Midnight Caller

by Leslie Tentler

  “This is Dr. Sommers.”

  “Apparently you wished to speak with me tonight.” Dante’s voice was controlled, but anger churned beneath its surface. “I don’t appreciate your idea of a joke, my dear. Perhaps you’d like me to prove to you just how wrong your estimation of my ability is?”

  “You had that chance this afternoon.”

  There was a short pause. “I’m sure I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You broke into my home and tried to—” She closed her eyes, the words catching in her throat. “But you didn’t get to follow through with your plans, did you? When the police showed up, you ran like the coward you are.”

  He actually laughed, a sound that made the fine hairs on her nape rise.

  “Someone’s playing a terrible trick on you.” There was a dead calm to his demeanor, as oppressive as the slow boil of a Louisiana thunderstorm. “Let’s be clear on one thing. If I was interested in cutting your pretty throat, I could’ve done it a dozen times by now.”

  Rain swallowed her fear. Dante was draining her courage as easily as he’d drained the blood from his victims.

  “I don’t plan to kill you, little one,” he conceded. “Unless, of course, you force me to.”

  “And why is that?” Rain asked on a trembling sigh. She looked at Trevor as he closed the cell phone. The hard set of his features offered her little hope. “After you’ve killed six women, what makes me so special?”

  “Because you belong to me, Desiree. You always have.”

  She was uncertain how long she sat there, but Trevor reached over and pressed the button on the phone’s interface, ending the white noise of the disconnected call.

  “Please tell me you got something.”

  He didn’t mince words. “The call came from the French Quarter, somewhere on Bourbon Street. There’re a string of conventions in town this week. It would be next to impossible to find him in the crowds.”

  Rain thought of Dante among the throngs of revelers. She tried to imagine him strolling around in a sea of madras shorts and Tipitina’s T-shirts, blending in with the tourists and conventioneers sporting cheap plastic-bead necklaces and go-cups filled with beer.

  “Did he use a cell phone?”

  “It belonged to Rebecca Belknap, the last victim.” Trevor’s eyes were resolute. “He’s probably discarded it by now, but I’ll put the uniforms in the area on alert. If we find it, we might be able to lift some prints or at least pinpoint the location of the call. The wireless operator is checking to see if the phone was used any other time during the last forty-eight hours.”

  She’d been speaking to the killer from her dead patient’s phone. Rain pulled her sweatshirt tighter around herself as she came to terms with that piece of information. “He said he didn’t do it. Is he lying?”

  “If he isn’t the one who attacked you, it would explain some things. Like why the perpetrator didn’t have a knife.”

  And why I’m still alive, Rain thought. The events of the day were closing in on her, and she exhaled on a quiet sob. He’d called her Desiree. This ordeal was far from over.

  She felt Trevor’s hands on her arms as he coaxed her from the chair. Rain stood and leaned against his chest.

  “The show’s not done yet,” she whispered.

  “It is for you. I’m getting you out of here.”

  24

  Each time the Taurus passed under a street lamp in the Lower Garden District, its interior was illuminated in a wash of tepid light before being quickly submerged again in shadow. The interspersed light and dark reminded Rain of a camera shutter, its rapid click attempting to capture her emotions. But it simply wasn’t possible. She was an empty shell, devoid of feeling. The events of the day had left her numb.

  “You okay?”

  Trevor watched her from the driver’s side of the car. Rain nodded in response to his question, although her eyes didn’t falter from the road. She’d insisted on returning to her home before the memory of what had happened there chased her away for good. Sitting mutely, she listened as he used his cell phone to confirm that Forensics was done with the crime scene.

  The crime scene.

