“He’s always struck in the evening, but I’m not taking a chance he won’t break with his tradition like he did last year.” He folded the map and put it in his pocket. “If he’s seen us together, he’ll probably think we’re dating.”
She bit her lower lip.
Think
they’re dating. Not
know.
“It’ll seem strange if we’re not together on Valentine’s Day, at least for a while,” he continued. “I’ll pick you up in the morning. We can go to breakfast, walk around, have lunch and catch a movie. Then I’ll drop you off here, leave, and come around the way you described. You need to keep those curtains closed until I’m in, then you can open them for a bit. I’m going to be waiting in your closet.”
He had it all figured out. “Should we have a signal? Like, if I say ‘bullocks,’ that means I’ve heard something suspicious.”
His expression darkened. “I still don’t like this.”
Well, at least he was worried about her. That was a good thing, right? “I’ll be fine. You’ll have the phone ready to call 911.”
“I’ve already got it programmed in as a speed dial. And I’m bringing my haul ropes, what I use for climbing. As soon as he comes in through the window and starts to sneak into the living area, I’ll grab him from behind and tie him up. I’ve got my wall hammer if I need it.”
“What if he’s got a weapon?”
“I’ve got the element of surprise. And strength.” He looked at her. “And determination.” For a second, she saw that glimmer of protectiveness in his eyes.
“Thank you. And I’m sorry if I complicated things. I just wanted to cover all my bases.”
He looked away from her. “Call if you need me.”
“I can…make dinner if you’re not doing anything.”
“I’m having dinner with Owen. He’s kind of freaked-out. All this is bringing up some bad memories.”
She winced. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After he left, she leaned against the door with a sigh. “I do need you.”
She pushed away from the door, the energy drained right out of her. She’d never let herself fall in love before. Maybe a fun infatuation, but not love. The thoughts always got in the way. Nobody told her how hard it would be to lose a real lover.
“At least I had it once.”
She trudged into her bedroom and stopped. Her comforter was wrinkled. She hadn’t noticed when they’d been in there earlier. Adrian hadn’t touched her bed. She walked over to her window and looked out. It wasn’t the near darkness or the cold seeping through the glass that sent a bone-deep chill through her. Was her imagination running overtime? Surely she had reason to be paranoid. She could feel someone watching her out there. She turned to her bed. It felt like someone had been in the room, too. Lying on her bed. Going through her things.
That thought was terrible enough. But…what if he was still there?
She grabbed her pepper spray from her purse and stalked over to her closet door. Her heart was pounding in her throat. She reached out, wrapped her fingers around the doorknob…and yanked it open. Something moved, and she screamed. One of her padded hangers was swinging from the movement of the door opening.
She pushed aside her clothing and searched the dark shadows of the closet. Thankfully, no one lurked there. She walked out into the living area and checked the closet by the door, too. And then, just to be sure, she went into Berta’s room. Apparently her cleanliness only applied to public spaces. Her bed wasn’t made and unmatched shoes were here and there on the floor. Same went for her closet: clothing was piled on the floor, and what was hung up wasn’t done properly. On the upside, no one was hiding in there. Deep in the bowels of her closet she heard the front door open. Had she locked it after Adrian left? She lurched out of the closet and was staring at the door, wide-eyed, when Berta walked in.
She came to an abrupt halt. “What are you doing in here? You’re looking through my clothes?”
“Uh, no.
No.
”
“I told you before, we don’t intrude into each other’s space. And I don’t do that borrowing-clothing thing.” She pulled at the striped knit shirt that hung down to her knees. “Go get your own clothes.”
“I thought I heard a sound in here. Have you noticed anything odd lately, like your bed”—Kristy looked at the rumpled sheets—“anything odd at all?”
Berta’s thick, dark eyebrow arched. “Only you in my room.”
“I’m leaving.” Kristy scooted past her. She really had to get her own place. Living with a stranger wasn’t cutting it.
She closed her door and sank onto her bed. One more night. She wasn’t sure she could handle the waiting.
“That was close.”
