Authors: Toni Anderson
He was the prick she voted Most
Likely to Succeed.
“Why do you even think it’s the
same guy?” she demanded, picking up the pen and scoring the writing pad with
the nib. “It was, what, eighteen, nineteen years ago? I figured he’s dead or in
prison with all the other psychos.”
Maybe her memories had betrayed
her…maybe it was a different guy.
Sam Walker opened a file and laid a
picture on the table. Angela Morelli’s dead eyes stared up at her, her torso
patterned with exactly the same marks Josie carried on her flesh.
Bile rose in her throat and she
covered her lips with her palm.
Son of a bitch
. Other photos appeared on
the table. Body after body of butchered women, blood soaking beneath them in
dark pools.
“Josie, I know this is hard, but
you’re the only lead we have on this guy.”
The only one left alive
.
Walker’s voice was coaxing and gentle, totally at odds with the horror laid out
on the table. He squatted beside her, put a hand on her knee and she held very,
very still.
She didn’t like to be touched.
Never had. But she couldn’t afford to freak out in Law Enforcement Central.
Rubbing her arms, she tried to hide her reaction until he removed his hand.
When he did, she forced herself to
try to breathe. To try and remember. It wasn’t like she wanted this nutcase on
the loose any more than they did.
The bastard had knocked her
unconscious and carried her down some godforsaken alley. “I really don’t know
how I can help.”
As a child she’d lain frozen as
that sharp blade had sliced her skin. Not deep, but deliberately searching out
raw nerve-endings.
I won’t kill you if you don’t make a sound
. She
frowned, kept her hands on the tabletop in front of her. There’d been
something
about his voice, but it was so long ago…
She’d been too scared to move—just
like today. And when he’d flipped her onto her stomach she’d expected him to
kill her, but instead he’d scored his blade across her flesh some more, carving
a pattern that had defined the rest of her life.
It had stung like a bitch, but she
hadn’t made a sound. At some point she must have passed out because when she’d
woken up, he’d been gone.
That’s when she’d staggered to her
feet and run for help.
She remembered having her
fingerprints taken and desperately trying to wash the greasy blackness from her
hands even though the movement had pulled her stitches. “The cops got his
prints, I think. Off the knife that pinned me to the ground.”
***
Marsh waited in the
corridor, checking the latest bureau mandates pinned neatly to the corkboard
outside the interview room. The door opened and Josephine walked out, closely
followed by Special Agent Walker. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor and
would have marched right past him, except he blocked her way.
Cold fluorescent light emphasized
the hollows beneath her cheekbones. The blue of her eyes was the only splash of
color in this sterile stretch of corridor. Even though he didn’t trust her, he
was helpless in the face of his fascination for her.
Nicholl hustled out of the
interview room checking his wristwatch. Seeing Marsh, he slowed down and shot
out a modulated smile.
“Thanks for the lead, sir.”
He felt Josephine bristle. Her
childhood scars were more than a lead in a case. Shrugging off the thought and
knowing he might need Nicholl’s help if he wanted an inside track on this
investigation, Marsh shook the man’s hand. Special Agent Walker stood patiently
beside Josephine, resting a proprietary hand on the small of her back.
Marsh stuck out his hand to Walker,
just to get him to stop touching her.
“I’ll see Ms. Maxwell home.” Walker
smiled grimly.
Not in this lifetime.
“I’ve
got it covered.” Marsh released the agent’s hand fully expecting Josephine to
argue, but her eyes held only fatigue and defeat. “We’ve got a lot to catch up
on.”
She flashed a narrowed-eyed scowl
at them both. At least she didn’t look defeated anymore.
Moving quickly she got into the
elevator. He shoved his arm through the gap to prevent it from closing on him
and followed her inside. Finally they were alone.
There was an air of fragility about
the normally fierce woman as she leaned against the stainless steel walls, her
finger pressing the button for the ground floor. It shot a little ache into his
chest.
“What now?” she asked quietly.
Her hair was caught inside her
battered army jacket. Unable to resist, he slipped his fingers inside her
collar and pulled it free, smoothed the silky silver tresses over the worn
olive canvas. Her lips parted, nostrils flared.
