Authors: Sarah Grimm
The calm control she exuded as she turned and started in his direction came as a surprise
after her attack of anxiety during her last visit. She walked with the grace of a
high-fashion model. Tall and elegant, she crossed toward him and his partner.
“You seeing her outside the capacity of this investigation?” In a way only Allan could,
he kept his inquisition both casual and cautionary.
Several pairs of male eyes tracked her progress with keen interest until her destination
registered and they met with Justin’s icy stare. “She doesn’t date cops.”
“Do you blame her?”
They both rose as Paige neared. “Hell no.”
“Why do I get the impression you won’t let it go at that?”
Justin threw one last narrowed-eyed glance at his partner before she stepped before
them. He faced her, unable to judge her intent through the dark lenses.
“It’s good to see you again, Ms. Conroy,” Allan stated politely. “How are you?”
“I have a bit of a headache, actually.” She tipped her face in Justin’s direction.
“I need to talk to you, do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” Justin motioned to the chair Brennan had left vacant.
“Um…” He couldn’t be certain, but he got the distinct impression that her eyes left
his. Paige shifted the case she carried from her side to her front. Her right hand
joined her left at the handle momentarily before she dropped it to her left side once
more. “Somewhere else. If you don’t mind.”
“Not a problem.” She was wound tight as a spring, as evidenced by her steely posture
and the fact that she clutched her case so tightly, her knuckles were white. Justin
wondered whether her discomfort extended from seeing him again after last night, or
if she’d had yet another incident. Perversely, he wondered which he would find most
unsettling. “There’s a conference room, this way.”
She didn’t move. Not immediately and not in the direction he indicated. Instead, Paige
turned back just as Allan prepared to sit down.
“Sergeant Simmons, I think you should hear this as well.”
* * * * *
Brilliant slashes of sunlight shone through open blinds, warming the room and its
occupants. Though the table centered in the space could easily accommodate twenty,
no one sat.
Standing just inside the closed door, Paige watched as dust particles danced in the
ray of light. She was running on sheer nerves and had been for days. She couldn’t
eat, couldn’t sleep, and thanks to the pictures she had in her possession, she was
chilled to the bone. Cold—the way no sweater or blanket could warm. Cold and filled
with a healthy dose of fresh angst.
She couldn’t grasp what she’d done to wind up in the center of this mess, whom she’d
hurt. In her exhausted state, she couldn’t grasp much of anything, except that she
was quickly running out of options. Burying her head in the sand and pretending everything
would be okay no longer seemed like a viable solution. So this morning, she’d decided
it was time to take matters into her own hands. Time to stop sitting idly by while
her world fell apart around her.
Wiping her damp palms on her slacks, Paige moved the short distance to the table where
she placed her laptop case. She removed her dark glasses and with a deep breath, turned
and faced the detectives at her back. “Justin.” He’d come up behind her and stood
only inches away. The heady male scent of him made her senses spin.
She hadn’t slept well last night. Plagued by thoughts of him, she’d lain awake, imagining
what it would feel like to have that perfect mouth take hers again while his hands
slicked over her bare flesh. To wake up wrapped in the comfort of his arms, his scent
warming every breath she took. Unable to control herself, her gaze settled on his
mouth. The chill that had thickened her blood all morning thawed. Her body heated.
Her breasts tingled.
The man kissed like a dream. Desperate, demanding yet controlled and gentle. Her mouth
went dry and for one insane moment she wanted him to kiss her again.
Here.
Now.
But the answering heat, so clear in his gaze the night before, was gone. His eyes
were sharp and assessing as they scanned her face. His voice held accusation. “You
didn’t sleep.”
“I’ve been having a problem with that.” The even press of his fingers against her
shoulder made it difficult for her to concentrate. As did the deep bite of need that
streaked straight up her spine and tensed every raw nerve. She edged sideways so he
no longer touched her. “Last night was worse than normal.”
“The mind can only handle so much. You need to let it out.”
The smooth baritone of his voice wrapped around her like a blanket, promising heat,
comfort. She was a fool if she took it. “How do you do it?”
