Deadly Dance

by Dee Davis

  “What about IMing?” she asked, leaning closer as she studied the screen. “I see a link to AIM on her desktop.”

  “There’s nothing there either. Apparently she didn’t use it all that much. Same goes for her Skype account. And when I searched her Internet history, I didn’t see anything to indicate she’d been involved in online chats or stumbled onto a website she should have avoided. Basically, there’s no record of her doing anything online that might set her up to attract the wrong kind of attention.”

  “So we’re back to random,” Drake said.

  “Or maybe he’s been watching her. Physical stalking rather than cyber. Although I’d have thought that considering his use of the Internet to send out a record of his act, he’d have been more inclined to use cyberspace to find his prey.”

  “Yeah, but if he’s as good as we think he is,” Harrison said, “he wouldn’t do anything that might leave a trail. It’s pretty easy to hack into Facebook or other social media accounts. One thing she did do was post a lot of pictures. So maybe our guy just liked the way she looked. There’s usually something specific that draws these guys to their prey.”

  “What about her trash can?” Hannah asked.

  “In her dorm room?” Drake laid down the report with a frown.

  “No.” Hannah shook her head. “On her computer. I never remember to empty mine. It’s usually crammed full of stuff. Most of which I’ve completely forgotten about. If Sara’s like me, maybe she deleted something important.”

  “It’s worth taking a look,” Harrison said, moving to the desktop and clicking on the trash can icon. The list of deleted files was indeed long. Some of them dating back more than a year.

  “We’d be looking for something recent, I’d think,” Hannah said, leaning over his shoulder now.

  “Makes sense.” He typed in a command and the images were reorganized by date. The documents were ones he recognized from other, newer versions in her actual files. But there were also a bunch of photographs. Mostly loaded from her phone, but also a few taken from the Net.

  “I’m not seeing anything suspicious.” Hannah frowned, staring down at the screen.

  “Yeah, but they’re all too little to really be able to tell for certain,” Drake said, coming to stand beside them. “Any way you can make the pictures bigger? I don’t know, like a slide show or something?”

  “No problem,” Harrison said, highlighting a large group of photos and then opening them with Sara’s photo gallery software. The pictures started to flash by. Mostly out-of-focus pictures taken around campus. The viewer stopped on a picture of Sara and Tony, cups of beer in hand, a keg clearly visible in the background.

  “Well, that explains why the pictures are out of focus.” Hannah sighed. “But it doesn’t help us find the killer.” She tilted her head back, rubbing her neck. “I guess this was a bad idea.”

  “No, wait,” Drake said, still studying the screen. Upcoming pictures displayed on an icon bar below the keg party picture. “What about that one? I can’t make out the subject, but it’s in black and white. And the rest of these are in color.”

  Harrison opened the shot. It was grainy and full of shadows, making it hard to decipher content, but something about it seemed familiar. “Hang on, I’m going to try to enlarge it.” He hit a button, and then another, and the shot came into better focus. “What the hell?” he whispered as he stared at the photograph.

  “What is it?” Hannah asked, tilting her head as she studied the shot. “It’s just an old house.”

  “It’s more than that,” Harrison said, his mind spinning, as he tried to order his thoughts. “It’s a crime scene. From nine years ago. I recognize it, because I was there. This is where we found the cyber killer’s last victim.”

  “And you’re sure it’s the same place.”

  “More than sure,” Harrison said. “Look there on the porch.” He pointed to the upper half of the picture. “You can see the crime tape.”

  “So was this picture out there on the web somehow? I mean, maybe Sara was researching the case for some reason. Is there any way to tell where the file came from?”

  “No. But according to the properties, it was created a few days before Sara died. And then deleted a couple of hours later.” Harrison hit another key. “What that tells me is that she opened the file, and either it was automatically saved or she saved it—and then down the road at some point decided to delete it.”

  “So the picture could have been what Stephanie was referring to when she mentioned Sara opening a file that seemed to upset her,” Hannah said.

