“Wait. What about this.” She opened her eyes to find his midnight blue ones staring into hers. Callie got that tingle that only Nick could give her. She shrugged it off, trying to get down to business.
“What about a sociopath who’s a cop?”
He nodded slowly. She could see his wheels beginning to turn as he spoke. “And maybe when he can’t get the evidence he wants, he simply eliminates the suspect. A la Dexter except not as adorable. That could work.”
“And he could have this really sympathetic D.A. as a love interest,” she suggested.
Nick’s eyes lit up. “Maybe his best friend—say it was his partner—was killed in the line of duty right in front of him. The guy winds up getting off on a technicality. That sticks in our man’s craw. That could be his first murder. Bring his partner’s killer to justice.”
Excitement spread across his face. She thought a moment. “But was he born a sociopath? Or did he develop into one? Did society’s rules and this killer getting off create something in him that made him fall off the legal path? Was it always in him? Or as a cop does he think he’s above the law?”
His excitement was now visible. “My mind is racing. I’ve got to start getting this down.” His fingers flew over the keyboard.
She smiled to herself. She had some ideas of her own. She went to the desk and pulled out pen and paper since she was too lazy to go upstairs for her iPad. She returned to sit next to Nick. She began plotting, her thoughts almost coming too fast to get everything down on paper.
A knock at the door interrupted their work. Essie stepped in, rolling a cart of sandwiches and soft drinks. A bouquet of fresh flowers accompanied the meal. Essie traded out the vase with one on the coffee table.
“Those flowers are beautifully arranged,” Callie told her.
“Mr. Eric came through and helped Miz Callandra find a new gardener. He cut these and even arranged them himself.” The cook smiled. “Miss Gretchen’s gonna have her nose out of joint. She’s been having fun doing up the flowers.”
Nick hit save and slid his laptop under the sofa. He placed the plates and drinks on the table as they spoke. “I guess I need to move the rest of my stuff out of the caretaker’s cottage.”
Essie nodded. “Miz C knew you didn’t have much since the place came furnished. She asked me to see if you could move your things over to the red room this afternoon so the new young man can get settled in. He said he don’t have much either.”
“My clothes are all pretty much here. I just have my books. Two filing cabinets of research and odds and ends. Some DVDs and CDs and my iTouch. It won’t take me long, Essie. I’ll get to it right after lunch.”
“You do that. I’m heading back to town now to the salon. You need anything else?”
“No. We’re good. Thanks for lunch.”
She left, and Callie bit into her sandwich. “Yum. Essie makes the best chicken salad on the planet. I think I’ve tried every deli in New York, but none comes close to hers.”
Nick smiled. “So are you still thinking about us living in New York some?”
“I don’t really know. I have decided I’m not returning to the show.”
“Really?” He reached over and took her free hand. “I know that had to be a hard decision.”
“I need to call my agent and the show’s producers. My heart isn’t in it anymore. I think that would show on screen. I’ve always given my best, and I couldn’t let the fans down with a half-baked performance.”
“Have you thought about doing theater? If so, we definitely need to be in New York. Or films?” He frowned. “I guess we can always go to California.”
Callie squeezed his hand. “That wasn’t a good place for you. I don’t want to bring up any unhappy memories.”
Nick brought her hand to his lips and kissed each knuckle tenderly. “Baby, wherever we go, I’ll make new memories with you.”
Her heart melted at his romantic words. “I love you,” she whispered.
His smile quickened her pulse. His eyes spoke of the unspoken promises between them. “I love you more.” He pulled her to him. His mouth came down on hers possessively, thoroughly ravaging every inch of her lips, her teeth, her tongue. She trembled at his every touch even as she drew closer still, never wanting it to end.
Finally, he pulled away, his eyes gleaming. They both panted as if they’d just sprinted hundreds of yards and were physically spent. Nick stroked her cheek, his fingers like a flickering flame, branding her as his.
“We might need to invest in some flame-retardant sheets,” he quipped. “Else the house might burn down around us.”
She realized she was shivering—with both emotion and desire. Nick wrapped an arm around her to steady her, drawing her next to him. He reached over and put her plate in their shared lap.
“How about a little lunch?” He brought a quartered sandwich to her lips, which still trembled from his touch. She nibbled at it, trying to calm her racing heart. She chewed thoughtfully. It amazed her, the depth of her emotions for this man.
“I still like your first idea best,” she told him. “An apartment in New York and a larger place here. Lots of films are shot in New York as it is. If some director really wants me—and who’s to say an ex-soap star will even be marketable—I’ll only take a project if it’s shot in the city.”
He took a huge chunk of the remainder of her sandwich. “No. Don’t turn anything down you really want to do. We can always rent a place in California for the short term if need be. I can write anywhere. Have laptop, will travel.”
