by Dee Davis
Love was a scary thing. And yet most people fought all their lives to find it. And with almost no effort she'd found it twice. Which meant that she'd be a fool to throw it away.
She rolled against him, deepening the kiss, committing to him with the gesture. He groaned his acceptance, his hands framing her face, his wonderful gray eyes looking into her heart. He was at once masterful and submissive. The quintessential lover. Everything she'd dreamed of. Everything she wanted him to be.
He drove into her, his hardening body a lance piercing her flesh and her spirit, the latter surprising her with its depth. She felt as if they belonged together. Two hearts joined as one. Romantic notion, maybe, but she could feel the empirical evidence in her soul.
His mouth found her breast, his tongue circling, sucking, pulling emotion from her as surely as if he were siphoning her very being. She arched upward, giving in to his ministrations, wishing the moment could go on and on, that she could freeze time forever.
With a smile and a groan, he flipped them, so that she was on top, riding him, a position of power. There was a liberation there. Something she'd never experienced. And with trepidation and then with vigor, she rode him. Up and down, sliding in and out, pushing deeper and deeper, driven by the feel of her body and the increasing cadence of his groans.
Looking down at him, she saw nothing but desire, and acceptance, her need mirrored in his eyes, the strong man she knew him to be surrendering the moment to her. And she held it in her heart like a talisman. Strength giving in to gentle persuasion, her heart wanting only to repay the love.
Up and down she drove, bracing herself against his strength, until the passion carried her away, lifting her to some higher plane, magic mixing with reality, her body shaking in response. Swell upon swell of pleasure threatened to break her apart—like waves crashing against a shore.
She felt his arms tighten, his voice washing over her like a calming sea. “It's okay. Hold on to me.”
And she did, riding the night with him. Holding on to today as if it were a lifeline, the crest of emotion taking her away, lifting her high, the stars beckoning, reaching out as they touched the sky.
And for the moment anything seemed possible. Dreams coming true.
The discordant sound of the phone interrupted paradise. Eric leaned across her to pick up the receiver, listened, then met her gaze, the look in his eyes erasing all traces of fantasy.
“Molly's coding.”
The florescent lights of the hospital provided perpetual daytime. Even in the early hours of the morning, there was activity. Sara sat with Eric, waiting for Molly's doctor. For the moment at least Molly was stable, her heart once more pumping life through her veins.
But despite all medical effort, she hadn't regained consciousness, and Sara wasn't certain if that was a blessing or a curse. Her friend was unaware of the trauma her body was enduring, but she was also unaware of the world around her. And that wasn't a life Sara would wish on anyone. Particularly Molly.
A gray-haired man with steel-rimmed glasses, wearing scrubs walked into the waiting room. Molly's doctor. Instinctively Sara reached for Eric's hand, comforted by just the simple touch of his fingers.
They stood up as the doctor walked over, Sara's heart beating a rapid tympani against her ribs. “How is she?”
“She's resting comfortably, at least as comfortably as possible considering all that she's been through.”
“Any idea what caused the arrest?” Eric tightened his hand on hers, his eyes narrowing with concern.
“Not specifically. Frankly, considering the degree of her injuries, I'm surprised it hasn't happened more often. We changed her meds, which ought to lower the risk of recurrence. But I can't promise anything.”
“What about brain activity?” Eric had switched to detective mode. All business. And Sara was grateful for it. Any emotion at all now and she knew she'd fly apart.
The doctor shook his head. “She's still responding, but without cognitive evidence, we can't gauge the degree of damage. At this point the only thing I can tell you for certain is that she's alive. The quality of that life unfortunately is not something I can measure.”
“But she will wake up.” Sara reached out to touch the doctor, as if with contact she could better communicate.
His eyes were somber behind his glasses. “It's possible, certainly. But the longer she remains in the coma, the less likely it is she'll come back.”
“So, what, she stays like this indefinitely?” Sara's voice rose with each word, the idea repugnant.
“He's just giving you worst case, Sara.” Eric squeezed her hand, the action helping to calm her fear.
“I'm sorry. I just can't imagine Molly living like this.”
“When her mother arrives, we'll have to talk about her options. But right now we're concentrating on letting her body heal.”
“And so we wait.” It was a statement, not a question, and the doctor nodded in response. “Molly is going to pull through. You'll see. It's simply not in her to let that monster win.”
“When can Sara see her?” Again Eric's words held reason rather than emotion.
“The nurses are with her now. We still need a couple of tests. As soon as they're finished, it should be all right for Ms. Martin to go in.” The doctor smiled, the gesture meant to be reassuring.
Eric nodded his thanks, and they stood, still holding hands, as the man walked away. Then Sara sank down onto a chair, tears welling. “It's all my fault.”
“No, it's not.” Eric sat beside her, lifting her chin so that she was forced to look at him. “Whatever is happening here, whether you're a catalyst or not, the fault lies with the bastard who tried to kill her. You can't hold yourself responsible for a sociopath's actions.”
“Even if those actions are the result of something I said or did?”
“Sara, it doesn't work like that. You're no more responsible for what happened than the other victims. And letting yourself go there isn't going to help anyone.”
