Midnight Fear

by Leslie Tentler

  They passed through the heavy ironwork gates, just one among a long line of cars leaving the cemetery. He added, “Regardless of his guilt or innocence in the murders, Hunter’s still an established threat—to himself and to others, Caitlyn. Especially to you.”

  37

  “David Hunter!” Mitch rapped on the motel room door, then stepped to the left so that an exterior concrete wall protected his body. He held his gun in his right hand, its barrel pointing down. “FBI. Open up!”

  Reid and Morehouse stood on the opposite side of the entrance, guns drawn, as well. When they received no response from inside the room, Reid nodded to the Indian motel manager who stood farther down the second-floor breezeway. He came nervously forward and unlocked the door.

  “Go,” Reid told him. Once the manager hurried away, Mitch swung open the door, moved back and Reid rushed inside, scanning the space with his gun poised in front of him. Mitch and Morehouse followed closely behind. The room was as rundown as the motel’s exterior, with a frayed bedspread and cheap art prints in plastic frames. The few pieces of furniture were scarred and littered with liquor bottles.

  But there was no sign of Hunter.

  Reid proceeded to the bathroom, reaching around the door frame to turn on the light. He peered carefully inside.

  “Clear,” he called in a hollow voice, holstering his weapon. Incredulous, he looked around the cramped, closetlike room. Photos of Julianne Hunter covered nearly every inch of space—the walls, vanity mirror, even the mildewed shower stall. They were ordinary photos from a life lived, snapshots of birthday parties, beach trips, baby showers. Reid swallowed hard, his mouth dry.

  This time Julianne was no hallucination, but something achingly real.

  Driven from his home, David Hunter had built a shrine to his wife here, a place where he could be alone with her memory. An eight-by-ten-inch photo had been positioned in the center of the mirror. It was a family portrait of the couple with their two small daughters. The fact that Julianne’s life had been reduced to a series of photos, now taped to a bathroom wall in a seedy motel room, was unspeakably tragic. Reid felt guilt wrap around him, his mind returning to the dilapidated factory building where his momentary hesitation had cost the young mother her life. He saw her, crumpling to the battered floor as crimson spurted from the deep gash in her throat.

  “Christ, look at this,” Mitch uttered, joining Reid in staring into the small space.

  “Is that his wife?” Morehouse asked from behind them. He hadn’t been assigned a new partner yet, and for now was still tagging along.

  Mitch holstered his gun. “It’s not Britney Spears.”

  They all turned, hearing a noise. The motel manager stood near the bed. Apparently sensing nothing big was going down, he’d gotten braver.

  “When’s the last time you saw Hunter?” Mitch asked him, reentering the room.

  “Maybe last night,” he replied in a heavy accent. “He hasn’t paid in two days.”

  “I wouldn’t pay for this roach trap, either,” Mitch grumbled once Morehouse had taken the manager down to his office to get a statement.

  Reid went back into the makeshift shrine. He continued studying the photos, attempting to get inside Hunter’s mind. Where was he now? Aimlessly roaming the dangerous streets of southeast D.C.? Or in Middleburg near Caitlyn’s home, plotting another confrontation? The manager had claimed he’d seen Hunter only on foot—no car and no white van.

  He checked the vanity drawers. They were empty. Reid lifted the lid off the toilet tank. A knife was submerged in the water.

  “Mitch,” he called over his shoulder. “You’re going to want to see this.”

  The knife was something he hadn’t expected, and he wondered if the M.E. would be able to match it to cuts on the victims’ bodies. He’d accused Mitch of having tunnel vision—of being interested in only one possible suspect—but for the first time Reid grappled with the idea that maybe it was he who’d been wrong.

  “Me first, Novak. Get out here.”

  Mitch stood next to the bed. He held a necklace, which he’d picked up, using the tip of a ballpoint pen. A white topaz stone swung from a thin, gold chain.

  “It was in the drawer of the nightstand. Want to wager whether this belongs to Bliss Harper?”

  “It could have been his wife’s,” Reid said.

  “One way to find out. We see if the Harper family can identify it. If not them, then one of the other victims’ families.”

