Forbidden Passion

by Rita Herron

  Dr. Joyner shrugged. “Of course. I delivered the child.” He rubbed his hand over his chin. “She was a good girl, Sheriff. A good one. And her mama worshipped her. Find out who did this and make them pay.”

  Dante gave a clipped nod, then glanced at Marlena. She looked exhausted, the strain of the evening and the emotional upheaval wearing on her.

  Dante laid a business card on the end table. “Tell her to call me if she thinks of anyone Jordie might have been involved with. I need to question all her friends, especially any men she dated.”

  Dr. Joyner mumbled agreement. “Let me know anything I can do to help.”

  Dante nodded, then he and Marlena walked to the door, stepped into the blustery cold night and headed to his SUV.

  Thunder rumbled, and the first raindrop fell as he pulled onto the street. He hoped to hell the CSI team finished searching for forensics before the storm unloaded to contaminate the crime scene.

  “Are you going home now?” Marlena asked.

  Dante veered onto the curvy mountain road leading toward Marlena’s. “No. I’m going to drive back out to Jordie’s to make sure forensics covers everything before the bad weather sets in.”

  Marlena sighed wearily and ran a hand through her hair, drawing his gaze to the silky blond strands.

  Strands that he wanted to touch. That he’d probably dream about tonight.

  Dammit.

  A bead of sweat trickled down his neck. “I need to talk to the medical examiner, too.”

  Thoughts of the ME and what his job entailed jerked him back to reality. The rumbling storm clouds and roaring wind reminded him that time was of the essence.

  That the ME might not detect evidence Of a demon attack. That he was on his own in that regard.

  He had to be alert in case a new demon was in town. In case Father Gio and his minions had orchestrated this kill and intended to attack him and wreak havoc on the locals now he was back.

  Marlena had lapsed into silence, and he pulled up the long winding road to her house. Fatigue and fear lined her face as he parked. The killer had been on her porch, had left her Jordie’s bloody ring.

  Would he come back tonight for Marlena?

  The pain of Mrs. McEnroe’s cries echoed in Marlena’s head.

  She understood grief, of having someone ripped from your arms too soon. Suddenly the fear and grief of her own family’s loss welled inside her, and her throat thickened.

  God help her. She’d moved back here to confront her past and get over her nightmares.

  But a murderer had left his trophy for her, a reminder of how cruel life—and people—could be.

  Her hand shook as she opened the car door, and Dante strode around to her side to help her. She wanted to lean on him, but she’d spent the last twenty years learning how to stand on her own, and she couldn’t succumb to that need now.

  She didn’t want to get close to anyone ever again.

  Instead she had to pour herself into ‘her research work, find a way to help deter violent behavior so she could save others.

  Maybe if she helped find Jordie’s killer, it would atone for the fact that her family’s murderers had never been caught.

  Raindrops splattered her cheeks as she stepped from the SUV and walked toward the house, but Dante placed a hand on her arm. “I’m going to check inside first.”

  Her heart stuttered. “You think the killer might have come back?”

  His dark eyes met hers, a sharp warning glittering. “He knows where you live, Marlena. He probably knows you personally.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “And for some reason, he’s involved you in this crime, so you can’t be too careful.”

  Fear slithered through her, and she gave a quick nod of understanding, then followed him up the porch. “Stay behind me’ he ordered.

  He withdrew his gun and held it at the ready as they entered. She flipped on a light in the foyer and crept behind him from room to room. Her heart hammered in her chest each time he paused to listen for an intruder.

  The scent of the lavender candles she’d burned in her bath wafted through the house, and oddly she thought she detected the faint scent of the jasmine lotion her mother used to wear.

  Lights flickered on and off upstairs and Dante gripped her arm. “Has it done that before?”

  “Yes. I thought there might be a short circuit.” Or that the house might be haunted, but she bit back the words. People had thought she was crazy when she’d talked about monsters as a little girl. She didn’t want to admit that she thought her mother and sister’s spirits still lingered in the house. That sometimes she felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder just before she fell asleep.

