Catch a Killer

by Kris Rafferty

  He was alive. Her prayers were answered.

  Jack tugged her into his arms, hugging her, blending their bodies’ heat.

  Oh, how she’d missed this. Missed him.

  He cradled her cheeks and kissed her with such tenderness she forgot everything but how he made her feel. Then he gathered her close, moving his hands down her back, pressing her close, cupping her ass, squeezing. The thrill of his touch had her knees buckling. His embrace tightened. Then his kiss deepened, and Jack moaned deep in his throat, like a growl, and she welcomed the surety of his tongue caressing hers. Light-headed, feeling a bit frantic, she suddenly couldn’t touch him enough, kiss him enough. He cupped her breast, sliding his thumb over her nipple until she gasped with the pleasure of it. She wanted to be closer, so she dragged her foot down his calf, wrapping her leg around his. His arousal pressed against the apex of her thighs, sending a shiver through her. She reached for him, cupped the hard ridge straining against the fabric of his pants. He was ready for her and eager.

  He sucked in a breath as she gently squeezed him, and then his hands were on her panties, pulling. The delicate lace ripped, and he laughed, sounding sexy and excited. He unsnapped her bra, and her breasts popped out. Jack was on them, bending so he could kiss their tips. Then he fell to his knees, his lips on her belly, kissing his way downward. When he reached the center of her, she lasted mere moments before her knees failed her again and she was kneeling before him, face-to-face, kissing him.

  “Jack!” She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted any man before.

  He lifted her into his arms, and suddenly she was on the bed, he was grabbing a condom from the side table and she was pinned beneath him, his heavy arousal pressed to her thigh. She wrapped her legs around his hips, arching toward him, needing him inside her, but he resisted, moving down her body, kissing, lingering, and when he reached her wet heat, he covered her with his mouth and supped until her hips moved upward, and waves of blinding arousal had Hannah melting under his touch.

  Her patience broke. She needed him inside her. “Jack.” He lifted his head.

  Tearing open the condom, she was relieved when he moved closer, allowing her to gently roll it over his arousal. One swift thrust later, Jack had her body surrendering. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breath left her body as she climaxed almost instantly. Squeezing him with her thighs, arching up, clutching at his ass, she rode waves of pleasure as a long, drawn out moan escaped her lips.

  Jack laughed low, and husky, showing no indication that he was done with her. The man teased her nipple with his tongue, watching her face, as if her reaction fed him in some way.

  She broke into a sweat, forgot to breathe, and soon Jack had her cresting with her second climax. It slammed her, and wave after wave of delicious ecstasy had her lingering on a plateau of pleasure.

  By then, only a sliver of her consciousness remained, tethering her to reality. She heard Jack gasp deep in his throat as his body grew taut. His arms flexed as he hovered above her, and then Jack’s body tensed as he found his own release.

  The world seemed good again, and everything seemed possible. Even happiness.

  When their breathing slowed, and Jack’s weight grew heavy, Hannah nipped at his shoulder, marveling at his strength. The absolute size of him was a turn-on. Jack took her nip as his cue to roll off her, only he took Hannah with him, keeping them connected, Hannah draped over his chest. She listened to the pounding of his heart beneath her ear, and relished the smell of sweat and pheromones.

  Jack was alive.

  Tonight, that was enough. Come tomorrow? She was a realist, and Ellen had to be her priority. She’d enjoy this time they had together, cherish it, and worry about the rest later, when things made sense again.

  Jack either loved her or he didn’t. She refused to ruin this moment with fear.

  His hand caressed her back, once, twice, and then settled on her ass. “It’s late,” he said. “You’re exhausted.”

  Hannah didn’t understand what he was saying until he sat and grabbed a fresh T-shirt and briefs. “You’re sleeping on the couch?”

  He nodded, retrieving his holstered gun and cell phone from the floor. He put them on the side table. “I’m another line of defense, and if the baby wakes, I can get her without disturbing you. You’ve had a shitty day. You need your sleep.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Was Jack making an excuse for a strategic retreat, or was he telling the truth? “Really?” Or was this a wham, bam, thank you ma’am?

