Too good.
Howard had never been so confused in his life. This was why he’d sworn off women. Better for his boring existence to roll along like an unfunny version of
Groundhog Day
than to set himself up for rip-your-guts-out pain somewhere down the line. Better to float in a cocoon of numbness than to have your balls clamped in a vise by a green-eyed kitten with brains and a body that set him on fire.
By God, he didn’t understand the female mind, probably never would. She’d stopped him from confessing his darkest secrets. Maybe, deep down, she didn’t want to know the truth. And what
was
the truth?
Easy. A woman like Kat would want forever, eventually. But Howard couldn’t go there.
Emily Jean’s cute, pudgy face, the sweet way she’d held her arms out to her mother, rose in his mind. Broke his heart. How was he supposed to say he wasn’t
able
to give that precious gift to Kat, or to any woman, no matter how badly he might want to?
Second, what lady wanted to be jolted awake by her lover’s night terrors? Worse, letting someone in on his problems meant sharing his vulnerabilities. Intimacy. God, he’d nearly spilled his guts. How had she gotten past his defenses?
Because she’d been so damned easy to talk to. Today, he’d told her more about his past than he’d ever revealed to anyone, except Sean. The problem was, Kat deserved more than a head case she had to fix. Hell, he couldn’t even address his parents as
Mom and Dad,
for God’s sake.
Best to forget Kat before both of them got hurt.
He repeated this mantra during the ride back to her apartment. Lined up all the heady nights in her arms like tempting shots of whiskey he’d never touch.
One taste. Just one sip of her in his mouth, teasing his tongue, and he was a goner. Every bit as intoxicating and ten times as potent as alcohol must be to those who indulged.
Outside Kat’s place, he shut off the engine. He couldn’t tell her good-bye above the noise, and the manners Georgie had drilled into him as a boy wouldn’t allow him to simply dump her and drive off.
He knew better than anyone how lousy it felt to be ditched.
Kat slid off the back, took off the helmet. Held it out. “Well, thanks. For today. I, um . . .” She bit her lower lip, as though sensing his withdrawal.
He wanted to bite it, too.
“I’ll walk you to the door.” He took the helmet from her, then removed his own.
“No, you don’t have to.” She dug in her front pocket, removed her key. “I’m sure you have a million things to do.”
“Nothing that can’t wait.” Whatever the right answer was, that wasn’t it.
Idiot.
“All right.” With a shrug, she turned and shuffled toward the door, leaving him to follow. Or not. Frowning, he left the helmets behind and hurried after her. In the wake of her retreat, his gallant intention to say “so long” disintegrated faster than a five-alarm blaze at a paper factory.
She stuck the key in the lock, hesitated. The bewilderment shadowing her heart-shaped face when she turned drove through his chest like a serrated knife. A gorgeous mouth like hers was made for laughter, kissing, any number of wicked things. But not drooping as though she’d lost her best friend.
“You’re in full retreat mode.” Her direct gaze pinned him like a butterfly to a corkboard. “Did I say or do something wrong?”
“God, no. Not a chance.” He shook his head, gave her a rueful smile. “Whatever’s going on with me are my problems, not yours. Sorry if I came across like Rod the Jerk.”
She laughed then, a soft tinkle caressing his skin, skimming each vertebra along his back with silky fingers. “Oh, you’d never be in danger of walking in his polished loafers. The two of you couldn’t be more polar opposites.”
“A good thing?”
“Like you need to ask.”
There you are. Ball is in your court, Six-Pack.
“Well, I should go.” Saying it aloud made him miserably unhappy.
“Will I . . . see you again?” Her tone gave her away, even if her expression didn’t. Breathy. Hopeful.
His for the asking.
“Tomorrow night? Dinner at my house?”
Kat’s beautiful face lit, righting the world again. “Monday’s a school night, but I’ll manage.”
Yesss!
“I go on shift Tuesday morning myself, so we’ll keep it reasonable. Why don’t you come over around six thirty and we’ll eat at seven.”
“Sounds great. What should I bring?”
“Nothing but yourself, beautiful. One thing firefighters can do really well, among many, is cook.” His chest puffed out and he couldn’t keep the smug satisfaction off his face.
In spite of his unresolved issues, the real deal was within his reach. Kat was willing to take a chance. On
him
. Every last stupid thought of letting her go without a fight went belly-up.
And Howard Paxton was nothing if not a fighter.
“Directions?”
“I’ll call you tonight,” he said, brushing a tendril of hair from her face. Jesus, he couldn’t keep his paws off her. Didn’t want to try. He’d been an idiot to believe otherwise.