He took another bite, and her sandwich became history. “Just don’t drag me to any fashion shows or Spago or—”
Callie silenced him with a kiss. “I’m not much into that.” She reached over to the other plate, and they started in on his sandwich. “Besides, we’ll have to actually find a place here. I’d love for Aurora to be our permanent base. And if you like my apartment in New York, we can keep it. It’s got plenty of space. I’m sure you’ll have to put your own spin on a few rooms, though. I can’t see you liking my girly comforter and throw pillows much.”
Lacking a sandwich, he playfully nibbled on her fingers. “Something tells me that if it’s your bedroom, I won’t be focusing on the furnishings.” He growled low. She lost it, laughing aloud.
Nick pulled her to her feet. “God, I love to hear you laugh.” He cupped her face and kissed her softly. “Now I need to go move a few things.”
“I’ll help you.”
“No. Stay here. There’s not much. Besides, it would probably drive the cops crazy, you going back and forth like that. Why don’t you check out this red room and clear some space for me? I won’t be long.”
He kissed her again, more deeply this time. She clung to him, her blood singing, wanting more than just a kiss.
“Hey, Sparky. Don’t make me go up in flames,” he teased. “Once I move in? Maybe we need to test out the bed in the red room.”
Her pulse zoomed up her personal Richter scale. “I’d . . . I’d like that.”
“Are you sure?” His eyes searched hers. “I don’t want to push you if you aren’t ready.” He smiled, then teased, “Hey, I’m already a sure thing. You may not have the ring on your finger yet, but I’m yours for life.”
She put her arms around his neck. “I’m very sure.” She couldn’t believe she felt so loved that she was able to move past the assault, past the scars. Loving Nick and him loving her in return made her brave and strong.
She brushed a light kiss on his mouth and pulled away. “Go get moving. Then we can move onto better things. Like that novel we’re collaborating on. I got down some wicked smart ideas before Essie brought lunch.”
Nick cupped her buttocks and pulled her closer to him. “So writing is what you have in mind for your future?”
She bit her lip. “That. And some other stuff. So hop to it.”
He released her and left the room. She went upstairs to the red room. It connected to her bedroom with the adjoining Jack and Jill bathroom in the middle. The oak furniture fit well with the burgundy drapes and comforter. She supposed at one point the furnishings might have actually been red. Tradition died hard in the South, though. She checked and found all the drawers were empty. She moved a few knickknacks around on the dresser, clearing space for his laptop and iTouch.
As she worked, the thought of working on a writing project with Nick excited her. She’d never written professionally before, but she’d always had a flair for it back in school. She loved writing short stories and poetry. Or maybe Nick could write something with her in mind. He’d never done a screenplay before, but with his talent and the Nick Van Sandt name recognition, it would be easier than he thought. She wondered who his agent was and if he or she focused strictly on publishing or had Hollywood connections.
Callie slid a chair and table over some to make room for his two filing cabinets. This room would be perfect to work in. It had a small sitting area with a desk nearby, and the light was good. Suddenly, a great plot thread hit her. She rushed back downstairs to get her thoughts onto paper.
She curled up on the sofa and began scribbling. She’d barely begun when her cell phone rang. She almost let it go to voice mail, but then she decided she better answer it. Beth had promised to call back when she had more time for them to talk about Nick. Glancing at her watch, she bet Beth had put down her son for his afternoon nap.
She pulled the cell from her pocket and answered it.
“Hello?”
Silence greeted her.
“Hello?” she repeated.
Nothing. The quiet spooked her. She realized she should’ve noticed the Caller ID before she answered, but she had assumed it was Beth. She pulled the phone away from her ear. It was Waggoner calling. Maybe he was driving and had hit a dead zone.
“Hey, Waggoner. I can’t hear you. I’m going to hang up. Try again. Call me back.” She started to end the call when an eerie moan rose in her ear. It was low. Gut wrenching. Fear gripped her, paralyzing her.
“Waggoner? Is that you?” she whispered.
Again, a noise. This time a gasp of pain. Adrenaline surged through her.
“Who is this?” she asked, her voice stronger.
“Callie?” a voice croaked. “Hang up.”
“Detective Waggoner?” Her heart twisted at the anguish in his voice.
A muffled chuckle. “Too late to say goodbye, Jessica. He didn’t crack till the end, though. I’ll bet Nick will be the same way.”
A dial tone buzzed in her ear. Callie dropped her cell, a scream building in her throat.
But what came out was a soft wheeze. “Nick. Nick!”
Chapter 29
Nick nodded to the cop in his squad car as he crossed the drive and came back in through the kitchen door. He tapped in the security code, as the system was armed at all times. Balancing two boxes of CDs and DVDs he’d hurriedly crammed in with several research books, he set them down on the kitchen table.
He wondered if he should take the boxes upstairs and unload them. That way he could use them to make another trip. Then he froze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention.
Something was wrong.