  The phrase rolled around inside her head as the vehicle went past the shadow of trees in Coliseum Square. When they reached the house, Trevor parked against the curb. True to its word, the forensics team appeared to have vacated. There were no vans or jumpsuited technicians anywhere in sight. But as they climbed the steps onto the veranda, Rain could see a uniformed police officer through the window, sitting on the parlor’s chintz-covered sofa. He was a large man and he looked out of place against the buttery floral print and striped throw pillows. The officer got up and greeted them at the door. Rain acknowledged him with only a weak smile, her eyes moving to the spot at the foot of the staircase where only a few hours earlier, she’d been certain she was about to die.

  She left Trevor talking to the officer and escaped upstairs. In the bedroom, Rain looked at her image in the oval mirror above the antique dresser. Her hair, lifeless and flat, provided a fitting frame for her red-rimmed eyes and pale face. She raised a hand to touch the bluish bruises on her neck.

  If I was interested in cutting your pretty throat, I could’ve done it a dozen times by now.

  Rain went into the adjoining bathroom and turned on the shower. Discarding her clothes in a heap on the floor, she stepped into the rising steam. She pressed her forehead against the cool tiles of the stall and allowed the jets to work against her sore muscles.

  He’d called her Desiree. A madman obsessed with a singer who’d been dead for thirty years had taken over her life. Rain stayed under the showerhead until the pads of her fingers pruned.

  She’d just drawn the sash of a chenille bathrobe around herself when she heard a knock at the bedroom door. Outside, a car started its engine and drove away.

  “Rain? It’s me.”

  She called for Trevor to come inside. He’d brought fresh clothes with him, she knew, in a duffel bag he kept on the ready in the sedan’s trunk. But she saw he hadn’t yet changed. Instead, the tie that had been hanging loosely around his neck had disappeared, and his blue dress shirt was pulled free from the dark suit pants. His service gun, however, remained holstered at his side.

  “Officer Dumas was more than happy to go home to his wife,” he said quietly. “I told him I’d call his lieu at the precinct, let him know of the change in arrangements.”

  “Thank you for staying.” Rain ran her hands through her damp hair. “I didn’t want a stranger here. Not tonight.”

  He held a glass tumbler filled with water, as well as a plastic vial containing the prescription sedative they’d had filled on their way back from the radio station. He waited while she took one of the pills before giving her the water to wash it down. Once she was done, he took both items and placed them on the nightstand.

  “Do you want something to eat? I could make you an omelet.”

  Rain shook her head, although she was appreciative of the gesture. “Please make yourself something, though. You must be starving.”

  He didn’t answer. Trevor went to the window and stared out through the gap in the gauzy curtains.

  “You told me to take more precautions,” she reminded somberly.

  “I should’ve made you take more precautions.”

  “What could you have done? Lock me in a tower somewhere?”

  He turned toward her, his gaze without rancor. “Knowing my luck, you would’ve just made a rope out of the bedsheets and shimmied down.”

  “Probably.” Rain slid her hands into the pockets of her robe, pausing before delivering the question weighing on her mind. “How is it possible the person who attacked me might not be Dante?”

  “He could be lying,” Trevor theorized. “Especially since the police foiled him in the act. Something like that would be a blow to his ego. There’s also the chance it was a coincidence. A random burglary gone awry, although I doubt that’s the
case.”

  He paced the bedroom. “Whatever happened today, it changes everything. You’re going to have to take this threat seriously from now on. You were lucky tonight, Rain. You fought him and you screamed, and someone was outside to hear you.”

  She didn’t put up an argument. Their eyes locked for several moments, and then Trevor’s shoulders slumped in a sigh. “I’ll let you get some sleep. The sedative should help.”

  Rain touched his shirt as he walked past.

  “Where will you be?” She sounded ridiculous, she knew, like a child afraid of monsters lurking under the bed.

  “I’m going downstairs to make sure everything’s locked up tight.”

  “What about the front door? The police broke the lock—”

  “It’s already been repaired. I’m going to change your pass code, too.”

  He stood there for several moments, the intensity of his eyes pulling at her like a storm tide on sandy beach. She wanted to beg him not to leave the room, but instead she took a weak breath and nodded.

