Sandman (20 page)

She tightened her grip around his neck, but he wasn’t slowing down.

“Get off me, now!” He whirled his body in circles. It made her dizzy, but she hung on.

She started biting anything she could sink her teeth into. She bit his ear so hard that it tore. Blood spilled down his neck. He howled like a wild animal. His arms flailed about in a futile attempt to free himself.

Her teeth sank into his shoulder, and she squeezed her arms as hard as she could around his throat. He had to pass out soon. He bent his head forward; she thought she’d finally won. Then his head whipped back fast and hit her in the forehead. Hard. She felt her hands loosening their grip; she was falling. The last thing she heard was her son yelling her name.

***

The boy watched his mother fall and her eyes close.

“Mommy!”

His father stormed off toward the shed. The boy struggled with his seat belt, and finally it came loose. He scrambled out the driver’s side of the car.

He knelt down next to her.

“Mommy, get up.” He nudged her.

“Please, Mommy, please get up!” He shook her body frantically.

The little boy grabbed his mother’s arm with both hands and tried to drag her to the car. “Come on!”

Her eyes fluttered open and she rubbed her forehead.

“Okay, baby, Mommy’s awake. You go on and get in the car, I’ll be right there.” She got up on her hands and knees.

The boy turned toward the car and jerked to a stop. His father stood right behind him. He carried something in one hand. The other reached back and hit him with such force that he flew through the air. His head hit the concrete steps with a crack, and everything went black.

The little boy groaned. He eased his eyes open and winced in pain. His hand flew to the back of his head where it hurt. It was wet, and he looked at his hand and realized he was bleeding. He stared at his bloody hand and wondered what had happened. It took only a moment before his head shot up. His father stood with his back to him, his head bent toward the ground; the axe he used for chopping wood dangled from his right hand. Blood dripped from the blade.

The boy stared at his father’s feet. He blinked a couple times.

“Stupid cunt.” His father dropped the axe, then turned. His face was splashed with blood; his clothes were soaked in it. He started toward the boy. The little boy scrambled out of the way and breathed a sigh of relief when he passed him on the stairs.

“I need a drink.” He disappeared through the open door.

The boy stared at the ground. He barely recognized his mother. There was blood everywhere. She was hurt really bad. The boy jumped off the stairs and ran toward her, ignoring the boo-boo on his head. It hurt, but Mommy looked like she hurt more. He dropped down beside her and shook her arm.

“Mommy, wake up.” She didn’t move.

“Mommy, please wake up, you’re scaring me.”

He heard the coyotes cry in the distance and shivered.

He looked up at the moon. “Come on, Mommy, it’s time for bed.” Maybe Mommy wanted to sleep outside. The little boy laid down next her. He needed to guard her. He heard a hoot owl from the direction of the barn and something rustled in the bushes not far away. He was scared, but he had to be brave for Mommy. He needed to protect her from the creatures of the night.

THIRTY-THREE

Thomas awoke with a start; the bathroom door had softly clicked shut. He was slouched down on Meagan’s couch, with the files spread out before him on the coffee table. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands and heard the toilet flush. He scooped up the photos before she could see them and headed to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee.

The scent of burnt sludge permeated the air. He’d left an almost empty pot on the burner all night. He opened the window and back door hoping to air out the place before Meagan noticed. As if that were possible.

He was vigorously scrubbing the pot with an SOS pad when he heard the bathroom door open. His hands froze; he turned his head. Meagan glared at him a moment before she went back into her bedroom and closed the door.

Thomas let out a pent-up breath. He glanced down at his shirtsleeves shoved up past his elbows, his hands deep within the pot, and realized he must look ridiculous. He heard the door open and turned in time to see her in a skimpy red robe before the bathroom door shut behind her and the water go on in the shower.

He set about making coffee, and grabbed the filter filled with grounds and laid it gently on top of the trash can under the sink. The can was full. He finished putting the pot on, then took the trash outside to empty it. He thought he remembered seeing garbage cans out on the side of the house.