  Ugly, vinyl-lined curtains had concealed the room’s picture window, but someone—probably Morehouse—had pushed them back to gain an unobstructed view of the breezeway. It was still difficult to see outside, since the rainy night and the room’s air conditioner had joined forces to create condensation on the glass. Reid walked closer, using his palm to wipe through the fog enough to see. Outside, the motel’s red neon sign blinked, the last two letters in its name burned out. His heart skipped a small beat.

  David Hunter stood at the edge of the parking lot, his haggard features lit by the sign’s intermittent glow. He stared up at his occupied room.

  “He’s outside!” Reid sprinted down the breezeway and took the concrete steps two at a time to the ground level. He ran across the rain-slick parking lot, looking for Hunter. But there was no sign of him, no echo of his footsteps running away—only the slap of raindrops on asphalt. Reid turned, searching for the most likely route. Above him, Mitch barreled down the stairs.

  The hotel and the building next to it created a darkened alleyway.

  “You sure you saw him?” Mitch was breathing heavily as he crossed the parking lot.

  “Yeah. I’ll take the alley.” Reid pointed to the street. “You go that way.”

  As he reached the narrow strip between the two buildings, he heard Mitch in the parking lot, calling on his cell phone to alert patrol units in the area. Reid moved cautiously forward. At the far end of the alley, he could see an opening, most likely onto Georgia Avenue. The alley was filled with garbage bins, stacks of cardboard boxes—lots of places for someone being hunted to hide. Keeping his gun in front of him with both hands, Reid kept going, his eyes searching the darkened crevices. When he reached the end, he met up with Mitch, who had come down the busy street running parallel to the motel.

  “Nothing, goddamn it,” Mitch muttered. He wiped water from his face. Police sirens wailed in the urban area around them, broadening the search.

  Reid shoved his rain-soaked hair from his forehead. His breath fogged in the chilly air. He’d seen David Hunter—it wasn’t another hallucination. It had been him, staring up at the hotel room.

  Unless he made it to the Metrorail station, he had to be somewhere nearby.

  Caitlyn sat up in the comfortable easy chair at the sound of the doorbell. Covered by a knitted afghan, she’d been watching late-night television with Reid’s father.

  “Stay here, Caitlyn.” Ben Novak rose, picking up the pistol that had been placed on the bookshelf next to family photos. He stepped into the condo’s foyer. A few seconds later, she heard Reid’s voice as the two men conversed in low tones.

  When he entered the living room, Reid appeared tired and wet, his trench coat and the suit underneath it sodden. Caitlyn was aware it was well after 11:00 p.m.

  “Want me to get you some dry clothes, son?” Ben asked. He was a kind man, silver-haired, with the same gray eyes as Reid. Despite her last name being Cahill, he had made Caitlyn feel welcome, feeding her dinner and keeping up small talk for most of the evening.

  “No, thanks, Dad. We’re going to go ahead and leave. We’ll let you get to bed.”

  “You want a bite to eat first? There’s leftovers. Caitlyn and I had pork chops and potatoes.”

  Reid forced a weak smile. “I’m not very hungry.”

  “Did you find him?” Caitlyn asked. She stood from the chair, smoothing the black dress she’d had on since the funeral, and slipped back into her shoes.

  “No.” Reid sounded beaten down. “We w
ere close, but he got away.”

  Ben had gone to retrieve Caitlyn’s coat from the closet, and he helped her into it.

  “Thank you for everything, Ben,” Caitlyn said, meaning it.

  “Take care, Caitlyn. You’ve been good company for an old man.”

  “You’re far from old.” She touched his arm.

  “Your father’s charming,” she said to Reid once they’d left the condo.

  “I’m not sure the criminals he put away as a vice detective would think so.”

  Caitlyn placed her hands inside her coat pockets to keep them warm. “I expected him to be…gruffer. I guess I was worried he’d have some preconceived notions about me.”

  “Like Megan?”

  She didn’t respond. Reid guided her around a rain puddle on the sidewalk. “Do you recall Bliss ever wearing a white topaz necklace?”

  “No. But I didn’t see her that often. Why?”

  “We found one in Hunter’s hotel room.”