She felt it too. He could see the
echo of uncertainty reflected deep in her eyes, the dance of awareness that
ignited between them even though they were both exhausted and wary and burnt
from their last encounter. Small white teeth bit pink lips and heat kicked
through his groin like a supernova.
Too smart to play with the jaws of
a gin-trap, Marsh withdrew his hand. “We go back to your place and I sleep on
the couch.”
He expected her to argue, but
whatever else she might be, Josephine Maxwell was no fool.
The delicate skin beneath her eyes
was darkened, but she still managed to look fierce and battle-ready. “Tomorrow
I’ll clear out of town.”
Her MO was to run. He should have
known that would be her answer and couldn’t explain why it pissed him off so
much. “And leave the UNSUB to kill more innocent women? I figured you were
braver than that, princess.”
It was a low dig and Josephine
responded by baring her teeth. Something about her had always reminded him of a
wild animal—most dangerous when cornered. “It’s your job to catch the bad guys,
Superman. Why don’t you concentrate on that.”
There was nothing defeated about
her anymore. This was the grit and balls Josephine he’d gone a few rounds with
in the spring. Theoretically they’d come off even, but he wasn’t so sure. He’d
never recovered, and aside from her encounter with a serial killer, she seemed
fine.
It pissed him off.
“He’ll come after you.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but
not before he’d seen the terror flash in their depths. Why couldn’t she drop
her guard for once? Why couldn’t he? Marsh crowded her against the elevator
wall conscious of the security camera that monitored every move. He wanted to
kiss her, wanted to keep her wrapped up safe until the danger passed. But
Josephine rarely allowed anyone to sense weakness, certainly never accepted
compassion or help, especially not from him.
They stared at one another,
emotions shimmering in her eyes, his heartbeat thudding angrily in his chest.
He bit down on words that wanted to spill out. What were they both so scared
of?
The elevator dinged and he stepped
away, but not before she swept a scathing look over his frame and tossed her
hair over her shoulder with a derisory flick. Like he was nothing. Like he was
no one. He almost smiled. One thing was for certain, she knew how to push every
one of his buttons. He stuffed his fists into his pockets, waited for her to
exit in front of him.
They made their way through
security, then to his car, their footsteps echoing across the plaza and ringing
off the tall building. The Stars and Stripes snapped in the brisk wind and
Marsh welcomed the chill on his skin. A foghorn sounded across the bay,
mournful and sad. New York, New York.
Josephine caught her heel and
stumbled slightly, but Marsh caught her arm. Some primal triumph pumped through
his blood when she didn’t shrug away. Pathetic. He was totally pathetic. What
he needed to do was use his brain and figure out how to catch this killer.
A thought struck him. “Are you
listed in the phone book?”
Frowning, she shook her head. “I
can give you my number—”
Marsh already knew her number. He’d
chosen not to call it because he was a stubborn ass. “Assuming this is the same
guy from your childhood, how did he know where to find you?”
Traffic was light, the air faintly
tinged with brine.
A puzzled expression creased her
brow. “I’m not listed anywhere. I have a website, but it doesn’t give my address.”
That’s what he’d been afraid of.
“You a registered voter?”
She shook her head and they carried
on walking. “Elizabeth is. I don’t vote.”
Marsh shook his head, pissed.
People died for the right to vote and it irritated him when they didn’t bother.
But it wasn’t important right now.
She walked around to the passenger
door of his car. “Politicians are all the same anyway.”
He ignored that sentiment because
she was probably right. “He might have hired a professional to track you down.”
Marsh wondered if it would give the investigation a lead or waste more time.
It was better than nothing.
A siren whooped, a flash of red
light in the distance.
“He could have gotten my name from
the newspapers all those years ago. They reported everything in all its glory.”
Josephine climbed into the car, closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Can we
stop talking about this now? I have a headache.”
Looking at her strained profile, he
kept silent and started the engine. It responded with a smooth purr and he
pulled out onto the almost empty street, heading toward the Village. They
didn’t speak. Not even when they reached the relative quiet of Grove Street.
