As he kissed her, she fumbled with the snap on his jeans and then unzipped his pants. Her fingers brushed hot, naked skin and he gasped. She’d forgotten how good desire felt, to want a man and to touch him in ways that made them both forget.
He settled between her legs, hard, ready, and yet waiting. “Last chance, Lara.”
Desire fogged her brain. “For what?”
He cupped his hands around her face, as his erection pressed against her belly. “To quit.”
She moistened her lips. “If I quit now, I will burn up in a ball of fire.”
A smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “That so?”
She pushed against him. “Don’t keep me waiting, cowboy.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He eased into her, his body expanding hers in a way that was uncomfortable at first. “So tight,” he whispered against her ear.
Longing coursed through her veins as his scent covered her as he moved inside her. Gradually her muscles eased, and she accepted all of him.
Despite his deliberately careful thrusts, his body contained the coiled intensity of a tornado skimming across the prairie. So much power and so much energy, yet distant enough so there was no damage.
However, she wanted him to unleash that energy, that force of nature pent up inside of him. She wanted all of him.
Lara cupped his face in her hands, pulled his face toward hers, and kissed him. Waves of tension rippled through his body as he deepened the kiss and filled her body with energy.
She’d given her body once before to a lover in college, but those youthful exchanges had always left her spirit and body wanting. And then after the attack, there’d been no man she’d been able to trust.
With Beck she could feel the need growing inside her belly, hot and furious, ready to erupt and wash over and into every dark corner of her body.
She moaned and pressed her hips up to his. He ground deeper inside her, planting a hand on either side of her head as he moved in and out.
In a different time, she’d have wanted this dance between them to be slow, like a waltz. But the tempo had been feverous from the outset.
The wanting in her grew until she could only think of him. He ground into her, growling her name in her ear. Within seconds their tempo peaked and exploded as their orgasms crashed over them. Silence wrapped around them, and for one blissful moment they were one heart.
Afterward, Beck lay on his side, his sun-darkened hand draped on her lily-white belly.
“Your heartbeat is still racing,” he said, pleased.
She traced her fingertips over his knuckles and down the veins in his hands. “I’m grateful it didn’t stop.”
He chuckled softly. “We wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we, darlin’?”
“It would be a shame if that was our one and only time together,” she teased.
He was silent for a moment. “I’d like to think this isn’t a one-shot deal.”
A smile curled the edges of her lips. “I think that’s the first time we’ve agreed.”
He traced a strand of hair away from her eyes. She drew circles on his hand. For several minutes she lay next to him, the steady beat of his heart thumping against her ear.
Finally, he squeezed her shoulder and released a resigned sigh. “I need to head back to the office and talk to Raines. I still get the sense he’s holding back.”
Perfect moments like these didn’t last. “What could he be holding back?”
“I wish I knew, darlin’. I wish I knew.”
Chapter 21
Friday, June 1, 10
PM
Raines did not have the home-field advantage in Texas. He was an outsider who had rolled into the state uninvited, bent some laws, and shattered a couple of others. Still, he was convinced if he played it right, he’d unravel the legal tangles and walk out of Texas a free man.
He sat in the interview room waiting for his attorney, Tyler J. Monroe, to arrive. He’d known when he’d arrived in Texas he was going to kill someone, he’d just not known who. Now, it was time to clean up the mess.
The door to the other room opened to Tyler Monroe, a tall, heavyset man wearing a lightweight suit, a white shirt that stretched over a full belly, and dark loafers. He carried an expensive but well-used briefcase. Clear-framed glasses rested on the top of his head. “Detective Raines.”
“I’m not a detective anymore, remember?” Regret coated the words.
Monroe arched a brow as he sat at the table across from Raines. “From now on, I’ll be referring to you as Detective in front of everyone. I want people to remember your honorable service to the public.”
“I am what I am. And no title is going to change that.”
“Titles do matter. They’ve mattered since the first man dragged his knuckles out of the cave. So,
Detective
, did you come down to Texas to hunt down a vicious killer that savagely murdered six women in Seattle and three in Texas?”
