Drawing Blood (11 page)

“It’s impossible to miss.”

She didn’t respond. His words didn’t require a comment.

He showed Holly the kitchen and she was lost. To her inexperienced eyes it had every gadget ever made by man. She didn’t know the purpose of half of them. Her mystification must have been obvious because he said, “Yes, I know how to use everything in this kitchen.”

Holly laughed. “I’m glad
you
do because it’s beyond me.” She pointed to one gleaming stainless steel apparatus warily and said, “I think I saw that one in a horror movie once. Not good.”

“If you’re thinking of the movie I’m thinking of then you’re damned right it’s not good.” He laughed. Somehow Holly knew they were thinking of the same thing and she accompanied his laughter with her own. It sounded good and she started to relax a little.

He served lunch outside in the garden. Holly was impressed with his culinary prowess and his gardening skills, but he rushed to set her straight.

“I don’t know much about gardening, but I’m happy to hire someone who does.” He looked mildly apologetic.

Holly laughed. “I’ve never been good at pulling weeds. I can’t help but think they have a right to live just as well as any other plant. In fact I admire them, they’re plucky.”

 
“Well, now that you mention it. Who was it that decided grass is good and dandelions are bad?”

“Exactly.” She nodded and gently pounded the table with her fist. “And you can eat dandelions, damn it! Marigolds are good and dandelions are bad. What’s the difference? A flower is a flower as long as it’s indigenous.”

“You can even make dandelion wine!” Stryker laughed with mock triumph. He lifted his glass of Sangria and toasted, “Here’s to the dandelion, a much misunderstood gift of nature.”

Holly touched her glass to his and their eyes met. All humor drained from her face as they stared at each other. The tension was back instantly. She could see desire in his eyes and wondered if it was her own reflected back at her. She held his gaze. He looked away.

At last, he said, “Did you bring your drawing?”

Lost for a second Holly took a moment to reply. At last, she nodded. “Yes. It’s in my bag.”

As she moved to retrieve her handbag, Stryker shook his head and said,

“Allow me.” Rising from the table with effortless grace, it took him a split second to retrieve her purse. He looked funny carrying her little flowered bag. Holly suppressed a giggle. Men always seemed to have a particular expression whenever they carried a woman’s handbag, part discomfort, part embarrassment. They held it like they would a baby with a dirty diaper. They knew that they had to handle it with care, but they would much rather someone else took it off their hands.

He looked so cute. Holly was delighted. For that moment, gone was the sense of danger that seemed to surround him. The image was an intriguing juxtaposition
—
vital, potentially dangerous man with purse. He arched a brow at her, an inquiry in his eyes, but she ignored him and started to rummage through her bag. She pulled out the folded drawing and handed it to him.

Without missing a beat he said, “It’s good. You shouldn’t have folded it.”

Holly looked at him warily. “It’s not something you want to frame and put in your living room.”

“No, I guess it isn’t, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t good.”

She shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I say so. You captured Irene’s kitchen perfectly. And look,” he pointed to the sketch, “there’s the dish rack. When you created this, she wasn’t planning on leaving. You did change the future, just not enough.”

“Whoopee! Irene O’Neill died outside in her garden instead of at her kitchen table. She didn’t make a mess on the linoleum, thanks to me.”

He reached out and touched her hand. She felt his need to comfort her and looked up at him in surprise.

“You did all you could. More than most people would have done. It isn’t your fault that Irene didn’t get out in time. What we have to hold on to is the fact that given the right opportunity, we can change the future. That’s miraculous in itself.” His thumb gently stroked her hand. “Your drawing proves something else and it gives me no comfort.”

She frowned and looked at him waiting for his explanation.

He didn’t keep her waiting long. “It proves to me that this won’t be the last.”

“How’s that?” Holly felt bewildered. Why would he suggest such a thing?

He pointed to the drawing.

“See here? You drew two puncture wounds.”

 
Wow, he noticed the marks right away. Distracted by the blood and gore, it had taken her some study to notice that detail. But what did they mean? “Two puncture wounds? Why does that make you think there will be more murders?”

“Because I’ve seen this before.”

“Where?” Holly was horrified. “Are you saying we’re looking at a serial killer?”

“I’d rather not say until I have more information. Right now it’s just a hunch.”

She considered arguing with him, but one quick glance at his set expression had her deciding against it for the moment. Instead, she studied the picture again shuddering. “It’s so horrible.

“It is, but if it helps at all, I don’t think she suffered.”

She rested her hands on the table and said, “It helps a little.”

“If your drawing depicts what actually happened, then death came fast. It would have been almost immediate.” He pointed to the drawing. “See? Clean wounds. No additional trauma to the skin. The weapon was sharp and the killer’s aim, precise.”

Holly looked away from the drawing and into his blue eyes. “What makes marks like that? A barbeque fork?” She scoffed at the suggestion. “Snake bite? Vampire bite?”

