by Rebecca York
“I can’t give you those kinds of details. It’s dark in here.”
“Then how are you so sure it’s one guy with so many different looks?”
“I don’t know.” She gave a little laugh. “Bad vibes. I started looking at him—noticing.”
“Helen,” someone called from the back, and the woman stood up straighter.
“Gotta get back to work,” she said. “Unless I can serve you a drink.”
“No.” Ben got out one of his cards. “If you think of anything else, let me know.”
She looked at the card, slipped it in her pocket, and took several steps away. “Sure,” she called over her shoulder.
Ben left with a mixture of feelings. Maybe he finally had a murder suspect. But it wasn’t going to be easy to ID him.
As he walked back to the car, he thought about what kind of man would spend his life wearing various disguises. He might not have a strong identity. Or he might hate the person he was supposed to be. Maybe playing games was easier than staying in touch with the real world. Or his mug was recognizable, because he had a record as long as the Statue of Liberty’s arm. Too damn many variables.
He turned the key in the lock and opened the car door. Of course, there was another interesting line of speculation. Like, for example, what if Jesse James was the guy who had met Blaisdell through World Connect? Would he have more than one alias on the system? Just like he had more than one physical persona? That would make it even harder to catch the bastard.
SUNDAY MORNING, Ben took the kids next door fishing and managed to relax for a few hours. Then he went back to the Blaisdell case. At least that was better than sitting and brooding about Jenny, he told himself as he booted the special software that had arrived from World Connect.
The computer service was anxious to determine if one of their customers was stalking victims through the system and had agreed to cooperate with the Baltimore Police Department. They’d given him monitor access and sent the utilities that would allow him to track the usage of every subscriber over the past few weeks.
He’d spent Saturday night and most of Sunday afternoon familiarizing himself with the arcane instructions, which were obviously written for computer geeks, not police detectives. Finally, he felt comfortable enough with the system to give it a try.
Using his modem, he connected to the company headquarters in Boston. While the software and the main computer talked to each other, he unwrapped the tuna sub he’d picked up for dinner, but didn’t have the appetite to eat any.
If Jesse James was from the Baltimore area and he’d met Blaisdell through the service, then the place to start might be with subscribers in the region.
When the computer signaled that Ben could proceed, he called up the member list. The register that appeared on the screen began with people who had signed up in the past few weeks. Well, he didn’t need that, since both Blaisdell and the presumed killer had met each other on the system earlier. He was about to scroll past the names, when one caught his attention, and his heart leaped into his windpipe.
Jenny Larkin. Son of a bitch! Jenny Larkin had gone out and gotten herself a membership. And he’d bet his last passion-fruit candy that she wasn’t researching background information on adoptees for Birth Data.
Forgetting that he’d planned to check the list of area members, he went right to another feature of the utility and typed in her ID. Seconds later, up popped a list of services she’d accessed along with the dates and times. She’d started on the cooking bulletin board. Then she’d read messages posted by the recently divorced and gone on to literature. As he looked at the time signatures, he realized she’d been on the service when he’d knocked on the door the other night! And she hadn’t told him anything about it because she’d known he’d be mad as hell.
Before they’d gone to Fells Point, she’d simply been looking at bulletin boards. Later that night while he’d been tossing and turning in his bed, she’d gone into a chat room and posted her ID for everyone on World Connect to see.
The conversation had been at four-thirty in the morning. Was there a way to retrieve it? Pawing through the three-hundred-page reference manual, he found out that the material was held in a restricted buffer for forty-eight hours. By the time he finished reading the exchange, he was angry enough to spit nails.
He’d warned her to stay out of the investigation. He’d told her it could be dangerous. A grisly image leaped into his mind. It was Marianne Blaisdell, the way she’d looked when they’d found her dead in the alley, her face reflecting the pain and fear of her final agonizing moments.
LIEUTENANT FREDERICK Henry hummed softly as he booted his computer. While he waited for the World Connect software to go through its routine, his fingers lightly stroked the keys. Just a light caress to remind him of the pleasures that awaited this evening. He’d been on the system for four hours last night, chatted with several women. Women who couldn’t sleep. Women who were looking for company on a computer network after midnight. A few of them had been aggressive—pushy. He didn’t like that. It reminded him too much of Meema and her constant commands and warnings. Especially after Mom had split.
He remembered when that had happened because it was the day before the Halloween parade at school. A lot of the other second-graders had fancy costumes their mothers made. He’d been going to wear a sheet because he didn’t have anything better. Mom had said she’d get him something from the dime store, and he’d been so happy, for once. As usual, she hadn’t kept her promise.
He gritted his teeth. Those days were gone forever. He could be whoever he wanted. He wasn’t a sniveling little kid. He had money, and skills, and all the women he could handle.
Mom had bailed out, and Meema had gotten worse. After that he’d spent as many hours as he could away from the house. A lot of the time at the public library. That’s how he’d gotten into reading. It was magic when you could learn all about the lives of fictional characters and forget about your own miserable existence.