“On an intellectual level you make all kinds of sense, but just take a look at Molly lying in there,” she waved an arm in the direction of the ICU, “and then tell it to my heart.”
“I can't, Sara. You're the only one who can do that.” His steely-eyed gaze locked on hers, his thumb moving in circles on her cheek, the motion sending tendrils of heat curling through her. “But I can tell you that sitting here blaming yourself isn't going to help Molly.”
“You're right.” She sucked in a breath, then released it, pasting on a smile. “And the most important thing right now is to find the killer.”
“Which is where I come in,” he said, standing up, his demeanor shifting with the action, the detective back in full force. “I'll check in when I can. In the meantime, Jenkins is here to watch out for you. Don't go anywhere without him.”
“Yes, sir.” She was tempted to salute, her grin for real this time.
“I'm not kidding, Sara. Don't go anywhere alone.”
She nodded, sobering. “I won't. I promise. Most likely I'll be right here.”
“Okay.” He sighed, then pulled her close, his kiss hard and possessive. Then, without looking back, he strode from the room, the light seeming to follow him, leaving nothing but shadows in its wake.
“I'm not finding a damn thing.” Eric slammed a hand down on the table, a file falling to the floor.
“We're good, partner, but even we can't manufacture evidence out of thin air.” Tony bent down to retrieve the scattered papers. “We've been over and over these files. And what we know is all we've got.”
“I can't accept that.”
“Can't or won't? Either way it's a futile exercise.” Tony straddled a chair, studying the white board. “What we need is a miracle.”
“Or maybe just some solid police work.” Brady stood in the doorway, holding a printout. “Looks like your hunch about Sara Martin's coworkers might be paying off.”
“What did you find?” Eric was on his feet in an instant, already reachin
g for the papers in the lieutenant's hands.
“This just came from the FBI. They ran Sara's list of friends and got a hit. An unsolved from Wichita Falls. And you're not going to believe who the primary suspect was.”
Eric scanned the report, frowning as his brain absorbed the information. “Son of a bitch.”
“So what does it say?” Tony's impatience was reflected in his voice.
“The primary suspect was Nate Stone.” Eric handed the printout to his partner. “Three women were killed. All of them prostitutes. Police never made the case.”
“So what made Stone look good?” Tony asked, trying to read and listen at the same time.
“His background.” Brady answered, perching on a corner of the table. “Seems he let an adolescent crush get out of control. Followed some girl everywhere. Sent her flowers and gifts. Called her at all hours. Her father finally got a restraining order. Stone responded by breaking into the girl's house, said he was just trying to talk to her. No charges were filed, but it was enough to make the authorities suspicious when the women turned up dead.”
“Once obsessive, always obsessive?” Eric wasn't sure why he wasn't more elated. Maybe because Nate was Sara's friend.
“Something like that. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough evidence to pin it on him, so he walked.”
“To Austin.” Tony put down the file. “Anyone else think this is too easy?”
“Everyone has a past, Haskins.” Brady shrugged. “Even a serial killer. The profiler said he'd probably done it before.”
“Anything about Sinatra?” Tony asked.
Eric skimmed the report. “Nothing about music, period.”
“So the guy could have evolved into it. Or maybe the Sinatra connection is something to do with Sara Martin,” Brady said, shooting a meaningful look at Eric.
“Her husband had a collection of CDs.” Eric rubbed the back of his head, his ribs starting to ache again.
“Nate would have known that,” Tony mused, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “And he fits the profiler's top ten. Age is right. And he's not ugly. To hear Bess tell it, the guy has never had a date. So at least some of the character description fits.”
Eric frowned. “Yeah, but I wouldn't have described him as persuasive.”
“He's shy, but not to the point of being socially inept. He got an interview with Allison's family. As far as I know, it was the only one they granted. And our dominant woman could be the girl who rejected him.”
“It does add up.” Eric paced in front of the white board, trying to order his thoughts. “But he's bound to know, these records are out there.”
“So maybe that's part of the head trip: Power over authority,” Tony said. “We know it's him, but we can't prove it. That'd be a hell of a turn-on. I mean, all we have are priors. There's nothing to tie him to the murders here.”
“Gentlemen, you can sit here all day speculating, or you can take your questions to the man of the hour. Me, I'm thinking it's always better to hear it from the horse's mouth.” Brady stood up, signaling an end to the discussion.
“So we'll run him to ground.” Tony stood up too, and Eric followed suit. “Who knows, maybe we can get him to choke and confess everything.”
“Yeah, right. And then we can drive a Zamboni straight through hell.”
“I need to talk.” Jack stood by the door of the waiting room, shifting from one foot to the other.
Sara was alone except for Jenkins, her guardian angel. “I don't know what's left to say.”
Jack took a step into the room, and Jenkins moved forward, but Sara shook her head. Jack might have lied to her, but that didn't mean he'd hurt her. No matter what lay between them, he wasn't a threat.
“Thanks.” Jack sat down in the chair across from her, his hands clasped nervously in front of him.
