by Karen Rose
“There was a lady who got hurt for me,” Nicky offered in a whisper. “Her name was Caroline.”
Jenna remembered reading the story in the newspaper six months earlier. Steven had been leading the investigation into a murder, only to find the victim had really escaped her abusive spouse. The woman had bravely started a new life with her young son, but had been found and dragged away by her husband. Her husband, who for God only knew what reason, decided taking little Nicky as a hostage would make Steven back off. “The lady was running away, wasn’t she?”
His nod was almost imperceptible. “From the bad man. Winters,” he added in a harsh mutter. “He tied us up and put us in a dirty cabin. He said he’d kill her. He said he’d kill me.”
Her hand on his back faltered, then resumed the soothing strokes. “And you were afraid.”
“Yes,” came his barely audible reply.
Jenna swallowed and prayed for wisdom. “I know how you felt.” She let the sentence sink in, then said, “I guess it was hard coming back to sleep in this room. In your bed.”
His lips trembled. “Everybody thought I was a big baby.” Her heart cracked. “I’m sure they didn’t, honey, even if it seemed like it at the time.”
“They still do. Everybody comes to check on me at night, when they think I’m asleep,” he continued as if she hadn’t said a word. “They stand there and look at me.”
“Why do you think they do that?” Jenna asked, very aware of Steven doing that very thing at that very moment. She could see the reflection of his stricken face in the mirror on Nicky’s wall.
“Because they think I’m a baby.”
“Well, I’m not a baby and I don’t think I’m going to be too keen on going back to sleep in my bed either,” Jenna said, inserting a tone of practicality into her voice. Anything to let this baby know that everything he’d felt, was feeling now, was so perfectly normal.
Nicky opened one eye. “You can’t,” he answered, just as practically. “The man sliced up your mattress with his knife.”
Jenna flinched, her blood going cold at the memory of the knife at her throat, the sound of the mattress being torn to shreds. She cleared her throat. “Good point. But even if he hadn’t, I’d have trouble sleeping in the same bed.”
He didn’t say anything and she mentally scrambled for a new angle. “Did you know I had a fiancé before I met your dad?”
He shook his head into the pillow.
“His name was Adam. He got very sick, and he died.” Nicky squirmed onto his back and his eyes opened. “Was he very old?”
“No, he was still a very young man. Anyway, when he died...I couldn’t sleep in my bed. He’d slept there when he was sick and I ...just... couldn’t.”
“So what did you do?”
“I got a new bed. How would you feel about a new bed?” Outside, Steven kicked himself for not having suggested that months earlier. He’d replaced his own bed, for heaven’s sake, after Melissa died. He couldn’t even think of sleeping in the same bed he’d shared with the woman who’d betrayed them all. He leaned closer, listening for Nicky’s reply.
“My friend Jon? He has a bed shaped like a car.”
Jenna smiled at Nicky, watching Steven’s face in the mirror from the corner of her eye. He was kicking himself, she knew. “It sounds pretty darn cool. I bet your dad’d go for that if you asked.”
Nicky looked contemplative. “Maybe I will.”
“Now about everybody checking on you.” She made her voice overly dramatic and Nicky smiled. “I don’t for one minute believe anyone thinks you are a baby. To escape like you did last spring took incredible courage. Not many boys Brad’s age would have been so brave.”
His smile faded. “Then why do they check on me every night?”
Jenna considered her answer carefully. “Well, you know my fiancé?”
He nodded soberly. “Adam.”
“Yes, Adam. Well, I would check on him every night. Not because I thought he was a baby or about to do anything stupid, but because I needed to. For me.”
His brows scrunched up. “Why?”
She sighed, searching for the right words. “Nicky, when someone you love is in danger, you worry. And when you get that person back, you still worry.” She thought about the hurt on Seth’s face and finally understood his pain. “It’s like when you cut your finger. It stays sore for a few days, even after the bleeding’s stopped. I know that’s why everybody checks on you. In the night, when everything is quiet, that’s when people realize just how close they came to losing you. They need to get up and make sure everything is still all right. And just because you’re safe now—” She gave him a serious look. “And you are safe, Nicky. You know that man can never hurt you again.”