Things had changed for the better when he’d gotten big enough to hit back. He’d made Meema afraid of him. God, how he’d loved seeing the old bitch tiptoe around her own home. The home she’d told him so many times she would kick him out of if he didn’t behave.
It was a shame he’d missed the chance to strangle her. But she’d had a heart attack and died in her sleep. He was seventeen by then. Incredibly, she’d named him the bene ficiary on her insurance policy. Probably to spite Mom. So he’d lived in her house for a while. He’d already gotten into computer hacking—and figured out some ways he could make money through his modem.
Then he’d had his first love affair. With a waitress at the local diner, Nadine Packard. He’d told her he’d seen both his parents shot to death—like the poor kid in Cold Fire by Dean Koontz. She’d been so sorry for him. He’d enjoyed stringing her along, seeing how much bull he could feed her, until his hands had ended up around her neck one evening while he was bonking her.
What a rush. Of course, he’d had to leave town. But he’d covered his trail. And the police had never tracked him down, or connected him to any of the others. Marianne Blaisdell was the eighth. Now he was planning his next conquest. Of the women he’d been talking to on-line, the one who interested him most was Jenny Larkin, perhaps because she’d been a little nervous—and cautious. He could always tell, and that was a turn-on. Or perhaps it was the sixth sense he’d developed for knowing when a woman had a secret.
While they’d been chatting, he’d used his special interface to the network software to find out her location. My, my. She lived right in the Baltimore area. That would make it easy to get together with her. Since she wasn’t right in the city, he could have his fling with her, and the city police wouldn’t even be involved. Perfect.
Would she like the story he was using? He’d given her a hint already. But she’d been too shy to respond. He smiled. He’d work the conversation around to his dead child next time. A real tragedy. Sweet little Jenny ought
to respond to that.
BEN DIDN’T GIVE himself time to think about his motivation. He shut down the program, turned off the computer, and climbed into the car.
He didn’t listen to the radio. He simply hunched grimly over the steering wheel, temples pounding, mind frantic. All he knew was that he had to keep Jenny from suffering the same fate as Marianne Blaisdell.
When he reached Jenny’s house, he screeched to a halt inches from the porch, jumped out of the car, and took the steps two at a time. Then he started banging on the door so hard it shook.
No one answered for half a minute, and a moment of sanity broke through his anger as he wondered if the darkened house meant Jenny really wasn’t home.
Then the porch light came on.
“Wh-who is it?” Jenny’s voice asked.
“Brisco. Open up.”
The bolt slid back. He turned the knob, surged inside and slammed the door shut behind him before she had time to ask what he wanted. He was breathing hard as he stood facing her, every muscle in his body tight.
Maybe she couldn’t see him, but she backed away, her face pale in the dim light.
“What in the hell did you think you were doing?” he demanded.
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“Getting yourself on World Connect. Getting into a chat room and letting people know who you are.”
“All I did was—”
He’d had the whole ride over to let his fear and anger build. Now that he could finally confront her, blood pounded in his ears so loudly that he could barely hear what she was saying. With a harsh expletive, he crowded her against the wall.
“Ben please—”
“What if someone came after you? I mean like the guy in the cowboy shirt last night. What if he grabbed you and took you some place where he could do anything he wanted?”
“I—I—”
“But he doesn’t have to take you anywhere. He could come here, just like I did, and break the door down. Because you’re so far out in the country, only the racoons and squirrels are going to hear you scream.”
He had never been so furious in his life. Never been so wild with terror. He caught her hands and held them in one of his while he tipped her head up and stared down into her rigid face. She was frightened. He wanted her to be damn frightened. As flat-out terrified as he’d been when he found out exactly what she was doing on her sweet little home computer. He wanted to make sure she’d never try a stunt like that again.
Her lips trembled. “Ben, you’re scaring me,” she whispered.
“I’m scaring you? Don’t you understand? This isn’t a game. You think somebody on World Connect murdered your friend. Now you’re flirting with strangers on the same system. Inviting them to switch their interest to you.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t lie to me! I’ve read the transcript of your conversations. Suppose you were talking to the murderer? Or suppose he was one of the other people in the chat room. It doesn’t matter which. He could find you. He could do anything to you. Anything.”
He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was flabbergasted at his wild-man behavior. He was acting like a caveman claiming his mate. But terror ruled him. Terror that something unspeakable might happen to her. That he might never hold her again, kiss her again.
She tried reflexively to push him away, but he didn’t let her go. He slid his hands into her hair, tilting her head first one way and then the other. She was so vulnerable. God, what if he lost her? Something inside him snapped. He couldn’t stop himself from lowering his mouth, the barest touch of his lips to hers. As he did, he let out a low, anguished groan that came from the depth of his soul.
She went very still. “Ben?”
He struggled to suck in a strangled breath, to get enough control of himself to speak coherently. “Jenny, don’t you understand?” he growled. “All I could think of was what happened to your friend—and that maniac getting you, too.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her to him, as if somehow he could keep her safe. But he couldn’t, because she was an adult woman, bent on making her own decisions, unaccustomed to deferring to anyone else.