His dark-chocolate eyes held hers as he skimmed his knuckles over her left cheek.
“Smoke, or I used to.”
That wasn’t what she meant. Paige looked at him, at the concern that now filled his
gaze and wondered just when the cool indifferent cop had been replaced by this compassionate
man. When had her world flipped upside down, leaving her to question everything she
believed to be true?
“We all have our vices, our ways of diminishing stress before it can take over our
lives. You need to find yours.”
“Normally I work through a crisis.” She could really use that cool, indifferent cop
right now. The one who would listen to what she’d come to tell him and remain calm
and detached, emotionless, at a time when she was anything but. Where last night Justin’s
presence soothed the ragged edges of her fear, today it drove home the hard reality
of what was happening to her. “Staying busy helps.”
“It doesn’t appear to be helping this time.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Paige closed her eyes, struggling for control. She knew, without a doubt, that the
photos she carried changed everything. There would be no turning back. No restoring
the order to her utterly boring life. Not until this man was caught. This nameless,
faceless man who slowly pushed her closer and closer to the edge.
No, she corrected, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to relax. It would take
more than a few threats to send her over the edge.
She hoped.
Still needing that cool, emotionless detective, she turned her attention from Justin
to his partner. “Sergeant Simmons, I don’t know if Justin has mentioned anything to
you about my break-in last night?”
“He did and call me Allan.”
His attention appeared hung up on her face. Suddenly self-conscious, the urge to hide
behind her sunglasses flared to life. She’d done her best to camouflage her bruising
under a few layers of makeup. Had believed she’d done a credible job. His distraction
made her wonder if she shouldn’t have just left it alone.
“Okay. Well, Allan, last night there seemed to be some question about whether or not
someone had been in my home. This morning, I received proof.”
“What kind of proof?” Justin ran his hand through his hair and then shoved it into
his front pocket in a move she was beginning to understand indicated his level of
tension.
Briskly, she unzipped her laptop case. Without glancing at them, she passed the photos
she’d printed just that morning to Justin. His steady stream of expletives, spoken
under his breath, brought the tiny hairs on her arms to attention.
“Where’d you get these, Paige?”
“When I checked my e-mail this morning, I found them.”
Justin fell silent, a muscle flexing in his jaw as he flipped through the photographs
one by one, studying each one individually before passing them to Allan.
“Look at the way the body’s positioned,” Allan said as he studied the first picture.
“Body?” Paige couldn’t stop the shiver that passed through her. “That’s not just any
body.”
“It’s you,” Justin growled.
“Yes. You have to stop this guy.” The irony of this latest threat hadn’t escaped her.
The fact that this man had used photographs against her—a photographer. “I don’t know
how much more of this I can take.”
“The message is clear,” Allan began, taking the remaining photos from Justin and shuffling
through them. “He took the time to manipulate her, but left her unharmed.”
“Is it? I’m not certain I’m getting it. If he wants me dead why—” Shock slammed through
her system as his words registered. “Wait a minute. What do you mean by manipulated?”
“Did you eat or drink anything out of the ordinary last night?”
“No. No, of course not. Why?”
The expression that settled onto Justin’s face had Paige stepping back. Tension pulsed
off of him in waves. His hand fisted against his thigh.
“Why?”
Allan looked up from the photographs in his hands. “These pictures are similar—”
“Frighteningly similar.”
“Yes,” Allan agreed. “To the shots we have from the St. John homicide.”
“Leroy.” Nausea rolled in her stomach as she saw him again, stomach down, sheet tangled
around his legs.
It hadn’t registered. Not when she opened her email and discovered them, or later
as she’d developed them. She hadn’t realized just what about those photographs froze
her heart with fear. The thought that someone had been in her home, standing over
her bed for God knew how long before she came awake was terrifying enough. But now…
The images shifted in and out of focus—images of her, deep asleep, face buried into
her pillow, sheet riding low on her hips. Shock snapped across her nerve endings.
“N-no.” Her gaze swung between the two men. “The similarities don’t mean anything.”
