by Kay Hooper
“You said you couldn’t see the future.”
“I can’t.”
“Then how can you be so cynical about it?”
“Experience with the past.”
Ben went back to the fireplace, to replace a log that had fallen out onto the hearth. But he remained there, gazing down into the flames.
Cassie didn’t have to be psychic to read his thoughts. “I know,” she said softly. “I’m such a downer. It’s hard to be an optimist when you live your life with monsters.”
“Trying to scare me off?” Ben asked without taking his eyes from the fire.
“Just… telling it like it is.” Cassie leaned her head back against the chair and watched him. There was a dull ache deep inside her, as if her very bones hurt, and staring at him did nothing to ease the pain.
He’ll destroy you.
Would he? And would she care very much if he did?
Cassie knew she was a fatalist. She had good reason to be. For all her efforts over the years, all the horrendous, exhausting hours spent stealing into the minds of madmen and watching through their eyes acts of unbelievable evil, nothing much had changed.
Evil killed. Innocents died.
And she told the police where to find the bodies.
So, yes, she understood fate. She believed in fate. She had discovered the futility of trying to fight fate.
“Cassie?”
She wondered what her own expression was like to make his so disturbed. And she wondered why she was even struggling against something that had to be.
“Telling it like it is,” she repeated slowly.
Ben came to sit down on the coffee table directly in front of her, leaning forward so that almost no space separated them. And even that vanished when he reached out to put a hand on her knee. “Cassie, I don’t have to be psychic to see that you’re in pain. What is it? Is it me? Am I causing this?”
For a fleeting instant Cassie remembered another hand clutching her desperately, but the image faded as she looked into Ben’s hazel eyes and felt the warmth of his hand even through the heavy denim of her jeans. His hands were always so warm.
So warm.
“Of course it’s you,” she murmured, smiling.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, not reassured by the smile.
“Then kiss me.”
Ben got to his feet, caught her hands, and pulled her up. “It’s not that I want to refuse,” he said in the tone of a man who wanted to be completely understood, “but what just happened here? Because I could have sworn you thought this was a bad idea.”
“A woman’s allowed to change her mind. It says so in the rule book.”
“Ah.” Ben’s arms went around her, and he was smiling but his eyes were grave. “So now you think this is a good idea.”
Cassie wasn’t about to lie to him. “I think… I never really had a choice.” She looked at her hands resting on his chest, felt the warmth and strength of him, and let her body lean into his because it needed to.
“Cassie—”
“I trust you,” she said, because it was true. “And I… need you.” She needed his warmth, his caring. Most of all, she needed to know, just once in her life, what it felt like to be a woman a man desired. She reached up, her fingers touching his mouth, her gaze searching his face intently. “I need you, Ben.”
Ben had the uneasy idea that he was seeing Cassie’s fatalism at work once more, but it would have taken a stronger man than he was to draw away from her because of that. He had wanted her since the day she had first walked into his office, wary and withdrawn and tormented, her haunted eyes tugging at something deep inside him, and even if she had doubts he had none—not about this.
His head bent and his mouth covered hers hungrily. There was nothing gentle in the kiss, nothing hesitant, and Cassie responded instantly, rising on her toes to fit herself more intimately against him, her mouth opening eagerly beneath his. She felt so fragile in his arms, yet there was a steely strength as well, and unquestionably the desire of a woman. It was an enormously seductive combination.
Entirely willing to be seduced, Ben nevertheless managed to ask hoarsely, “Are you sure?”
There was a restless urgency in her voice when she answered, “I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.”
It was more than enough. Ben kissed her again, then lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs.
“To be honest, I was almost relieved,” Abby told Matt, sincere but also trying to keep him calm. “The fact that Gary called instead of storming over here I take as a good sign.”
“How the hell do you figure that?” Matt had finally stopped pacing the kitchen and swearing under his breath, but it was clear he wanted nothing better than to break something Gary-shaped with his bare hands.
“I think if he’d found out I was seeing anybody but you, he would have come after me. But you give him pause. You’re bigger than he is, younger, in much better shape—and you wear a gun. I don’t think he wants to take you on, Matt.”
Matt pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. “That doesn’t mean he won’t try something a lot nastier than phone calls when he’s sure I won’t be around. Goddammit, Abby, this time I won’t take no for an answer. Either I stay here or you move in with me.”
She couldn’t help but laugh, albeit shakily. “You won’t get no for an answer. Now that Gary knows, I don’t care who else finds out.”
“Good.” He kissed her, taking his time about it.
When she could speak a few words coherently, Abby said, “You must be tired. Aren’t you tired?”
“Not that tired.” He nuzzled his face against her neck, inhaling her scent because he loved it, then forced himself to raise his head. “But I am starving. Until I smelled that stew, I hadn’t realized how long it’s been since breakfast.”
“Breakfast? Honestly, Matt—” She eased from his embrace and got busy putting supper on the table.
Neither of them brought up the reason his appetite had been gone for the entire day; it wasn’t until the meal was finished and the dishes cleared away that Abby brought up the subject.