  “It’s possible,” Harrison agreed. “It would fit the time line.”

  “Is there a file name?” Drake asked.

  “Just a number. Which could mean anything. And probably isn’t relevant. The real question here is what the hell this picture is doing on Sara Lauter’s computer.” He turned, his gaze meeting Hannah’s.

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “Except that I’m not sure we want to hear the answer.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Hannah sat in the rocker on her front porch, trying not to stare over at Harrison’s house. There was a light on so she knew he was home, and if she were perfectly honest with herself, all she could think about was going over there.

  The night was crisp, the chill in the air penetrating, and she pulled her sweater tighter, snuggling into its warmth. Professor’s Cove was quiet. The cul-de-sac housed all of the A-Tac members. With Drake and Madeline’s house undergoing renovations, it was dark, along with Annie and Nash’s next door. And Tyler and Owen’s next to them, although Simon was currently staying in the guest house out back so she could see faint light reflecting off the trees.

  Avery’s house was at the end of the cul-de-sac, and from her porch, she could see the blue flicker of his television screen. Avery and Drake no doubt were watching the baseball game. Lara’s house, next to Hannah’s on the right, was also dark. She’d left A-Tac shortly after Jason’s death. Not that Hannah blamed her. It would have been hard to stay. To be reminded daily of everything that had gone down. But at least she was getting a second chance—building a new life with Rafe Winter.

  Some people were just lucky like that. Two great loves in one lifetime.

  The minute she had the thought she regretted it. Lara had suffered so much, losing Jason. And then she’d almost died in Africa. Luck was the last word she’d associate with her friend. But the point remained that Lara seemed to have gotten her happy ending. And Hannah was happy for her.

  And maybe a little jealous.

  She smiled at her own foolishness, her eyes drawn again by the light coming from Harrison’s house between hers and Avery’s. It had belonged to Emmett originally. But Avery had ordered it remodeled, wiping out the past and opening it up to the future. Emmett’s traitorous actions had changed A-Tac forever. But they’d all survived. And remained strong.

  And now, in the wake of their latest brush with the Consortium, they were being challenged by a new threat. A woman was dead. Raped and tortured by a sadistic bastard intent on playing a game of cat and mouse. Hannah blew out a breath. It was all hitting too close to home. Memories she’d buried long ago, threatening to surface.

  She closed her eyes, pushing the thoughts away, concentrating instead on remembering the feel of Harrison’s lips when he’d kissed her, the heat from the palms of his hands against her skin. Her body tightened with need. And she swallowed a sigh.

  It hadn’t meant anything, that kiss. It was a moment out of time. Her reaction to his saving her life. And his need to forget the horror of his sister’s death. They were friends. Nothing more. And yet she ached for his touch. Wanted him so badly she was willing to go over there and throw herself at him.

  But she was also smart enough to know that once they crossed that line, they could never go back. Too late, the little voice in her head whispered. Way, way too late. Maybe it had started when he’d saved her life. Or maybe when he’d bared his soul about his sister. Or maybe
it was the first time she’d seen him, looking up from his computer with his crooked grin and tousled hair.

  Hannah pushed to her feet, took a step forward, and then sat back down again. She was a fool. And she had more important things to deal with than her surging hormones. She was overwrought and alone. Never a good state. Still, they’d kissed. That much at least was real. And who could blame her for wanting more?

  Harrison Blake was hot. There was no denying that fact.

  But he was also her friend. And in the end, she knew that was most important. Neither of them wanted a relationship. And having sex was a game-changer. There was no such thing as friends with benefits.

  She pushed back her hair with a deep sigh. She needed to focus. Quit thinking about Harrison and concentrate on figuring out how to find Sara’s killer before he could strike again.

  She’d been trying to find something to connect Sara and Tina but so far there was nothing except that they were both attending Sunderland. And even that analogy wasn’t perfect since Sara was a junior and Tina was a graduate student. Despite the fact that the campus was small, their paths rarely intersected. They had different friends, different interests, and physically very little in common.

