by Rebecca York
“Your new husband’s a salesman type. He wants access to your former classmates as potential customers.”
She thought about the implications. “So I’ve married some slime who wants to use me to get to my old school-mates?”
“I wouldn’t put it in exactly those terms. Particularly since I’m the slime,” he drawled.
She couldn’t stop her jaw from dropping open. When she recovered enough to speak, she gasped out, “You and me…We would pretend to be married?”
He had the grace to look uncomfortable, but the determination hadn’t left his face.
She sat there, letting the idea sink in. On the face of it, the plan sounded harebrained. Unworkable. Dangerous. Yet below the surface was a tantalizing pull that she couldn’t deny. She’d be doing something valuable—saving people’s lives—and at the same time, she’d be getting closer to this man who had stirred something within her, something that she hadn’t come close to feeling before.
“You’re a Howard County police detective,” she said. “How are you perfect for the job? Won’t people know you?”
He started giving her arguments he must have memorized on the way over. “I’ve only been in the county for a few months, so I’ve had only limited contact with the public. I didn’t grow up in the area. Nobody’s likely to know me. When I was with the Baltimore P.D. I did a lot of undercover work and found out I have a fair amount of acting ability. We’d keep my first name, to avoid confusion, and I’d take a similar last name. Like maybe I’d be Cal Roberts.”
She licked her suddenly dry lips. “If I agree, then what?”
“I move into your spare room. We tell anyone who asks that we’re married.”
She knit her hands together in her lap, thinking about him sleeping right across the hall from her. Deliberately she forced her mind to another problem. “There’s something else that I’d better remind you of. I told you the last time you were here that I tend to stay away from people because…sometimes I pick up, uh, vibrations.”
He kept his expression neutral.
She gave him points for not sneering. But then, he’d come to ask for her help, so he was probably on his best behavior.
“What happens if we’re at this committee meeting and, uh, I have one of my spells?”
“We’ll tell them you have a headache, and I’ll take you home.”
There was one more question she didn’t want to ask. But she forced the words past her dry lips. “And what happens afterward? I mean after this whole charade when we’re not married anymore?”
“Marriages go bad all the time. Some of them are pretty short,” he said with a bitter note in his voice.
“Are you speaking from personal experience?”
“I’m not married. Never have been. I was thinking about my parents.”
She studied the closed expression on his face and saw old anger and pain. She thought again that she should tell him his proposal was the most ridiculous idea she had ever heard. Instead she asked, “Are you expecting me to give you an answer immediately?”
“The sooner the better so we can figure out how to catch the guy who killed your friend Hallie.”
“You’re sure she’s dead?”
“Ninety-nine percent.”
She thought about that for a moment, then moistened her dry lips. She’d never been impulsive, never been quick to make decisions, but she heard herself saying, “All right.”
“All right, what?”
“I’m willing to let you pose as my husband.”
She watched him heave a massive sigh. Of relief, she hoped.
“Thank you.”
She cleared her throat. “When do we start?”
“I’m going back to the office to clear some things off my desk and turn over my investigations to a couple of the other detectives. Then I’ll go home and pack some of my stuff.” He stopped, looked thoughtful. “And I want to check with a P.I. in Baltimore on another matter. So I should be back around six. Is that a problem?”
Her chest was suddenly so tight that she could barely speak. Cal Rollins was coming to live with her. The idea had been seductive. Now cold reality was setting in. Images flashed in her mind. The two of them eating dinner together…Cal in the bathroom in the morning…her in the bathroom…the two of them circling each other in this house. It was real. It was going to happen. And now as the images swirled in her mind, she understood that agreeing had been an act of insanity.
She should take it back. Tell him to find someone else. Instead she said, “Six is fine. I’ll fix you dinner.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you need to get in touch with me before I get back, here’s my number.”
His fingers brushed hers, and she felt a little frisson of sensation pass from her hand to his.
Her eyes shot to his face. Had he felt it too, or was she the only one overreacting with a show of nerves?
His expression was carefully neutral, and she didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
BY THREE, Cal had taken care of the paperwork on his desk. Then he headed into Baltimore to see Sam Lassiter, another friend from the force who was now working at the Light Street Detective Agency with Hannah.
When he’d been on the job, Sam had been known for his by-the-book approach to law enforcement. But he’d turned in his badge two years ago after his wife and three-year-old daughter had been killed in an automobile accident. When they’d died, he’d gone off on a six-month bender—until Hannah had helped pull him out of his funk. Now he was on the wagon and working as a P.I. in the same office.
The lean, dark-haired detective looked up expectantly as Cal came through the office door.
“What brings you down to Charm City from the pristine open spaces of Howard County?” he asked.
“Pristine. I wish. Anything you’ve got down here in the city, we’ve got in Columbia and Ellicott City.” He dropped into a chair opposite Sam’s desk. “You heard anything on that drug dealer…what’s his name—Dallas Sedgwick—who was after Lucas Somerville?”
“Unfortunately, there hasn’t been any word on Sedgwick,” Sam told him. “Which isn’t exactly good news for Lucas—or Hannah.”
