by Linda Turner
“From there we went to the River Walk,” Blake told him, picking up the story. He gave him a list of every night spot they hit, including the Hard Rock Cafe and Planet Hollywood. “We were with friends until about three,” he concluded. “Then I brought Sabrina home. She didn’t notice the front door was unlatched until she started to unlock it.”
His expression shuttered, Sam scribbled notes, then made them both go over the details again, questioning them sharply about who might have seen them leave together, then followed them. Unfortunately, Blake wasn’t familiar enough with Sabrina’s neighbors to know if there’d been any strange cars parked within view of the house, and Sabrina hadn’t paid attention. If anyone had followed them—and someone obviously had—they’d been damn discreet about it.
They appeared to be back at square one again, with no clues but the note itself, when one of the uniformed officers stepped into the kitchen and informed Sam quietly, “There seems to be no sign of a break-in. All the screens and windows are securely latched, and neither the front or back doors were jimmied.”
“What are you saying?” Sabrina asked sharply. “That whoever left the note had a key? That’s impossible!”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Have you had your car worked on recently or loaned it to anyone who might have had the opportunity to have a copy of your house keys made?”
“No. Nothing. I haven’t even had the oil changed, though God knows it needs it.”
“What about a spare key to the front door?” Blake asked. “Do you keep one hidden somewhere in case you lose your keys?”
“Well, yes, but nobody would be able to find it without knowing where it was.”
That was all Sam needed to hear. “Show me,” he said, and pushed to his feet.
Obediently, Sabrina lead the way to the front porch. “It’s here,” she said. “Behind the mailbox. The box is loose, but you can’t tell from just looking at it. So I put a small magnet on the back of the box and just stuck the key to it.”
She started to show him, but the detective quickly stopped her, grabbing her hand before she could touch the small metal box that was attached to the wall right next to the front door. “Don’t touch it,” he said curtly. “I want to dust it for prints first.”
Stepping around her, he examined the black mailbox in the light of the front porch light, then dusted the entire area for prints. “Most of these are probably yours and the mailman’s,” he said when the task was complete, “but we can’t take any chances. Now, where’s the key?”
It was just where Sabrina had said it would be, held in place by a small magnet that was about the size and thickness of a dime. Relieved, she let out the breath she hadn’t even known she was holding and smiled shakily. “See, I told you no one could find it.”
Sam wasn’t so sure. “Not necessarily. Whoever left the note for you could have put the key back to make you think he didn’t know where it was or he could have already had himself one made at another time. Either way, we can’t assume that your locks are secure. You need to get a locksmith over here in the morning to change them for you.”
“Then see about having a security system installed,” Blake added, his face carved with harsh lines in the glare of the porch light. “In fact, you should have already done that. Dammit, Sabrina, this neighborhood isn’t safe! Especially for a woman living alone.”
Put on the defensive, she frowned. “Crime happens everywhere. You know that. And at least here, I know my neighbors, which probably wouldn’t be the case if I moved into some newer, fancier subdivision where people don’t even talk to each other.” Wound up, she would have said more, but she suddenly spied the circle of neighbors that had collected in her front yard, drawn there by the flashing lights of the patrol cars. “See?” she told Blake triumphantly. “Everybody cares about each other here. I’m perfectly safe.”
“Sabrina? Is there a problem?” Martha Anderson called worriedly. Her iron-gray hair in rollers and a hot-pink cotton robe wrapped around her rounded figure, she hugged herself and stepped closer to the porch. “When I saw the police lights, I came running as soon as I could. What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” Sabrina assured her. “Just a break-in. Nothing was taken.”
“A break-in! Oh, my!”
“Did any of you see anyone lurking around Ms. Jones’s house this evening between seven and three-thirty?” Sam asked the group as he moved to join them.
“No, but I did hear a dog barking around eleven-thirty,” Martha said. “I thought it was Louis’s, but I didn’t get up to check. When he quieted down after only a few minutes, I just thought he was after a cat or something.”