  Frustrated, Hannah had started researching the cyber killer. Looking to see if maybe the photograph they’d found was out there somewhere on the Internet. But the deeper she’d dug, the more her thoughts had centered on Harrison—and the kiss. So she’d come out here to clear her head, and instead, she was staring at his house like a lovesick teenager. Wishing for a sign.

  “Hannah?” His voice was so low that at first she thought she’d imagined it. But then he was standing there, on her porch. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Me either.” She shook her head, rising to her feet, tipping her head back so that she could see his eyes. “I’m sorry about earlier. At the house, when I pushed. I was just trying…”

  He shook his head, covering her lips with his finger. “No more talk.” Then he bent his head, replacing the finger with his mouth, his lips hard against hers, taking possession. Hannah’s stomach lurched as he threaded his fingers through hers, her desire rising as their kiss intensified. She arched against him, wanting more, the thrust of his tongue against hers a promise of things to come.

  He lifted his hands, carrying hers with them until her arms were over her head, his body pressing against hers, the bricks from her house cold against her back. His mouth moved, his tongue finding the soft whorl of her ear, and she shivered in response, tipping her head back as he trailed kisses down her neck to the hollow at the base of her throat.

  She knew she should stop him, but she didn’t want to pull away. The events of the past few days had taken more of a toll than she’d realized. Truth was, she just wanted to forget, to escape into the silent seduction of his kiss.

  The leaves rustled in the wind, and she shivered, the vibration running through them like an electric current. She pressed closer, feeling his arousal hard against her thigh. There was power in knowing that the seduction was mutual, her strength matching his.

  The thought both elated her and frightened her.

  As if sensing her dilemma, he pulled back, his multicolored eyes dark with both passion and concern.

  “What are we doing?” Hannah whispered, her voice raspy from emotion.

  “Forgetting,” he answered, releasing her hands to push the hair back from her face. “I thought you wanted this, too.” He frowned, his eyes searching hers. “But if I was wrong…”

  “You weren’t,” she said, reaching up to stroke the side of his face, desire mixing with something stronger, something she wasn’t even certain she recognized. “I do want you, Harrison. The truth is, I was sitting here on the porch fantasizing about it. But if we do this…” It was her turn to trail off.

  “We’ll be crossing a line,” he finished for her, his hands framing her face as his gaze collided with hers.

  She nodded, her need so strong now it almost seemed to have a life of its own. She whimpered softly, and with a groan, he pulled her to him again, his mouth crushing down on hers.

  The feel of his skin moving against hers was exquisite—sensual beyond belief. For the moment, there was nothing but him. His lips, his hands, the hard masculinity of his body. She needed him like she needed air or water.

  She reached behind her to open the door, and without breaking their kiss, he swung her up into his arms and carried her into the foyer, away from prying eyes, closing the door behind him. He released her, and she pressed herself closer, letting the smell of him surround her. Almost a tangible thing, it caressed her senses, leaving her reeling.

  His hand found her breast through the soft cotton of her sweater, the movement of his fingers leaving her quivering for more. It was almost as if she’d been waiting for him. Holding some part of herself in reserve. His tongue dove deep into her mouth, and she opened for him, giving as good as she got.

  Then he stepped back, his eyes devouring her as he pulled off her shirt and sweater, tossing them across the foyer into the living room. Cool air rippled across her skin, and then he was kissing her again, her back to the wall as his hands slid down to settle against her hips.

  She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, fingers shaking as she finally pushed it off, reveling in the feel of his skin next to hers. His mouth moved hungrily, his need laid bare with his kiss. Passion rose inside her, and she gave it to him freely, wanting him as much as he wanted her.