  “Oh,” she said softly, understanding the implication. She knew of Joshua’s penchant for taking souvenirs—personal items from his victims that he had kept as mementos. It was likely the copycat did the same thing.

  “We found a knife, too.” He rubbed his forehead. “As well as a shrine to his dead wife.”

  He opened the passenger door to the vehicle for her. The rain had faded into a gentle mist, and it clung to his dark hair. A streetlight was nearby, making the tension in his features visible to her. She noticed again the small lines of fatigue around his eyes and realized how long the day had been for him.

  Caitlyn’s lips parted slightly as he slowly lifted his hand to her cheek. His fingers were cool, and she nearly shivered at his touch. She stopped breathing altogether as he lowered his head and kissed her, sending a slow heat spreading through her body. He pressed his forehead against hers.

  “I need you,” he whispered.

  38

  She removed her coat as soon as they entered his apartment. Reid closed the door behind them and locked it, his mouth finding hers.

  On the drive from his father’s condo, silence had lingered between them even though they’d kept their fingers intertwined on the SUV’s armrest. Caitlyn had broken the quiet only to call Manny, speaking to him briefly and telling him she wouldn’t be home that night.

  She sighed as Reid’s lips moved lower, tracing along her throat. Her head dipped back, giving him access to the wild beat of her pulse. His hands cupped her bottom, then moved to her back, playing along her spine until they found the dress’s zipper.

  Reid hadn’t lied—his need for her was palpable, the concentration on his face intense as if he were trying to use her to distance himself from whatever was haunting him. Bliss’s murder? The guilt he felt over David Hunter’s mental collapse? Caitlyn gulped air, her thoughts becoming jumbled as she heard the zipper’s metallic rasp and felt cool air against her back. The reason didn’t matter, she realized. She needed him just as much.

  Caitlyn pushed at the shoulders of his wet trench coat. It dropped to the floor, his suit jacket following. Removing his gun still inside its holster, he laid it on the end table next to the couch. She worked at the knot of his tie as he peeled the black wool dress from her upper body. Their ragged breathing was the only sound in the room as his hands molded to the round curves of her breasts, his fingers teasing her hardened nipples through her bra’s sheer netting and black lace. Caitlyn pulled the now-loose tie from his neck, her suddenly clumsy fingers struggling with the buttons of his dress shirt. Even the white T-shirt he wore underneath it was damp with the evening’s rain.

  “In the bedroom,” he instructed hoarsely, walking her slowly backward, his hand at her nape. He caught her when she stumbled in her black heels. Passing through the door frame, she ditched the shoes. At the bed, Reid pushed the dress down over the gentle swell of her hips. The garment pooled at her feet. Her panty hose came next.

  “God, Caitlyn.” His words were a low rumble, his eyes drinking her in. Her core felt liquid, hot, as his mouth slaked over hers.

  She tugged the T-shirt from the waist of his suit pants, and he broke their kiss long enough to pull it over his head. Caitlyn ran her palms greedily over him, reveling in the feel of his skin over the hard, flat muscles of his abdomen. It was clear he’d been working out in preparation for his return to duty. His shoulders were broad and strong, and she felt the tension he’d been holding in them release as her fingers caressed and kneaded. Caitlyn pressed her lips against the center of his chest, the sparse hair there tickling her cheeks.

  His hands framed her face, tilting it up so his mouth could taste hers again. Reid’s tongue explored, his lips gently bruising, demanding all she could give him and more. Caitlyn felt his fingers at her backbone, undoing the clasp of her bra. The flimsy undergarment fell from between them and she gasped at the skin on skin contact.

  Shakily, she worked at his belt until his hands replaced her own. Reid’s face was flushed, his dark lashes forming half moons against his cheeks as he completed the task; his shoes, socks and pants joining Caitlyn’s clothing in a crumpled pile.

  Her breath left her as he guided her backward onto the bed, his body levering over hers. His arousal was hard and insistent between her thighs. Caitlyn rubbed against him, wild with the need to be filled by him. She was wet, the center of her body throbbing.

