FORTY-ONE
“Annie has just come home from work,” Justin said. “She’s safe in her condo.” He folded his arms and grinned. “You can go in and see her for yourself.”
“How do you know? What damned magic device tells you she’s safe?” Sam quirked a brow and glared at his old friend.
The detective jerked his chin toward the tech with the headphones. “McGee, what do you hear inside the condo?”
McGee slid the phones to around his neck. His brows drew together in puzzlement. “Nothing. Not a sound. Either she turned the bug off, or she’s not inside.”
Sam tensed, claws raking his gut. He wrapped his hand around the door handle.
Justin motioned to him to wait. “Jesus, McGee, don’t you have a back-up?”
The tech flipped up two switches. He was sweating. “I’ll put it on speaker.”
“First detail. He’s nervous,” said one of the detectives in front. Peters rolled her eyes.
The speaker crackled, and then Sam heard Annie’s voice, scratchy and hollow. “You think that pistol will make me drive my car to help you escape?”
Justin said, “Shit. He has a gun.”
Sam recoiled as if he’d been shot.
Then another voice, the one haunting his sleep. “That’s it, bitch. You’re not as brave as you pretend. Put some sandwiches together. We won’t stop except for gas.”
The thought of that sicko stalking her in her own home drove into Sam's gut like a poisoned arrow. He scrambled to his feet and yanked on the door handle.
Justin’s hand manacled his arm. “No, Sam. You’ll blow it. We’ll have a better chance if we let them get outside.”
He turned to the tech. “The officer out back, Wiggin, didn’t he report in when she entered the building?”
The young man shook his head. His eyes widened. “I’ll call him.” He punched numbers on a cell phone.
Justin threaded fingers through his hair. He adjusted his holster. “Come on. Come on.”
“No answer, Detective. Says the phone’s out of service.”
“Fuck.” Justin glanced at Sam, probably to see if he’d sit tight and wait.
Sam subsided onto the stool. His pulse jittered. His fear for Annie was huge, primitive, a fire burning him from the inside out. “Do what you have to. Get her out of there alive.”
Justin nodded. To McGee, he said, “Call the Feds. Call for back-up. We’re deploying now.”
The frightened tech had someone on the line before Justin and the other two detectives could strap on the Kevlar vests. They grabbed the rifles and ammo clips.
Justin flung open the door. “Sam, stay here until it’s over.”
Sam gave them thirty seconds’ lead before he hit the pavement.
***
“Forget the food. Let’s get out of here.” Smith mopped his sweaty brow with a dirty red bandana. He motioned with the pistol for her to head to the door.
Thoughts twisted through Annie’s head as she fought for control. She couldn’t get in the car with him but she couldn’t stay here. If they went outside, maybe someone would see.
He flung her purse and keys at her. “Here, bitch. You’re driving, remember. And we’ll need money.”
As they headed out, she nearly laughed at the picture the two of them must make coming down the stairs. The happy couple snuggled together arm in arm. Except the hand behind her shoulder bag pressed a gun to her ribs. She bit back the hysterics and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.
At the glass door to the parking lot, Smith told her to wait. He pulled her to the side. The parking slots positioned vehicles sideways to the building. He peered around at the few empty cars.
She scanned the balconies and patios ringing the courtyard. Please, someone, anyone, be there.
A pair of pigeons strutted through the late afternoon shadows. Petals from the fading rugosa roses floated on the light breeze. But the summer heat was confining the mostly senior residents to their air-conditioned living rooms.
No one.
He muscled her with him down the wheelchair ramp to the walkway.
She tensed, dug in her heels. Air sawed in and out of her lungs. She couldn’t go any farther. Couldn’t let him force her into the car. “No, I won’t go.”
He prodded her with the semiautomatic’s muzzle. He clamped his left hand around her jaw. “You’ll go, bitch. How much pain can you take?” He squeezed.
Agony fired through her jaw. His nails dug her cheeks. “Shoot me here,” she gritted out. “I won’t go with you.”