  Waiting until he’d closed the door behind him, Rain changed into a short, silk nightgown and turned down the bed’s coverlet. Her bones heavy, she climbed underneath the cool touch of sheets and fell almost instantly asleep.

  She’d left on the tulip lamp beside the bed. But when Rain awoke, its dusky yellow glow had been extinguished. The bedroom was bathed in shadow, the house quiet and the sky outside still black. Calling softly for Trevor in the darkness, Rain pushed back the covers and got out of bed. She felt the chill of the house’s air conditioner on her limbs as she went into the hall.

  She found him downstairs, sitting on the cushioned seat of the bay window in the parlor. A contented Dahlia was curled up and purring beside him. Trevor’s feet were bare, and he wore jeans and a white T-shirt that stood out against the moonlight pouring through the window. He watched as she approached. Rain wrapped her arms around herself, aware she hadn’t taken time to put on a robe over the delicate gown.

  “I made coffee.” His voice was roughened from several hours of disuse, and he lifted the cup in his hand to show her. Rain noticed his gun tucked into the pillows piled against the back of the window seat. She wondered if he’d slept any, then realized with some guilt that staying up all night was probably an essential part of pulling guard duty.

  “What time is it?”

  “A little after five.” He stroked Dahlia’s head as he spoke. “I checked on you earlier. You were out like a light.”

  He must have turned off the lamp beside her bed. The thought of him watching over her as she slept made her heartbeat quicken. She gazed at him as he sipped from the cup, his lean, masculine fingers curling around the fine bone china.

  “I had a bad dream,” she admitted softly. “I think it woke me up.”

  “I’m not surprised.” He set the cup on the window ledge. Exhaling, Trevor leaned forward on the seat and bowed his head. Displeased with the change in position, Dahlia rose and stretched, then jumped to the floor and padded off toward the kitchen.

  “What you went through in this room,” he said finally, making a small, helpless gesture with his hands. “If anything had happened to you—”

  She stopped him. “It didn’t.”

  “I’m supposed to keep an emotional distance for this very reason.” Trevor swallowed hard, and his words lowered to a whisper. “But I haven’t been able to, Rain…not where you’re concerned.”

  Moved by his confession, she inched closer to him until her legs brushed the coarse denim of his jeans. Trevor looked up at her as the silence deepened around them in the room’s shadows. The need built in her to be held by him, feeling almost like a physical ache. Standing, he slowly reached out to run his thumb over her cheek. Rain’s fingers encircled his wrist. She wanted him so badly, she realized, needed his mouth and his body to distract her, if only for a little while.

  “I need to forget what happened here,” she said, her voice shaking. “Help me do that, Trevor. Please.”

  She turned her head to place a kiss against the palm that cradled her face, causing Trevor to release a ragged, uneven breath. Trevor smoothed her sleep-tousled hair.

  “Rain,” he whispered. “I’ve wanted you…I do want you.”

  “Then make love to me. I don’t care about your job or anything else. Not tonight.”

  He slowly lowered his head, his lips finding hers. His mouth was warm and tasted faintly of the chicory-laced coffee. He hesitated for a few brief seconds before allowing his hands to glide over the gown’s silk. She felt their heat as they came to rest at her hips. When the kiss ended, she stared up at him and saw that same internal struggle reflected in his eyes. For a moment, she feared he might put a stop to things now, as he had done in the past. But a sigh escaped him as his mouth took hers again, this time more hungrily than before. For a time, they continued kissing in the darkness, their hands touching and exploring one another as their lips and tongues mingled. Rain’s breathing became jagged, matching Trevor’s own shallow rasps. She skimmed her fingers under his T-shirt and began lifting it, hungry for the warmth of his skin.

  “Not so fast,” Trevor murmured. He moved with her, backing her against the parlor wall, until she was trapped there, his body pressing into hers. His lips were hard and firm. Demanding. Rain clutched at his shoulders, melding into him. She shivered as Trevor’s hand ran up her bare thigh, leisurely stroking and caressing, moving slowly higher until his fingers slid under the elastic of the lace panties she wore.