“It was a jogger,” Louis said quietly, pushing up his wire-rimmed glasses from where they’d slid down his thin nose. “I had just turned out the lights to go to bed when Lady starting throwing a fit. I thought it was a cat, too—she really hates them—but when I looked out the front window, all I saw was a jogger trotting down the street.”
Blake lifted a dark brow at that. “At eleven-thirty at night? Do you usually have people running through the neighborhood at that hour of the night?”
Suddenly chilled, Sabrina felt goose bumps ripple down her bare arms. “No, of course not. Can you describe the man, Louis? And which way was he running? Toward my house or away from it?”
“Away,” he said reluctantly. “And I’m sorry to say I didn’t have my glasses on, so I didn’t get a very good look at him in the dark. He was tall, with sort of a lanky build and dark hair. Sort of like Jeff.”
“Jeff?” Blake repeated sharply. “Jeff Harper, her ex-husband?”
“I’m sure it wasn’t him, dear,” Martha told Sabrina when Louis nodded reluctantly. “I know you two had your differences, but I can’t see him breaking into your house. Not after all this time.”
Sabrina didn’t think so either, but when she saw Blake and the detective exchange speculative looks, she had no choice but to come to Jeff’s defense. “Louis didn’t say it was Jeff, just that the jogger was built like him. There must be hundreds of men in San Antonio who fit the same description. And it was dark, and Louis didn’t have his glasses on. It could have been anyone.”
“She’s right about that,” the older man agreed. “I’m the first to admit that I’m blind as a bat without my glasses. Anything more than three feet away tends to be rather blurry. I guess that doesn’t do you much good, does it?”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Sam Kelly said with a smile as he closed his notebook. “You’ve given us a general description of the man and the approximate time of the break-in. If you or any of the rest of you think of anything else, I’d appreciate it if you’d call me at the station.”
They all promised to do just that, then reluctantly returned to their homes. Sam conferred with the two uniformed officers, then sent them on their way. When he turned back to Sabrina, his face was set in somber lines. “Considering the circumstances, I think you’d better find some place else to stay for a while. At this point, we have to conclude that that note is from the same person who killed Charlene McClintock and the others, and if he’s to be believed, he killed again tonight. We can’t be sure until a body’s found, but one thing is for sure—he’s furious with you. For your own safety, you need to get away from here for a while.”
Blake couldn’t have agreed more. “She can stay at my place until the bastard’s caught. No one will bother her there.”
“Oh, no! I couldn’t!”
Sabrina’s response was automatic and held more than a trace of panic. Watching the color come and go in her pale cheeks, Blake could understand her reservations. He didn’t have to read her mind to know that her thoughts, like his, were on the kisses they’d shared on that very porch less than an hour ago. He wanted her. More than he should, considering the painful lessons Trina had taught him. And Sabrina, in spite of her claims to the contrary, wasn’t exactly indifferent to him. Together, the two of them could set a forest ablaze, they wer
e that hot. Living with her, even for a day or two, and keeping his hands to himself, would be impossible.
“Yes, you can,” he said, throwing caution to the wind. “I’ll stay with my grandfather, and you’ll have the whole place to yourself. No one will know you’re there but me and Sam and Pop. You’ll be perfectly safe as long as you make sure no one follows you there after work every evening.”
Safe. Just thinking about it made her want to jump at the chance to get away, but she’d never been one to run from a threat before, and she couldn’t start now. “I appreciate the offer, Blake, but you haven’t talked to your grandfather. He told me himself how independent he was. He may not want you to move in with him.”
He laughed at that, his grin rueful. “Are you kidding? He’d do just about anything for you, even put up with me for a couple of weeks.”
“But it could take longer than that,” she argued. “And I don’t like the idea of letting this monster, whoever he is, drive me out of my own house.”
