If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (3 page)

Law grimaced. Shit. He’d rather face that. He had an accountant he paid to handle that shit.

But he couldn’t pay somebody to handle this for him.

Three months later

S
HE WAS SLEEPING WHEN HE CLIMBED OUT OF BED
.

By the time he came out of the shower, she was stirring and he knelt by the bed, pressed his lips to hers. She turned her head aside so his lips brushed her cheek. “Morning breath,” she muttered.

He laughed.

“You going to call me when you get to the hotel?”

“Yes.” Although he already knew the answer, being ever dutiful, he knew he had to ask. “You sure you don’t want to come with me?”

In the dim light filtering from the hallway, he could see her grimace. “No. Not my thing. You know that. But you go … have fun.”

He kissed her again. “I’ll try. I’ll miss you.”

“Hmmm. You do that. Bring me back something pretty …”

“You know I will.”

In his mind, he was already making plans.

He was heading to Chicago. It was a big city, one he was familiar with, and although he’d miss the pleasure of a leisurely hunt, he couldn’t keep putting this off. The urge was a hungry, boiling need inside him …

By the time he was ready to head out the door, she was
already lost once more to sleep. He paused to look in on her one more time, smiling absently at her. Then he left, impatience building, burning inside him.

He needed to be gone, away from here and gone.

He hadn’t realized it would be this hard to stop …

Her name was Katia. Or at least that was the name she’d given him. He didn’t know if that was her true name, and just then, he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting her out of this club. Getting her to a quiet, private place.

She didn’t know her time was running down. He figured that the one thing she was aware of was the need for sex—he could see it in her eyes. It probably had something to do with the pills she’d been popping. He didn’t much care for that, but in the end, it wouldn’t matter. She’d still fight—he could see it in her eyes. He knew which ones would fight.

A fast hunt wasn’t the same as a leisurely one, but there was pleasure in it just the same. A lot of pleasure.

They were walking down the block—or rather he was walking, she was stumbling while he held her up. One of her hands kept sliding down to rub his cock through his jeans and despite the need, he was a little disgusted with her. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, though, and he knew Katia was ideal for his needs. Ideal …

Abruptly, she giggled and grabbed his hand, jerking him into an alley. “Let’s do it in here.”

“Wouldn’t you rather get a hotel?” he asked.

“No.” She grabbed the hem of her short dress, pulling it up to show that she wore no panties. Faint light fell across her hips and thighs, revealing her waxed cunt. “I want to do it here.” She licked her finger and touched herself. “If you’re good, then I’ll let you get me a hotel. Later.”

He lifted a brow and followed her deeper into the shadows. This … well, this could be a new challenge altogether. He had some of his tools secured inside the leather jacket he wore. It wasn’t much, but it would suffice.

It wasn’t like they were in a
quiet
area of town. He’d heard sirens three different times in the past ten minutes, all from different directions. Voices rising and falling, the occasional yell, the pump and blast of music coming from somewhere close—very close. Another club, he assumed.

Behind him, he heard footsteps, a shout. Automatically, he lowered his head, hunched his shoulders. Hiding his height, his face as much as he could as he moved across the busted-up pavement, feeling the crunch of broken glass under his feet.

She smiled at him and rubbed herself harder. “You want to fuck me in here?” she whispered, batting her lashes at him, giving him what she must assume was a seductive smile.

He smiled back and slipped a hand into his pocket. He needed a rubber. And a gag.

“Yes.” He leaned in, kissed her, taking pleasure in it, giving her pleasure in return, smiling inwardly as she stilled, then sighed and shuddered against him. She whimpered in pleasure, and that pleased him.

All the while, her hands ran all over him and he let her do just that. When he pulled a rubber from his pocket, she grabbed it from him and put it on him, although he was careful to catch the wrapper, tucking it inside a zippered pocket, keeping it nice and safe.

Couldn’t leave any fingerprints lying around after all. After he dealt with the wrapper, he found a thin pair of gloves, balled them up in his fist, so she wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t see.

She curled her hand around him, started to stroke, but he stopped her by reaching down, cupping her. She wasn’t wet enough, not yet. Oh, he couldn’t have that. A bit of finessing, a bit of patience … and a few more kisses and she was mewling into his mouth, shaking and rocking against him, desperate, all but begging. He made certain she came before he did anything else.

That was one of his favorite parts.

Now it was almost time for the next favorite. He pulled his gloves on, quickly, quietly, kissing her to keep her from paying attention. Although she was so strung out, and still riding high on the orgasm, she might not have noticed anyway.

When he leaned back, her lashes were low, shielding her eyes.

He reached up, stroked a hand down her cheek. Then, as her lashes started to flutter, he fisted a hand in her long golden curls and slammed her head back against the brick, once, twice, three times.

Hard—hard enough to stun her and as she sagged against him, silent, he slipped the gag into place. Once that was done, he glanced around once more.

Dark, damn dark.

She moaned, her head slumped against his chest. He steadied her, lifted her. Waited until she roused before he did anything else. It just wouldn’t be much fun unless she was awake. Who wanted to fuck a motionless stick?

Her lashes lifted and he saw the moment fear began to slide into her eyes. That was when he pushed inside.

She didn’t start to fight right away though.

She was still confused, thanks to the drugs in her system, and the blows to her head probably weren’t helping. To aid that confusion along, he stroked her clit and murmured, “I love a bad girl who likes to play games.”

She blinked and looked delightfully confused over the gag and as he started to pull out, she tightened around
him—a startled, harsh moan ripping from her behind the gag.

She reached up, tried to pull it away. He caught her hands in one of his, slammed them over her head. Watched as that flicker of fear bloomed into something larger. She tried to pull away.

“No, Katia … it’s part of the game.
My
game.” He laughed as she started to struggle in earnest.

Watching her, he rested a hand on her neck, lightly at first, as he peered into her clearing eyes. No longer clouded by lust, no longer clouded by pain, and even the lingering effects of the drugs she’d been tossing back were clearing. Adrenaline could do that.

It wasn’t fun, though, to let it end too fast. He let her have one hand free, resting his own on her neck.

He squeezed and watched as she reached up, raking her nails across his hands. Or trying to. She felt his gloves and freaked out. He chuckled as she started to fight. And that really did it for him. As his cock swelled and his balls drew tight, he wedged his forearm against her neck and whispered, “Didn’t your mama teach you not to talk to strange men, Katia?”

Her name was Kathleen Hughes, not Katia.

But Kathleen was such a boring name … such a good girl name and she was so tired of people thinking she was a good girl.

She was twenty-four, damn it. Living on her own, having a good time, living her own life, living her own life and having fun. Tired of people expecting her to do what
they
wanted, tired of people expecting things of her, or even just being disappointed in her when she fucked up.

That was what she would have said if anybody had asked a few hours earlier.

So what if she was a little bit miserable lately? So what if she was missing her mom? Missing Jared, too … Jared—the bastard. And that was why she’d been popping those pills, because she’d been thinking about him, missing him, thinking about calling him.

But he wouldn’t want her back … miserable thoughts that only made her more miserable, which made her pop more pills, and now she was out here, struggling to breathe, struggling to see, to think, to function.

She would have given anything to be back home, listening to her mother tell her,
You shouldn’t dress that way … you should try to find a nice boy, Kathleen … not
those
kinds of boys. Kathleen, please …

Would have given anything to be back with Jared, where she felt safe …

She tried to scratch, tried to bite, but her attacker just laughed. And he slammed into her, brutally—what had felt so good, even if a little wicked a few minutes ago, now hurt and tore and burned and she moaned, tried to pull away. Tried to think past the pain in her head, between her legs. Tried to think past the fear—

She needed to get away from him. Needed to scream for help.

But she could barely breathe. The gag. She tried to spit it out but that didn’t work. Tried to pull her hands away from his, but his grip was brutal, merciless. Whimpering, she stared at him, tried to beg him silently to let her go.

And then he dipped his head, gave her one of those sweet, tender kisses, pressed lovingly against her neck even as his body tore into hers. When he lifted up and smiled down at her, Kathleen struck out at him with her head, slamming her forehead against his. But he evaded, as though he’d known exactly what she was going to do. Slumping against the wall, tears trickling down her cheeks, she shuddered and tried to twist away when he
started to touch her again—this time gently. Even as pain was ripping through her.

NO NO NO NO …

He was fucking
laughing
at her … turning her body against her.

Bastard—

Fucking bastard …

Through a red haze, she glared at him and with a strength she didn’t know she had, she wrenched against his hold. Her wrists, slippery, slick with her sweat, twisted and she got one free. Blindly, she swung out, driving her fist into his neck, then again into his nose.

He snarled and swore, but didn’t let go. He fisted a hand in her hair, slammed her head back against the wall again, harder this time. A second time. A third.

By the fourth time, she was no longer even aware of what he was doing.

By the fifth time, she was unconscious. There was a sixth … a seventh … an eighth time. She never knew.

Kathleen died of a brain hemorrhage before he was even done using her.

“Cunt,” he muttered, kicking her side as he let her fall to the ground. His throat still ached from the jab and his nose was tender, puffy. Not broken, thankfully. That would have been harder to explain away. But the little slut had gotten a few good blows in.

Swearing, he knelt and wished he had the time to let her wake up. He’d do it all over again, but this time, he’d make her hurt more. There was no time, though. Closing a hand around her mouth and nose, he squeezed. A few seconds passed before he realized she wasn’t breathing.

Swearing, he jerked his hand away, stared at her face. Her eyes were closed. Her face slack. Shit.

He lifted one lid. Stared at her pupil, stunned when there was no reaction.

Lifeless.

Still not processing it, he rested his fingers on her neck, searching for a pulse that wasn’t there.

Nothing.

Disgust rolled through him as he realized he’d been fucking her corpse.

Swearing, he grabbed her shoulder and rolled her over, and that was when he saw the back of her head. Saw the damage. It was all pulpy and misshapen, the bones of her skull pulverized.

Fuck …

He surged to his feet and cast a quick glance around the alley. Although every instinct screamed for him to get the hell away, he needed to be careful. Very careful. Shit. He’d screwed up. Screwed up bad. Had let his anger get the better of him, had been in too big a hurry, hadn’t taken his time, hadn’t been
careful
. That was the bottom line—he hadn’t been careful. Then, when she’d managed to get a hand free and hit him, fight back, she’d caught him off guard.

He’d fucked up.

When the cops found her, he knew they’d examine her.

Would they realize penetration had happened after her death? Or while she died? Shit, he wasn’t a fucking necrophiliac. She’d been alive when he started on her. Fucking cunt. Damn it.

Too screwed up. This was all too screwed up. All this time, he’d been so careful.

Ever since the mistakes he’d made with Mara, he’d been careful not to do it again. But lately it seemed like his entire house of cards was about to come crashing down around him. Shit, shit, shit.

“Get it together,” he told himself. He made himself take a deep breath, calm down … think.

And that was when he realized.

Maybe if they thought he’d taken her
after
she’d died … well. That wasn’t a bad thing for
them
. What did he care if they thought he was into fucking stiffs? They’d be looking for different crimes, then. Different sort of criminal. That wasn’t a problem. Not at all. If they were looking for a different sort of criminal, how likely were they to find him? Even if they were looking?

He’d only have problems if he lost control of the situation and he wasn’t going to do that. He wasn’t going to do that at all.

Nobody would know he had been here, nobody would connect the man who’d left the club with this girl to who he was. Nobody.

He just had to keep calm. Keep cool. Do that, and nobody would be any wiser.

His hands were steadier as he freed the gag from her mouth. It had her blood on it. He’d have to get rid of it. But later. A lot later. Crouching by her side, he drew a ceramic knife from the inner pocket of his jacket and caught one lock of hair. He did love that knife … made it so much easier considering how many places used metal detectors these days. And he wanted his souvenir.