He’d been in her bedroom when she’d come home. Lying on her bed, breathing in her scent on the pillow. Fortunately, he was always on alert. He climbed out the window just in time. He watched the building until she was alone again. A perfect opportunity to go in now and have his fun with her. But not the right time. He hadn’t gotten away with four murders by acting on impulse. And he wouldn’t be Kiss and Kill Cupid if he struck one day early, would he?
No, he wouldn’t.
The roommate trudged up the front steps and went into the building. Hopefully she wouldn’t be around tomorrow. No matter who was there, he would handle it. He had an idea. A brilliant idea. He smiled, feeling the hunger flowing into his veins like a drug. Kristy would be his loveliest prize yet. If things worked out right, he would have plenty of time to play with her before he wrapped his hands around that beautiful neck of hers.
Kristy woke early on Valentine’s Day. Not that she’d really had much sleep. Between thinking about the day and Adrian and even Owen, who could sleep? She ran out to get the paper Dale Soza wrote for. Even with her breath hanging like icicles in the air, she walked slowly and paged through it, looking for anything about Owen.
Her last icy breath before she walked into her building was one of relief. Nothing. Yet. If Owen wasn’t the killer, and Dale ever broke that story, she knew Adrian wouldn’t be as forgiving where it came to her assignment with the magazine. If there was a magazine.
She rubbed at the moisture in her eyes. Not from the cold.
I might have really screwed up.
“Nothing in there yet.”
She knew his voice even without seeing him. It sent a bittersweet flood of emotion through her, and she took a second to compose herself before turning to find him at the bottom of the steps. And he had to go and look really good, too, in a black wool coat and tight blue jeans. His hair looked playfully mussed by the breeze, and she wanted to smooth it out as a way to get close to him, to breathe him in. He smelled like soap and clean male, but not of Intuition. He’d probably tossed the bottle.
She could only shake her head in answer, her throat too tight to release any words.
“It’s only a matter of time,” he continued, his expression dark. “I don’t know what it’s going to do to him.”
Dale would be following him today. Hoping for the big break,
hoping
it was Owen. What a coup that would be, and that he’d killed his stepfather when he was seven would be the icing on the sordid story. It would ruin the magazine, which would then be associated with a serial killer and not bracing adventures. Adrian would lose his dream, and by default, he would be covered in media soot, too. Then it would be “Beauty and the Beast.”
Even if Owen wasn’t Kiss and Kill Cupid, his unthinkable childhood and crime could be enough to do them in.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice sounding very small.
“Let’s go.”
“I’ll be right back. I need to get my purse.”
He accompanied her, though she was sure it was more out of his protective instinct than any desire to be with her. He remained near the front door while she walked into her bedroom. She reached for her purse strap and heard a noise coming from the closet. The door was ajar. Had she left it that way?
Another sound. Definitely coming from her closet.
Oh, God, he was striking early! She had to get Adrian. Swallowing hard, she took a step toward the door. Another one.
The closet door swung open. She lunged forward, but her heel caught on a loop in the carpet and sent her flying to the floor. Footsteps came up behind her. Kristy let out a cry of fear as she pulled her shoe free and spun around to face him.
Or…
her
?
Berta looked at her, her hands on her hips. “I’m missing my black-and-red skull shirt. I thought you might have taken it, seeing as you were rummaging around in my closet the other day. Lucky for you, I didn’t see it.”
She walked out, leaving Kristy to scramble up from the floor, her heart pounding. Adrian walked toward her, a mixture of confusion and worry on his face.
“What happened?”
She waved it away, just wanting to get out of there. On the stairway she told him what had happened. “It was dumb.” But her quivering voice gave away how frightening it had been when she thought the killer was looming over her.
“Kristy, admit it; you’re freaked-out. You don’t have to do this. We can try the police again.”
“No. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.”
She walked beside him to the waiting car. They went to a diner that served old-fashioned breakfast fare: grits and sausage and buttery eggs. Neither ate very much.
“I was thinking,” he said, and he sure hadn’t said much, “that if we stage an argument, that will make him feel more confident about approaching you later. And it would make more sense as to why we spent the day together but not the evening.”