  That she heard her little sister’s cries at night.

  Dante inched up the steps, shadows flickering against the faded walls. The wooden floors creaked, the furnace groaned, and wind whistled through the eaves of the plastered walls.

  When they reached the landing, she gestured to the right to her bedroom, the room originally intended as the guest suite. She hadn’t been able to sleep in her old room, and certainly not in her mother’s or sister’s.

  They checked each one, then he pointed to the door at the end of the hail.

  “That’s the attic,” she said.

  “It’s locked?”

  She nodded, then reached into her purse for her key and handed it to him. He unlocked the door, and slowly they crept up the stairs, the floor creaking, a whisper of cold air wafting through the stairwell.

  At the top of the landing, her gaze searched the room. Barring the trunks of old clothes and household items stored inside, it was empty.

  “It’s clear,” he said, then she sighed in relief and led the way down the stairs.

  He stopped in the foyer. “Do you have a security system?”

  “No. The house was built years ago.”

  “You should consider getting one,” Dante suggested.

  Exhaustion pulled at Marlena, and she ran her hand through her hair. “I’ll think about it.”

  His dark gaze raked over her, and for a brief second, an odd look flickered in his eyes. It was almost as if he wanted to touch her, to say something more.

  The air felt charged, electric. His masculine scent wafted toward her, arousing her desire. It had been a long time since she’d been held by a man or allowed anyone into her life.

  Except for an occasional one night of sex...

  Sex with Dante would be phenomenal. Intense. Passionate. Hot.

  Her hand shook with the effort it took for her not to reach for him.

  But a cold mask suddenly slid over his face, and he backed toward the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

  She needed him now. She didn’t want to be alone. Not in the house with the painful memories, with the whisper of her mother’s band on her back, the torment of her sister’s cries.

  But the history they shared, that one night when he’d saved her, the questions regarding that attack stood between them.

  And so did his warning. Asking about her family was dangerous.

  But her resolve set in.

  She didn’t care. She had to know the truth, even if it killed her.

  Dante hesitated before leaving Marlena’s, and once again scanned the woods surrounding her house, assessing the situation.

  Dammit. Marlena’s home was too isolated. Anyone could park down the mountain road on one of the turnoffs, slip through the woods to her house without being seen or heard.

  If anything happened to her...

  No. She was safe in her locked house now. She had his number. She could call if she sensed danger.

  Besides, he needed to put some distance between the two of them. Touching her hand had sent lightning bolts of need ripping through him. He couldn’t imagine what would happen if he dared take it further.

  And dammit, back there he’d wanted to take it a whole hell of a lot further.

  Wrestling with control, he cranked’ the engine, shifted into gear, and drov
e back to Jordie’s house.

  ‘By the time he arrived, the CSI team was finishing.

  Dante tugged his leather bomber jacket around his shoulders and strode over to Hobbs and the medical examiner.

  “Did you guys find anything?” Dante asked.

  The CSI shrugged. “It’s hard to tell We took samples of the tree bark, the ground, the woman. . . We’ll let you know once the lab processes everything.”

  “How about you, Doc?” Dante asked. “Was she sexually assaulted?”

  “I won’t know until I get her on the table, but I don’t think so.” He snapped off his gloves. “But even if he didn’t rape her, he made her suffer.”

  Dante gritted his teeth. “I need cause of death, and to know if there are any distinguishing marks left by the killer.”

  Dr. Underwood narrowed his eyes. “You have something specific in mind?”

  Dante considered the demons he’d met over the course of his lifetime. Considered Father Gio’s methods of torture along with his band of brothers, the elements. And then there were’ factions of demons that swarmed the hills that he might not even know existed. But he couldn’t elaborate, so he simply shrugged. “Just anything unusual.”

  “Was Jordie’s mother able to help?” Deputy Hobbs asked.