She was quivering against him. And it filtered into his consciousness that she might not want this, that, in fact, she’d sent him away the night before. His hands dropped away from her. “God, I’m sorry. I have no right to—”
She cut him off before he could finish. “Ben. Oh, Ben.” As she spoke his name, her hands came up to clasp his shoulders, her fingers dug into his flesh. Then she arched into him, bringing her body tight against his. Emotion surged through him again. Only this time was different from the frantic need to yank her out of harm’s way. This time he knew that she wanted the contact as much as he did. Tenderness overwhelmed him, tenderness so acute that his eyes misted. All his life he had been searching for this woman. Miraculously she was in his arms, wordlessly saying that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He found her lips with his again. When she didn’t pull back, he felt his chest expand.
Her hands left his shoulders to move up and down his back, restless, seeking. She made a low, erotic sound in her throat that turned his blood to fire in his veins. Each time before, he’d felt that their kisses were stolen, that the sweet pleasure might end at any moment. This time she opened her lips for him, inviting him inside. And he accepted the invitation, exploring the silky texture of her lips, the line of her teeth, the tip of her tongue.
They drank greedily from each other. Hard kisses. Softer kisses. Nibbling kisses. Long, deep kisses that made him weak at the knees. He cupped her head, his fingers exploring her luxuriant hair and under it the long, elegant column of her neck and the perfect curves of her ears. He needed more. He needed everything she was willing to give. Remembering the sweetness of her breasts, he shifted her to the side and stroked the enticing roundness.
This time, she wasn’t afraid to tell him how it made her feel. “Oh… Ben…that’s so good. So good.” Then a little cry welled from her throat as he found the hardened nipple with his fingertips.
He wanted her so much he could barely function beyond a physical level. He ached to pull her hips tightly against his and let her know exactly what was happening to him. Yet somehow that sweet, pleading sound penetrated the fog rapidly filling his brain. He knew that if this didn’t stop now, he was going to scoop her up in his arms, carry her to the couch and make love to her.
His hand lifted away from her, and she whimpered in protest.
He sucked in a ragged breath. “Jenny, sweet, we have to stop.”
“No, we don’t.”
The protest almost shattered his sanity. “You’re angry with me, remember.”
She gave a sharp, surprised laugh as if she’d just recollected how they’d parted Friday night. “Ben, I want—”
“So do I.” He kissed her cheek, brushed her damp hair back from her brow. He had been unsure of his intentions when he’d come here. When he’d taken her in his arms, he’d quickly discovered precisely what he wanted. It went far deeper than assuaging a temporary urge. He wanted her in his life—permanently. He needed to know for certain that she was his. And he’d wanted her to understand that he would never do anything to hurt her—or take advantage of her.
“But I didn’t come prepared,” he whispered. “I can’t protect you. And I’m not going to take any risks with you.”
She drew in a shuddering breath. Lowering her head, she nodded against his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” he asked in a voice that wasn’t quite steady.
She nodded again.
Lacing his fingers with hers, he led her toward the couch. On the way, he bent to turn on the lamp on the end table.
“Sit,” he said, and she obeyed.
He should probably take the chair, but he couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of sitting beside her, looking at her flushed cheeks, her lips swollen from his kisses. Yet the uncertainty in her eyes made his heart cont
ract. He wanted her so much and he wanted her to understand what he was feeling. It was everything he could do to keep from dragging her back into his arms and damn the consequences. But there was too much at stake to let momentary pleasure rule.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered.
“Which? Scared me silly? Or kissed me?”
“Either,” he answered with a grimace. Somewhere along the line, he’d managed to forget exactly how it had started. Now he took a deep breath and tried to justify his Neanderthal behavior. “I’m sorry. I was so damn upset when I saw you’d been in that chat room that I—I went berserk.”
“Well, that’s something, anyway.”
“I’m serious. You are not to do that again. Do you understand?”
“How did you know I was in the chat room?”
“Stop changing the subject. I want your word you won’t do anything so dangerous again.”
She raised her chin defiantly. “I can’t give it to you.”
“I won’t have you risking your life!”
“It wasn’t like that. I was just talking with a few people.”
“Your friend thought it was innocent enough, too. But I’ve seen pictures of what he did to her body. It’s not very pretty. And it wasn’t a quick death.”
Jenny sucked in a strangled breath.
“Jesus, I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t planning to say that. But I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you out of danger.”
“Why?”
“Because I care about you,” he growled, wishing he dared to say more.
He watched her hands twist in her lap.
“Jenny, since I walked into your office, I’ve been on a roller coaster. I’m not exactly acting like myself. Things are happening too fast. And I don’t like the lack of control.”
“I feel that way too,” she admitted. “First I’m giddy. Then I’m angry. Then you scare me spitless. And then I’m ready to—to jump into bed with you. That’s where we’d be now, if you hadn’t stopped. Believe me, that’s not my normal mode of behavior.”