As soon as he stepped through the back door, he noticed the small plastic table where the head of a dead woman had lain. The blood had baked in the sun.

After dumping the trash, he grabbed the hose and turned the water on. He stood above the table and adjusted the nozzle to high. The force of the water peeled the blood away from the plastic like paint. Behind him he heard a loud thud, and swung around. The window to the bathroom was open; a gentle breeze blew the curtain. Thomas caught a glimpse of Meagan’s naked body as she stepped into the shower.

He quickly turned his gaze back to the table and tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but his mind wouldn’t listen. Instead it filled with the image of her porcelain skin, her auburn curls cascading down her back, the curve of her well-rounded hips and the swell of her heart-shaped bottom. He swallowed, hard. And that wasn’t the only thing that was hard.

He tried to clear the vision from his head and focus. He looked down at the table and noticed it was clean. The yard was getting flooded. He released the pressure from the nozzle and the water stopped. He carried the hose back to the wheel attached to the wall and started to roll it up. Thomas wrestled with it a couple of minutes before he realized why the hose was winning: he’d forgotten to turn the water off.

“Get a grip.” He turned off the water and wrapped the hose the way he’d found it. He snatched the trash can up on his way back into the house and this time kept his eyes glued to the ground.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and headed into the living room to make a call. Johnson picked up on the third ring.

“It’s Thomas. I need all the information you can get me on an Andrew Jackson, thirty-two, resides somewhere in Northern California. Parents died in a car crash and he’s in a band called The Ravens. They’ve been touring small venues, the last in San Diego. I’m sure they have a website.”

“Got it. Call you later.” Johnson hung up.

Meagan walked out of the bathroom in that skimpy red robe, her hair wrapped up in a towel. Her long legs were sleek and sinewy. He jumped off the couch and met her in the kitchen. He stood by as she prepared her coffee, then turned and walked past him as if he were invisible.

“Are you going to stay mad at me all day?”

She stopped, hesitated a second, then turned around.

“I haven’t decided yet.” She disappeared in the direction of her bedroom.

He knocked on the bedroom door. It opened, and she jutted her chin out in defiance.

He ignored the look. “I’m going to jump in the shower. I don’t want you to leave the apartment or open the door to anyone. Even if it’s someone you know.” He was dead serious.

“Okay.”

“And if you hear or notice anything strange, come get me. You got that?”

“Fine.” Meagan planted her hands on her hips. “You plan on spending the day in there?”

“No, but it’s been my experience that if something’s
going to happen, it’ll be when you least expect it.”

“Fine.” She pushed past him, reached into the closet and thrust a towel into his hand. “Go take your shower.”

“Thanks.” Thomas grabbed his bag and hit the head.

***

Meagan closed her door, put on a pair of jeans, a royal blue sweater, and her well-worn hiking boots. The day was cool and cloudy. It looked like rain. While she combed through her wet hair, her stomach growled, so she went to the kitchen to find something to eat. She searched the refrigerator from top to bottom, and couldn’t find anything to fix for breakfast. She needed to go to the store.

The bathroom door opened. “Whoa, it’s hot in there.”

Meagan turned in time to see a cloud of steam rush out, then noticed the detective wrapped only in a towel.

“Do you have a blow dryer?”

His dark brown hair was wet, a curl had fallen across his forehead. His heavy black whiskers made his blue eyes appear darker, the three-inch scar across his cheek more pronounced. His shoulders were broad; his chest hair just heavy enough to be sexy.

And his body, my God, his body was rock-hard and sculpted. Damn. His left shoulder bore a scar the size of a bullet. Her eyes skimmed the length of him, down his tight abs to the trail of hair that disappeared beneath the towel.

When she realized what she was doing, her head jerked up and met his stare. Heat rushed to her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Oh God, I think I’m going to die right here, right now.

A slow grin lit his face. “I asked if you had a blow dryer.”

“Right.” She turned away and pulled out a drawer under the hall cabinet, and handed him the dryer.

