If Looks Could Kill

by Heather Graham

  “Trying not to slap you silly,” he responded irritably.

  “Why? What the hell is the matter with you?” she asked. She was genuinely puzzled, and her tone was curious.

  “You,” he said simply, snatching his glasses from his face as he stared at her, eyes as sharp as green gems. “You!” he repeated, and he appeared restless and angry, running his fingers through his hair in an aggravated manner. “Damn you, Madison, what the hell are you doing here?”

  Startled by the depth of his anger, she replied, “Excuse me, this is my job. I belong here. Actually, at the moment, I’m being exceptionally good. I’m working gratis for the community. You got angry when I was involved in your work. Well, I’ve taken myself far away from it, and far from you, so just what the hell is your problem?” She was proud of herself. She had spoken in a very even tone.

  “It didn’t occur to you to tell anyone where you were going?” he demanded furiously.

  “Darryl knows where I am—he has Carrie Anne.”

  “Darryl! That’s it?”

  “Wait, now, let me think. Should I have told the father of my child—who would be taking care of that child!—where I was going, or should I have thought, no, no, let me tell the stepbrother I haven’t seen in more than five years? The one who isn’t satisfied with a single thing I do?”

  He did grab her then. He reached for her arm with a sudden movement that was violent in its sheer speed, drawing her closer to him, as if he needed to make sure that she could hear his every word. “No, Madison, not me. Maybe your sister, your father, someone else.”

  She tried to pull free, but he wouldn’t let her go. She opted against the indignity of struggling.

  “I left quite suddenly. I intended to call Dad when the shoot was done today, to let him know I’d be at his place, since he’s back up in Miami getting ready for your father’s show. But then, my father isn’t down here acting like Henry the Eighth.”

  “Irresponsible little bitch!” he muttered.

  Madison was completely stunned by the depth of the anger in his voice. She stiffened and forced herself to remain cool and collected. “Really? I’m so sorry you don’t approve. But I need to be responsible to Carrie Anne, not to you. And I would have called my family—”

  “I thought I’d made you aware that there’s a serial killer on the loose!”

  Madison held her breath, feeling as if icy waves of fury were cascading over her and giving her new strength. “There’s always a serial killer on the loose somewhere, isn’t there? I mean, isn’t that why you have your job?”

  “This is different and you damned well know it.”

  “So how did you find me?”

  “I called everyone—including Darryl.”

  Madison bit into her lower lip and sighed. “Look, you didn’t want me involved. I’m staying away.”

  “Madison, damn it, they’re all redheads. Every last one of the victims—”

  “They’re redheads, and they’re women, and they’re young. And I have the intelligence to be careful, Kyle.”

  He frowned. “You knew they were all redheads?”

  “You just told me so.”

  “But you knew before I told you.”

  “The girl in the vision I had was a redhead. That’s all I knew. Kyle, I can’t stop living because I’m a young woman with red hair!”

  “Damn you, Madison—” he began, but he broke off, wincing, because Jaime was calling out to them. “Agent Montgomery?” Jaime came hurrying over. He was obviously concerned. “I know how important your work is, Lieutenant, but if your conversation could wait just a few minutes more…We’re ready for the next shots, and we’re losing our light.”

  “I think the agent is done,” Madison said.

  “No, he isn’t done,” Kyle said, staring at her hard, his dark lenses back in place. “But I can wait,” he added politely.

  “Don’t you need to get back to Miami? Follow up on some clues?”

  “I’m with you, Madison. Talking with the psychic. I am working.”

  “Madison?” Jaime said anxiously.

  “I’m ready,” she said, staring at Kyle.

  He walked back to join the others. Madison was painfully aware of him, standing with his arms crossed over his bare chest, watching as the shoot continued.

  He made her feel awkward. Like a little kid again, trying to play dress-up, trying to be beautiful, mature, impressive.

  Jaime started sighing.

  Hector went into a fury of sand-dusting, which seemed to make everything worse.

  “Come on, Madison, we’re losing the light. Remember, this is for the hopes and dreams of lots of people!” Michelle said, wrinkling her nose. “I had help, Madison. My mama was on welfare. I’m not. We’re working to make people believe they can create a better tomorrow.”

  “Sí, sí,” Jaime said. “Good speech, but, Madison, I don’t want a militant look here. We’re not burning bras. Right now, we’re going for soft. Sexy.”

  “All she has to do to look sexy is be awake,” Michelle said, complimenting her chosen model.

  “She’d be sexy as all hell eyes closed, sound asleep,” George added in a husky tone.

  “Play with the camera, play with it!” Jaime reminded her. “Make love to it, yes…?”

  She wanted to kill Kyle. This was an important shoot. She had to forget that he was there. She had to be completely professional. She didn’t know why Kyle made her feel as if she were a little girl, pretending she knew what she was doing. Somehow, she had to forget him!

  Sure.

  And so she began to use the fact that he was there. She would never be able to laugh and play and flirt with Kyle. She might as well be seductive through the camera.

  She hoped she could make him suffer.