  Dante shook his head. “She claimed Jordie wasn’t dating anyone. I’m going to examine her vehicle tomorrow.”

  A drop of sweat slid down his deputy’s forehead. “Why do you think he sent his trophy to Dr. Bender?”

  He had theories, but none he could share. “Maybe one of her patients is the killer.”

  Although that would be too obvious and easy, Dante thought. This killer was cunning, planned ahead, was sadistic and cruel.

  And if he came after Marlena...

  His gut twisted. The fucker would have to kill him first.

  Chapter Five

  The early morning sun slashed through the sheer curtains in Marlena’s room’, blinding her but finally shining light on the dark shadows in the room that had haunted her all night.

  That and the image of Dante.

  For years, she’d been oblivious to the seductive powers of men she’d met. Yet Dante hadn’t even tried to seduce her, and she’d dreamed of a passionate hot night in his big strong arms.

  Reminding herself that she had a job to do, that studying violent behavior and treating patients had been her lifeline the past few years, and that a criminal was at large, she crawled from the bed and padded across the cold wooden floor to the shower..

  The hot blast of water felt heavenly and helped to alleviate the tension in her muscles from lack of sleep. But forbidden images of Dante opening the door and stepping inside the shower taunted her.

  Closing her eyes, she willed the images away as she soaped her body, but she could almost see his powerful body illuminated by the faint bathroom light, could almost feel his taut muscles flexing as he cradled her against his chest. Could almost smell the raw scent of his body emanating sexual prowess as if he had no control over his desires when it came to her.

  Good grief Marlena. You’ve never lusted after a man like this.

  Flipping the water to cool, she rinsed, climbed from the shower, and dried off. She had work to do, and fantasizing about a man who didn’t want her would get her nowhere.

  A quick cup of coffee and a bagel later, she dressed, wrapped up in her long winter coat, gloves, and scarf, and hurried out to her Honda. The sedan cranked immediately, although with winter’s arrival, she was tempted to buy an SUV with four-wheel drive to help maneuver the mountain roads when the ice and snow fell.

  Gray skies clouded her property and the ancient trees shook, sending dried leaves raining to the ground. Mystena Mental Hospital, the local psychiatric hospital where she worked, was only a few miles from her house. A concrete structure that looked like an old Gothic castle, it was situated on acres of land bracketed by thick woods and fencing near the river. It was isolated and had an eerie feel.

  As soon as she arrived, Ruthie Mae Stanton, one of the psychiatric nurses, rushed toward her. “There’s a patient in your office, Dr. Bender,” Ruthie Mae said. “Gerald Daumer. I tried to calm him, but he’s extremely agitated and insists he’ll only speak with you.”

  “Of course.” Marlena divided her time between her research and clinical work, seeing patients whenever possible, and recognized Daumer from her patient list. “I’ll see him now.”

  Adopting her professional mask, she opened the door and studied Gerald. He was rail-thin and pale, which made his thick wire-rimmed glasses look too large for his narrow face and pointed chin. He tugged at his goatee and paced in front of the window, his movements jerky.

  “Hi, Gerald,” she said in her most soothing voice. “What’s going on today?”

  He whirled around, pupils dilated, then began to pick~ at some invisible lint on his gray sweater.

  “There’s blood everywhere,” he said in a shrill tone. “Blood on the floor, on the walls, on my bed.” He threw his hands up in fr6nt of her face. “And when I look up, my hands are coated in it.”

  Marlena maintained a calm expression as she took a seat in her leather wing chair and urged him to sit down.

  But he was too disturbed, bouncing up and down one minute, then pausing the next to straighten the magazines on the coffee table, placing them in an even line.

  “Where were you when you saw this blood?” she asked cautiously.

  Her words jerked him back from his obsession with the magazines, and he yanked at his hair again and resumed pacing. Gerald had been diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder, but up until today, he hadn’t exhibited signs of violence.

