by J. C. Wilder
“Who are you?” she blurted.
He shook his head, his expression turned mocking. “If I told you that, it would spoil the game, wouldn’t it?”
“Game.”
His gaze was disconcerting in its directness, leaving Shai feeling naked, vulnerable. She forced her gaze from his and pulled a cigarette from the pack. Reaching into her pocket, she turned on the tape recorder.
“Life is a game isn’t it, Shai?” His tone was lyrical, almost hypnotic.
She ignored the question. “Who are you and what did you want to talk to me about?” She withdrew a slim silver lighter and prayed the stranger didn’t notice her trembling hands.
“I wish to talk to you about a great many things, only I can’t decide where to be begin.” His smile grew wide. “Let’s keep things simple, shall we? We’re about to embark on an adventure together. This game is called ‘Catch Me If You Can’.”
Nutcase.
“And why would I want to play this game?” Unease grew even as she forced herself to remain calm and light her cigarette. She exhaled the smoke slowly. “I don’t know who you are or what you know. How do I know you aren’t some fruitcake who got my name from the newspaper?” She dropped the lighter on the table.
A dangerous glint entered his eye alerting her that her words hadn’t pleased him. His smile faded.
“Many years ago, I had a pet like you. A she-wolf who’d been hunted for killing livestock.” His voice turned crooning. “She only needed to be…broken. After many weeks, she’d learned to take food from my hand only. Subservient, beautiful, and on some level still dangerous, that was exactly how I wanted her to behave.”
A trickle of fear eased along Shai’s spine at the menace lacing his words. “Lovely story, but what does that have to do with the murders?” She fought for a note of disdain.
He visibly shook himself, and the smile returned. “There are certain aspects of these murders that haven’t been released to the public.”
“Such as?”
“The lack of blood from the victim and the scarcity of forensic evidence left behind.”
Her eyes narrowed. It was true that this information hadn’t been released. Only personnel within the police department, the killer or someone who’d been to the crime scene would have known any of what he’d just given her. It wouldn’t be wise to let him know what she was thinking. She had a feeling he knew too much already.
“Are you trying to tell me you’re the killer?”
He held out his hands in a placating gesture, and she noticed that they seemed exceptionally pale. “Why else would I be here?”
“For coffee? Dessert?” She struggled to control her unease. If he really was the murderer, she could be in serious danger. Even after the call, she’d been skeptical about this man’s authenticity but it only took one look into his eyes to see the truth. She was sitting across from a madman.
He snorted and waved a hand at the elegant patrons and masterpieces of food spread before them. “I can assure you there’s nothing here that I want.” He impaled her with his cold gaze. “Except you, of course.”
“Why me?”
His expression turned dreamy. “You have the look of your mother about you, in your eyes especially.”
Panic lanced her heart as his eyes moved over her face as if to memorize every feature. “What do you know about my mother?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
He blinked and the faraway look left his eyes. “Tell me what you know about serial killers,” he commanded, ignoring her question.
She sat back, surprised. Two could play this game and she wasn’t intimidated yet. Frightened, yes. Unnerved, yes. Intimidated, no. As long as she was in a crowd, she should be safe enough. “You keep hinting that you’re the killer. You tell me.”
He slammed his hand on the table and it wobbled precariously. “That isn’t how the game is played!”
Startled by his sudden attitude change, her heart began to thud. The hum of activity died as some of the patrons glanced at them curiously before resuming their conversations. Great—only in New York could a madman threaten her in a crowd and have no one pay the slightest bit of attention.
Shai leaned forward. “Maybe you should let me know the rules,” she hissed.
“I ask the questions and you answer them,” he snapped.
She leaned back in her chair, grateful for the small table between them. Inadequate it might be, but she was grateful nonetheless. “Well, they usually kill within their own ethnic groups,” she began.
“No, no, no! I want to know why they kill.” His eyes had taken on a feverish glitter and a trickle of fear ran down her spine.
She glanced around the room. Even though the room was crowded, no one seemed to be aware they were even there. New Yorkers were notorious for not wanting to “get involved”. Maybe she wasn’t as safe as she’d thought?
“They usually kill because they covet or…” she began.
He shook his head. “Wrong again.” Leaning forward he caught her hand. Icy fingers dug into her wrist and he pulled her closer until they were nose to nose. The table dug into her stomach and she grunted in surprise. He was quick.
“It’s the hunger.” His breath licked her mouth and she recoiled at the damp, almost coppery scent. “If you find another way to appease the hunger,” his lips brushed hers, “the killing will stop.”
She recoiled from the feel of his cool lips on her flesh. She wanted to scream but she was afraid once she started she wouldn’t be able to stop. Instead, she concentrated on breathing evenly to control the rising panic. Without warning, he let go of her and she fell back against her chair.
His smile was cruel and he licked his lips slowly as if he were savoring her taste. Revulsion curled in her stomach and she feared she’d be sick.
“The hunger drives us and there’s no end to it. You, too, will soon know the thirst, the yearning for fulfillment. It will consume your entire life and you’ll spend all your time finding ways to appease it. Until finally you become one with the hunger…”
She stared at him, her mind scrambling for a point of reference in this obscure conversation. She could find nothing to latch onto.
