She opened the shower door and slipped in behind him, encircling his waist with her arms and laying her head against his back.
He turned, pulling her to him, gently lifting her chin and her face. His mouth moved down upon hers, soft and wet and steaming. He touched gently at first, so that she barely knew if the steam and heat was him or a whisper of the water beating all around them. Then the pressure of his kiss became hard, his mouth parted hers and she felt his tongue, and with it, wings of fire crept through her memory and more.
The water sluiced over and around them, deliciously hot and sensual. His hands held her tight against him first, and when it seemed her breasts were all but welded to his chest, she felt his palms slide seductively down her back, his fingers teasing along her spine. He pressed his lips to her shoulder, and her collarbone, and then his eyes rose to hers. The way he looked at her...the past and present rolled into one. They had been so young once.
His eyes were no longer young. And yet she loved everything she saw within them, even if that wisdom meant he would leave her again, and this, this thing between them that was so unique, would be nothing but a memory.
He reached behind him to turn off the water. And he grinned suddenly. “I was thinking of some great, cinematic moments of romance. I should sweep you up, press you against the tile, make mad love to you here and now...”
“Except one of us would slip on the soap and we’d end with broken limbs?” she asked, smiling in turn, a little breathless, surprised she’d been able to speak.
“Something like that,” he said. “And we have a dreamy mattress...and, hmm, neither of us has to do the laundry. Let me try this!”
He thrust the shower door open and stepped out, and then surprised her so much she gasped before laughing as he swept her up in his arms. “There’s no staircase for me to carry you up dramatically, but...”
“We’re soaking!”
“The heat is on—no pun intended—and we’ll dry.”
And still she smiled. He walked the few steps needed and let her fall into the softness of the bed, and then he came down in turn. He was immediately by her side, half atop her, finding her lips again with his own, his hands skimming over her, touching her with caresses that made her forget everything but a longing for more. They seemed to meld into a kiss again, rolled with the pile of soft covering, and then his lips found hers, left them, moved down the length of her body, hovering here and there over her breasts, then snaking downward. He caressed her thighs with kisses and erotic finger play, and she writhed, twisting to come back around to him, to touch him, press her lips against his skin, taste the cleanliness of his naked flesh, the warmth of him, the fire, the essence...
She saw his eyes again as he came over her and thrust into her. She met his gaze squarely with her own, reaching for him, pulling him ever closer to her. The bed cradled them as they began to rock and twist and writhe together.
She remembered the way they had been...
And it was nothing compared to now. Memory hadn’t served so well. He could tease so sensually with the lightest brush and then move hard, and the sensation would be almost unbearable. She was achingly and acutely aware of his body...muscle, bone, every movement. He was leaner and harder than ever; his shoulders had grown broader, his abdomen tighter...he moved with a fluid fury and grace that swept her into moments of sweet oblivion, lifted her, eased her down, lifted her again...and then to a climax that seemed to shatter everything, straight down to her soul.
They lay in silence, just breathing. For a few moments, the sound was loud. It began to ease. She felt the slowing of her heartbeat; she thought that she heard his, too.
She tried to think of something to say. Something...that explained her current emotion. Something deep or profound.
She didn’t speak first.
He did.
“Hmm,” he said lightly. “I guess I have missed you!”
“Well,” she murmured, “I’m ever so glad.”
He rolled up then, looking down into her eyes. “You really are beautiful, Sarah. Inside and out, you know.”
She shook her head, confused. “Just decent, I hope, like I want to believe most people in the world are.”
He rolled over again, plumping up a pillow. “Oh, Sarah. So far above decent! I’d definitely rate you an eleven this evening!”
“On a scale of one to ten?”
“One to twenty.”
She hit him with a pillow.
And he laughed and moved over her again, smiling. “On a scale of one to five...an eleven. Maybe a twenty or a hundred...”
He kissed her.
It had been a very, very long time.
They made love again. She thought it was dawn when they finally slept. And it was too bad. They really had so very much to do...
A killer to catch.
More murders to stop...
Including their own.
Chapter Five
Tyler was amazed that he hadn’t had to drag himself out, almost crying from exhaustion. But he wasn’t tired; he felt that he was wide-awake and sharp—as if some kind of new adrenaline was running through his system, something that changed the world.
Sex.
With Sarah. Different as could be...and sweet and explosive as any memory that he could begin to recall.
Biology, like breathing. Should have been. It just wasn’t. Something made people come to other people and, whatever it was, it was strong. Sometimes, it became more. Sometimes it lasted forever. Sometimes it didn’t.
He stood in the situation room at the precinct while the facts of the murders were laid out for the dozens of officers, agents and marshals crammed into it. All they really had were the facts that had to do with the murders—they had nothing on suspects, clues or anything at all. Dr. Layton was there, and he explained the cutting off of the heads; even some men Tyler knew to be long-timers looked a little pasty and green as they listened. Lance would be starting the second autopsy today and would soon know more. Bob Green asked Tyler to talk about their theory that Perry Knowlton might still be alive, as they knew for a fact that Archibald Lemming was dead.