Cal made a sound of agreement as he took in his friend’s appearance. It looked as if Sam was doing okay.
“But I do have an interesting development in the Sean Naylor case.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“You remember Sean’s father was pretty torn up about his son’s death. And after Ron Wexler was shot in his garage, the senior Naylor was mouthing off about how he was going to get the rest of the cops responsible for his son’s death. I was thinking that maybe it was the father who shot Ron Wexler and went after Hannah. Now I’m not so sure.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Well, it turns out he had an ironclad alibi for the morning of the Wexler shooting.”
“Such as?”
“He’s got a mistress that his wife doesn’t know about, which is why he couldn’t give us an alibi for the morning Ron was shot. But when I tailed him, discovered his extracurricular activities and threatened to inform the missus, he came clean with me. When Wexler was killed, Naylor’s wife was in Atlantic City with her girlfriends and he was at his honey’s house. One of her neighbors confirms that his car was in front of her place all night.”
“He could have slipped out the back, gone to Wexler’s and come back in time to be seen leaving through the front door.”
“Not unless he took a cab to the murder scene.” Sam gave a small snort. “The neighbor remembers the car sitting in the same spot all night ’cause some cats were yowling outside off and on that night.”
“How does he remember cats yowling on some random night?”
Sam laughed. “Because he was going in for a lower G.I. exam the next morning, and he was hoping to get some sleep before the procedure.”
Cal nodded. “So do you have a line on who did Wexler?”
&
nbsp; “I’m working on that.” Sam stopped and cleared his throat. “The trouble is, I’ve been pressing pretty hard. Some of my sources have stopped talking to me.”
“You want some help?”
“Are you referring to yourself? I’d appreciate anything you can do, but aren’t you busy with your own cases?”
“Actually, I’m about to go on a hush-hush undercover assignment. But they let me off my leash from time to time. So I might be available if you need me. You’ve got my cell phone number?”
“Yeah. Thanks. I may just give you a ring.”
“Don’t hesitate. I like Hannah. I’ll be happy when she doesn’t have to watch her back every minute. She and Lucas, too.”
“Yeah.”
They talked for a few more minutes. Then Cal glanced at his watch, realizing he was dragging his heels. He should already be on his way to Beth’s house, but he’d come down here instead because deep in his gut the idea of moving in with Beth Wagner was playing hell with his insides. First, there was the crystal-ball stuff that he didn’t want to think about too hard. Then there was his inconvenient physical attraction to her, which was going to make the assignment hard—pun intended.
With a sigh, he heaved himself out of the chair. “You look like you’re going to a funeral,” Sam commented. “Want to tell me about it?”
“Some other time. I’m already late,” Cal answered, turning and heading for the door.
ELLICOTT CITY WOMAN VANISHES.
Damien read the account in the Baltimore Sun of Hallie Bradshaw’s disappearance. There wasn’t much information. The police had no leads. There wouldn’t be any leads, or anything that was going to pan out.
He carefully cut out the article and used two-sided tape to fix it in the scrapbook he was keeping of his triumphs.
Then he turned to the page with the notice that had been sent out by the reunion planning committee.
“Who’s going to show up at that meeting?” he asked, starting one of his dialogues.
He grinned as he thought about appearing at the meeting.
“I could go and sit around with those morons who are so proud of their high-school days. They’re probably telling each other what great stuff they’ve done since then. But none of them can compare to me. I’m not the jerk they used to pick on. Now I’m Damien, the devil’s spawn. Just like in that movie. I’ve gotten rid of my name, and I’ve gotten rid of some of them!”
He laughed aloud at that.
It was so tempting to let them see how he’d changed, what he’d done. But he knew it was a lot smarter not to walk into that meeting. A lot smarter to stay in the shadows, take notes and maybe give the committee a surprise or two.
He put down the scrapbook and picked up the copy of the yearbook that he’d showed to Hallie and the others.
Slowly he flipped through the pages, looking at the candid shots, the group pictures from the various clubs, the sports teams, the cheerleader squad. What crap! It had all been so important to those jerks. Well, if they hadn’t already found out, they’d learn pretty soon how valid it was.
A warm little thought floated to the surface of his mind. He could plant a bomb at the reunion committee location. That would get rid of a whole bunch of them at once. It would be satisfying. But would it be as satisfying as picking them off one at a time?
He’d have to weigh the pros and cons.
He flipped to the section at the back with the seniors’ pictures.
He’d already drawn a big X through some of them. Lisa Stapler, Will Huttonson, Donna Misk, Andy Preston, Jim Vogel. He hadn’t marked out Hallie Bradshaw yet.
But now was a good time for the little ceremony.
Getting a bottle of sparkling white wine from the refrigerator, he popped the cork and carefully poured the bubbling liquid into a long-stemmed flute.
Taking a sip, he savored the taste on his tongue. Then he got out his marking pen and drew an X through Hallie’s picture.
Next came another sip of wine as he began looking at the other smiling faces.
“Silvie Weston is a good candidate,” he mused. “I’ll have to find out what she’s doing now—where she lives.”
