"Do you mind if I take some pictures for Mia?" Adam asked. "She wants her people to dig into the cold cases and see if there is something, when linked together, they can find."
"No. Not at all."
"Are these all different women?"
"No, some are the same ones. Some were harder to forget than others."
As he started taking photographs, she walked over to the corner and dug through the stacks. She finally picked one up and brought it to him. The picture was of a woman, her hair curling in front of her face, her lips pulled back in a confused smile, as her eyes filled with a sliver of fear—just a hint of knowledge of what was about to happen. Jessica had captured that moment with an uncanny authenticity that stole his breath. He tore his gaze from Sara's face and stared at the locket hanging from her neck—the same one he remembered, the same one in the bag of pralines.
Overcome with emotion, he dropped to his knees. Tears filled his eyes, and he had to bite back a cry. This was his sister—his baby sister in her last moments of life.
"I'm so sorry," Jessica said, tears swimming in her eyes, anguish filling her face. "This is why I won't let anyone see them."
She reached for the painting, but he held it close to his chest, refusing to let it go.
"No." He couldn't let go of it, let go of Sara. "Not yet."
Jessica nodded and left the room, and he sat there for a long moment, looking at his sister's sweet young face and weeping.
Chapter Seven
Jessica felt ill. She collapsed onto the sofa in the living room and hugged her knees to her chest. In that moment, like so many times before, she wished she never had these dreams. Why was she cursed so? What was the point? What good did they do her or anyone else? And why would this monster out her to the police? "You're next, angel face."
Had he been talking to her? Directly to her? Was she his next target? Goosebumps peppered her skin. Lucy jumped onto the sofa next to her. She pulled her cat into her lap and hugged her tight.
"Someone wants to kill me, Lucy,"
Lucy snuggled her.
"Then who will take care of you?"
They had no one. Once her grandma died, Jessica had cut herself off from the world, gone it alone, free of judgment, free of pain.
And left alone to face a killer.
Adam walked into the room, his eyes looking hollow.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
He nodded and peered in the praline bag once more.
"Is it hers?"
"Yes. But the question we should be asking is how did he know I was here? Better yet, how did he know I'm related to Sara?"
"You think it's someone from the Phoenix Agency? Or from the police department?"
"If he's a cop, it could be how he's been able to get away with it all these years."
She shivered at the thought. "Even more of a reason for me to go."
"We discussed this. Even if you go, how long do you think it will be until he finds you again?"
Tears of frustration burned behind her eyes. "I don't know. I don't know how he finds me."
"You two obviously have a connection."
"I don't know how. I've cut everyone from my life. There is no one left. No one from my past I've kept in contact with."
"Maybe he dreams of you, too?"
She could see he was reaching, that he didn't believe it himself, but he was throwing anything at the wall. Looking for an explanation where there was none.
"Can I ask you a question?" He sat on the sofa next to her.
"Shoot."
"Why black and white? Even your cat is white." He gestured toward Lucy. "Your clothes are white. Everything is white."
"I don't like color," she said.
Astonishment filled his eyes. "Who doesn't like color?"
She smiled. "Color is a distraction from the beauty of shape and design," she said automatically. "Without color, your eye sees the lines. The blank spaces between the lines."
He stared at her for a moment then took her hand in his. It was warm, and she was afraid if she let herself, she'd never let it go.
"That sounds like a rehearsed line. Something you tell your fans and clients," he said. "Tell me the truth."
She shook her head, knowing it was a mistake, but it seemed like they were way past the point of keeping things from each other. For reasons she didn't understand, this killer was targeting them both, and Adam was all she had.
"My dreams are very vivid," she explained. "I'm constantly surrounded by death. By painting in black ink, I don't let it too close. I don't let it touch me. I'm able to keep the horror at a distance."
"And everyone else, too?"
"It's how I've survived," she whispered. "Only now he's touched me. He's talked to me. He's looked me in the eye and spat."
"I know what you're thinking, but if you run, he'll find you again, and then you'll be right back where you were before—alone in the sights of a killer."
Tears pooled in her eyes. "What choice do I have?"
"You need to stop letting him victimize you. Stand up and fight."
"He's a monster. I won't win."
"You will," he insisted.
"How can you be sure?"
He pulled her to him, holding her close, pressing his lips against her hair and kissing her. "This time, things are different. This time you have me."
She only hoped that would be enough.
***
Adam had crossed the line, he knew that, but it was too late now. There was no pulling back even if he wanted to, so instead, he held on to Jessica and kissed her until she stopped shaking.
"I have an idea," he said.
"What?"
"How about if you paint something different, something other than death and darkness?"
"I do. I paint my cityscapes." She pointed to the Charleston painting above the fireplace.
"Yes, I know. But I mean something with color. I'll buy you some oils and you can paint…I don't know, the ocean."
She wrinkled her nose.
"No? Okay, you can paint me."