“What’s more important?” he tossed back. “Your life or your pride?”
Put that way, she had no argument. Left with little choice, she gave in. “All right, you win. Give me a minute to pack some clothes, then we can leave.”
Chapter 7
It was nearly four-thirty when Blake unlocked the door to his apartment and waited for Sabrina to precede him inside. Tired, her nerves frayed from an evening that had had more emotional highs and lows than a roller coaster, she stepped over the threshold and could have sworn she heard her heart pounding in the dark, intimate silence that engulfed the place. Moving past her, his shoulder just barely brushing hers, Blake switched on a light, but it didn’t help ease the sudden tension. Standing just inside the door, she stopped, her mouth dust-dry. This was a mistake. A terrible mistake.
What was she doing here? she wondered, hugging herself. It wasn’t as if she were destitute or friendless. She could have gone to a hotel. And any one of her co-workers would have been happy to put her up for as long as necessary.
She stopped short at the thought. She couldn’t drag her friends into this mess, any more than she could afford to go to a hotel for an extended stay. And with the police not even close to making an arrest in the case, it could be weeks, months, before it might be safe for her to go home again. She couldn’t impose on even the best of friends for that long.
So she was stuck, left with no choice but to be beholden to Blake. And there didn’t seem to be a darn thing she could do about it, either. She’d tried to explain to him before they’d left her place that she couldn’t, in good conscience, put him out of his apartment indefinitely, but the stubborn man had flatly refused to listen. He’d hustled her into her car, warned her that he was going to take a circuitous route to make sure they weren’t being followed, and like a lamb to the slaughter, she’d followed him.
She shouldn’t do this. She couldn’t! She was already having trouble handling the emotions he stirred in her. How was she going to put the man out of her head when she would be living among his things—sleeping in his bed, for heaven’s sake!—for God only knew how long? She had to be out of her mind.
But if Blake noticed her sudden trepidation or was the least bit shaken at the thought of her living among his things, he gave no sign of it. Striding toward the short hall that opened off the far end of the living room, he opened one of the two doors there and set her suitcase inside. “The bedroom’s through here, and the bathroom’s right across the hall,” he told her. “There’s a laundry room off the kitchen, and clean sheets and towels in the linen closet in the bathroom. Feel free to use whatever you need.”
She shouldn’t, she was already taking advantage of him—but she hadn’t thought to bring her own sheets and towels. Nodding, she whispered, in no mood to argue with him tonight, “Thank you.”
“Well, then, I guess I’d better pack some things, then get out of here if either one of us is going to get any sleep tonight. Another couple of hours, and it’ll be time to get up.”
Sabrina could have told him she didn’t expect to sleep much anyway, but he’d already disappeared into the bedroom. When he returned to the living room a few minutes later, all he carried was a single duffel bag. “This’ll do me for now,” he told her as he headed for the front door. “I’ll drop by in a couple of days for the rest.”
Her throat tight, she forced a smile that wasn’t nearly as breezy as she would have liked as she followed him across the living room. “It’s your apartment. Drop by whenever you like.”
Stopping just short of the front door, Blake barely stifled a groan at the suggestion. No, he thought as he stared down at her, he wouldn’t be dropping by, not without a damn good reason. Not if he had a brain in his head, which at this point was doubtful. She looked damn good there. The only place she would look better was in his bed.
Images hit him then, hot and intimate and seductive. His teeth grinding on a curse, he told himself to get the hell out of there while he still could. His blood pressure was already through the roof, his fingers itching to reach for her and haul her close. But even as his head ordered his feet to move, he came up with reasons to linger.
“Are you sure you’re not going to be scared here?” he asked in a voice that was as rough as sandpaper. “I know we weren’t followed, but it is a strange place and you don’t know any of the neighbors.”
Her face lifted to his, her eyes meeting his in the shadows near the door, she murmured, “I’ll be fine, Nickels. Really. You don’t have to worry about me.”