Instinctively, he knew Callie was in trouble. He raced up the back stairs, opening doors, calling to her, trying to figure out which one was the red room. She wasn’t in any of them. He would have asked Miz C, but she was at her weekly hair appointment, and Gretchen had gone with her. Essie had mentioned she was going back into town, so he assumed she would be picking them up soon.
He raced back down the stairs and heard a noise. He stopped, trying to track where it came from. It was faint, a soft keening, coming from where he and Callie spent the morning. He ran to the living room doors and threw them open.
He froze, not ready for the sight in front of him.
She lay curled in a fetal position, her face deathly white, drained of all color. She held a throw pillow close, her arms wrapped tightly about it, as her head bobbed back and forth in denial. Her lips moved as the odd sound came from them. It would haunt him forever.
“Callie?”
He approached her slowly, not wanting his movement to startle her. She stared straight ahead, unseeing, as he took a series of steps in her direction. He reached the sofa and knelt beside her. She looked worse up close. The phrase ‘death warmed over’ flitted across his mind.
“Callie?” he asked again, not sure he would get a response.
But something connected deep inside her. Her eyes met his. The keening stopped. Her lips formed words, but nothing came out. Nick gripped her icy hands in his. The contact seemed to break the logjam.
“Nick?”
“I’m here, baby.”
“He’s . . . gone.”
He kneaded her hands, trying to restore some warmth. “Who’s gone?” he asked gently.
Her head bobbed furiously as a torrent of words poured out. “We have to call Eric. We have to call Eric. Now. He has to know. I need Eric to know. Now.” She jerked her hands away and clutched his shirt in desperation. “Now,” she repeated, burying her face in his chest, her arms encircling him, holding on as if her life depended on him being her anchor.
“Okay, baby. Okay.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in Eric’s number.
“Hey, buddy.” He tried to keep his tone light and casual, but Callie pulled the phone from him.
“Eric?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Come to Noble Oaks. Right away.”
He watched her nod as he sat down beside her. “Yes. It is.” She drew a deep breath and expelled it. In a flat voice, she said, “Detective Waggoner is . . . dead.”
She dropped the phone next to her and put her head in his lap. Nick was stunned by her revelation. Still, he didn’t ask anything. He stroked her hair, hoping his gesture reassured her.
Less than five minutes later, he heard a police siren approaching, followed by car doors slamming outside. She sat up, wrapping her arms about her.
“Go let him in.”
He reluctantly left her, knowing they were the only ones home. He walked to the front door and opened it, punching in the code as Eric rushed in.
His cousin had a million questions in his eyes, but Nick shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “I just don’t know.” He paused. “She’s in the living room. She’s in a bad way.”
Eric laid a hand on his shoulder. “Give me a few minutes alone with her.” He crossed the foyer and entered the living room, shutting the doors behind him.
Nick paced impatiently for over ten minutes before the doors opened again. Eric stepped outside and closed them behind him.
“She seems okay, but I’m sending Doc over to see her.” Eric shook his head. “Lipstick Larry called her. She heard Waggoner dying over the phone, calling out to her. The fucker somehow got to him. Or at least he did a good enough job to convince Callie that Waggoner’s dead.”
He felt as if he were a balloon suddenly deflated. All the life whooshed out of him. What must Callie feel like?
He started toward the door. Eric stopped him. “I’ll start a search for Waggoner. He’s not answering his phone. I checked on the way over. No one’s seen him all day. But if his cell’s on, we’ll be able to locate him. Wherever he is.”
Eric’s eyes betrayed his thoughts. “Keep her here, Nick. Keep her safe.”
His cousin brought in two deputies that had been stationed outside. He situated one inside the front door and the other just outside the kitchen door with strict orders.
“Don’t leave your post for any reason. I don’t care if Jesus Hims
elf appears for the Second Coming and invites you to Paradise for an eternal feast. You are not to move. Understand?”
Both men nodded and took their positions. Eric left to attend to business. Nick escorted him out and rearmed the alarm. He knew he had to see Callie.
As he made his way to the living room, he wondered how to comfort her.
She sat on the sofa, her knees drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Her forehead, which rested on her knees, sprang up as he entered the room. He was surprised to see no tears. In fact, he witnessed no emotion at all. As he crossed the room, though, he did see a deadly calm on her face.
He sat down next to her, unsure what to do or say. He draped an arm along the back of the couch, not knowing if he should even touch her.
Callie’s eyes met his. Determination began to set in. Her eyes focused. Her jaw locked.
“I will kill him myself,” she said coldly, her voice void of any emotion. “I will kill this motherfucker.”
Nick didn’t doubt her for a moment. “Can you talk about it?”
She drew in a few long, deep breaths, and he knew she’d reverted to her yoga training. “He tortured him, Nick. And Waggoner was a tough, tough cop. I can’t imagine what it took to break him, or what he might’ve told this creep.” She shuddered. “I don’t want to. But it’s beyond personal now.”
His hand found her neck and began massaging the tension from it. “So what do you want us to do?”
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