She looked at him, and her beautiful mouth lifted at one corner. "You?"
"Sure. Why not? Paint me, alive and smiling at you."
She grinned at him, and he thought he saw a glimmer in her eyes. "I might like that."
"Do you have any oils here?"
"I like acrylics."
He leaned forward and brushed a stray strand of hair off her face. She was so beautiful. "Okay, do you have any acrylics?"
"No."
"Then let's go get some. And dinner. I'm starving."
She laughed. "Okay, on one condition."
He sat back. "All right. What's that?"
Her smile turned seductive. "I want to paint you in the nude."
His heart dropped to his stomach. "In the buff?"
"Yep."
"But—"
"But nothing. Do we have a deal?"
He saw the wicked glint in her eye and realized this could be fun. "All right. Only if you paint me while you're in the nude."
"What?"
"Come on, it’s only fair."
She laughed. "All right."
He stood. "Great. Now where should we eat?"
"There's a great little fish place down the street."
"Sounds good. I'm down for some good ole Low Country shrimp and grits."
She grinned. "Then I know just the place."
He made sure his gun was in its holster and started for the door.
"Adam?"
"Yeah?" He turned back to her as he slipped into his jacket.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being her with me."
He tipped his head. "Just doing my job, ma'am."
She laughed. "Is that all I am, a job?"
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. "You better believe it. And a very enjoyable job at that."
They left her apartment and walked hand in hand through Charleston's historic distric
t, as if they were a couple of tourists in love with not a care in the world. She took him to an art supply store, where she picked out acrylics and brushes, and then played tour guide, pointing out the notable homes and gardens on their way to the waterfront.
"You really love this city, don't you?" he asked.
"I do. I'd hate to leave it."
"Then don't let anyone chase you away."
She gave him a sad smile.
He thought he might have gotten through to her for a minute, but now he wasn't so sure. She took him to a quaint restaurant by the waterfront, where he had the creamiest shrimp and grits he'd ever tasted. "This is amazing," he said after taking his first bite.
"I thought you'd like it."
They ate and drank wine and talked of anything and everything that didn't have a thing to do with murder. She was fun and beautiful, and it was easy to forget that he'd just met her that day, that she was an assignment, and not the woman he was falling in love with. He didn't fall in love, ever. And he certainly wasn't hit upside the head and blindsided by it. He just had to focus on keeping her safe, keeping her happy, and keeping her from panicking and taking off the first chance she got.
After dinner, on the way back to her apartment, they passed a park bench, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her down onto it and kiss her as if they were sixteen. Night had fallen, stars lit the sky, ripples danced along the water, and he was happy. He loved the feel of her hand in his, the way she brushed his shoulder with hers as she walked, the smile she'd tilt his way when she didn't think he was looking. He wanted to feel her heat, to taste her again.
But they were too exposed here. For just a moment, it had been too easy to forget it wasn't safe.
His cell jingled inside his pocket. He took it out. "Hello?"
"Adam, it's Mia."
"Hey, Mia. What's up?"
"Our source down at the station just called. McCloskey has petitioned for a warrant to search Jessica's apartment."
He stopped walking. "You're kidding."
"Is there anything there we need to be concerned about?"
"We need to go back," he said to Jessica, and, with his hand on her back, he steered her quickly toward the apartment. "They only know of the paintings of the two victims here in Charleston, not all the others," he told Mia. "If they find those, she will become their number one suspect."
"Do what you have to do. I got the pictures you sent of the paintings, and we're already working on finding out everything we can about them."
"Thanks. Personally, I think this killer is the same bastard who killed Sara—in fact, I'm certain."
"I'm sorry," Mia said, and he could hear the sincerity in her voice. "I was afraid of that."
"But the question is, how does he know who I am? That I'm Sara's brother? And what's more, how does he know I've been at Jessica's apartment all day."
"Does he know?"
"Yes. He delivered a bag of pralines this afternoon to Jessica's doorstep. My sister's locket was in the bottom of the bag."
She sucked in a deep breath.
"That means not only does he know where Jessica lives, he knows about me and about my sister. Not too many people know about her."
"We haven't told anyone, Adam."
"Then how could he know?"
"I'm not sure, but we'll find out."
"Another thing: I don't think the police realize he's taking souvenirs from the victims. Sara's locket proves that."
"I'm really sorry, Adam."
"Don't be." He caught Jessica's eye as they turned the corner. "We're going to catch this guy and stop him for good."
"Yes, we are," Mia agreed.
"But right now, I'm going to move the other victim paintings into my car until we're ready to share them. I don't want Jessica spending the night in jail. This guy could be one of Charleston's finest. Only the Phoenix Agency and the PD even know I'm here."
"I understand, and I agree. We've got your back, Adam."
"Thank you," he said, feeling relieved. At this point, they could all be charged with obstruction.
"Adam?" Mia said.
"Yes."