“Good. Gives me an excuse to talk to you before I go to sleep.”
He nearly groaned at the image of her in bed, white-blond hair fanned across her pillow, pleased at the sound of his voice. “Baby, you don’t need an excuse. Any hour, any way you want me, I’m yours.”
Kat’s amazing green eyes flashed with very real hunger an instant before his lips captured hers. Nice and easy. His tongue stroking the inside of her mouth just as he would someplace else on her curvy body, hot and wet.
His balls grew heavy, his beleaguered shaft throbbing once more. Aching. Tomorrow night had never seemed so far off. He had to stop now, before this wild, combustible spark ignited and left them both decimated.
Breaking the kiss, he pulled back, wondering whether he’d have to seek relief later. Alone. Because, by God, it was damned painful to stand this close and not scoop up Kat, carry her inside, and make love to her. All evening.
All night.
“Talk to you later.” He fingered the stray, shiny lock of hair. Even windblown, wearing hardly a stitch of makeup, she looked cute as hell.
As he turned and headed down the sidewalk, he didn’t think she planned to answer.
“You’re a good man, Lieutenant.”
Howard froze. Looked over his shoulder. Slowly, his lips curved upward. “Not
that
good, sweetheart.”
“I wouldn’t have you any other way.” She punctuated her retort by giving him a once-over that sent his blood pressure into the stratosphere.
He was still chuckling to himself as she went inside and closed the door. After securing her helmet behind his seat, he climbed on the bike and revved it up. Took the roll of Pez out of his shirt pocket and popped a candy into his mouth. He pulled out of the parking lot onto the street, already thinking about his grocery list for dinner tomorrow.
Wondering if he should rent them a movie on a school night.
And almost missed what had to be the oldest Buick Regal on the planet.
The same car he’d seen hulking a few spaces from his Harley when he and Kat left the riverside park. The ancient vehicle with peeling puke green paint had to be the same one, didn’t it? Christ knows there couldn’t be two identical cars in the county so butt-ugly.
As he drove past where the car was parked next to the curb across the street, a dark-haired man inside ducked his head, cupping his hand to light a cigarette.
Howard went cold. All freaking over. Just like he had last night at the residence fire that ended in a gruesome death. As though some unknown entity not only walked across his grave, but stopped and spit on it, as well.
In his side mirror, he saw the Buick leave the curb and head in the opposite direction.
Shaking his head, he quelled the willies with an effort. People’s worlds collided, often more than once. Nothing weird or threatening about coincidence.
Nothing whatsoever.
Howard was on his third series of reps at half past midnight when he remembered. The envelope, stuck in his front door. He’d forgotten all about it.
Carefully, he set the silver weight bar in the holder— yeah, Sean would be ticked to see his best friend lifting without a spotter again—and wiggled from underneath before sitting up on the padded bench.
Grabbing a nearby towel, he wiped the sweat off his face and bare chest. Tossing it at the chair in the corner, and missing, he stood and strode from the workout room and down the short hall into the living room, rolling his shoulders as he went.
He was getting too old for this crap, staying up half the night, working his ass off to make himself tired enough to sleep four or five hours. As a trained paramedic, he was all for drugs if they helped, but he’d been living with insomnia for so long, he didn’t see the point. Maybe he was far too stubborn to let his demons win.
Or maybe, if he were honest, the horror of being trapped in his nightmares, unable to awaken, was sufficient threat to keep him from reaching for even the mildest sleep aid.
The white, letter-sized envelope fluttered to the porch when he opened the front door. As he bent to retrieve it, his name printed on the front in a plain computer font sent a chill racing through him that had nothing to do with the bite of the fall night air swirling in to steal his warmth. Not just his name, but his rank.
Lieutenant Howard Paxton.
Creepy. For a split second, he had the fleeting thought that he shouldn’t have touched the thing, though he wasn’t sure why. Shutting out the cold, he locked up and walked into the living room, studying both sides of the envelope. Ordinary. Blank. Except for the name, printed like that.
Lowering himself to the sofa, he tore open the seal. Peered inside.
And lifted out a single photograph.
For a moment he couldn’t comprehend what he saw. Had trouble getting air into his lungs. Making sense out of the impossible. His brain misfired like a bad starter on a car before catching hold. Staring at the picture, he gasped.
“Jesus Christ Almighty.”