  She played with the camera. She laughed, smiled, pouted, posed. She felt the luxury of the silk in her hands, felt the sun, the sand, the sheer sensuality of the day shimmering around her. The sun, sinking against the horizon. Touching, feeling. She was damned well going to be sexy. She was going to show him what he’d chosen to throw away all his life.

  At last the light was gone. By that time, though, Jaime was as happy as a clam. Michelle, too, was delighted, Hector was assuring her that she’d just made him bisexual, and George was sweating.

  Kyle was completely impassive.

  Hector slipped a robe over her shoulders as she took a bottled water from an ice chest as they wrapped up. She knew that Kyle was behind her.

  “I don’t know why you hung around. It’s boring for onlookers. Sorry, I guess there was something you wanted. Or did you come all the way back down here to yell at me for not letting more people know I’d be gone a couple of days?”

  She swallowed a long drink of her water and looked at him.

  His arms were still crossed over his chest; there was no sun left, but he still had those damn glasses on.

  “We can talk later. Your friends and admirers want to celebrate a successful shoot and get something to eat.”

  “Are you referring to my professional associates?” she inquired politely.

  “Yeah, the gay guys, the woman and the tech with his tongue hanging in the sand. Them. Your professional associates.”

  “Is George’s tongue really in the sand? How sweet,” Madison murmured pleasantly.

  “You just might wind up with the wrong man drooling after you, Madison,” Kyle warned.

  “And then again, there are those men who are completely unaffected,” she murmured. “Excuse me, I’d like to change.”

  She brushed past him, hurrying up to the small house on the beach that belonged to a friend of Michelle’s.

  Michelle came in to collect the bathing suits used in the shoot and help her change. Michelle, dressed in a casual, brilliantly colored sarong, was shaking her head in amusement. “My, my.”

  “My, my, what?”

  “That boy, he’d have been fine on the poster, as well. He’s a sexy man.”

  �
��He’s an FBI agent. They aren’t allowed to be sexy.”

  Michelle arched a brow. “He must be mighty fond of you, chérie.”

  “He’s mighty mad at me, is what. I’m twenty-six, but apparently I didn’t ask the proper permission to leave town.”

  Michelle made a tsking sound, shaking her head, smiling in an annoyingly knowing manner. “People only worry when they care. There are only angry when they care deeply.”

  “Well, of course, I suppose…he cares about me. In his way. We were stepsiblings at one time.”

  “Stepbrothers do not naturally care about stepsisters. Especially when…Well, your mama died and the relationship ended, yes?”

  “My mother was murdered, and I look like my mother, and no one was able to help her. I think he has a strange sense of feeling responsible that nothing bad should happen to me.”

  “You do look just like you mother, chérie. Just like.”

  “Exactly. It’s all psychological. He has this idea set in his head that something might happen to me, too.”

  “Looks can kill, sweetie. You be glad that big strong boy is looking after you. Now, if it were me…”

  Madison tied the cotton halter dress she was wearing and looked at Michelle. “If it were you?”

  Michelle winked. “I’d sleep with him.”

  “I should sleep with a man just because he’s concerned about me?”

  “No, no, you should sleep with him because he has good arms, a nice chest…and a good butt, too, I think. Nice skin, rugged, masculine, very good face. Take that from an artist.”

  Madison couldn’t help laughing. “The goods measure up?”

  “You’re a young woman. You want to sleep with a wrinkly old man?”

  “No, I don’t want to sleep with a wrinkly old man—until I’m a wrinkly old woman. Honestly, Michelle, women aren’t supposed to sleep with men just because they have good bodies. There’s supposed to be a magic, a desire….” Michelle was staring at her with arched brows. Madison let out a long sigh. “I just never thought of making love with a guy simply because I’d inspected him and he had the proper body!” She was only lying a little.

  “Then you are the only woman alive who has not looked at a hot body and wondered at the fantasy of a stranger. Ah, but you want love. Foolish girl. You want to fall in love. Well, let me warn you. Women, mais oui, we want to fall in love. We want romance. Men want to have sex. Good sex. Women emote, and men are moved by primal instinct.” She waved her dark, elegant fingers in the air expressively. “Men—they think with their anatomy. They look at what a woman’s body has to offer. Love is good. But if you want to fall in love…well, love is hard. Sex is easy. Maybe too easy for some people, but right now, for you?” She quirked a brow, smiling. “Be daring, chérie. You may look like a Barbie doll, oui? But you are real, and must live and breathe and make love, eh?” Again, she smiled. “This may be the age of electronics, but there is nothing like a flesh-and-blood man. Especially for a Barbie doll.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Good things. That you are reserved. You spend your time with family, with little Carrie Anne. I’m trying to tell you to take a chance. Be daring.”

  “Sometimes,” Madison said slowly, “chances aren’t good. Other people can get hurt.”

  “And you can get hurt. It’s part of the way it goes. Pain can be the greatest teacher. It can be good. That way, we know when there is pleasure and happiness, as well. Non, ma chérie?” Smiling like the Cheshire cat, Michelle waited for her reply.

  “Michelle, he’s the wrong hunk for me. He thinks I’m a witch.”