He nodded, still sober. “I know. He died in jail.”
And I hope it was painful for him, Jenna thought with vicious indignation, but kept the smile on her face. “Well, just because you’re safe now, it doesn’t take your dad’s worry away.” Or Seth’s, she thought, glad she’d made things right this afternoon.
“He’s worried now,” Nicky said thoughtfully. “About the bad man that’s killing the girls.”
Jenna’s brows shot up. “What do you know about that, honey?”
“I saw Daddy on TV talking about it.”
She glanced to the mirror, saw Steven’s face pale. “He doesn’t want you worrying about that.”
“Well, if he’s worried about me, can’t I worry about him?” Jenna’s heart squeezed and in the mirror she could see Steven’s throat working. Out of the mouths of babes, she thought. “You know what I think he’d like even more than knowing you were worried?” she asked, bending down closer. “A hug.”
Nicky’s lips thinned. “Hugs are for babies.”
Oh, so now it’s clear, Jenna thought. Steven had told her Nicky wouldn’t hug anyone. “First of all, that’s not true. I hug your dad all the time.”
“That’s different. You’re his girlfriend.” His eyes went sly. “Aren’t you?”
Jenna chuckled, feeling her cheeks heat. “I suppose I am. But, Nicky, grown men hug one another. I saw Father Mike hug your father just last week.”
“That’s different,” he said, overly patient as if she were a dull student. “He’s a priest.”
“Fine, suit yourself. But you have my word that hugs are not for babies.”
“Hmm,” Nicky said, back to thoughtful from patient. “Well, if he wants one, he might as well come in.” He looked at her pointedly. “He’s been standing outside my door all this time.”
Jenna didn’t know what to say. “Steven,” she called. “Your cover is blown.”
Steven came in awkwardly rubbing his jaw. “I guess I need to practice that covert surveillance thing,” he murmured and Jenna laughed. He dropped to his knees, grimacing as his joints creaked. “Nicky, I think we’ll buy you a new bed as soon as possible. I’m too old to be sitting on the floor.”
Nicky scrambled to sit up and Steven felt his heart hammer in anticipation. The one thing he’d missed above all others was the unfettered affection Nicky had always bestowed. He held out his arms and after a long moment’s hesitation, Nicky crawled into them, his spindly arms straining to span Steven’s back. Steven hugged him hard, drawing in a breath and letting the simple pleasure flow as the seconds ticked by. “I love you, Nicky,” he whispered fiercely.
Again a moment’s hesitation, then, “I love you, too, Daddy.”
Steven looked over at Jenna whose fingertips pressed against her lips as her violet eyes filled with unapologetic tears. And in a flash of clarity, he knew he loved her, too.
Nicky struggled in his arms and Steven let go. “Ow,” Nicky said comically and he and Jenna laughed, as Nicky wanted them to.
Steven rolled to his feet as Jenna fussed with Nicky’s sleeping bag, covering him back up. Then he pulled her to her feet and slipped an arm around her waist. “Good night, Nicky,” he said.
Nicky rolled over. “Night, Daddy.
Night, Jenna.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Wednesday, October 12, 12:30 A.M.
IT WAS PAST MIDNIGHT WHEN STEVEN SLIPPED into the spare bedroom and closed the door behind his back. Jenna was sitting in bed reading and she jerked her head up, fear crossing her face in the instant before she realized it was him and she was still safe.
“Don’t do that,” she whispered, then relaxed. “Couldn’t sleep either?”
He shook his head and sat next to her on the bed. “I was thinking about you. Wanting to touch you.” He rubbed his hand along her forearm. “Needing to touch you.”
“I’m all right,” she said softly. “Really.”
“I know. Mostly.”
She took his hand and brought it up to her lips. “What happened today, Steven?”