Raines knew how the legal game was played. Give just enough. “I came down here because I thought the Strangler was active again.”
Monroe nodded approvingly. “And you got your man, didn’t you,
Detective
? Caught him red-handed trying to strangle the life out of an innocent young woman that he’d tried to kill seven years ago.”
“Correct.”
“You saved a woman from a savage murder.”
“Yes.”
The attorney’s glee didn’t sit well with Raines. “You’re a hero.”
He threaded his fingers together. “I don’t feel like a hero. I did what I had to do.”
Monroe smiled. “Just keep saying that. We love heroes down here in Texas. Especially when they are humble. Now let’s see about getting you bail.”
Something about the day’s events made Beck’s gut twist just as it had during his interviews with child killer Matt Dial.
Like then, he had no concrete evidence, but only the gnawing sense that key puzzle pieces were missing. He reached for his phone and dialed Santos as he wound down the dark gravel road, remembering the way Lara had kissed him moments ago on the front porch. A lantern light glowing above her head, she’d told him to be careful. He’d hugged her tight reminding her for the fifth time that she needed to lock her door. She’d laughed. Said it was nice to have someone worry over her.
Worry. It was what he did when he cared. For him love intertwined with fear, loss, and pain. His mother had often said Beck was most prickly when he loved.
Love.
That was a hell of a word to cross his mind now. Love. He couldn’t remember a time when love ever had connected to a lover. Shit. Had he fallen so far and so fast for Lara? Was this worry rooted in love for a quirky artist, or was it a by-product of a cop’s intuition honed by years on the job?
He didn’t have an answer, only knew worry now hung around his neck like a rattler, hissing and ready to strike. When a man was nose-to-nose with an angry rattler, he didn’t stop to question where the rattler came from. He dealt with it. He needed to resolve what prodded his uneasiness.
Ten minutes later he pulled up to the entrance of the long driveway that had belonged to Jonathan Matthews. Three news vans had parked outside the property, held at bay by several uniformed officers. Beck slowed, spoke to the cops at the entrance, who waved him through. At the house the darkness was awash in the glow of floodlights. There were at least seven marked and unmarked cars and the forensics van.
He glanced at the clock on the dash. Five hours had passed since he’d walked out of the crime scene and gone to the hospital to get Lara.
He got out of the car as Santos walked down the front steps, a cell phone pressed to his ear. The Ranger had taken off his white hat and rolled up his sleeves.
When Santos rang off, Beck said, “What do we have?”
He clicked the phone back in a holster on his hip. “Raines just made bail.”
“He’s been in custody four hours.”
“Apparently, plenty of time if you got a hell of a good attorney. Fellow named Monroe represented him.”
Beck shook his head. “Monroe is connected up the ass. How’d Raines find him?”
“He hired him just after he arrived in town.”
“Almost as if he were expecting trouble.”
“He came to Texas to kill Jonathan,” Santos said. “He was just waiting for the right time.”
Beck rested a foot on the bottom porch step. “Raines does what he wants.”
“Which is why I have DPS outside his hotel room.”
“Good. Keep an eye on him.”
“Will do.”
“What else have you found inside?”
“Books. Journals. Each focused on a specific victim.”
Beck stilled. “Show me.”
As Beck stepped into the house, he accepted a pair of rubber gloves and paper booties from a forensics tech and pulled on both. As he entered the study he was struck by Lara’s photograph hanging behind Jonathan’s desk. Small pot lights from the ceiling had been angled so that they shone on and accentuated the image.
Anger rolled over him as he pictured Lara lying in the thick, wet Seattle woods while Jonathan closed his hands over her throat.
“There are fourteen books. Six from Seattle. Lara’s book. The three Austin victims. And six others.”
“Intended victims?”
“Yes. They appear to be works in progress. We’ve tracked down three and they are alive and well.”
Beck and Santos waited for the tech to give them the all-clear and then they removed the first six books from the shelves. All the books were bound in rich red leather with the victim’s name embossed in gold lettering on the cover.