“You don’t have to go back to the office tonight, do you?”
“No, there’s nothing I can do there.” His tone was bleak.
“Cassie said the killer wouldn’t leave enough evidence to make himself identifiable—was she right about that?”
“So far.” Despite his earlier words, he looked very tired. “If we can ever get a viable suspect, we might have enough to nail his ass. He didn’t wear a condom when he raped the Ramsay girl.”
Abby tried hard to match his seeming detachment. “So he might be a—what do you call it?—a secretor?”
“Maybe. But even if he isn’t, with all the advances in DNA testing, we should be able to get just about everything except his name and address from the semen.” He added, “Not that DNA evidence always convinces a jury, as we well know, but I’m counting on Ben to make damned sure this one doesn’t slip through our fingers if we make it that far.”
“If?”
Matt sighed heavily. “We might never catch him, Abby. I haven’t wanted to admit it even to myself, but the simple truth is that serial killers tend to get caught only if they screw up—and they seldom screw up.”
“But this is such a small town, a town where everyone knows his neighbor. How can a—a monster hide here?”
“In plain sight. Going about his business just like the rest of us, and probably with a smile on his face.” Matt shook his head. “He won’t have two heads, or a forked tail—or anything else to warn the world he’s an evil bastard.”
Abby was silent for a minute, then said, “Was that FBI agent any help?”
“Some. He knows a bit about serial killers, and more than a bit about murder investigations. I figured he’d just get in my way, but so far he hasn’t tried to take over the case. Not really surprising, I guess, since his main interest is Cassie.”
“That�
��s what she said. But what is he doing, Matt? I mean, does he want to find some kind of evidence that she’s genuine? Or that she isn’t?”
“According to Bishop, he’s just observing. I can’t make out whether he believes in her or not. He says his interest in Cassie goes back a few years, that investigations she gets involved in tend to be—I think the phrase he used was ‘unusually interesting.’ So he keeps an eye on her in his free time. I did point out that Cassie would most probably have a solid case for harassment if she decided to protest his observing, but he didn’t seem too worried.”
“How about Cassie?”
“Tense when he’s around, but not especially upset, far as I can see.”
Abby hesitated. “Do you think that maybe it isn’t Cassie’s psychic abilities Bishop is interested in?”
Matt sipped his coffee. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Ben’s afraid it’s something like that.”
“But what do you think?”
“Bishop doesn’t give away much, so I couldn’t say what his feelings are. As for Cassie, Ben’s the one she watches when he isn’t watching her.”
“I like her,” Abby said.
Matt looked at her with brooding eyes. “Yeah, so do I.”
“But?”
He shook his head. “No buts. It’s just that I’m wondering what all this is doing to her. To them.”
“It can’t be easy for either of them.”
“No. And even without this situation, I’d say both of them have a few problems to work through.”
Abby lifted an eyebrow. “Cassie’s problems I can guess. But Ben? He’s always seemed very centered, very balanced and emotionally stable.”
“He has, hasn’t he?” Matt shook his head. “We all have problems. Ben has his. But in one way Cassie may turn out to be the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Thanks to her, I think he’s finally beginning to figure out the difference between being needed by a woman and having a needy woman hung around his neck.”
“You mean Mary?”
“I do. Granted the old judge was a cold fish, but if Mary had been more mature, she wouldn’t have clung to Ben all these years trying to get the emotional security she needed. With her hung around his neck, especially since the old judge died, it’s no wonder the last thing he wanted from any other woman was even the hint she might need more from him than he was willing to give.”
“Makes sense, I guess. And you think Cassie is asking for something he is willing to give?”
Slowly Matt said, “I think Cassie is asking absolutely nothing of Ben, despite the fact that it’s painfully obvious how alone she is in her life. And maybe that’s it. Maybe for once Ben’s the one who needs more than he’s being offered.”
“From what she told me, I gather Cassie is trying not to get involved with him.”
“Oh, hell, they’re already involved. He’s over there tonight, just like he was last night—and will be tomorrow night. Watching over her.”
“Ben’s never struck me as especially protective of the ladies he was interested in.”
“You noticed that, huh?”
Abby smiled. “Does he know yet?”
“I don’t think so. And I’d bet a year’s pay that Cassie isn’t sure whether he feels responsible for her or is just trying to get in her panties.”
Abby had to laugh.
Matt smiled in response but then sobered. “I think that lady has seen too many monsters up close and personal. And even though yours truly is an open book to her, she says she can’t read Ben, and I’m guessing that’ll just make it harder for her to let him get close.”
“And the longer this killer stays on the loose…”
“The worse it’ll be for both of them. Right now, as tenuous and fragile as it is, Cassie’s connection to the killer is our best lead.” Matt paused. “And the killer knows it.”
He wound the music box carefully and let it play, smiling as the two dancers twirled and bobbed around each other in their eternal circle.
He was tired and needed to sleep, because there would be so much to do tomorrow. But not just yet.
First he had to open his treasure box and look at each and every item, just as he always did before bed.
Becky Smith’s necklace.