She clutched her keys against the pain until the sharp metal edges dug into her hand.
Fever glazed Smith’s eyes. Red patches blotched his clammy skin. He slapped her. Hard.
The blow snapped her head sideways. Pain jarred ice-edged determination into her. He wouldn’t win. She wouldn’t let him. She gripped the keys, slid the longest one to jut between her fingers.
“Put the gun on the ground and move away from the woman.”
“Justin,” she breathed. Thank God. Then she saw her brother’s helmeted form behind the first row of cars, twenty feet away.
Smith stepped behind her. He jerked her tight against him with his good left hand. With the bandaged right, he jammed the pistol’s muzzle to her temple. The odor made her gag.
“Stay back, fuckers,” he yelled. “Let us get to her car and drive away or I’ll shoot the bitch.”
“Put the gun on the ground and move away from the woman.” Long, thin gun barrels with scopes projected above the hoods of two cars.
“Save your fucking drill for the stupid yahoos.” Smith affected a taunting laugh. “You want to see me shoot off a finger? Maybe her nose?”
Annie’s breath hitched. She prayed for strength.
The rifle barrels moved as if sharpening their aim.
“You won’t get away, Smith,” called Justin. “Your picture is plastered all over New England and Canada. There’s an APB out. Put the gun down.”
A siren whined in the distance.
Back-up might not get here fast enough. Justin and one or two other cops were the only ones here. She had to help. Time. She needed time.
“Do what he says or you’ll die,” she said. “Give yourself up. Maine has no death penalty.”
His snort of derision clouded her in his fetid breath. “Spend the rest of my life in a fucking six-by-eight tomb? That’s worse than death.”
Damn, she’d forgotten his dread of closed spaces.
If she dropped to the ground, Justin could shoot him. But his grip was too tight. If she tried it, he’d just hold her. Maybe shoot her. Her pulse pounded and adrenaline roared in her ears.
The gun’s pressure against her temple eased. He urged her forward. “Let’s go, bitch.”
“Nooooo!” She swung her free right hand at his face. She stabbed him with the pointed key.
Smith howled with pain. He clutched his face.
Gunshots exploded.
Released from his grip, she threw herself to the ground.
From her right, a figure dived at Smith’s legs.
She scooted away from the two on the ground.
Then she saw who’d tackled Smith.
Oh my God, Oh my God. Sam had come after all. She couldn’t let him be hurt. “Sam, he has a gun!”
“Annie.” Sam dragged himself toward her.
Blood spread across Smith’s chest in spidery rivulets. More blood poured from a gash at his temple. He pushed to one elbow. The gun barrel wavered toward Annie.
Sam pushed her down, covered her with his body.
A second shot slammed the killer back to the ground. He didn’t move.
Her brother and another detective ran to them. Justin tore Smith’s gun from his bandaged hand. He tucked it in a plastic bag.
A chorus of approaching sirens pierced the sudden quiet.
Sam cradled her to him. “You’re all right,” he said. “It’s over.”
She held on, n
ever wanting to let him go. She ran her hands over his arms, his face. She’d never loved him more. “Oh, Sam, you came.”
They supported each other as they pushed to their feet.
From the parking lot, Bess Peters and Special Agent Tavani walked closer, a woman held by the arms between them. Bess carried another pistol in a plastic bag.
“Rissa.” Annie stared in confusion. But the skeletal woman whose hair hung in limp strings barely resembled her friend. “Oh God, what have you done?”
Dry-eyed, Rissa lifted her chin. “Retribution. Justice for Emma.”
FORTY-TWO
Hours later, Sam stood on Annie’s balcony. The courtyard was now empty of police cars and ambulances. Only a grim chalk outline and yellow plastic tape testified to the earlier drama. Thunder boomed in the distance, promising a shower to cool the summer night.