Carefully, Beck opened the first book, which appeared to be filled with news clips. He turned the pages slowly, amazed at how Matthews had collected every mention of the killings in a multitude of papers. The next four were the same. Lots of news clips. But the fifth and six’s victim’s books had handwritten notes in the margins.
They don’t see what I see. They don’t know what I know. I am smarter than all of them.
The seventh book and by far the thickest was Lara’s book. Apparently, he had started this book before the first Seattle killing when Lara was about seventeen years old. There were pictures of her outside her grandmother’s house with her grandmother’s dog, Rex. Playing. Laughing. There was even a snapshot of a smiling Lara standing next to Matthews, who stared down at her with a wolfish grin that unsettled Beck. Matthews had wanted Lara for a long, long time.
A cold anger slid through Beck’s body, momentarily clouding his thoughts. Carefully, he turned the pages in the book, which chronicled Lara’s life in Seattle. There were pictures of Lara at her dorm, in class, and at a school fund-raiser. How many trips had Matthews made to Seattle? Carefully, he closed the book, unable to stomach more now. Later he’d look and study the pages, but not now. Not when emotions ran raw through him.
Beck picked up Lou Ellen Fisk’s book. The first page was a picture of Lou Ellen laughing as she hurried from one class to the other. There were more pictures going about her everyday life. Running. Grocery shopping. Car wash. And then there were pictures of her as she lay dead on the side of the Texas road. She lay in her white dress, her clasped hands folded over her chest. More news clips followed.
Beck set the book down and picked up the book marked
Gretchen Hart
and then the book labeled
Blair Silver
. Each featured pictures of the women alive and then finally strangled to death. “The Austin books are different than the Seattle books.” He tapped the stack of Seattle books. “They are just news clips. There are no pictures of the women before or after he killed them. It’s secondhand information.”
“Except Lara’s book.”
“Her book is different from them all. It starts twelve years ago. No, the Seattle killings were different. There is a distance between him and the crimes.”
“Killers change.”
“They do.” Unease scraped. “They do.” But what was it about the Seattle killings that bothered him? He picked up the book marked
Pamela Davis
. The instant he opened the book he recognized the last victim murdered in Austin before Lara. “We have an ID on the last body. Pamela Davis.”
Santos dug a notebook out of his pocket and flipped through the pages. He wrote the name down along with several statistics Matthews had chronicled.
Beck flipped through her book. “He was tracking her for months, yet the book stops right before her murder. No shots of her after he killed her.”
“He was moving pretty quickly then. He’d killed three women in the span often days.”
“But the details were important to him. Why did he leave that last shot out of his book?”
Raines sat in his hotel room, perched on the edge of his bed staring at the television he’d not bothered to turn on. He’d been chasing this moment for over seven years and had never known what to expect when he’d reached it. He’d expected elation. A sense of peace that one feels when he’s jumped a major hurdle in his life.
But he felt none of that. He felt oddly empty. The purpose and goal that had robbed him of sleep, driven him to distraction, and, yes, given him a reason to live for so long was gone. And all he felt now was empty and let down.
A knock on his door had him tensing. He didn’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone. He wanted to be alone with his emptiness and figure out how the hell he was going to live the rest of his life.
“I know you’re in there, Raines.” Danni’s raspy voice cut through the door and reached him.
He lifted his head. “Go away, kid.”
“No can do. I came to see you. You’re the big damn hero according to the television.”
“Danni, go away.”
“Open the door, Raines.” If she’d demanded he’d have ignored her, but the quiet pleading in her voice was his undoing. He rose, his limbs weary with fatigue, and opened the door.
She grinned up at him, a sparkle in her dark eyes. “You look like shit.”
A half grin tipped the edge of his mouth. “Good to see you too.”
She held up a bottle of whiskey. “Got some of those fancy plastic cups in there?”
“You’re underage. How did you get that whiskey?”
She laughed. “Child’s play. You gonna let me in?”