  “Trevor,” she moaned, panting against his ear when he stroked her moist heat. She gasped and arched as he dipped a finger inside her. Rain felt her core tighten, her body go weak.

  “God,” he uttered, hoarse. “God, Rain.”

  She was wet for him, wetter than she had ever been in her life.

  His mouth took a path along her throat and shoulders, tasting her. He cupped her small breasts through her nightgown, massaged them, teasing her nipples into hard peaks. Rain wanted him to take her now against the wall, drive himself into her for his pleasure. She rubbed against his hardness.

  “I need you,” she begged again, breathless. “Please, Trevor.”

  “Not like this.” Desire shone in his eyes. “Upstairs.”

  Wordlessly, he lifted her, making her feel protected and weightless. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips against his jaw as he carried her up the staircase to her bedroom. Once they stood in its threshold, he lowered her feet to the floor.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked, voice low. He took care in brushing the silken strands of her hair back from her face, his tenderness making her heart constrict. “After what happened today, maybe—”

  Rain covered his lips with her fingers, hushing him. She wanted nothing to come between them, to diminish the craving they both felt. Taking his hand, she led him to the tangle of sheets she’d abandoned earlier in search of him.

  Trevor drew the gown’s thin straps down her shoulders. She felt herself tremble as the fabric pooled around her waist before dropping to the floor, leaving her naked and exposed to him. He molded his hands to the soft curves of her breasts.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. Trevor lowered her to the bed, and she let go of a quavering breath as his body levered over hers. Breathing in his warm scent, she marveled at the feel of him—his strength, the sheer power of hard muscles under soft skin. Trevor took one of her nipples into his mouth, his hot tongue causing her to writhe underneath him. His teeth raked over the delicate bud, gently biting. Rain moaned as he drew her farther into his mouth. She felt herself implode at the feel of him sucking her, first one breast and then the other.

  He worked his way leisurely down her frame—tasting her skin as the rough stubble on his jaw sent erotic chills careening through her. Moving lower still, he dragged the small scrap of lace panties from her, his hands spreading her thighs. She was completely open to him, accessible. Rain’s hands tightened in his dark hair as he continued h
is exploration, savoring her core.

  Her climax was almost immediate, and so hard that she was left breathless, repeating his name like a prayer.

  After several incredible moments, he raised himself onto his knees. Trevor pulled the T-shirt over his head. His shoulders were broad and toned.

  Her eyes heavy-lidded, Rain was vaguely aware of the wallet he took from his back pocket, and the condom he extracted from it. He removed the rest of his clothing and prepared himself for her.

  “You’re so small. I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured. Rain felt the weight of his body settle over hers again. “You’d tell me?”

  She nodded faintly. Her fingers trailed over the fine planes of his face as he pushed slowly into her. There was no pain, only the deep sensation of being filled by him. His mouth slaked across hers, claiming her, as his hands anchored into her hair that spilled across the pillow behind her head. Trevor drove into her over and over, each thrust making her breath catch with sensation. They were joined and for this single moment of time, one. From the window, pale moonlight snaked into the bedroom. It slanted across the bed and their sweat-glistened bodies as their pace quickened, growing more urgent. Rain let herself fall headfirst into the world Trevor created for her, pleasure blotting out every thought but for their lovemaking.

  She lay in the circle of Trevor’s arms, her fingers stroking the side of his face. A silvery gray had begun to replace the night sky, and a lone bird warbled in the olive tree outside her bedroom.

  “You never really told me how this happened,” Rain said quietly, touching the healing cut on his forehead.

  “I wasn’t watching where I was going. Nothing more exotic.”

  “What about this?” Her fingers moved to the faded scar that ran across his chin. Gently, he captured her hand in his own, bringing it down to his chest. Seconds passed before he spoke.