  Jack crawled back into bed and gathered her in his arms, then he pulled the covers over her. It did a lot toward calming her down, but she still felt disgruntled. “You need to sleep, Hannah. I’d like nothing more than to sleep by your side all night long. Hell, who am I kidding? If I stayed in this bed, we wouldn’t be sleeping. It’s just…you’ve been under a lot of stress, for an extended period of time, and today was hard. We both know odds are tomorrow will be harder. You need to sleep.”

  She nodded. “Haven’t slept more than a few hours a night since you died. What makes you think tonight will be any different?”

  He dropped kisses on her forehead. “I’ll lay here until you fall asleep, then I have to radio the officers guarding the brownstone’s perimeter, make sure they’re doing their job. I don’t want to wake you coming and going from bed.”

  “Don’t be silly. I already I told you. I don’t sleep. I’m a parent, remember?” She yawned and pressed her face to his neck, burrowing deeper into his embrace. Two minutes later, she was fast asleep.

  Chapter 13

  Jack woke the next morning with scratchy eyes and his head aching. Every muscle of his six-foot, hundred and eighty pound frame protested a night sleeping on a five-foot, four-inch couch. He’d tossed and turned, using the time to worry about how the killer intended to attack Hannah again, and when his mind wandered from envisioning one horrendous scenario after another, he’d strategized how to win Hannah back.

  He still loved her. A year’s separation didn’t change that, though he’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge he’d hoped it would. What sane man would want his pride at the mercy of another person? But facts were facts. His pride was long gone and his heart needed her.

  He had a family now, Hannah and Ellen, and he wanted in. Yeah, he was fully aware there were obstacles in his way, primarily him being an ass for leaving the way he did. Hannah had every right not to want him around. It was Jack’s job to convince her otherwise, and no strategy or trick was off the table. This was war.

  His cell phone rang, vibrating on the coffee table at eye level. Six a.m. and Ferguson was calling. “Benton here.” He tossed the sheet off his body and swung his feet to the floor.

  “We have another body.”

  Damn. “Text me the address. We’ll meet you there.” He hung up and walked into Hannah’s bedroom. Still asleep, though sun streamed through the drapes, she was pale and had dark circles under her eyes even while sleeping. Hannah looked exhausted.

  Loath to wake her, he contemplated leaving without her. She’d be safe here with Ellen, protected by the stationed police officers and her friend, Natalie. But Hannah would kill him if he did that.

  “Honey.” Not wanting to startle her, he kept his tone quiet, hoping to nudge her from sleep rather than startle her awake. Despite the prediction she wouldn’t sleep, Hannah had barely moved all night. He knew, because he’d checked on her twice when Ellen woke for feedings. Hannah had slept through all of it. He, however, had barely slept.

  “Jack?” she whispered. He used his palms to rub his eyes, yawning. “Jack?” He saw she wasn’t yet awake, and seemed to still be dreaming. Cocooned in the sheet, naked as a jaybird, Hannah was all things sexy. He smiled until he saw the tears streaming down her temples. “Jack.” Quietly sobbing, her head lolled to the side.

  He scooped her into his arms, cradling her as he sat on the bed
’s edge. “Shh. Hannah, honey. I’m here.”

  Moments stretched on as Hannah lay draped on his lap, slowly waking. Then she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and pushed her bangs aside, blinking up at him. She forced a small smile. “Sorry. I should have warned you.”

  Holding her made him feel a little bit better. Not much, but a little. “Warn me about what?”

  “The ten-second heartbreak.” Her self-deprecating laugh held little humor, and was short-lived. Though still tearful, he could see she was struggling to move past it. “I’d hoped for a reprieve now that you’re alive. No such luck.”

  “I don’t understand.” He wiped a tear she’d missed.

  “Lucky you.”

  He gave her a little squeeze. “Hannah. Talk to me.”

  She sighed, pressing her palm to his naked chest. “I get ten seconds. That’s it. Then I’m fully wake.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “And then I remember you’re dead, Jack. Ten seconds of blissful ignorance, and then I remember. It’s like losing you all over again. Every morning.”