He shook his head, wishing he could tell her all of it, and in so doing wipe the images from his mind. Knowing it was impossible to do so. He leaned his cheek into her hand, taking what comfort he could from her touch. “It was the worst I’ve ever seen,” he whispered raggedly. “God, Jenna.”
She caressed his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Steven. For you, for that girl’s parents.”
“For the next victim.”
She shook her head. “You’ll catch him. You have to.”
He shook his head again, harder this time, trying to scramble all the pictures in his mind like a child’s Etch-A-Sketch toy. It didn’t work. He picked up her book, looking for a distraction, and found it. “Captain Underpants?” He laughed softly. “Why are you reading this?”
“Because I’m trying to sleep,” she said ruefully. “But it doesn’t help.” She ran her fingertips over his lips. “Isn’t there anything I can do to take your mind off your troubles, Steven?”
He leaned in and kissed her gently. “Yes, there is one thing.”
“Name it.”
“Make love with me.”
“You don’t have to ask,” she said, but he shook his head and captured her face in his hands.
“No,” he murmured and watched her eyes soften, heat. For him. “Tonight I want to make love to you. Slowly, like I haven’t done before.”
“Steven, I—”
“Sshh.” He pulled her nightshirt over her head and dropped it off the side of the bed. “Just lay back and let me love you. Please. I need to love you.”
He covered her lips with his, and pushed her gently to the pillows, following her down. Covering her body with his. Treasuring her mouth as if he had all night to just kiss her. She arched against him and he pressed her back down. “No, not fast. Not tonight.”
He ran his lips down the side of her neck, pausing at the much smaller Band-Aid she now wore. He kissed her throat, an inch from where some crazed teenager had nearly taken her from him over a damned game. He kissed the swell of each breast, wishing he had a lifetime just to pleasure her there. He ran his tongue along the underside of one full breast, then the other, and she arched against him again. Minutes later she was writhing under him, her nipples wet and pitted hard from his suckling mouth. He looked up to find her staring at him, her violet eyes almost black.
“Steven,” she began, but he cut her off.
“Sshh. Let me love you, Jenna.”
He kissed his way down her stomach, gently, slowly, thoroughly until he got to her lace panties which he worried with his teeth.
“Steven, please,” she gasped, then moaned, almost silently, when he lapped at her through the lace. She was already wet, which made him want to groan. Instead he kissed her there, softly. Promising. Her hands fisted in the blankets, twisting as she moaned again. He rolled away only long enough to slide the panties down her long, long legs and she was totally bared to him.
Totally vulnerable. Totally his. Mine, mine, mine.
He took his time, licking and lightly sucking until she whimpered, arching, pressing her softness closer to his seeking mouth. But he didn’t want it to end. Not yet. Where before they’d shared explosive passion, tonight he wanted something more. He wanted . . . reverence. Gently he pressed her hips back into the mattress with his hands and held her there, imprisoned, and resumed until she drew in a tight breath, her body going taut, and waves of shudders racked her.
She cried out, muffling the sob of her passion with her hand.
He kissed her then, the soft folds that still quivered from the power of the orgasm he’d given her. Then he pushed himself up on his knees and watched her face relax by degrees as she came back to earth. To him. She was beautiful, and his.
Tonight. Forever.
Her breasts rose and fell as she struggled to breathe, one of her hands still clenching the blanket, the other lying slack on her pillow. Slowly she opened her eyes and he saw what he hadn’t taken the time to see before. Wonder. Lust. And something much, much more.
He shuddered out a ragged breath of his own and pushed his sweatpants aside, then thrilled as her eyes slid lower and darkened as she took in the sight of him. He knew when her eyes reached his throbbing erection because she swallowed hard. Licked her lips.
Made him yearn. She reached out and took him in hand, her eyes rising to meet his.
“What do you want, Steven?”
“I want you to look at me in fifty years the way you’re looking at me right now.”
Her fingers teased his length, making every muscle in his body clench. “And how is that?”
“Like you’ll never, ever get enough of me.”
Her eyes flashed. “I won’t. Please, Steven, I need you now.”