Someone asked how the man could have been hiding for years and suddenly come out to commit such heinous acts. At this point, Craig asked Kieran to come forward and offer what insight she could. Tyler saw that Kieran must speak to various groups of law enforcement often; she was prepared and calm.
“As you all know, serial killers only stop when they’re forced to stop. A trigger of some kind—death of a loved one, work failure, financial loss, or other traumatic losses usually start a killer off. Sometimes it’s just an escalation, and it’s sad but true, children who torture animals often grow up to be the next generation’s serial killers. Perry Knowlton had been incarcerated for the murders of eight women in upstate New York. He and Archibald Lemming met in prison. For all intents and purposes, it appeared that Archibald killed Perry—it wouldn’t have been against his nature, and he killed men and women alike. But the two might have had some kind of honor among killers—Perry Knowlton started the fight that got both men into the medical complex from which they managed to escape.”
“But that doesn’t answer where he’s been all these years,” an officer said.
“Possibly locked up.”
“Fingerprints!” another agent reminded her.
“He might have been in a hospital or mental facility, or had a physical issue causing him to lie low. Or he might have been killing other places.”
“Did you forget the killings at that haunted house years ago?” another officer asked, his tone derisive.
Tyler started to move forward again. He was surprised to see that Sarah had moved up to the front of the crowd, and she looked to Kieran and said, “May I?”
On Kieran’s nod, Sarah took a deep breath and spoke. “I’ll never forget that. I was there. With my fri
ends. And we survived because my cousin had been taught to watch people—because people, in general, can be cruel. My uncle taught my cousin to carefully observe his surroundings and the individuals nearby. That night, he saw Archibald Lemming at the theme park before he went into the Cemetery Mansion. Lemming was alone when Davey saw him then—of course, that scenario fits if Knowlton is alive or dead.
“After Hannah Levine was murdered, I started researching everything that happened surrounding the escape. Nothing proves beyond a doubt that Perry Knowlton is dead. Also...there are over two hundred thousand unsolved homicides on the books right now in the US alone. Hannah was found in the water, so he might have been disposing of his victims in a way in which they weren’t found.”
There was silence around the room. Tyler was pretty sure everyone there was thinking about the one who had gotten away—their one case they couldn’t crack. And it wasn’t something that made them feel good.
“Thank you!” Detective Green said, moving in. “Now, get out there, officers. This killer is not going to become an ‘unknown’ statistic!”
“One of the police spokesmen has been briefed on what we do and don’t want out for public knowledge,” Craig said quietly to Tyler. “He’ll handle the press conference. We can get on to the autopsy—and then over to Suzie Cornwall’s building. She wasn’t working. She was a patient in a clinical trial, quite seriously ill, or so her landlord told the police. The odd thing is...”
“What?” Tyler asked.
“We have a picture of her—when she was living. She really did resemble the photos we’ve seen of Suzie Cornwall Avery—at first glance, they might have been the same person.”
Tyler was quiet for a minute. He hadn’t seen Suzie in a very long time, but human nature didn’t change. Suzie had always been a good, sweet soul, with a high sense of social responsibility. It wasn’t going to make her feel any better, knowing that while a woman had been killed because she happened to have been given the same name at birth, that poor woman had been ill.
The stakes were high; Sarah was right. The killer was out to find those who had been there that fateful night a decade ago at the Cemetery Mansion. The night Archibald Lemming had been killed.
Revenge?
Just a sick mind?
Whichever didn’t really matter. They were in danger.
“Sarah...do we bring her?”
“No, I figured she’d be comfortable with Kieran, and I have an agent staying with them at Finnegan’s. They’ll be fine. Trust me—if this bastard is after Sarah, he’ll know by now she’s with Kieran. But in my line, if there’s a threat, we shoot to kill.”
“I’m getting more and more worried about the others. Especially Davey.”
Craig looked at him while Sarah and Kieran walked across the room to join them.
“What about this,” Craig suggested. “I can have Davey and Renee brought into the city. We have an amazing safe house—easy to guard. It also has escape routes in the event the officers on duty should be killed, automatic alarms in case of a perceived danger... And my boss, Director Egan, is huge on preventing bad things. He’ll want them there.”
“Really?” Sarah whispered. “That leaves only Sean and Suzie, and Suzie is so terrified by what happened that she’s about ready to be institutionalized!”
“They can be brought there, too. It’s big. I think there are actually three separate bedrooms.”
“How long can we keep them there—or keep guards on them?” Tyler asked.
“This isn’t going to take long,” Sarah said softly. “You will catch him soon, or...” She paused and looked at them unhappily. “Or we’ll all be dead. All of us who were in the Cemetery Mansion.”
* * *
IN TYLER’S MIND, Dr. Lance Layton looked more like a mad scientist than ever. His white hair was going everywhere, half of it standing straight up on his head. He was thoughtful and energetic. “I have all kinds of tests going on. Here’s the thing—poor lady was not long for the world. Poor thing! She was undergoing a new kind of cancer treatment—meant she didn’t lose her hair to chemo. She had liver cancer that had spread just about through her body. Death might have been a mercy, if it hadn’t been so...”