  Caitlyn moaned softly as Reid’s mouth moved to her breasts. He sampled her, sucking at her nipples. Erotic sensations overrode all rational thought as his teeth gently abraded the sensitive peaks. Her hands were in his dark hair, clinging, pulling him to her.

  “Reid.” She said his name like a whispered prayer. “I can’t wait anymore…please.”

  Within seconds they were both completely nude. Reid paused, his eyes gazing into hers. She saw in them a mix of desire and yearning, commingled with yet another emotion she couldn’t quite define. Caitlyn trailed her fingers across his cheekbone, his lips, memorizing his face by sight and touch. The light stubble on his jaw sent an erotic thrill through her. He kissed her once more before entering her with a single, hard stroke. She cried out with the shock of it, bringing her legs around his hips, opening herself wider. She wanted to be impaled by him, consumed.

  “Ah, God, Caitlyn,” Reid muttered. His mouth found hers again as he began to move inside her. The hot friction he created was a sweet torture. Their bodies fit perfectly together, each thrust making Caitlyn feel that much more strongly connected to him.

  The tension inside her built, until she breathlessly called out his name. Reid silenced her with his lips, his hand slipping between the mattress and her lower back, lifting her higher, arching her until he was even more deeply inside her. Their union was meaningful, desperate, as if neither of them would ever experience it again.

  She’d gone too long without having a man make love to her, Caitlyn realized. But at the same time she knew from the moment Reid had entered her life again, there had been no one else she wanted to fill that void. Her attraction to him had begun during those first, dark days of the investigation into her brother. In the two years that had passed, she was aware that it was his face she imagined above hers, his body she fantasized about during all those nights alone.

  Reid’s thrusts grew more urgent. As he continued pumping into her, Caitlyn felt herself tighten and spasm around his hard length. The stunning orgasm splintered her into what felt like a thousand pieces, creating a chain reaction that caused Reid to cry out. With a last, hard stroke, he reached his own release, burying his face against her shoulder.

  This was what it should be like.

  After several long moments, after his breathing had returned to normal, Reid raised his head and kissed her. His lips lingered against hers, then moved gently to her bruised temple, her eyelids. Her hand slipped through his dark hair.

  “Caitlyn,” he murmured, searching her eyes. She wanted to stay like this forever, to remain joined to him in the physical sense. But after a short while h
e withdrew and slowly rolled onto his side, pulling her with him so she remained tucked against his body. His heart thudded under her ear. She felt warm. Safe. Spent.

  And she wondered where they would go from here.

  Although he’d been quiet, she knew Reid remained awake. His fingers lightly stroked her from midthigh to the side of her breast, sending small shivers along her skin. She tried to push away the inkling that something was wrong.

  I need you. His admission echoed inside her heart.

  “What is it, Reid?” she asked softly in the darkness, needing him to open up to her.

  But he simply hushed her, kissing the top of her head and holding her even more tightly.

  Reid stared into the grainy darkness long after Caitlyn’s body had relaxed against his, her breathing slowing and deepening as she fell asleep in his arms. Maybe he was being selfish, but he had needed her here with him tonight.

  More than anything, he had needed to feel alive.

  Bliss Harper’s funeral had rocked him more than he had realized. He couldn’t shake the vision of himself lying in that rose-covered coffin. Of his family and Caitlyn at some cold, rainy grave site, grieving for him. In a few short months, a year, that could be him.

  He was falling in love with Caitlyn and he didn’t want to leave her.

  But he wasn’t even fighting to stay with her.

  He watched as she shifted away from him in her sleep, lying on her stomach so that her face was obscured by the mass of honey-blond hair that spilled across his pillow. The curve of her lower back and rounded buttocks was exposed, her long legs tangled in his bed sheets. The gentle swell of one breast appeared milky-white in the pale glow of the streetlight outside his bedroom.

  Reid ran his finger along the fine arch of her shoulder blade. He smiled faintly, aware of the desire she created in him.

  Whatever it was—whatever news Dr. Isrelsen had to tell him—he had to face it, and he couldn’t put it off any longer. As much as he feared the scan results, they were merely a harbinger of the things going on inside his head. If the worst were true, if the tumor was back, there was only one certainty. Without treatment, he would grow sicker, maybe even die.