She might as well have asked him not to breathe. Like it or not, he was worried, and he didn’t like leaving her. He hadn’t realized how much until just now. “If you have any problems, you can reach me at Pop’s. The number’s in the directory by the phone in the bedroom.”
She nodded, her voice as hushed as his. “I don’t think that’s going to be necessary, but thanks.”
Seconds passed, long moments of silence that seemed to hum and throb with expectation. Fumbling for his keys, he held them out to her. “The silver one is for the dead bolt, the other one for the main lock. Make sure you use them both.”
Her gaze never leaving his, she reached for them and, in the process, brushed her fingers against his. It was an innocent touch, over in the blink of an eye, but he felt the warmth of it all the way to the soles of his feet. And she was just as stirred by it as he. He watched her eyes darken, heard her nearly silent gasp as her breath caught in her lungs, and keeping his hands to himself was almost more than he could stand. With no conscious decision on his part, he started to reach for her, only to let his arm fall back to his side. He couldn’t. She was a guest in his home, there because he’d promised her she’d be safe and have the place all to herself. If he kissed her now as he longed to, as his body cried out for him to, he’d never be able to walk away from her.
Cursing himself for being a man of scruples, he had to content himself with cupping her cheek in his hand and rubbing his thumb with painstaking slowness across her bottom lip. “Lock the door behind me,” he said thickly. When she nodded, dazed, he gave in to temptation and brushed his thumb across her sweet mouth one more time. A split second later, he was gone, quietly shutting the door after him.
For what seemed like an eternity, Sabrina just stood there, the thunder of her racing heart roaring in her ears. She never remembered reaching for the dead bolt, but suddenly her hand was on the latch, shooting it home. From the other side of the door, she heard Blake whisper a husky good-night, then the fading sound of his footsteps as he walked away. She almost called him back. Her hand was on the dead bolt, the words already trembling on her tongue, when she realized what she was doing. Muttering a curse, she snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned. Dear God, dear God, dear God! What was she doing?
“Sabrina Jones, stop this!” she said out loud to the empty apartment as she whirled away from the door. “You’re not here to drool over the man, so just get him out of your head right here and now.
”
It was sound advice, but she soon found that it was almost impossible to follow. Too wired to even think about going to bed, she wandered around the apartment and saw Blake everywhere she turned. The refrigerator was filled with hot dogs and Twinkies and enough cholesterol to choke a horse. With no effort whatsoever, she could picture him drinking directly from a half-gallon carton of whole milk, then flashing a grin at her as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. And then there was the bathroom. His shampoo was there…and his cologne. She didn’t open it, but she didn’t have to. She only had to close her eyes and he was holding her again, kissing her again, the clean, spicy, sexy scent of him surrounding her as surely as his arms.
“Don’t start, Sabrina,” she muttered, heading for the bedroom. “Don’t you dare start.”
She should have gone to bed, but she unpacked her suitcase instead, which meant she had to go through Blake’s dresser and closet to find space for her things. Touching his clothes was like touching him. Shaken, she felt like she was peering into his soul. There were some things, she decided, that a woman had no business knowing about a man she’d claimed she wanted nothing to do with. Like the way he arranged his sock and underwear drawer.
Lord, she needed to get out of there. But there was no place to go except to bed. She told herself she was tired—she would be more in control of her thoughts tomorrow. But when she pulled on a sleeveless cotton gown a few minutes later, turned out the lights, and crawled into Blake’s queen-size bed, she knew she wasn’t going to get any sleep in the remaining few hours that were left of the night. Not when his scent clung to the sheets, making it impossible to think of anything but him.
Her heart thumping crazily, she couldn’t stop herself from clutching at his pillow, muttering curses all the while. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she was going to wash every sheet and towel in the place with her own laundry detergent. Maybe then she’d be able to at least bathe and sleep without her senses clamoring for a man who wasn’t there.