  His hands crumpled the crisp cotton sheets still tangled about her body. Focusing on the coolness of the material, on her firm body beneath it, he struggled to keep his clawing guilt hidden.

  “I’m alive, Hannah. Very much alive, and I’m here with you. I’ll always be here if you allow it.” She grimaced.

  “Did I hear your phone? Or was that a dream, too?” Hannah pushed off his lap, forcing him to release her as she grabbed her robe and shrugged it on. Her familiar shield was in place. Jack envied her that. His heart seemed always glaringly on his sleeve.

  “Ferguson said they found another body,” he said.

  Hannah shook her head. “That’s not right.”

  “They found a note. An email. He’s sure.”

  She scrubbed her face with her hands. “But I’m not dead. It’s my turn.”

  Her adamancy unnerved him. “Maybe you were right. You don’t fit his fantasy anymore. Or the killer doesn’t know you’re alive, so he’s moved on.”

  “The timeline, Jack. If what you say is true, we’d have a month before the next kill. But they found another body. Something is off. One call to the precinct would have told the perp I was alive. He’s a planner.” Jack wanted to argue, but Hannah flashed her palm. “The explosion made the news yesterday. He has to know he failed.” She opened the closet door and grabbed clothes off their hangers.

  Jack curled his toes into the plush carpeting of the area rug, thinking of coffee, of killers, of wanting this case closed. “Maybe Deming is right. Maybe it’s multiple killers. Maybe the next guy on the list went after his assigned target because whoever was assigned your kill failed. Let’s see what the evidence at the crime scene tells us. Ferguson texted me the location.”

  “Where did it happen?”

  “Copp’s Hill Burying Ground.”

  He could see her growing excitement. “Freedom Trail,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said. “The Freedom Trail. It’s looking more and more likely that Deming is right. The marina is an outlier.” He grabbed fresh clothes from the closet. “Do you want to shower first or eat first?”

  “Eat. I’m starving.”

  Jack tossed his suit and shirt on the bed. “Let me wake the baby.” He’d never woken a baby before.

  “You don’t wake babies, Jack, and if you’re lucky, they return the favor and don’t wake you.” Hannah’s smile softened her features as she stood in the center of the room, watching him. “Hurry up showering. She’s due to wake any second.” She rushed out of the bedroom, but not before checking out his ass. His body’s response was instant, and had him contemplating chasing after her. Just like old times.

  It was the quickest and arguably the coldest shower he’d ever endured. Ten minutes later, dressed and anxious, he walked into the nursery. Ellen was awake and cooing. When she saw him, she kicked her feet and stuck her hands in her mouth. If he had to guess, he’d say she was happy. Jack’s heart melted. He was no expert, but indications were this baby liked her dad.

  He could smell coffee brewing and heard the toaster popping as he lifted Ellen out of her crib. Then she instantly filled her diaper with an unmistakable smelly explosion. Holding her away from his clothes, Jack didn’t know what to do.

  “Hannah.” He didn’t want to yell, lest he startle Ellen, so he carried his daughter into the kitchen at arm’s length. Somehow, he managed to maintain a calm expression, though panic had set in. Hannah sat at the kitchen table, her coffee before her, smearing strawberry jam on toast. “She filled her diaper,” he said. Even to Jack’s ears, his tone made the words sound like an accusation.

  Hannah’s smile was sublime. “Is that my girl? Yes, it is. Who is my girl? You are. Yes, you are. Did Daddy get you this morning?” Her attention was a hundred percent on his daughter, but Jack was a hundred percent reacting to her words. Daddy. Yeah, he was Ellen’s daddy.

  She took Ellen, enfolded her in an embrace and kissed her sweet head. Then they were gone and Jack was alone. He thought about following her, lending a hand, but the coffee’s aroma called to him, and it smelled better than Ellen’s diaper. He wandered to the counter, just in time for the toaster to pop.

  She’d put in two pieces of wheat bread for him. Considerate. He saw butter, jam, and peanut butter on the table. She’d remembered his preferences. Jack liked this new reality, much better than the undercover life he’d been living in New Jersey. Yeah, the Coppola syndicate knew how to do an amazing breakfast spread, but they were also sociopathic murderers. This was better.