Then his eyes traveled to Beth Wagner.
“Beth, your blond hair was so beautiful,” he said as his finger softly touched the shining strands. Then moved lower, caressing her lips and her breasts.
A smile flickered over his face as he thought about what the two of them might do together.
He’d always had a thing for shy, quiet Beth, he thought as he continued to stroke his finger tenderly across her picture while sipping his wine. But he didn’t see any reason to go after her. She wasn’t like the rest. She hadn’t been a big deal at school. She wasn’t going to the reunion committee meeting, so there was no reason to kill her.
Chapter Four
Beth was sitting at the kitchen table, snapping green beans for dinner, thinking that she’d at least show Cal that she could cook. She had a roast in the oven, fragrant with herbs and surrounded by potatoes and carrots. Now she was getting to the green vegetable.
The beans went into a large saucepan, the snapped ends into a small bowl. She’d just picked up another one, when a pain shot through her skull.
One minute she was fine, the next she could barely breathe, barely think. Her scalp felt as if it was on fire, as if the roots of her hair were hot wires digging into her flesh.
And then the terrible sensation traveled down her body, to her face, her throat, her breasts.
It wasn’t real, her mind screamed.
But it felt real.
On a strangled cry, she jumped away from the table, sending the bowl of bean ends scattering to the floor.
Swaying on her feet, she reached to steady herself against the chair back. There was a roaring noise in her ears, in her mind, and disjointed, out-of-proportion images she didn’t want to see. It was as if she was viewing a picture of herself, and a large hand was hovering over the picture. The hand touched her. Stroked her. As she watched in horror, it descended again to contact her flesh.
Only it wasn’t just the picture. She could feel it, too. Someone’s hands on her body—touching her in places where he shouldn’t be touching.
“No!” she cried out, overturning the chair as she tried to escape the room. Then hands grabbed her again and she screamed.
“BETH, WHAT IS IT? What’s wrong? Is someone here?”
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do more than clasp her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sound and the pictures and the terrible sensations of unwanted hands probing her.
Rationality had fled her mind. When she felt massive arms around her, holding her, the terror increased and she started to flail, trying with a burst of desperate strength to yank herself away from the enemy. It was him. Somehow, he had her. Not just the picture. He was real. In her kitchen. Come to get her.
Terror grabbed her by the throat. Hysterical sobs welled from deep inside her as she tried with all her strength to wrench herself away.
“Beth. Stop it, Beth.”
He was speaking to her, his words low and commanding. Aeons later, the familiar voice penetrated the roaring in her ears. Cal. It was Cal who held her.
“Beth. Shh. It’s Cal. You’re all right. It’s Cal,” he soothed, the words slurring in that southern cadence she found so sexy.
Her eyes focused on his face hovering above her. They had turned black as onyx as they stared down, full of concern, into hers. She had known him for only a few days, hadn’t really trusted him except for a few brief moments. But now she gave herself over to his care, just as she had when Granger had tripped her.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his tone urgent. As he felt her struggles cease, he loosened his grip so that he no longer held her captive.
“He…touched me. I felt him touch me. It was terrible,” she choked out.
“Who?”
“I don’t know,” she shouted in frustration.
Then, sensing
that she was on the verge of hysterics, she dragged in a shuddering breath as she buried her face against his shoulder.
Shifting her weight, he lifted her into his arms, then carried her down the hall to the parlor. Lowering himself to the couch, he held her on his lap, cradling her close as though she was precious to him, while he murmured low, soothing words.
For long moments she could only huddle there, feeling the steady beat of his heart. It was as if he’d wrapped her in a magic cloak where nothing bad could ever reach her. All she wanted to do was stay there, safe and secure, because she knew he would never let anything happen to her.
His hand stroked her hair, and she shifted in his arms, settling herself more closely.
Cal was the one who broke the spell. “Someone was in here?” he asked. “In the house?”
She swallowed and pressed her face into his shirt so she wouldn’t have to see the terrible moment when the look in his eyes changed from concern to scorn, the way it had before.
“You’re going to act like you did the other day, when you came to ask me about Hallie. Like I’m some sort of madwoman,” she whispered.
“Just tell me what happened.”
She kept her head bent. “All right. I was in the kitchen snapping beans. I got a headache. The same kind of headache I had the night…the night I knew Hallie was in trouble.” She stopped, sucked in a breath and let it out before forcing herself to go on. “Then I felt him.” She gulped. “I mean not really. Well, you wouldn’t think it was real. It was just in my mind the way it is when images, sounds come to me. This time…”
Her breath hitched. “This time it wasn’t someone in trouble. It was different. I saw him. He was looking at my picture, focusing his attention on me. He started touching me…touching the picture, I mean. But I could feel it.” Again it was several seconds before she could go on in a shaky voice. “I felt his hands on my hair. On my face. Other places.”
She heard him utter an expletive.
“You don’t believe me, do you? You just think I’m crazy, and that something weird happened inside my mind. Maybe you think I wanted someone to touch me.” She pushed herself away from him and landed on a sofa cushion, finally lifting her head, her eyes defiantly meeting his.