That wouldn’t be hard to do in his state of mind. “You could act as though I’d done some horrible thing when all I really wanted to do was put this guy who’s been killing women behind bars.”
He looked at her—he hadn’t done a lot of that, either. “Right now, Kristy, I can’t think about why you did what you did. I know you didn’t set out to ruin Owen’s life. You thought you were doing the right thing. But I thought we were in this together, then you went behind my back and opened a can of worms. Is Dale Soza out there watching you, hoping to catch the big bad killer in action for the morning edition?”
“No. I told him I would be fine on my own. That I was safe. And I tried to talk to you about my suspicions, but you wouldn’t hear of it.” She set her fork on her plate, giving up on the idea of eating. “I thought about my brother, and what if someone told me they thought he was a killer. I’d be incensed and hurt and probably blind to the signs. I wouldn’t be very happy with the person who was telling me. So I wasn’t going to push you on it. Maybe I made a mistake in going to Soza. If I’m wrong, hopefully he’ll keep his word.”
Adrian looked skeptical. “Forgive me if I don’t have a lot of faith in reporters.” He pointed to himself. “Remember, ‘Beauty and the Brain.’”
“Point taken.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I’ve postponed the trip to Wimberly, at least until we see what happens.”
Her heart dropped another notch. He was easing her out, of his magazine and life. She could only nod, her mouth stretching into a frown.
They walked around the city as planned, and the murmur of everyone’s thoughts crowded into her head. Again, she found herself wishing she could read Adrian’s thoughts. She knew she was in a bad state of mind when even the spring fashions in the windows and SALE signs didn’t perk her up. They wandered over to the theater and looked at the movie posters.
“Something light and fun,” she said. “I need that.”
He eyed the one she was looking at. “No romantic comedies. I’m not in the mood for anything romantic.”
They settled on a foreign film, one they’d never heard of. It sounded neutral enough: the story of a widow trying to recover from her husband’s sudden death, set in France. Angst would be a good distracter. Having to read subtitles would distract her even more. He bought a tub of popcorn, and they settled into their seats. Every time they reached into the tub at the same time, and their fingers brushed, she felt that jolt. This might be the last day she’d see him. So she waited until she saw him reaching into the tub from the corner of her eye and reached, too.
Save up those jolts
,
girl. You’ll probably never get to feel this again.
Kristy was touched by Adele’s deeply moving journey from pain to power. She had gone from overprotected housewife to career woman, proving herself to her brooding boss, Benoit. In French, even when they discussed the consistency of cheese, it sounded sensuous. They were arguing over which angle to use for an ad campaign for cheese when Benoit grabbed Adele and started kissing her. A warm flush washed over Kristy. Now they weren’t arguing over anything. No subtitles to distract.
Benoit swept everything off his desk with his arm and laid her on top of it, their mouths sealed together in desperate kisses. His hand ran down her now-bared leg, pushing up her skirt even more.
Kristy squirmed in her seat, resisting the urge to cover her eyes.
Benoit’s other hand tore at Adele’s dress. Buttons flew. He bared her breast and sucked it like a man starved.
Kristy squirmed again, feeling heat crawling through her body like a thousand ants. She saw Adrian shift, too. It took everything inside her not to look at him, but she was pretty sure he was watching it in the same riveted way she was.
The two actors groaned and breathed heavily, and he trailed kisses down her stomach the way Adrian had done to her only two days ago. That hot, tingling sensation marched right down between her legs. The actor was kissing her thighs, pushing them apart. She realized her own legs were moving apart, too, and she felt exactly what that woman was feeling. She saw not the two actors but her and Adrian, their bodies moving together, felt him filling her, and when she could hardly breathe, she reached over to grab a handful of popcorn to shove into her mouth.
Only she didn’t get a handful of popcorn. The bucket wasn’t where it had been. But Adrian’s very hard penis was, and that’s what she got a handful of. He jerked, and she jerked, and the bucket spilled, sending popcorn flying everywhere.
“Sorry! I was grabbing popcorn!”