"We are here for you. All of us at the Phoenix Agency. I hope you'll learn to trust us and to consider us your family."
He paused. Jessica turned back to look at him, her eyes questioning. He didn't know what to say. Ever since he lost his sister, he hadn't let anyone too close. It was easy, being deployed in the military. The soldiers were his brothers. He'd do anything for any of them. If they ever reached out to him. But since the day he left the unit, he'd never seen a single one.
"Thank you, Mia. I really appreciate that."
"No one is an island, Adam. We are here for you. Just let us help."
She disconnected. He started walking again, his hand on the small of Jessica's back as he leaned close to her.
"The police are coming. We need to get rid of the paintings."
Chapter Eight
Jessica's heart pounded with each step as she and Adam gathered up her artwork, carried the paintings down the stairs, and loaded them into trunk of Adam's rental car. They made several trips, and she was terrified with each step that the police would arrive and catch them. Then what would they say? Adam would be arrested because of her. She didn't think she'd be able to take that.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked as they took the last paintings from the bedroom, leaving only the one from last week's murder scene. She picked it up, turned out the light, and followed him out of the room.
"Absolutely. Until we find out how this guy knew who I was, we aren't taking any chances with the police."
She had to agree, but that didn't mean she liked it. She placed the painting she'd promised to give the police against the wall by the front door and followed Adam down the stairs to the car. Once they had all the paintings locked in the trunk, he climbed behind the wheel. "Are you sure we have everything that ties you to any of the murders?"
She nodded and fought a shiver.
"Okay. I'm going to drive the car to the next street over and park there. Go inside and lock the door, and don't open it for anyone until I get back."
"All right." She hugged herself. Why was she suddenly afraid to be alone when, until today, she'd always been alone?
"I'll only be a few minutes," he said, his eyes softening.
"Promise?" She couldn't believe how much she'd come to depend on him. But she did. She didn't want to face this by herself. Not anymore.
"Promise." He gave her one of his breath-stealing smiles.
She climbed the staircase and stood in the doorway as he drove away, then went inside and locked the door. For the first time, she felt the emptiness of her apartment. She busied herself making a pot of tea in the kitchen and waited for Adam to come back. Before long, there was a knock on the door. Anxiety gave her a good squeeze as she hurried toward it. She peered through the peephole. McCloskey and Kent stood there, pivoting from foot to foot, obviously eager to get inside. Should she let them in? Wait for Adam?
They knocked again. Louder this time.
She took a deep breath and swung open the door. "Detectives."
"We have a warrant to search the premises," McCloskey said, all business.
She made a show of reading the paper, then gave a quick nod and stepped back. Adam had just reached the bottom of the stairs, so she left the door open as he quickly climbed up and entered behind them.
"I have the painting you requested," she said, pointing toward the large ink artwork leaning against the wall, hoping to distract them from noticing Adam had walked in behind them. It didn't, but they were too interested in her work to care.
"And you weren't at this murder site either?" Kent asked.
"She dreams them, remember?" McCloskey said in a mocking tone.
"I'm glad you're here, fellas," Adam said, walking toward the kitchen counter. He used a towel to pick up the praline bag. "This is the bag of pralines you found on the porch earlier today," he
said to Kent.
Kent didn't say anything, just gave him that hard cop stare.
"Well, we think perhaps the killer dropped it off."
"Yeah, why is that?" McCloskey said, biting the bait.
"Because there is a necklace in the bottom of the bag."
"And you think just because there's a necklace in the bag that the killer put it there?"
Adam shrugged. "Could be."
McCloskey took hold of the bag with the towel, peered inside, and gave it a good shake. "How do you know the girl who put the bag together didn't just drop it in there? The simplest explanation is usually the answer."
"You mean instead of it being from a serial killer who might be targeting his next victim?"
"Exactly," McCloskey said.
"Maybe you can humor me and see if you can get any prints off the bag."
He smirked. "Yeah, right. I wonder how many people touched that bag."
"Were any of the victims missing jewelry?" Adam asked.
McCloskey dropped the smirk and his eyes narrowed. "I'll put this in the car with the painting. You start in the bedroom," he said to Kent.
"Come on," Adam said to Jessica, and led her into the kitchen. "Let's stay out of their way."
That was fine by her. She had no desire to watch these cops paw through her stuff. In fact, what she really wanted to do was hide out at the coffee shop down the street, but she didn't want to leave them alone in her house either. Suck it up, she told herself. How long could it take to search a two-bedroom apartment?
Apparently, much longer than she'd thought.
Adam opened a bottle of wine, poured them both a glass, and led her out onto the terrace. "I'm sorry about this."
"Don't be. It's not your fault."
"I know you wanted to leave."
"I still might." She sighed. "But you're right, it won't do any good. In fact, it would probably just make things worse."
"How do you think he always finds you?"
"I don't know."
"Perhaps through your work?"
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