She’d said please. So without taking his eyes from hers he sheathed himself, then entered her in one smooth stroke that made them one.
She shuddered, one hand still clutching the blanket. With the other she caressed his face.
“Steven,” she whispered.
“I wish I could feel you against my skin,” he whispered back and nearly convulsed at the power of the image. “I wish you were pregnant with my child.”
Her eyes flared and she rocked up against him, tightening her muscles as she slid back, torturing him with the tight fist of her body. “I wish that, too,” she said and he lost it.
Gone was the gentleness he’d intended, the consideration he’d planned. Instead he felt himself falling into rushing water, being drawn into the current, dragged under until he couldn’t breathe. He rocked against her, into her, harder and faster until she moaned and convulsed around him and he knew he could no longer keep the words inside. They came in a torrent, matching the thrust of his hips as he sought to make her irrevocably his.
“I love you,” he groaned and came so hard the world went black. He collapsed, hearing the thunder in his head, feeling his heart beat like he’d conquered the highest mountain. She was stroking his back, kissing his shoulder, the side of his neck, and he needed to say it again. “Love you, love you, love you.” The words kept coming as his body quivered and shook. “Love you.”
She waited until he was breathing again, saying nothing until he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. And saw her response before she uttered the words.
“I love you, too,” she murmured.
He knew he’d found in her the strength to face anything.
Wednesday, October 12, 12:45 A.M.
She actually thought she had a choice. He sat outside her house in his car, so angry his hands shook. He’d almost had her. Almost had her in his clutches. But no. She had to listen to that idiot Thatcher’s sermon at the school today. The SBI had been out in force, talking to every young girl in the county. Telling them all to stay home, to not even trust their own boyfriends until the killer was caught.
Like Thatcher had a prayer of catching him. Thatcher and his friends were probably still heaving up their breakfasts after stumbling across pretty little Alev. She wasn’t so pretty anymore. And a good deal littler. Certainly more compact. It had felt so damn good, arranging the scene. Imagining Thatcher’s distress. Wishing he’d be able to see it himself. He needed it again, that rush, the exhilaration
of the kill. Of knowing he’d bested the famous Special Agent Thatcher. Before it had been a game, but now it was personal. He wanted Thatcher to pay, and pay he would.
He’d had a setback with Miss Marshall, but he would watch and wait for the next opportunity. He would get her, then Thatcher would experience his brand of terror truly firsthand.
He couldn’t wait for the true fun to begin. But he had needs to fulfill in the meantime. He was hungry. And not for food. He scowled and gritted his teeth.
He’d almost had her in his clutches, the little cheerleader with the big smile. Too bad she turned out to have a brain, too. He’d called her, told her to meet him, like they’d planned. But at the last minute she refused.
Refused.
Not because she thought he was a killer, she’d said, no way. She was just being careful.
Careful.
Bullshit. She knew. He could hear it in her voice. And he couldn’t leave any loose ends for Thatcher to trip over.
He’d have to break his own rule, just this once, and make another house call.
Wednesday, October 12, 8:00 A.M.
The team was waiting as Nancy came in, white as a ghost. Holding a single sheet of paper.
Steven shook his head, knowing even as he reached for the report what it would say. Read it and felt a fist squeeze his gut to water. “No.” He looked up at Nancy’s pale face, fury and memories of Alev making his hands tremble. “I can’t believe this. Not another one.”
There was silence around the table, then Sandra exploded.
“After all the assemblies? The warnings? Dammit, who’s missing now? And what was she thinking to meet someone after dark?”
Steven stared at the report, his brain kicking into full gear. “She didn’t meet him, Sandra. She didn’t leave her house. Voluntarily.”
Davies abruptly pushed his chair from the table and crossed to Steven’s side, holding out his hand. Steven gave him the report and turned to the others. “She was ripped from her bed. He was there, in her bedroom.” His hand closed into a fist. “He’s finally popped.”
“He’s out in the open,” Liz murmured. “Now we have to find him. Who is she? Who is the girl he ripped from her bed?”