Parking the car, he cut the engine,
but Josephine didn’t stir.
The glow of streetlights swept over
her face and gilded her with gold. The gentle rise and fall of her chest told
him she was asleep and a kernel of satisfaction moved inside him because he
knew damned well she wouldn’t have slept if Agent Walker had driven her home.
Though what the hell that said about his sex appeal he didn’t know.
He wanted to lean over and brush
his lips across hers. She wasn’t as cold as she wanted the world to believe and
some days it broke his heart, how ruthlessly she pushed people away. Since the
day he’d first seen her, she’d stirred a ferocity inside him that no one else
skimmed, no one else even guessed existed.
A strand of hair fell across her
cheek. Gently he brushed it aside, absorbing the soft skin and ignoring the
ache in his body. What he felt for her wasn’t just physical; that’s why it
scared him. She opened her eyes slowly and for a moment he thought he saw his
conflicted desire reflected in their depths. She jerked at the door handle and
got out.
He blew out a breath before
following her, stopping to retrieve an overnight bag out of the trunk. It was
nearly three a.m. People were still on the street, between clubs or walking
home after a night out. Drunken laughter tumbled down the avenue, curiously
lighthearted for an evening filled with murder.
“What were you doing in Queens
eighteen years ago, Josephine?” It was a question that had nagged him since
he’d found out about her childhood attack.
She stopped in the middle of the
street, raised her face to the sky. “Can we leave it alone?”
She was hiding something—nothing
unusual there. Everyone lied to the authorities; it was a question of figuring
out which lies mattered. Something told him this one mattered.
There were no lights on inside her
redbrick tenement. Marsh climbed the steps beside her and inhaled the subtle
hint of citrus from her hair. Consciously he held his breath as she inserted
her key in the lock and pushed the door wide. Tried to hold onto that soft
fragrance rather than the faint odor of blood that clung to the ground floor
apartment. It wouldn’t surprise Marsh if the other residents stayed elsewhere
until the stench of violent death faded enough for them to regain the illusion
of safety. He’d suggest a hotel but knew she’d never go for it.
Josephine stood stiff and uncertain
on the threshold. Her skin looked waxy. Marsh reached forward and flipped the
switch and light flooded the hallway, shining off the mosaic tile floor and
white walls that were smudged with patches of fingerprint powder.
The door to the lower apartment was
taped shut—it could be days before evidence response teams released it.
The hairs on the back of his neck
lifted.
“Did the feds clear your apartment
before you left?”
“No.” Her eyes blazed at him. “Why
would they? He left through the ground floor window.” Pointing at the sealed
off door, she looked like she wanted to hit him. “Are you actively trying to
freak me out or does it come naturally?” She closed the front door behind him.
“A killer comes after you with a
knife yet I’m the one scaring you?” Hoisting his bag over his left shoulder, he
popped open his holster and took out his SIG-Sauer.
Open-mouthed, Josephine watched
him. Shaking her head, she started up the stairs. He let her lead. Let her
unlock her door and then touched her arm and motioned her behind him. Despite
the way she rolled her eyes he detected a frisson of alarm pass through her, as
if she were only now realizing that she could actually still be in danger. The
guy could have come back here. He’d know that her guard would be down after
being questioned by the cops. He wouldn’t expect her to have an escort.
The solid weight of his pistol felt
reassuring as Marsh pushed open the door and flipped the light switches. There
were no shadows, no monsters ready to jump out from behind the door. Marsh
dumped his bag inside and waved her forward, setting the lock behind him. If
the UNSUB was here, he wanted to nail the bastard before he hurt Josephine
again.
“He’s not here,” she hissed.
God save him from civilians.
“Unless you want to be terminally wrong, why don’t you stick close to me while
we make sure?”
He held out his hand, watched her
reach uncertainly for his fingers. There was a jolt of awareness between them
that widened her eyes on contact. Her skin felt satin smooth. He tugged her
behind him, searched closets and each of the rooms, ending in her bedroom.