A naked woman. Propped up and handcuffed to a bed, each wrist fastened to the headboard railing on either side of her. Her chin was tilted up, back arched, nipples thrust through long dark hair, knees bent with her heels planted into the mattress. Her legs were open wide for the camera, revealing a thick triangle at the apex of her thighs, the pink flesh of her gleaming sex.
“My God.”
Who would take a perverted photograph like this, then leave it in his door? With his freaking
name
on it?
Julian? No. No damned way. Even Salvatore’s warped idea of a joke didn’t lean toward anything this disturbing. He shook his head. Not disturbing. Sick.
Something was off about this photo, besides the fact some perv left it as a present. Squinting at the woman’s face, he wondered what bothered him, outside the obvious. What was missing? And then the realization smacked him in the head.
Arousal. Howard knew what a woman who was enjoying herself ought to look like, and the tight-lipped, hollow expression on this lady’s beautiful face wasn’t it. Her eyes were . . . empty. Resigned. She might’ve been a mannequin, or a stoned-out druggie posed for a BDSM magazine.
Or a woman who knew she was about to die.
A memory seized him. Skyler, stumbling from the smoldering house. Retching on the front lawn.
A b-body, in the master bedroom. It’s h-handcuffed to the fucking bed.
Charred beyond recognition.
His hands began to shake. This wasn’t happening. The person who died last night couldn’t be the lady in this photo, because why in God’s name would anyone deposit a lewd picture of the possible homicide victim on his porch?
He laid the awful image on the coffee table. Went straight to the phone, hit Skyler on speed dial. He had the whole team programmed in there, in case of emergency. This more than qualified.
Skyler answered on the third ring, fumbling with the receiver. “Yeah?” he croaked, voice raspy with sleep.
“It’s me. Howard. Sorry to interrupt your shut-eye, kid. You awake?”
“Um . . . yeah. I mean yes, sir.” More fumbling, and a huge sigh. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
His grip on the phone tightened. “I need to ask you a couple of questions about last night. The fire and the body. You with me?”
“Got it.” A loud yawn. “Whatcha need to know?”
“You dealing okay?”
A hesitation. “I’m good.” The unspoken afterthought,
considering
, fell between them like a rock.
“Most guys go years before having to work a scene like that. Some get lucky and never do.”
“I’m fine. Sir.” More bite this time.
Relief washed over him. The kid would be all right. “Glad to hear it. Listen, I need you to tell me about the bedroom where you and Eve discovered the body. Start with describing the bed.” Silence. “Tommy?”
“What for?”
“Humor me.”
“The bed. Right. Ah, king-sized. Dark, maybe cherrywood. Massive, with stout posts. Paneled headboard with a fancy metal railing across the top. It had, I dunno, curly vines, leaves, and shit in the pattern.”
Somehow, Howard’s feet carried him over to the coffee table. He stood, turned to stone, staring down at the photo he wasn’t going to touch again. “Were the victim’s wrists fastened by the cuffs through the metal vines?”
“Yes,” Tommy said slowly. Suspicious now. “How did you know that when you didn’t go upstairs?”
“What about beside the bed? Was there a nightstand? ” he asked hoarsely, as though he’d sucked in a gallon of smoke.
“Two. There was an ashtray on the right-hand nightstand as we were looking at the bed.”
Staring at the ashtray in the photo, cigarette perched casually on the lip, Howard fought the sudden urge to throw up. “Cigarette?”
“The room was fully involved with flames, sir. With all due respect, we didn’t have time to take inventory. What’s this about?” Then, softly, “Am I in trouble?”
“No, it’s nothing like that.”
“What—”
“I’ll explain when I see you Tuesday on shift.” If the whole fire department hadn’t gotten wind of this before then. Which they probably would. “Get some sleep, Skyler.”
“Yes, sir,” Tommy muttered, baffled and apparently unhappy about the lack of answers.
The next call went to the police. The bored dispatcher perked up considerably after Howard stated his situation. Claiming you might have evidence tied to a homicide tended to get peoples’ juices flowing.
He waited for the cops, confused. Sick at heart.
Why, why, why?
drummed in his skull, pulsed at his temples. He prayed that the authorities had some leads by now, perhaps an idea why this atrocity was left at his door.
But when they arrived the police were rude and sarcastic. The fact that they were addressing a lieutenant in the fire department meant zilch to these pricks. Starsky and Hutch fired off the same fifty questions Howard had been asking himself for the last half hour. They got nowhere and didn’t like it.