  “I don’t know. . .“ His voice cracked, his agitation mounting as he pivoted, then rolled one hand into a fist and beat it against the side of his head three times as if he was trying to jar his brain.

  “Sometimes I’m in a bed, sometimes a hotel. Different places.” Knock, knock, knock, his fist hammered his temple again. “Then I hear that voice. A deep husky, ugly voice screaming at me to do bad things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “To kill the girls,” he said. “Kill them and make them bleed?’

  “Gerald,” Marlena said, once again interjecting a low, soothing tone. “Did you do something you need to tell me about? Did you hurt someone?”

  He whirled on her, eyes wide and unfocused. “No.. .1 don’t know.” He paced back to the window and shielded his eyes from the light shimmering through the blinds. “My head hurts, hurts, hurts. It won’t stop. The voices, they tell me to do bad things. To kill the girls.. .1 think it’s the devil. .

  “Did you do what the voice ordered?” she asked again.

  He dropped to the floor in the middle of the room and began to pull at his hair again, yanking it viciously, then beating his head again as he rocked back and forth. “No. . .1 don’t know. I can’t think. Have to stop the voices, have to stop them, get the devil out of my head..

  Marlena flipped the call button to request assistance, then rose and moved to stand beside him. “Gerald, we need to admit you and run some tests. I want to run a CAT scan and check for physical problems first. And we’ll also run a full battery of psychological tests—”

  “I’m not crazy! It’s the devil in me! Don’t you believe in evil, in demons, Dr. Bender?”

  Marlena tensed, remembering her childhood. “I believe there are people with problems, impulses, and chemical imbalances that drive them to commit violent acts.”

  He grabbed her by the wrists, his nails digging into her skin. “Then make the evil voices go away. Please, I don’t want to do what they say.”

  “I’m going to help you,” she said softly. “I promise, Gerald. Just relax and trust me. You need medication and rest.”

  The door opened and two orderlies entered, quickly assessing the situation. She gave them a nod. “He’s ready, aren’t you, Gerald?”

  Gerald tightened his grip on her wrist. “Please don’t
leave me. I need you, Dr. Bender. I need you to make them stop.”

  “I’m not leaving you, Gerald, I promise. But first you have to calm down and let us run the tests.”

  The orderlies pried the man’s hands from her wrists, and Marlena watched as they injected him with a sedative. Seconds later, he relaxed and allowed them to lead him from her office.

  She left the room to consult Dr. Chambers, trying to shake off her unease. Oddly, Gerald was the second patient she’d seen in the last month who’d insisted that voices were ordering him to commit violent acts—though the first patient had been a woman, Prudence Puckett, a burn victim who’d suffered terrible childhood abuse.

  Still, Gerald’s rantings disturbed her. What if he had followed through on the voice’s commands and killed someone? If she discovered he wasn’t delusional, that he had committed a crime, she’d have to inform Dante.

  But first she had to assess his medical condition and determine if he was just disturbed or truly violent and dangerous.

  Dante inhaled the scent of death and chemicals as he entered the morgue, scents that stirred his dark side.

  Death was inevitable.

  He’d tasted the thrill of the kill when he’d destroyed a demon. Felt the life of subhumans slip through his fingertips as he’d forced them to take their last breath. And he’d enjoyed it.

  But he only hunted evil. Those heinous souls who deserved his punishments. He’d made himself a crusader for the cause. It was the only way he knew to save his own soul.

  Dr. Underwood met him at the front desk, pushing his goggles up as he removed latex gloves and tossed them into a bin. His limp seemed more pronounced today, his craggy face weary, his eyes, which were two different colors, racing back and forth.

  “What have you found so far?” Dante asked.

  “I had Jordie’s dental records faxed over so I could confirm her identity. It’s definitely a match..

  “What else?”

  The thick vein in his neck pulsed. “You asked me to look for anything out of the ordinary.”

  Dante nodded. “What did you find?”