They couldn’t mean anything. This put a whole new spin on things. One she couldn’t
accept. “I did not sleep through some…” What was the word she wanted? “
Person
positioning me like the body of one of his victims. That’s just how I sleep.”
Justin and Allan’s swift exchange of looks spoke as loudly as their silence.
“I’ve always been a stomach sleeper. The rest is just coincidence.”
“I believe this goes a step beyond coincidence,” Allan replied gravely.
“No.” The trembling started in her knees and worked up her legs. She circled her fingers
around Justin’s bicep. “It’s not possible.”
“Paige, listen to me.” Justin spoke softly but firmly, his hand settling over hers.
“There’s no other explanation. The photos are damn near identical.”
“How can that be?” She closed her eyes, opened them. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“You need to—”
Paige jumped as his cell phone trilled loudly.
Justin pulled the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “Harrison,” he intoned
automatically.
“Anthony Sullivan here, you asked that I call you as soon as I had something on Ms.
Conroy’s car bomb.”
His timing couldn’t have been more unfortunate. Too much acid churning his stomach
already, Justin prepared for more nerve-racking news. “What did you find?”
“Okay, technical jargon aside, the bomb was not designed to do major damage. You saw
the scene, I’m sure you noticed the building itself suffered no structural damage
beyond the shattering of the front windows.”
“I noticed. Exactly what does that tell you?”
“Not much on its own. The vehicle tells us that the bomber placed the device on the
rear floorboard of the car. That, along with the fragments collected, and I can tell
you that this was not your run of the mill, rig-it-to-the-ignition car bomb. This
one had a remote trigger. Pretty short range actually, your guy had to be no farther
than a half mile from Ms. Conroy when he detonated.”
One by one, Justin’s muscles coiled. His shoulder screamed. He stared at the fear
shining in Paige’s green eyes and fought back rage. “Close enough to watch.”
As if she heard both sides of his conversation and couldn’t ignore the significance
of Sullivan’s words any more than he could, Paige straightened. She removed her hand
from his arm and wrapped her arms around her waist.
“He never intended to kill her, Sergeant Harrison. He just wanted to send her a message.”
“I think she got that message, loud and clear.”
“Let me know if there’s anything else you need from me.”
“Yeah, I will.” With a flip of his wrist, Justin disconnected. He didn’t replace the
phone in his pocket just yet, but used it as something to keep his hands busy.
Damn, some days he really missed smoking. He closed his eyes and imagined tapping
a cigarette from a pack and lighting it, savoring the smooth taste as it filled his
lungs and calmed his nerves.
He wasn’t happy with the direction of the case. No matter how hard they tried, they
hadn’t come up with squat. Not on the St. John homicide, or whatever the hell was
going on with Paige. She’d come close to dying the other day, damn close. Discovering
that the bomber’s intent had not been to kill her did nothing to stop the uncomfortable
sensation climbing up Justin’s spine.
A game was afoot. A game Paige had no idea she was playing. Justin didn’t doubt for
a minute that destroying her car, breaking into her house in the dead of night and
taking pictures of her while she slept, then making certain she knew he’d been there
by e-mailing her the photos, was some sick bastard’s idea of a good time. He also
didn’t doubt that eventually, the man would tire of the game. He would end it, and
when that happened, there would be no warning and very little chance of stopping him
before it was too late.
Something had to be done. Paige needed to realize just how serious the risk to her
life was. She needed to understand that from that moment, all bets were off.
He opened his eyes, refocusing on the woman before him. “The report on your car bomb
came through. Seems our boy likes to watch.”
Her spine stiffened, the arms around her middle tightened, but she remained silent.
“He was there?” Allan asked. “How do they know?
“Remote trigger.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you,” Paige said.
“The crime scene techs discovered pieces of a remote trigger in the debris. Whoever
this is, whatever his motives, he’s sending you a message, Paige. Whether you figure
that message out or not, I don’t think that matters to him. All that matters to him
at this point is making you as uncomfortable as he can. He’s out to break you, to
push you over the edge.”