“Whether or not this woman is the victim from our fire last night, I don’t know her, never met her,” Howard reiterated. They’d refused the seats he’d offered, so he remained standing also, unwilling to allow them to loom over him. He crossed his arms over his chest, spine straight, feet spread, face hard, the exact stance he employed when the team needed a good ass chewing. He looked big, intimidating, and he knew it. They didn’t like that, either.
He didn’t give a damn.
Officer Peters, the Starsky of the duo, flipped through his notes. The pencil-nosed cop didn’t notice his interviewee curling a lip at his bad 1970s ’fro. “Let me get this straight. You saw the envelope in your front door this afternoon, but didn’t stop to get it because you had a
date
.”
The cop emphasized the last word as though he doubted this was the truth. Howard ran his tongue across his teeth, biting back a retort. “Correct. I didn’t think to retrieve it until about a half hour ago.”
“After you ate dinner, called your girlfriend to make plans for tomorrow night—or technically tonight—and worked out.”
Well, Kat wasn’t his girlfriend. Yet. “Right.” Better to keep this simple.
Peters looked up, spearing Howard with shrewd, beady little eyes. The guy likely never believed a word he heard anymore. “Assuming this woman is our homicide vic, why would someone, presumably the killer, taunt you personally with her photo? You claim not to have known or met her, and you didn’t even go inside to witness the murder scene. Your captain is first in command, so if the taunt was directed at the fire department, why not address the envelope to Tanner? Better yet, why not just send it to Chief Mitchell?”
He didn’t miss the deliberate use of the term “murder scene.” He knew the arson and homicide divisions were already holding hands. Digging deep. And he’d just handed them a bomb. God knows what any of this meant and who’d get caught in the explosion.
“I’m sort of hoping you guys can answer those questions, Officer Peters. I’m not a detective. I’ve given you what I’ve got and told you what I know, which isn’t squat.”
Peters and his string-bean partner, Holden, exchanged a glance. The former flipped his notebook closed. “All right. I’d say we’re spinning our wheels for now. The homicide detective in charge of the case will want to talk to you and your team. Probably tomorrow. You’re off shift?”
Fantastic. “Until Tuesday morning at seven.”
“Might want to keep yourself available.” This from Holden, who seemed to feel the need to interject something important.
Jesus save them all if these two fools represented Sugarland’s finest hope for truth and justice. “Gee, guess I’ll have to cancel my one-way ticket to the Bahamas.”
Both snapped their gazes to Howard. He smiled. They pursed their lips as though they’d bitten into a lemon.
Peters took the photo and envelope in a plastic bag as evidence and they left. Howard sagged against the door, his facade of in-control tough guy draining through his feet and into the floor. None of this made sense, and out of sheer self-preservation, he wasn’t sure he wanted it to.
Mental snapshots from the past twenty-four hours launched an assault.
The fire, and the eerie prickle on the back of his neck.
A lone figure, standing under the tree in his front yard.
An old green Buick. At the park.
Near Kat’s apartment.
Oh, God
.
A man inside the car, ducking his face.
Lighting a cigarette.
The awful photo. A woman’s dead eyes.
A cigarette on the nightstand.
On trembling legs, Howard checked every door. Made sure the house was locked tight. In his bedroom, he removed his tennis shoes and socks, pulled off the T-shirt he’d put on before the police arrived. Stripped off his loose nylon workout shorts.
The hot shower didn’t do much to relieve the cold in his bones. He couldn’t get warm. No matter how long he stood under the steamy spray, he couldn’t wash away a growing horror. The kind that seeped in almost without notice. Like a venomous snake, slithering toward a man’s ankles in the dark. Masked until its deadly strike.
He wasn’t a stupid man. For whatever reason, someone had him scoped on their radar, and the bastard wanted him to know. Message sent and received.
Had a killer been watching him with Kat? Why? In order to taunt him before he captured and burned her to death like he’d done to the other woman?
“My God.” He shut off the water and stumbled from the shower, grabbing a towel from the rack on the wall and wrapping it around his hips.
Hurrying for the kitchen and the phone book, he dribbled a wet trail across his house but didn’t care. He’d write Kat’s number on a sticky note this time, and memorize it. Item in hand, he jogged back to the bedroom.
Spying the phone on the nightstand, he sat heavily on the bed and snatched the handset. Punched in her number. Waited, heart racing.
“Um, hello?”
She’s all right.
He sagged, resting his elbows on his knees, dropping his chin. “It’s Howard. Sorry to wake you, sweetheart.”
“Howard?” Kat repeated sleepily. “What time is it?”