  “Witches can be good. Earthy. Nurturing. And very sexy.”

  “Michelle, you’re hopeless. And you don’t understand. Kyle and I have…a past.”

  “No, chérie, you don’t understand. The past is gone, the future lies ahead, and the present is to be lived.”

  Smiling, Michelle left, closing the door behind her.

  Madison walked to the window and looked out. Michelle was talking to Kyle, her laughter melodic.

  “Flirt!” Madison murmured, shaking her head as she watched her friend.

  It was nearly eight o’clock, and the brilliant array of colors—oranges, crimsons, mauves, pinks, blues and golds—that streaked the sky with sunset was fading to gray.

  Kyle, she saw, was watching the sky, as well. Listening to Michelle, but watching the sky. Sometimes, when she was young, they had sat together in silence in the late afternoons, watching as the sun went down. She knew that he loved the colors of sunset as much as she did. How had he stayed away from home so long?

  She shook her head and swept up her purse, impatient with her moment of nostalgia. “Why can’t they make that man go to work from nine to five? Who the hell gave him permission to come down here in the middle of a case?” she muttered irritably to herself.

  Madison walked out of the house, telling herself that she was cool, collected and ready to meet the others.

  “I think we’re almost ready. George is getting the last of our equipment,” Hector told her cheerfully. She stood with him while they waited, watching as Kyle talked to Michelle, a few steps away, until he excused himself to take a call on his cellular phone.

  George finished packing the equipment, and he, Michelle and Jaime joined Madison and Hector. George told a joke, but Madison discovered that she wasn’t listening. She felt an uneasy sensation slipping over her, as if she were being watched.

  She looked around. Beach behind her, the house before her, foliage, now rustling in the night sea breeze, scattered across the area between homes in the exclusive private neighborhood. She could see no one, nothing suspicious, and she couldn’t even get a feel for an area from which someone might be watching her.

  There were gates and a security guard outside the small compound of private homes. It was so unlikely that anyone could be watching them.

  And still, goose bumps covered her arms.

  Kyle finished his call, clicked his phone shut and returned to them.

  “Well, then, where shall we go?” Jaime asked.

  Everyone chimed in with a suggestion. Except for Madison.

  She didn’t care where they went, as long as they left. Except that even once they started driving, she still had that uncomfortable feeling of being watched.

  Kaila was tired, bone-weary, in body, in spirit. Dan’s flowers had been great—but a poor substitute for him. She’d gotten the flowers…

  And then a phone call. He had to be out of town for a few days. He was so sorry. He would make it up to her. He loved her.

  Yeah, yeah, yeah.

  Anna had stayed home sick; it had been hour after hour of the kids squabbling, spilling, spitting up. She’d reminded herself all day that kids did those things, that she loved her kids, that she’d wanted kids.

  She just hadn’t planned on raising them alone.

  But at eight, they were all in bed at last. She walked into her bedroom, stripping as she went. She was usually careful. Kyle had warned her sternly to be careful, and she loved Kyle, knew that he loved her and was concerned about her safety. But she was tired. And so she forgot to draw the drapes and blinds throughout the house.

  She left her jeans, T-shirt underwear and bra in a pool on her bedroom floor—she just hadn’t been able to bear the scent of spit-up on herself one minute longer. She drew the water for her shower, then wrapped her hair on top of her head and covered it with a shower cap while she waited for the water to grow warm. She stepped beneath the spray, felt the tension-relieving jets of the water, then turned the tap to make her shower even warmer. God, it felt good. If she wasn’t afraid of falling asleep and drowning, she would have taken a bubble bath. As it was, just standing under the hot water was great, feeling it beat down all around her.

  But then…

  She thought she heard something. Like the glass doors that connected the master bedroom to the pool and patio sliding open.

  Despite the heat of the water,
she froze.

  And waited, listening…

  It had been a very long day for Jassy, dramatic in many ways, exciting, frightening.

  She was sometimes amazed herself at her ability to sympathize with the victims of violent crime, yet still turn to the sleuthing of pathology with such energy and passion. An interviewer had once asked her if she felt guilty, cutting into the bodies of those who had met with violent ends. She had assured the young reporter that although she often felt sorry that she had to cut into a victim, she didn’t feel guilty in the least. The dead could no longer speak; they couldn’t seek justice for the violence done against them. With her work, she could seek the justice that the dead could not.

  With the discovery of the torso, they were now able to analyze the stomach contents of the deceased. Now, with some good investigative footwork, the police could find out where Holly Tyler had eaten her last meal. From there, they could begin to comb the area hotels and motels, and through luck or some heavenly intervention maybe find the place where Holly had been killed, find witnesses to her arrival there, witnesses who had seen the killer.

  She was on a satisfied high when she finally got home that night.

  She glanced at her watch, delighted to realize that any minute, the new man in her life would be arriving. She felt a giddy excitement, a feeling unlike anything she had felt since high school, for God’s sake! This was so wonderful, so exciting, such a sheer high.

  And he loved her, too.

  Fifteen minutes.

  She slammed her door shut, already crawling out of the clothing she’d been wearing at the morgue all day. