Authors: Stephanie Whitlock
Sighing, too, he said, “How many?” His voice was low and steady, but he wanted to know. He needed to know just how many times she had faced off against a violent attacker. Venturing a glance at her while stopped at the red light, she looked utterly exhausted. Her eyes were half closed and her head was propped lazily in her small hand. She was leaning against her window, resting the ivory of her forehead on the cool glass. His gut clinched again, she was just so beautiful. She made no motion to answer and, seeing the light change in the growing dark of evening, he turned back to the road.
“147 attacks, 136 convictions.” Her voice was weak. She felt weak. For the first time in so long, she honestly felt weak. Not from the argument they had just had, strangely enough that had excited her, but from the odd, irrational, and growing need for him to know her. No one knew her, but she wanted him to, and that made her weak. As infuriating as his desire to protect her had been, that small corner of her mind that still felt like a woman wanted to let him. For once it felt wonderfully warm to think that someone, a man of all things, cared about her. Not because she could help them, or because she was a valuable asset, but because she was herself. The cool of the window seemed to sooth her racing mind.
So tired
. She wished now that she had stayed at her building, retreated up the stairs to her apartment, away from Barrow and the way his eyes made her heart beat faster. Instead, she was riding back to the station, in the fading evening light, with the one man who affected her.
Without willing it, she sighed audibly again, too tired to hold in her exhaustion. She watched the buildings whiz by, recognizing them. They were only a couple of blocks from the precinct. She listened as he sighed in return. She didn’t want to fight anymore, not right now, maybe never again. She wanted to escape, to get away from him before she couldn’t resist the incessant drone from that small voice in her mind begging her to get closer to him.
“We are almost there. I think we should go straight to crime scene and see if they found anything. What do you think, Cord?” Even though he sounded just as tired as she felt, she couldn’t help but flutter at the sound of him saying her name. A small grin pulled at her lips and she lifted her head to face him. He was already looking at her and for a split second it seemed they understood each other.
Five minutes later they were riding the elevator to the crime lab. She had only been here a couple of times before and, since Barrow seemed to know exactly where he was going, she fell in behind him. Leading her through the maze of hallways and glass doors, he continually glanced over his shoulders at her. “Walk beside me.” The request was simple, but it thrilled her. Equality. That’s what he offered her.
“But I don’t know where we’re going.” Even as she said it, she quickened her pace and drew up beside him. When they reached the end of the hall he motioned her to the left and they continued on in a strangled silence that made walking beside him even more awkward than walking behind had been. Another turn and then another, all directed with a silent, extended arm. Just as she was deciding she couldn’t handle the oppressive tension between them any longer, his voice broke the stillness.
“We’re here.” He pushed open an office door and held it for her. Turning away from his steely blue eyes, she swished past him into the room. There, behind a massive desk of metal and glass, sat a rather imposing looking older man. His face was stern and serious,
the face of a scientist
, she mused.
“Ah, Barrow, and...” He motioned to the pair of plush modern chairs in front of his contemporary desk.
“Detective Jacob Arrons, I’d like to introduce my new partner, Detective Elizabeth Cord.” As she slipped down into the firm, beige chair, she caught sight of the soft smile his lips formed as he said her name. Desperately, she fought the flush that threatened to color her cheeks.
“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Cord. Barrow, I have some information for you, but no real answers. The murder weapon was definitely a knife, single-edged, non-serrated, approximately eight to ten inches long. Very sharp and probably hooked at the end. Time of death was set by the coroner at between 9:30 and 10:00 pm.” Barrow looked over at her questioningly.
“I entered the lobby at 11:45, there is no way they laid there for over two hours without someone finding them, especially at that time of night. My building is way too busy.” Nodding, Arrons continued.
“One of my investigators found a crumpled piece of paper in one of the garbage receptacles on the seventh floor.” Flipping a plastic bag containing the flattened paper across to them, he continued. “We think the killer posted these on every elevator and front stairwell all the way up to the roof. But, since they were all torn down before we were called to the scene, it would seem that he waited and took them all down when the time was right.” Elizabeth tensed as Barrow passed her the paper. Printed on the sheet was a simple message, one she had seen many times before. ‘The front lobby is closed for cleaning. Please use rear entrance until further notice.’
“The building manager posts these whenever he has the marble floor varnished, usually every three months or so. Trouble is, he just had it done a few weeks ago.” She handed the plastic sheath back to Arrons.
“Which means that the killer is familiar with the building and what goes on there. Your men questioned all the residents, correct?” Arrons eyes narrowed slightly on Cord. Apparently, he knew she lived there and that she had discovered the bodies. Barrow, aware of the look he was giving her, chimed in.
“All that we could find. Detective Cord discovered the bodies
after
she walked home from a bust in Central Park. Besides, I think the killer is targeting her, specifically.” Arrons brows raised questioningly as he scanned them both, his eyes settling again on her, though this time they were free of accusation.
“What makes you think that?”
Sighing, Elizabeth began recounting the measured amount of information that she had given Barrow. “My parents were killed in similar fashion. The position of the bodies, the dress, even the phrase carved into them was written on the wall of our home. I discovered their bodies when I was fourteen.” Her voice felt distant and hollow and, when she finished, she felt even more exhausted, leaning her head back against her chair.
“I see.” His tone was troubled as he looked to Barrow. “Perhaps she should be placed in protective custody until this is resolved.” Before she could muster the energy to argue with him, Barrow did it for her.
“Tried that, she’ll have none of it, trust me.” He flashed her another winning smile, sending her stomach swirling. “Besides, her parents’ murder was unsolved. If it was me, I’d want to see this through.” She wished he hadn’t spoken up for her. It was far harder to hear kindness from him than anger and the swirl in her stomach turned into a heated knot.
He sat on the edge of his bed, clumsily pulling his socks off. His apartment felt unusually cold tonight, even more than normal. After the meeting with Arrons he had guided
her
back up to homicide. After reading over the rest of the C.S.I. findings, which were short and fruitless, and reviewing the coroner’s report in detail, they had said a strained goodnight. Seeing her that tired and worn hurt his heart. Images of her satin, ivory skin and the wavy sheet of her rust colored hair filled his mind, forcing him to clench his fists against his thighs, trying to fight the flame that flared in his gut. The glint in her eyes as he pictured the different shades they took on made him lay back into his cool bedding. His breath ratcheted as the pressure against his zipper nearly pained him.
He rubbed his hands over his bare chest in a vain attempt at distraction. Damn-it, but he wanted her. He knew he shouldn’t. He just met her, he worked with her, not to mention the fact that he was almost sure that she detested him. But he did. Sighing deeply, and trying desperately to ease the tension in his legs, he sat up again. An ache broke out all over him. That’s it, he couldn’t.
I can’t allow this to go any further
, he thought sternly. Resolving to ignore his attraction, he stood, letting his slacks slip to the floor. Despite the fact that it was nearly midnight, he needed a shower, a cold one, though he was sure there would be only one way to ease this tension.
She rolled over in her luxurious down comforter, enveloped by its pillowy softness. Her thighs burned, trembled with heat against the cool fabric. Squeezing her eyes closed she tried to force the image of his sensual smile and lithe body from her mind. She ground her knees together trying, and failing, to force the arousal out of her skin. It wasn’t as if she had never felt it before. In college she had been forced to come to terms with her physical needs. Her sociology degree had required she take a course on human sexuality. The professor, a rather bawdy sixty year old spinster, had prodded the issue extensively using books, magazines and films as illustrations. Despite her resistance, she had found herself affected. After one rather raunchy film study of self pleasure she had decided to try it. Her disgust with men apparently did not equal her becoming anti-sexual. While the act itself bothered her, the freedom and pleasure of it had been addictive. For half a minute she had hoped perhaps she was a lesbian, then at least she might be able to find love, but the effort failed, women simply did nothing for her.