“Going on two in the morning. I just needed to hear your voice.” How lame was that? But he couldn’t blurt out the real reason for his call. He might be completely off base, jumping at shadows. He’d scare her for nothing and she’d believe her new guy was a head case.
Maybe she’d be right.
“Aren’t you sweet?” she said, low and husky. “You, however, don’t have to be at work by seven thirty to deal with a class full of miniature hellions all day.”
“Call in sick. Spend the day with me.” An inspired idea. He longed to hold her. Let her soothe away the nightmares with her hands, her luscious body. Take her up on the offer he’d bypassed during their interlude. Jeez, did he sound as desperate as he felt?
“Whispered the devil into her ear.” A pause, then she sighed with regret. “I can’t, though. Even if I had plans in order, we have two teachers on my team who’ll be out for all-day training. If I ditch, that leaves the other two to handle three substitutes.”
Disappointment speared his chest, although he admired her work ethic. He rarely called in, either, unless he really was ill. “Hey, no problem.”
“Rain check on the skip day?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m looking forward to dinner, Howard.” Her voice softened, almost shy.
“Same here. Say, forget six thirty. Come over as soon as you can.” Lord, this lady was fast becoming a fever in his blood. He heard the smile in her answer.
“I’d love that. School’s out at three thirty. If I sneak right out and go home to change, I can be at your house by four thirty. Does that work?”
Oh yeah. “You bet. I’ll count the hours.”
“Me, too. Night, Howard.”
“Good night, beautiful.”
Placing the phone in the cradle, he shivered. Little water droplets clung to his freezing skin. Well, one place on his body wasn’t cold anymore. His renegade cock rose between his splayed thighs, poking at the towel around his waist. Just the sound of her voice aroused him to the point of agony. Blue balls? Forget it. Try a nice shade of eggplant.
He dried off quickly. Leaving his hair damp, he sprawled on the bed, hands clasped behind his head, forgoing the boxers he usually wore. Scowling at the ceiling, he wondered whether Kat alone had him in a vise, or if his neglected libido would respond this violently to
any
woman after a year of celibacy.
Anyone might do to ease his pent-up sexual energy. The notion didn’t quite ring true, but he needed to find out almost as much as he craved release. And there was only one way to test his theory without anybody getting hurt.
Spreading his legs, he lay with his arms resting at his sides. Let himself sink into the mattress. Closed his eyes. Breathed deep, exhaled, crawling into the memory.
The redhead. The last lady “friend” he’d brought home, the one who didn’t eat breakfast. Not food, anyway. They’d met at his fitness club. She was supermodel, drop-dead gorgeous. He was lonely. He took her for a ride on the Harley, bought her the helmet. They’d wound up here, in his bed, for two days. He’d used her—and willingly allowed her to use him—in wicked ways guaranteed to make even Jules gape in shock.
He’d always been an intensely sexual man. He might lead a pretty safe, vanilla lifestyle in most aspects. But never, ever in the bedroom. Here, all bets were off. He needed touch, sensation, like a man must have air to breathe. Skin on skin. He loved taking a woman hard and fast, or slow and gentle. He loved letting her take him, too. Any way she wanted.
Lady’s choice.
And so she had. Janine—or Janice?—had straddled his hips, coppery bush tickling his belly. She leaned over him, small breasts and long red hair grazing his chest, and whispered in his ear. He must keep his arms by his sides, she’d ordered. Must not touch himself, or her. He’d remain compliant to her wishes, or their game was over.
She kissed his neck, throat, chest. Licked a trail down his belly. Kneeling between his spread thighs, she cupped his sac in skilled fingers, hefting the twin weights with a purr of feminine approval. Squeezing.
Heat pooling in his groin, Howard groaned at the recollection of Janine’s mouth surrounding his shaft. A warm, wet glove sheathing him to the base, sucking hard. Lost, he’d raised his hips off the bed. Encouraged the slender hand working between his ass cheeks, the moist finger massaging his entrance. Delving inside. A dark, decadent indulgence for them both, one only a woman was allowed to give. The tigress in her exulted in this delicious power over him.
In spite of his innate dominance, the male in him loved giving over that power to her.
The phantom redhead sucked, licked, penetrated him. Any man’s wild fantasy come true. Still, vague dissatisfaction mired him in the here and now. He couldn’t get beyond the pleasurable ache in his tormented erection, couldn’t totally lose himself as he’d done before. She’d meant nothing to him and vice versa, and he suddenly knew, without a single doubt, if she were in his bed this second he’d have to send her home.