  He cupped one of her breasts in his hand, kneading it slowly, his thumb rasping across her nipple. The sensation ignited pools of liquid heat between her thighs, and she arched back, offering herself to him. He trailed hot kisses along the line of her neck and down the slope of her breast, the soft silk of his hair adding torment to the already unbearable heat.

  When his lips closed around her areola, tugging gently, she fought to contain a moan, the sound coming out a muted gasp. His tongue circled, drawing her nipple farther into his mouth. Still braced against the wall, her body responded with a fervor she hadn’t known she possessed.

  Then he shifted, his mouth slanting over hers, his hands cupping her bottom, his erection pressing against her. His kiss was possessive now. A take-no-prisoners approach that demanded everything. And suddenly she was afraid. She jerked free, covering her breasts, her breath coming in gasps. But he reached for her hands, his eyes dark with passion, a crooked smile twisting his lips.

  This was Harrison. Her friend. Her soon-to-be lover.

  And with a sigh, she let go of any doubt, intent upon riding the wave. Life was too damn short to overthink everything. There’d be time for regret tomorrow.

  What she wanted, what she craved, was to feel him moving inside her. It wasn’t wise, it probably wasn’t even rational, but at the moment, she didn’t care. With a groan, he swung her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom, laying her against the cool cotton sheets. After making quick work of the rest of their clothing, he knelt beside her, his mouth on her breasts again. Sucking, licking.

  And then he let his mouth trail lower, his fingers massaging the soft flesh of her inner thighs, his tongue finding the soft indentation of her navel, driving in, pressing skin against skin in a way that made her writhe against him, wanting more. Needing more.

  She arched upward, and he slid his fingers inside her, his tongue still twisting into her belly button. She swallowed, the delicious tension inside her reaching a level beyond anything she’d ever experienced.

  His thumb flicked against her, and she threw back her head and moaned, the sound guttural, coming from deep inside her. His mouth found her center then, tongue replacing thumb with moist heat that made her buck against him, then struggle to escape the finely drawn pain he was instigating.

  But his hands found her hips, cupping her bottom and holding her in place, his tongue moving faster and faster, lightning streaking through her with each and every touch. She wanted more, and yet she wasn’t certain she could survi
ve the passion he was unleashing inside her.

  He sucked then, the pull deep and strong, and she climaxed, white-hot sensation breaking in icy shards around her, sending her beyond all reason. The internal contractions were so powerful that she knew with clarity why it was called a little death. She fought for breath, her mind swirling, and then cried out as the heat enshrouded her and there was nothing but sensation and the feel of his mouth upon her.

  Then just as suddenly he was gone. She opened her eyes, startled, but then he was with her again, his hard body sliding along hers, until they lay pressed together, fitting like two pieces of a puzzle. She reached for him and pulled his lips to hers, the kiss slower than before, but no less wanting. This time she explored the hot crevices of his mouth, the smooth surface of his teeth, feeling the heat rising in her again.

  With a groan, his kiss turned demanding, absorbing her with each taste, each touch. She felt him shiver as her fingers caressed the hard planes of his chest to land firmly against his abdomen, her palm tracing circles on his skin.

  There was power in touching him. And she delighted in the feel and smell of him. Velvet and steel. She kissed the scar that ran along his collar bone, then slid down farther to take his nipple into her mouth. Sucking and nipping, she savored him, reveling in his strength—and hers. His penis tightened, throbbing against her thigh, and with a smile, she closed her hand around him.

  “Oh, God,” he groaned, his eyes closed now. “I need you, Hannah. I need you now.” The words were rough, almost garbled. As if they’d cost him everything. And Hannah took the gift, her heart swelling in response. She needed him, too. As if some part of her were missing. As if joining with him was the only way to feel whole again.

  She smiled up at him and slid farther down, taking him into her mouth, circling him with her tongue. She moved her hand as well, the rhythms combining in an effort to bring him the same pleasure he’d brought her. Up and down, squeezing, stroking. He writhed on the bed, then with one swift move, he flipped them over, gaining control.