated. Now, all Mark had to do was tell Jillian.

He closed his eyes, picturing the woman. The image formed in his mind with surprising clarity. Medium height, honey blonde hair with sun-lightened streaks that he thought were natural. Large blue eyes. Fresh, clean, appealing, so appealing he wanted to gather her in his arms, to protect her from all the mad cruelties of the world. He shuddered at the thought of how well she had fit in his arms back at her apartment.

“Chief Richards.” Her voice trickled through him as if he had conjured her up in his mind.

Forcing back the thoughts of her, he opened his eyes, pulling himself upright away from the wall. She looked a little more tired, and now her hair all hung free, brushed into soft touchable wisps around her freshly washed face. The bruise on her cheek stood out a little more pronounced, attesting to the rough night she’d had, but she looked appealing with her blue eyes shadowed in drowsiness, calling for her to be cuddled and held tight.

“They said I can leave.” Her voice also was stronger now.

“Are you all right?” He stepped toward her, extending his arm to direct her to the exit.

“The doctor said I’m fine.”

He was tempted to ask again how she felt and not what the doctor said but held it in as she continued.

“The officer took my statement, sh … she said it would be typed up and that I could go to the police station tomorrow and sign it. I guess that’s normal procedure.”

“Yes. If you think of anything more, you can add it at any later time.” He closed his hand on her elbow as the doors slid open to the darkness of the night.

***

Jillian forced herself to take a deep breath wondering if nighttime would ever feel the same again. A spicy musk smell invaded her senses, warm and appealing. All of her senses must be going haywire tonight.

She shifted to catch a glance of the man beside her in the glow of the dashboard. No, not haywire, Police Chief Richards was an appealing man. She could still feel the tingling awareness of where his fingers had closed on her elbow, and now even after everything that had happened tonight, she felt safe.

Strangely enough, that was how she felt from the first time he had turned to her, and she was caught in those hazel eyes. Security − was that what everyone felt when he looked at them? No wonder he was the police chief. He didn’t seem old. In fact, he seemed a lot younger then she would have guessed for the position, maybe mid-thirties.

Shifting again, she turned to get a better look at him. The faint green glow from the speedometer made his face appear harsher, emphasizing his high cheekbones and sharp distinctive nose. A lock of sandy hair curled over his forehead creating a longing within her to touch and trace it with her finger. Shocked at the thought, Jillian looked out the window.

To the side of her, Chief Richards broke the silence. “Is there somewhere else you would like me to take you?”

“All I want is to see how Abby is.”

“I called from the hospital. Dr. Jones said your dog will be just fine. Fortunately, none of the wounds were as serious as they appeared to be, but she is sedated and won’t wake up until at least morning. Dr. Jones suggested that you wait ‘til then to come visit.”