  * * * *

  Half an hour later, eager to get on-site, Jack and Hannah delivered Ellen into the care and protective custody of Mrs. Branaghan and Natalie. They arrived at the crime scene soon thereafter, Copp’s Hill Burying Ground. Though Deming predicted it, Jack knew his profiler would be racked with frustration and anger at this news. She’d spent the better part of yesterday in the area, interviewing local merchants and then repairing her flat tire, yet the murder apparently took place right under her nose. Seemed impossible.

  He saw Deming ahead, chatting with Detective Ferguson inside a taped-off crime scene. Copp’s Hill Burying Ground was a historical cemetery in the center of old Boston, and looked much the same as most cemeteries in New England. A sea of granite slab headstones with etched writing, weatherworn and barely legible, with a smattering of grand marble monuments and some flags marking veterans’ graves. The difference between this cemetery and most other revolutionary-era cemeteries in Massachusetts was that this one was one of sixteen historically significant stops on the famous Freedom Trail, a two-and-a-half-mile-long walking path through downtown Boston. Marked largely with brick, it wound its way from Boston Common to the Bunker Hill Monument in Charlestown.

  Ferguson waved them over. Sergeant O’Neil was milling about, talking with his men. Jack gave him a nod of acknowledgment as he passed. O’Neil nodded back, but found the energy to wave and smile brightly at Hannah when she called out a greeting.

  Jack caught Deming’s gaze. “It’s not all bad news,” he said. He ducked under the yellow tape, approaching the profiler. “Your projections were correct. The killer used the Freedom Trail again. Stone’s murder is still an outlier. It’s not a consolation, but we know more than we did yesterday, and that’s because of you.”

  Deming shrugged. The muscles along her jawline tightened reflexively. Jack knew she was upset, but knowing Deming, she was banking the emotion, using it to buckle down and work harder. “The perp’s timeline is blown to pieces.” She scanned the crowd. “And I don’t see BPD footing the bill for round-the-clock surveillance of the Freedom Trail.” She shrugged again. “But you’re right, this kill does follow our projections. Copp’s Burying Ground is on the Freedom Trail, and that means Stone is still an outlier. She was the killer’s first mistake. Not
killing Hannah was his second. We’ll get this guy.”

  “Small consolation for this man.” Ferguson nodded toward the grave. “Freedom.” He scowled at the corpse in the desecrated tomb, and then at the crowd straining against the crime scene tape. “What freedom does the perp give his victims by killing them so…spectacularly?”

  Jack donned latex gloves. “Who found the body?”

  Ferguson pointed to two teens smoking cigarettes and texting on their smart phones. “I told them to contact their parents. Liquor on their breath, so whatever they say might be a little off. Looks like they got trashed before school, found the victim, ditched the booze and then contacted 911.”

  “That’s what they said?” Jack gave the teenage boys a good looking-over.

  “No,” Ferguson said. “But that’s probably what happened.”

  “We’ll take their phones soon. See who they contacted. See if they deleted anything. I don’t see them as perps, but I don’t want to take any chances, either,” Deming said.

  Ferguson indicated the tomb using his notepad. “Eight feet long, four feet wide, gray inscribed granite. The victim’s fingertips are bloody, nails ripped off. He was alive when he was buried and tried to get out. The plastic bag over his head was spiked with chloroform-soaked cotton balls, so he didn’t suffer long. There’s that, I guess.”

  “I can smell the chloroform from here,” Jack said. One of the teens put his phone away, catching Jack’s attention. “How did they find the body?”

  Deming wrinkled her nose. “They say the cover to the tomb moved when they sat on it.”

  “They called the cops, though it meant getting in trouble.” Hannah crouched next to the tomb, looking, but not touching.

  Deming smirked. “They came here to get wasted, then vandalized graves in a historical site.”

  Hannah snapped on a latex glove and searched the pockets of the victim. She found a wallet. “The plastic bag over his head is torn, by him, most likely. So why is he dead and not just unconscious?”