He stopped speaking. “Well, small mercy. She wouldn’t have been terrified or in pain long, but would have bled out within a matter of seconds. That’s something that we can truthfully tell her loved ones.”
The woman had been going to die, anyway, a slow, painful death. He hoped that would help Suzie live with herself.
The police photographer, Alex Morrison, was standing by quietly. Layton looked over at him. “You’re—you’re getting enough?”
“I am. But the head, yes, we need a few more angles on the head.”
“Right,” Layton said. “Thankfully, the powers that be are concerned enough on this case to keep everyone on it working together—it’s harder when you have different techs and photographers and detectives. Well, I mean, not really for me. Other than that I have to repeat my findings, though some just prefer written reports, anyway, and a written report...”
“I’m not in your way?” Morrison asked.
“No, not at all,” Craig assured him.
Morrison nodded to them both and began his work.
“Thank you, Morrison. All right, down to it.”
He began to drone on. Tyler listened, mentally discarding the findings that meant nothing to their investigation.
But then Dr. Layton got to the stomach contents. “Here’s what’s interesting. Now our first victim, Hannah Levine, had eaten hours before her death. Miss Cornwall had eaten far more recently. Both had enjoyed some prime steaks. I don’t know how much that helps you, but they may have dined at the same restaurant. I know that the city is laden with steak houses.”
“Interesting—a possible lead,” Tyler said. “And then again, maybe they just both enjoyed steak.”
Morrison, working over by the stainless steel tray that held Suzie Cornwall’s head, cleared his throat. “I think I have everything we might possibly need,” he said.
He looked a little flushed. Tyler certainly understood. The head no longer really resembled anything human. It hadn’t been on display long, but the sun, the elements and bugs—and the violence of being chopped off—had done their share of damage. The flesh was white, red, bruised and swollen.
“Thank you, Morrison,” Layton said.
“I’m sure you’ve been thorough,” Craig said, nodding to the photographer. “I know they want to have a decent sketch out by tomorrow. The photos we found of her on social media just aren’t very good. If we use them along with the images you have, an artist can come up with something that will work well in the newspapers.”
“Right,” Morrison said grimly. “They’re going to put an image out, correct? Ask for help?”
“That’s been the decision, yes,” Craig told him.
The photographer nodded at them all and left quickly.
Layton continued his analysis.
They listened awhile longer, looking at the body the whole time. To his credit, even Layton, long accustomed to being the voice of the dead, seemed deeply disturbed by the remains of the murdered woman.
Then it was time to try to find out how, when and where this Suzie had met her killer.
* * *
“OH, LORD!” SARAH SAID.
Kieran, who had been busy with her computer, looked up.
Sarah was at her own laptop, working in Kieran’s office at the psychiatric offices of Fuller and Miro. She’d intended to be busy with her current novel, Revenge of the Martian Waspmen, but just hadn’t been able to concentrate on her distant world.
“What is it?” Kieran asked.
“I finally keyed in the right words that led me to the right sites that led me to more sites. I’ve found so many unsolved and bizarre murders...”
“Show me!”
Kieran walked around her desk to stand behind Sarah.
Sarah pointed and spoke softly. “This one—up in Sleepy Hollow, and chalked up to it being Sleepy Hollow. ‘Headless corpse found in ravine.’ Then, here. ‘Hudson Valley—help needed in the murder of local bank teller,’ and, when you read further, you discover that she was found in two pieces—head on a tree branch, torso in the river. Then here’s another in southern Connecticut—‘Skull discovered off I-95, no sign of the body.’”
“There are probably more. I’m sure Craig has his tech guy working on it,” Kieran mused. She sat again. “The guy’s got to be living here somewhere. Somehow. But how? He’d need a credit check to rent an apartment. He’d need to make money somehow. And he’d have to pull all this off—and manage to look like one of the crowd.”
“Is that so hard in New York City?” Sarah asked. “I mean, think about it. In New York, whatever you do, don’t make eye contact. We walk by dozens of down-and-outers on the streets and in the subway. A few years back, a newspaper writer did an experiment and gave one dollar to each person with a cup or a hat just on the streets. Within a mile radius, she’d given away two hundred dollars. He could have begged on the street. He could have done a dozen things. He could have robbed people—without actually killing them. No lost wallets are ever found. We’re a city of tremendous wealth and the American dream, but when that fails...”
“It’s a good theory,” Kieran said. “We’ll talk to Craig. Give me a minute!”
She disappeared and then returned to her office with Drs. Fuller and Miro in tow.
Fuller was maybe fifty, tall and extremely good-looking.
Miro was tiny, older and still attractive, with dark curly hair, a pert little gamine’s face and an incredible energy that seemed to emit from her.
“Show them what you just showed me,” Kieran said.
And so Sarah did. And when she was done, Fuller said, “I think you’ve found something. Sad to say, but in history, many people have gotten away with crimes for years. And if these killings are associated, he was careful to commit his murders in different places.”
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