Trying to find some humor, she searched his face. He wasn’t laughing. He eyes remained fixed, intent and deadly serious. “Nevertheless, I don’t believe you would have drawn one isolated murder committed on the spur of the moment. I think it was planned and some part of you picked up on that plan. I don’t care what the police think. Irene wasn’t killed by her ex-husband.”

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse,” Holly said seriously.

He smiled at her. “You are enchanting.”

Taken aback, Holly lifted an eyebrow and smiled at him. “Now that’s an antiquated word. It conjures up images of old Englishmen and dusty libraries.”

He frowned, confusion on his face. “I don’t think that’s fair. The word fit, so I used it.”

“Well then, I guess I should thank you for the compliment.” She hesitated, narrowing her eyes. “It was a compliment, wasn’t it?”

“Of course,” he said and added ruefully, “I guess I could have used more modern words, but they just didn’t seem to express what I meant.”

She waved him off. “Sorry. I’ll take enchanting. It’s a nice word. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He sat there smiling at her and appeared prepared to do that for the rest of the afternoon.

Holly shifted a little uncomfortably. Being the recipient of all his attention was a little unnerving and she felt compelled to keep the conversation going. “If what you said is right, then there will be another murder or attempted murder. Right?”

He nodded with obvious regret.

“What do we do to stop it?”

His tone was deadly serious. “I wish I knew. For now, I think we should work the problem. That’s all we have.”

Holly nodded eagerly. “Yes, work the problem.” She nodded again then frowned. “How do we do that?”

“We’ve checked out the crime scene and found very little. Murder investigations are never like they’re depicted on television. Crime scene investigators don’t work every case. The procedures you see on
CSI
are expensive and time consuming. They won’t be used here especially since the cops think they’ve got the guy. They’ve cottoned onto the first and easiest explanation.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“It isn’t fair, but that’s the way it works. Unless some cop takes a personal interest in this case, they’ll try Stan O’Neill for Irene’s murder or better yet, they’ll try to get him to confess to a lesser charge and strike a deal.”

“So you think they’ll work on getting a confession from him then?”

He nodded. “Yes, that’s where they’ve concentrated their efforts. I’ve called Irene’s nephew and asked him for admittance to the house. The police have released it. We won’t have to sneak around anymore.”

“But what are we going to find that we didn’t last night?”

“I’m not sure. The neighbor who found her body and the cops who arrived first on the scene messed up the murder site pretty good, but I’ll still take some samples. I can send them to a private lab and have testing done.”

Holly’s jaw dropped. “You can do that?”

“If you have the right connections you can.”

“I guess that means you do.”

He nodded. “I’ll see what can be done, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather do this without alerting the police. I don’t think they’d take kindly to us investigating something they think is solved.”

“But what happens if we find the murderer?”

“If we hand them the culprit along with solid evidence, I don’t think they’re going to care where the solution came from.”

Holly had to agree, he had a point. “So what do we do now?”

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. Despite the cool touch of his skin on her heated flesh, she could feel herself blushing. He smiled as he looked down at the effect he’d had on her and said, “Now we have dessert.”

Chapter 8

Holly slid the moist chocolate cake from her fork then licked her lips and closed her eyes. Stryker stared at her, mesmerized.

He smiled. “Should I leave the two of you alone?”

“I like chocolate." She felt the need to defend herself.

He flashed her an indulgent grin. “So I see. I felt like I was intruding.”

Rolling her eyes, she savored another bite. “Did you make this yourself?” she asked with her mouth full.

“I must confess that I cook, but I don’t bake. I got this from the bakery.” Taking a large bite of the cake on his plate, he said, “I like chocolate too.”

Holly swallowed. “What’s not to like?” She loved the fact that he took pleasure from food. Avery would have approved. She’d always said that a man who could enjoy his food, could enjoy a woman. It all boiled down to sensuality. At this moment, Holly couldn’t find a single flaw in her friend’s reasoning. Stryker looked even more irresistible while satisfying his appetite. Entirely different appetites were brought to mind as she watched him.

“Have you been precognitive your whole life?” He interrupted her thoughts.

His question took her by surprise and the very personal drawing she’d done of him flashed before her eyes. He didn’t need to know about that.

Finally, she answered him. “As long as I can remember I’ve been able to draw the future. I’m completely out of it while I’m doing it, but luckily I can feel the urge coming on. My father took me to doctors and they put me on medication that impaired my ability for a while. Man, I hated how the drugs made me feel.”

He touched her hand and she melted a little as he said, “I’m sorry. It was wrong of him to try to stifle what you can do. It’s a gift.”

“It is sometimes.” She touched a finger to the folded drawing of Irene sitting on the table and shook her head sadly. “It scares people, even me at times. I’ve never drawn violence like this before.”