Ivy Jameson’s peacock pin.
Jill Kirkwood’s lace-trimmed handkerchief.
That was somewhat crumpled, since he had come into it a few nights before, but the sticky evidence of his devotion only made his smile widen.
He held his most recent trophy in his hands and studied it in the lamplight. Deanna Ramsay’s panties. He liked the silky feel of them in his fingers. He liked the pretty blue and green flowers printed on the material. He liked the way they smelled.
He held the panties to his nose for a few minutes, eyes closed, breathing in, then put them tenderly into his treasure box with the other items.
He closed the box, then carried it to the dresser and placed it alongside the square of black velvet that occupied the center space beneath the mirror.
There were only two coins left, the dime and the fifty-cent piece.
He frowned down at them for a moment, trying to remember why they were so important.
Oh, yes. Tokens of his affection. He had to leave tokens of his affection with the ladies. That was… important.
He mustn’t forget how important.
Two more, then.
He had already selected them. And he knew what he would do to them. It was going to be so much fun. The only question was, which one would be first?
Eeny, meeny, miny, mo… catch a lady by the toe… if she hollers… don’t let her go….
He lifted his eyes and gazed into the mirror, sad but unsurprised when nobody looked back.
• • •
Cassie woke with a start but had no idea what had jarred her from a blissful sleep. Then, even as Ben rose on an elbow beside her, she remembered.
“Hey.” He touched her face with gentle fingers. “Are you all right?”
His hands were always so warm. She loved that. She wanted to purr like a cat whenever he touched her.
She thought she should probably be embarrassed by that.
“I’m fine,” she said at last.
“You cried out in your sleep.”
Cassie studied his face in the lamplight, memorizing it with an intensity she was hardly aware of. “Just a bad dream, I guess.”
“You don’t remember?”
“Not really. There was something about a mirror. And I couldn’t get away from the music.” She frowned suddenly. “Still can’t.”
“What music?”
“There’s been a tune in my head on and off all day. It’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t remember what it is.”
“Maybe I’d recognize it.”
Cassie smiled at him. “Trust me, you don’t want me to try humming. I’m tone deaf.”
“Really?” He relaxed beside her, his head propped up on one hand while the other rested lightly on her stomach. “That’s hard to believe. You have such a musical voice.”
“Must be genetics, then. I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket with a lid on it.” Cassie couldn’t remember him pulling the covers up over them, but she was glad he had. She wasn’t exactly embarrassed, but she did feel a bit self-conscious lying there next to him, naked.
A bit? God.
It was the most astonishing thing, passion. No wonder so much was written about it. For the first time in her life, Cassie now understood how people could claim that passion had made them mindless.
“Cassie?”
She blinked up at him. “Hmm?”
“You went away. Where did you go?”
Cassie wondered if her eyes had crossed. Even the memory of passion was astonishing. She cleared her throat. “Nowhere in particular. What time is it?”
He glanced past her toward the nightstand. “Just after eleven.”
“I should take Max out.”
“I’ll do that. Later.”
Ben leaned down and kissed her slowly and thoroughly.
By the time he lifted his head, Cassie’s arms were up around his neck, and she was reasonably sure she was purring. Where had the damned covers come from? She wanted them gone.
Ben seemed to have the same idea. He pushed the blankets and sheet down until they rode somewhere around his hips, leaving Cassie bare much lower down. His eyes were on her small, pale breasts, and then his hand was touching them.
Cassie heard a muted sound escape her, and was helpless to stop it. The most casual of touches was something she was acutely aware of; the stark intimacy of his hands on her naked body was something she could feel all the way to her soul.
She wasn’t aware that her eyes had closed, that her nails bit into the hard muscles of his shoulders. The bed was gone, the room, the house. The world. All she knew was his warm hand stroking her flesh, creating pleasure she had never even imagined herself capable of feeling. Her breasts were hot and aching, her belly empty, and when his hand slid down between her legs, she thought she would die.
He caressed her with certain knowledge, building her desire higher and higher until she could barely endure the sharply winding tension. She wanted to plead with him to stop torturing her, but all that emerged was a wordless whimper.
Then she felt him between her thighs, felt the slow, inexorable push of his hard flesh inside her body, and the soft sound she made was triumph and need.
“Open your eyes, love,” he murmured. “Look at me.”
His face was taut, eyes darkened and absorbed as they locked with hers, and Cassie was astonished all over again. She couldn’t read his mind, yet somehow saw deeper, and that incredibly intimate communication made her pleasure spiral even higher as their bodies moved together.
“Ben,” she whispered, obeying the compulsion to say his name, hearing the panic in her voice.
“I’m here.” His lips touched hers, toyed with hers, his forearms beneath her shoulders, fingers tangled in her hair. Those gleaming, darkened eyes were heavy-lidded, fixed on hers. His hips moved in a quickening rhythm.
The tension inside Cassie became unendurable, yet she had no choice but to endure it. Her senses were spinning out of control, her body caught up in a desperate headlong rush toward completion, and she clung to Ben as the only anchor left to her in an ocean of impossible sensation.