“You know exactly what I’m referring to.” He reached across the table and captured her jaw with one cool hand before she could evade him. He held her captive as he drew a strong finger along her full lower lip, his gaze fixed on it.
“To feel the burning, the eternal burning. The rush of desire that threatens to devour you. It, too, will possess you, body and soul, and you’ll kill to feel it again and again.”
His chilling gaze flicked up to meet hers. Shai recognized the look that burned in the depths of his eyes. Lust. Her insides turned to ice and her skin crawled.
“So tell me, Shai, just how much do you know about Valentin, the man you welcome into your bed?”
Oh my God…
“Thought he was your little secret, did you? Val and I have known each other for many lifetimes and this is yet another game between us.” His pale brow arched. “Though I have to admit, finding you in the middle of our dance is an unexpected bonus. The question is, who will be the winner of the grandest of all prizes? Are you a smart girl, Shai? Will you choose the winner wisely?” He chuckled. “’Tis a merry game we play.”
He released her and she jerked back in her chair. Closing her eyes she was thankful for the tape recorder whirring in her pocket because no one was going to believe this conversation. She wasn’t even sure that she did and she was a participant.
“I’m afraid you…” She faltered when she opened her eyes and the chair before her was empty.
The sudden silence in the restaurant caused her to look around. Nearby patrons were staring at her as if she’d lost her mind and a creeping feeling of unreality washed over her. What had just happened?
Her cheeks flushed and she snatched up her cigarettes and lighter, desperate to escape the questioning looks. Rising, she headed for the door, the pinpricks of
dozens of gazes impaling her back. Her heart pounded as she dodged spectators, tables and serving people. She was doing a light jog when she exited out onto the street, a shriek held back only by clenched teeth.
She had the killer on tape and she’d seen him up close. It was time to go to the police.
* * * * *
“Shai.” Detective Henry placed his hands on the scarred wooden conference table and leaned forward to where she huddled in the chair. “I’m telling you, the only thing on that tape is your own voice. It sounded like you were having a one-sided conversation with yourself.”
“And I’m telling you I spoke to him.” She gripped the chipped gray coffee mug and wondered if she was going insane.
“And I’m telling you, there’s nothing on that tape, and no one at the restaurant saw anyone with you. However, they do tell an interesting story of a young redhead talking to herself.”
How can this be?
She bit her lip and stared sullenly at the tape recorder sitting on the table, her mind whirling madly in an attempt to find an answer. She’d turned it on, she was sure of it. Maybe it was—
She jumped when Henry laid a hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t heard him walk around the table.
“Shai—”
She knew what he was going to say and cut him off by pulling away and getting to her feet.
“Thanks for your help, Henry.”
“I’m not surprised you’re having trouble with the murders. Your mother…” he began again.
“She has nothing to do with this.” Shai grabbed the offending recorder and shoved it into her bag. “I knew it was a mistake to tell you about her. This is a different matter altogether, and it’s become personal. It’s between him and me now. If you won’t listen to me and use the information I have to stop him, then by heaven, I will!”
“Don’t do anything rash,” he cautioned.
“‘Rash’?” She glanced back over her shoulder as she wrenched open the door to the interview room. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” Detectives in the office fell silent, watching her surreptitiously over their paperwork. Mindless of the people staring at her, she stomped through the room, heading for the hall that led to the outside and freedom.
“Don’t make me lock you up, Shai,” Henry bellowed after her.
She gave a short bark of laughter. “Catch me if you can.”
Chapter Six
Shai swirled the scotch in an ancient Flintstones jelly glass, the golden liquid caught the light from a single candle and turned it to amber fire. A Christmas gift from several years before, the small bottle of scotch had rarely seen the light of day. She tugged at the dusty red ribbon around its neck.
“Some of the Highlands’ finest.” She giggled, her voice sounded slurred. Raising the glass, she downed the liquid. The afterburn brought tears to her eyes and she blinked them away.
She’d drunk enough in the last hour that she shouldn’t be feeling anything. But she was. She was feeling too much. And remembering even more.
She had few memories of her father, but one was crystal clear. A vision of him sitting at a lopsided kitchen table in the middle of the night after a fight with her mother. He was wearing a T-shirt and grimy jeans, swilling the cheapest whiskey he could afford that week. She’d seen him do this many times in the few short years he’d remained with them. It was shortly after one of their horrendous fights that he’d abandoned them, and her mother had turned to prostitution to support her drug habit and the daughter she’d never wanted.
Her mother.
Now there was a tangled mess. When not on dope, Sarah Jordan had been a lovely woman. She’d had a quick wit and a soft heart, too soft to withstand the rigors of raising a child alone. Always in pursuit of happiness and someone to look after her, more men than Shai could remember had paraded through their home and their lives. None of them had amounted to anything, though a few had been nice to the shy daughter Sarah had kept hidden away most of the time. It was her own father who’d led Sarah down the path of alcoholism, then drugs. A veteran alcoholic, Jared Jordan had tried to keep their ragged family together and, for a short time, he’d succeeded.