Tonight she had refused to indulge. Normally it was such a simple thing, a way to relax and fall to sleep loose and content and her favorite toy was so close in her nightstand drawer, but she just couldn’t with thoughts of him racing through her mind. It felt too much like admitting that she had feelings for him, felt attraction. It was too much like betraying the one promise she had truly made to herself, never to get involved with a man who could so easily hurt her. She had sworn never to engage the opposite sex, but as the images of Barrow rolled and tumbled in her mind, and her thighs tightened in response, her resolution faltered. Wrapping her arms defiantly around her waist, she curled up into a ball, begging sleep to close in and end the torment.
Over the last week she had followed leads and researched clues with him, but had learned nothing meaningful about the case or the man. She didn’t even know his first name. She had thought about asking, thought about looking at his personnel file, but it felt too intimate, too personal for her. Despite their rocky start, they had seemed to find some professional middle ground, though it was somewhat cold and distant. At first she had been happy for his new aloofness, but the longer it went on the more it bothered her. Part of her wanted him to argue with her, to fight, challenge her. It had been exciting, thrilling, but now he was routine and boring. He was still physically enthralling, everyday more so, as it turned out. Over the last few days she had stolen moments, in the car, at the desk, to study him. With each discovery the knot in her stomach had grown and much to her dismay the small corner of her mind, the one that fluttered and jumped every time he drew near or smiled at her, had expanded until it had become impossible to suppress, giving way to slight blushes and shivers when his eyes roved over her.
At the moment, she was sitting with him in a coffee shop, not more than five blocks from her apartment, reading yet another witness statement that gave them nothing. Frustrating didn’t come close to describing this case. All the time the killer had taken, all the clues he had left and they still knew next to nothing. They didn’t know where he had carved the message. They didn’t know what he had done with the desk clerk’s uniform. They didn’t even know where he had gotten the dress. According to the manufacturer out of Pensacola, Florida, that dress hadn’t been on the market for nearly twelve years. She sat across from him at the small round table with her legs crossed, trying to ignore the heat that was ever-present in her thighs when he was with her. Shifting slightly, she captured a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. He was reclined in his chair studying the coroner’s report for the thousandth time, convinced that there was surely something in it that would help him find another lead. His brows were pinched and his lips were flattened into a pensive look that sent her insides clenching again. Why did she have to look at him? Turning the page, even though she wasn’t done reading it, she stared intently at the next, forcing herself to look at each word in turn.
“Can I get you any refills, detectives?” The attractive young waitress curled near his shoulder and her question, though addressed to both of them, was obviously focused on him. Elizabeth’s jaw tightened slightly, but she forced herself to smile up at the server. Elizabeth was not usually the jealous type and, if asked, she would have freely admitted that the girl was truly lovely. Her olive skin, blond hair, and curvy body brought to mind numerous paintings of classic Greek beauties. Before she could speak for herself, Barrow responded.
“Thanks, hun, But I think we’re good here.” She gave him her most alluring grin as she swayed back to the counter. Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice how his eyes followed her. The feeling of heat in her cheeks made her lower her head back to the file in her hands before he had a chance to see. “Find anything useful?” His question startled her. What was worse, she had no answer to give. Keeping her eyes focused on the words that seemed meaningless on the page before her, she shifted in her seat. Her face still felt warm and she was
not
going to look at him still flushed. “Elizabeth?” The sound of her name in his voice made the flush deepen. Sighing, she lifted her head, unable to delay the look any longer.
The sight of her flushed flesh sent ripples through him. The thought of her envying the look he had just given the waitress, or the sound of him saying her name, excited him tremendously. He did his best to suppress the wicked grin that wanted to spread across his face. He had decided that first night not to allow himself to feel for her, but it had been an empty vow. The last few days had proved to be an exercise in self control. Everything about her was enticing, everything but the distant way she calmly answered his questions and how she seemed unwilling to engage in even the most innocent confrontations with him. No matter how infuriating their fighting had been that first day, he longed to repeat it. Their heated give and take had made him feel alive. Still, her very nearness over the last week was enough to drive him home every night to cold showers.