***

Thomas noticed Meagan’s appraisal. He felt the warmth of her gaze like fingers stroking him down the length of his body and settle on his groin. His cock turned hard as if on command. Then she looked up, their eyes locked.

The electricity in the air was almost palpable.

He wanted nothing more than to taste those full luscious lips, to slip deep inside her with those long legs wrapped tight around his waist. All his senses were on high alert.

He didn’t understand what was happening to him, but whatever it was, the timing sucked. He hadn’t thought about another woman for years, not since he’d met Victoria. He still dreamed of making love to his late wife every night.

Then out of nowhere he’s blindsided by this siren. She reminded him of a painting he’d seen long ago on a trip with Victoria. It was of a red-haired maiden staring out to sea, a storm is brewing and there was a ship in trouble. The image was haunting. The painter’s name was something like Walterhouse or was it Waterhouse? Whatever was going on here,
this
red-haired Meagan had sure cast a spell on him.

Her hair was damp and hung in corkscrews. It was all he could do to keep himself from reaching out and fingering one of the curls. The swelling had disappeared from around her big blue eyes and they sparkled. She was more gorgeous than he ever thought possible. Dammit. This was very inconvenient.

Thomas mentally shook his head, grabbed the blow dryer, mumbled a thank-you, and shut the door.

***

Meagan quickly spun around, feeling feverish. What was she thinking? She had no right to be lusting after this man who simply saw her as a job. Or did he? She could almost swear for a second there he was going to lean down and kiss her.

And what if he did? Would she have kissed him back? Oh, hell, yes! Oh, no, this wasn’t good. Just the other night she’d stood at her front door kissing Drew. Now she’s looking at another man like he’s something on a menu. She was so confused. Here she thought she was starting something with Drew. She remembered the way he kissed her and attempted to convince her that he should stay. What if it was Detective Thomas kissing her, seducing her, caressing her with those big, strong hands, could she turn him away as well?

Um…

THIRTY-FOUR

Thomas entered the living room adjusting his tie. His suit was perfect, not a wrinkle in sight.

“Did I miss something?” Her anger had disappeared. “You’re dressed like you’re going to work.”

“No, you didn’t miss anything. I just haven’t gotten around to telling you the plan for today. I have some interviews I need to conduct and you’re going with me.”

“Does that mean I have to get dressed up too?” She scrunched up her face.

“No, you’re fine. Besides, you’ll be staying in the car.”

“No way. I’m supposed to ride around with you all day and sit in the car while you work?” She ended with her hands on her hips.

“Look, I’m sorry it has to be this way. I have Shadowhawk conducting the interviews at your salon, so I can’t have you with her. The only other people I have on this little task force of mine are doing surveillance on a suspect. So, it looks like you’re stuck with me. You can’t go inside because you’re not law enforcement. I don’t want to take the chance that someone might complain and compromise this case. Besides, on the off chance that we actually
do
come across the killer, I don’t want you anywhere in sight.”

Meagan’s body crumpled into the chair. “Great. I get to trade one prison for another.”

“We really should get going.” He started toward the kitchen. “Do you have anything we can grab and eat in the car?”

“Sorry, I missed grocery day. Looks like we’re going to have to go out for breakfast.” She smiled broadly.

“Okay, where’s the nearest McDonald’s or Jack In The Box?”

“Oh, hell, no. We’re not eating fast food. I want a
real
breakfast.” Meagan grabbed her purse and dragged him out the back door.

***

When they got to his BMW, he opened the door for her.

She glanced over at him. “Gee, homicide detectives make more money than I thought.”

“I’ve made a few investments,” he said.

“Boy, it seems everyone has investments except me.” She looked like a sullen child as she got into the car. He smiled and shut the door without comment.

Meagan directed him to a local eatery called The Sugar Shack, a cute little café where the surfers hung out. She ordered ham, eggs, hash browns, a half-stack of pancakes and a large milk. Thomas ordered black coffee and a Denver omelet, hold the toast.

“Wow.” He raised his eyebrows. “Do you eat like that all the time?”