“There's nothing to thank me for.” She searched his face, looking for something to explain what he'd done, some character flaw she'd missed. But all she saw was Jack.
“I didn't sleep much last night.”
Guilt flooded through her when she thought of the way she'd spent the night, but it faded as quickly as it had come. She hadn't betrayed him. It had been the other way around. “I don't know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to say there's still hope for us, that we can still be a family.”
“Jack, you kept my husband and son's murders a secret from me.”
“I didn't know it was murder.”
“But you knew something was wrong. You even thought you were responsible. And instead of telling me and letting the truth come out, you chose to protect yourself.”
“And you.”
“That's not good enough, Jack. We're talking about Tom and Charlie. They were part of your family, too. Don't you think you owed it to them to tell the truth?”
“Of course. Jesus, Sara, if I could turn back time and handle it differently I would. But I can't. I screwed up. I let my fear of losing you get in the way of common sense. I thought if I told you what I'd found, you'd never forgive me.”
“And this is better?” She tipped back her head, suddenly tired. “God, Jack, after everything we've been through together, I wouldn't have thought it possible. I trusted you.”
“I know.” He stared down at his shoes, unable to look her in the eyes. “And I let you down.”
“With disastrous results. Don't you understand if we'd known what had happened, maybe we could have stopped this thing before it escalated out of control, before those women were killed, before Molly was attacked.”
His head jerked up, anger flashing. “You blame me for that.”
“I'm not blaming you. I'm stating the truth. It might not have been your fault that Tom and Charlie died. But if they were murdered, then the killer got away with it in part because you didn't tell the truth. And that means you share responsibility for the other things he's done.” Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and she fought them. She'd shed enough tears for a lifetime.
“I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. You know that.”
“I do know that. But it doesn't change anything, does it?”
“So that's it, then? Our friendship is over?”
“I can't answer that.” She struggled for words. “You lied to me about my husband's death. That's not a small thing. No matter what your reasons were.”
“I know. And I also know that this probably isn't the best time to try and deal with this.” He paused, swallowing, he eyes on his hands. “It's just that I want to find a way to make it all right.”
“I'm not sure you can ever do that, but at the same time I can't imagine not having you be a part of my life. So what do you say we just take it day by day?”
He nodded. “I can wait, Sara. I swear it. As long as it takes. I'll wait.”
“Sara.” Bess ran into the room, her voice sharp with excitement. “It's Molly. The nurse says she's awake.”
Chapter 26
“He's not here.” Eric stepped into the cubicle Nate called an office. There wasn't much to designate the space as personal. A calendar from Ireland, and a coffee mug that read Nerds Do It With Detail. Other than that it could have been any cubicle anywhere.
“Maybe he's in the building?” Tony's bulk filled the doorway, his gaze accessing.
“It's possible.” Eric pulled out a drawer. Nate's files were routine. Articles the man was working on. Expense accounts. Nothing out of the ordinary.
“You were expecting him to have a file labeled Sara?”
“I don't know what I expected. I just want to stop the bastard. Keep him from harming her. Is that so much to ask?”
“No. Not if Nate's our man. But right now we don't have anything but priors. And you know as well as I do that doesn't mean a thing. We need something to connect him to the present. Until then, his past doesn't mean shit.”
“So I'm trying to find something to connect him.” Eric opened another drawer, knowing he was treading a thin line.
�
�Without a warrant?” Tony crossed over to the desk, closing the drawer. “Anything you find would be thrown out almost before it could be submitted. No matter what's at stake, Eric, we've got to do this by the book.”
Eric ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake a building sense of dread. Maybe Tony was right. Maybe this was too personal.
“Can I ask what you're doing?” Ryan Greene stood in the doorway, his frown an indication of his displeasure.
“We're looking for Nate.”
“Officially?” Displeasure faded, replaced with confusion. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“Right now we just have some questions for him.” Eric ruthlessly pushed his fears aside, opting instead for the tools he relied on every day. Observation and logic were a detective's primary allies, and this situation was no different from any other.
“About the murders?” Ryan's tone bordered on incredulous.
“Among other things. Nate has quite a past.”
“The girl in high school? For Christ's sake, Tony, the worst you could say of that incident was that Nate used bad judgment.”
“You knew about it?” Eric felt a surge of anger. “Why the hell didn't you tell someone?”
“Because it didn't occur to me that it might be relevant.”
“I think being accused of three murders shows a little more than bad judgment.” He clenched a hand, trying to control his temper. If Ryan had knowingly put Sara in harm's way …
“You've lost me now.” Ryan shook his head.
“A couple of years ago in Wichita Falls three prostitutes were killed. A series of murders that were never solved.” Tony leaned back against the edge of the desk.
“And you're saying they suspected Nate?”
“Yes.” Eric crossed his arms, studying the other man. “They questioned him on at least three different occasions, but never could find the evidence to charge him.”
“Which could mean he didn't do it.” Ryan's denial was weak, as if the reality of the situation had just hit him.
“That's always a possibility.” Tony's statement was rote, the politically correct thing to say.
“You interviewed him earlier, right?” Ryan tilted his head in thought. “How come you're only just now finding out about his past?”