Then it had all come apart.
Just after her fourth birthday, he’d left them on a cold autumn night. Haunted by unnamed demons in his past, he’d succumbed to the darkness and allowed himself to be consumed by cheap whiskey and heroin.
So long, Dad…
She refilled her glass with a shaky hand and she wondered if her father was still alive. If he were, she doubted he could have afforded scotch of this caliber. She raised the glass in a mock salute. “Here’s to you, Dad.”
As she swallowed, she wondered how many more drinks it would take until she passed out. It was a time-honored tradition in the Jordan family to drink until passing out. Hell, her mother had turned it into an art form, pretty much her life’s mission. Shai couldn’t argue. Anything was better than this endless torment she was enduring. Had she finally followed in her mother’s footsteps and gone around the bend?
She set down the glass and stared at the tape recorder on the coffee-table. It hadn’t been a hallucination, had it? She reached over and flipped it on. Her voice drifted out from the tiny speaker and she could hear the noises of the restaurant in between her words. The clinking of glass, the scrape of silverware on china, then dead silence. After a few seconds of silence, the sounds resumed. It was almost as if the stranger’s words had been erased with the rest of the tape intact.
She frowned. Complete silence. Even the background noises were missing. Had the killer known about the recorder? Was he a magician? How had he fixed it so his voice wasn’t recorded? Was he a vampire as Leo suspected? Were vampires even real?
Turning off the recorder, Shai settled back on the couch. There was no doubt about it, she was nuts. “Certifiable” was what they’d called her mother. “Like mother, like daughter.” She reached for the glass once more and downed the contents.
“Finally! That one didn’t burn all the way down.” She raised the bottle and noticed that it was almost empty. She cursed as she poured the dregs into her glass. An errant spring from the worn couch dug into her lower back, but she paid it no mind. A warm lethargy stole over her as she settled into a comfortable position to nurse the rest of her drink.
Within minutes, her glass slid to the gray carpeting and the scotch spilled. Shai closed her eyes and reveled in a rare feeling of peace and well-being as she drifted to sleep.
The scent of roses woke her. She blinked and stretched, feeling better than she had in years. Something sinfully soft caressed her skin as she moved, causing her eyes to fly open. Looking down, she was startled to see white silk sheets and hundreds of red rose petals had replaced her usual cotton linens.
What the devil…
She caught a movement in the corner of her eye and her gaze was drawn to the man sitting in her rocking chair. It was him. Her dream lover, Val. A chorus of words clamored in her mind, begging to be set free. She wanted to tell him everything that had happened to her in the restaurant. Most of all she wanted to say that she was deliriously happy he wasn’t the killer.
She blinked. How had Val gotten into her bedroom?
Bewildered, she sat up in bed. The evening air was warm on her skin and she felt curiously exposed. Her hand flew to her throat and she was started to feel bare skin. Instead of her customary sleep shirt, she was wearing a royal blue silk chemise and someone had unbraided her hair. The liberated locks tumbled about her shoulders in a red cloud.
“You…” She stopped, not quite sure how to finish her thought.
Val rose from the chair and crossed the room to sit on the edge of her bed. He gently laid a warm finger over her mouth and shook his head. “Not tonight, my love,” he murmured. “Tonight is for you.”
“But—”
“Shh, only you.”
He drew back the sheet and captured her hand before helping her to her feet. More rose petals littered the floor and they fel
t wonderfully sexy against her bare feet. Val led her to the full-length cheval mirror tucked into a corner of the room. Positioning her in front of him, he placed his hands on her shoulders.
“I want you to watch.”
A tremor of desire shot through her limbs, far more potent than any alcohol on earth. Shai felt weak, her knees jellylike when he drew her back to rest against him. Towering over her, his hands looked shockingly erotic against the blue silk as he traced the lush curves of her body. A rush of desire raced through her limbs, so strong it threatened to knock her to her knees.
Reaching her shoulders, he drew his hands down her arms to capture her wrists. His fingers locked around them and he drew her arms up, guiding her fingers to lace behind his neck. The silk of her chemise drew taut across her full breasts and a soft entreaty broke from her lips as her nipples tightened against the gentle friction.
“You remember last night, do you not?” he murmured against her shoulder, his lips brushing her sensitized flesh.
“Yes.” Her voice quivered.
“Don’t remove your hands or I’ll stop touching you. Do you understand?”
Throat dry, she nodded and he slid his hands down the curve of her arms before stopping at the tops of her breasts.
“I want you to watch as I love you. If you close your eyes, I’ll stop until you open them again.” He nipped her neck, his teeth blazing a trail of fire over her skin, before raising his dark head to meet her heated gaze in the mirror.
She nodded once more, not trusting herself to speak.
He smiled. “Good.” His fingertips lightly outlined her breasts, the sensitive outside curve and the vulnerable underside. Back and forth. Back and forth. “Tell me what you want me to do, Shai.”
“Touch me.” Her voice came out as a sigh, long and drawn.