He pivoted to watch Annie, on the phone with her detective brother. At his insistence, they’d both gone to Maine Medical Center to be checked over. Sam’s wound ached again, but his stitches hadn’t opened. Other than the bruises on her face, Annie was fine.
God, he hoped she was fine. She was incredibly strong, but she’d been through hell and back. Twice.
He was so in love with her his chest ached. He wanted to make a life with her. He wanted her children. And damn, he got hard just thinking about her. He longed to carry her off and make love to her until neither of them could see straight. Until she was his and only his.
He adjusted his uncomfortably tight jeans. Forcing his mind elsewhere, he willed his body to subside. He surveyed the apartment. Carved loveseat guaranteed to collapse under his weight and a glass-fronted cabinet with china figurines worth a rookie’s salary. Was this what Annie was used to?
His new job and his investments would provide for a comfortable life, but not opulence.
A steel belt banded his chest, constricted his lungs. Maybe he’d been wrong to come. Maybe her declaration of love was based on their shared ordeal after all. What did she really see in him?
He walked inside as she hung up the phone.
She turned to him with a wide smile. Her eyes were bright, but sadness lurked in their depths. “Justin says the injured officer will be all right. He has a concussion, but he’ll recover.”
“That’s good news.”
“I feel responsible for his injury, but if he’d died...” Her voice caught, and tears welled in her eyes.
His first urge was to cross to where she sat on the bar stool and take her in his arms. But touching her, holding her against him would only cloud his mind. He needed to concentrate. Whatever chance he had with her, he had to get his moves right. His game plan. Yeah.
Adopting a casual attitude, he wandered around the room. Crystal and china doodads booby trapped every surface. Proverbial bull in a china shop. He jammed his hands in his pockets. “We’ve been through this before, sweetheart. You didn’t invite Smith’s obsession. The responsibility belongs to him. May he burn in Hell.”
Her smile was shaky. “Logic tells me you’re right, but my heart needs time to let go the guilt.”
“Fair enough. Just don’t let it possess you like your friend Rissa. Did Justin mention her?” He made a show of examining the intricate moldings on a mahogany cabinet.
She entered the kitchen and poured a glass of water. “There’s enough self-recrimination to go around. He blames himself for not understanding her disintegration and helping her before it came to a shooting.”
“Second guessing. How could he have known?”
“That’s what I told him. Poor Rissa. The longer the murders went unsolved, the more she saw herself as the avenging angel. A couple of weeks ago, she bought the gun and practiced with it at the same pistol range Smith used. She hid in the garden shed for two days.”
Now that she’d placed the serving bar between them, he dared to sit on a bar stool. Only seat that wasn’t a fucking antique as fragile as glass. “The police marksman got in the first shots, when Smith grabbed his face where you gouged him. Even then, he was waving that pistol. Rissa may have saved our lives by making the final shot.”
He itched to wrap his arms around her, to reassure himself she was whole. But he’d keep his sorry butt on the stool. The force of his emotion might scare her.
She reached across the bar to twine her fingers with his, easing the band around his chest. She wanted to touch him. “She'll probably see more counseling time than jail time. Justin didn’t think the prosecutor would push hard to charge the woman who took down the Hunter.”
He couldn’t help it. He placed his palm gently against her purple and blue cheek. Emotion as sharp as a broken bat splintered through him. “When I came around the corner of that building and saw him holding a gun to your head, I lost it. I couldn’t breathe I was so scared. When he hit you...” He couldn’t find the words.
“My hero.” She canted her head, smiled at him. “Great head-first slide into home plate, with Smith as the plate.”
He tried a smile. “Your right cross nailed him first. If Rissa hadn’t shot him, I’d have killed him myself. What will they charge her with? Justifiable homicide?”
“Rissa didn’t kill him.” Her chin trembled and she gripped his hands harder. “Smith is alive. Justin says the FBI profilers are excited to have a serial killer to study.”
“What the hell? He survived a lightning strike and now two bullets in the chest. The freaking bastard has more lives than a cat.” At her haunted expression, he stifled his outburst. She didn’t need him upsetting her further.
She blinked, straightened her shoulders. “Oh, he won’t be a danger to anyone for a very long time. He’s in ICU under 24/7 guard. The few stitches in his cheek from my key are the least of his problems. He has a collapsed lung. Justin said he might lose part of his stomach from the bullets. And his hand—gangrene.”
“Whoa, at least I got to keep my hand.” He stared at his scarred fingers, wound with her perfect ones. “If there’s a lesson in all that, it escapes me.”
Her lips curved in a sensual smile. She slid her hands from his and trailed one finger along the granite surface as she rounded the bar toward him. “If you look back, we’ve all had our obsessions. Or they had us.”
He swallowed. “What do you mean?”
She stopped beside him, dropped her hand to his knee and spun him to face her. Lashes lowered, she mesmerized him with her languid gaze. A gaze that seemed to see inside his heart, as she’d already seen through his defenses.
“Revenge obsessed Rissa to the point of mental illness,” she said. “The Hunter’s sick obsessions number too many to count, but in the end they destroyed him. My obsession with stopping him and alleviating my friend’s grief pushed me into that unnecessary canoe trip.”
“Without that trip, Smith might have gone on killing for years and never been caught.” And we wouldn’t have met.
A bright balloon, the unspoken words hovered between them.
“A good point on the logic side of my guilt complex.” She nudged her way between his thighs. Her warmth seeped into him. She tapped his chest with a freshly manicured pink fingernail. “And you were obsessed with what you could no longer do.”
His pulse jittered and he cleared his throat. “That’s something I came to talk to you about.”
“Really.” Her eyes widened and she slid her hands up his arms. “Let’s save that until later. I have one more obsession I want to indulge.”
His throat clogged again and now his heart was racing. He linked his hands behind her, fingers crossed. “What obsession would that be?”
“You.”
She still wanted him. Sex was a start. “Me? Would you care to go into detail?” For comic effect, just in case, he waggled his moustache at her.
She grinned. “I think I’d rather show you.”
He closed the gap between them and kissed her with all the pent-up love and passion and frustration in his heart. She clung to him, swept her tongue into his mouth. He los
t himself in her honeyed taste. A moan floated from her lips.
He pulled back abruptly. “Damn. I hurt you. Your sore jaw.”
“I’m fine.” She brushed her kiss-swollen lips across his. “Love me, Sam.”
He stood and scooped her up. “Bed,” was all he could articulate.
She pointed to a hallway.
She painted his throat with her hot, moist tongue as he carried her to the bedroom. It was all he could do not to press her against the wall and drive into her.
In the room’s center stood a king-sized bed. “Thank God it’s not a fucking antique.”
Her husky laughter released the vise on his chest. They sank entwined onto the mattress, mouths sharing breath and life.
“Sam, I can’t wait. Love me now.” She kicked out of her pants and panties, tossed her sweater and bra on the floor.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to wait.” He could barely wait long enough to strip off his clothes.
She scooted farther up the acres of bed and held out her arms. With a shout of triumph, he thrust home. She cried out his name.
***
A long time later, they sat naked on the bed and ate the leftover pizza Annie had intended for dinner. From the afternoon’s Grand Canyon of despair, she was flying in the clouds. Sam was here. He’d helped rescue her from a depraved killer. He’d made love to her first with intense desperation, then with exquisite patience. Now if she could coax him past the insecurity still restraining him...
“I can’t believe you like anchovies and jalapeños. I thought I was the only crazy person.” She licked the last of the sauce from her fingers. “We have so much in common.”
The noise rumbling from his throat sounded a lot like a growl. “Like what?”
She shrugged elaborately. “Sex, for instance. We practically ignited the bed.”
Another growl. He swallowed the last piece of pizza crust. “That’s a given. Where are you going with this?”
Ignoring the question, she said, “We both need to feel passion for the work we do.”
Primal Obsession Page 29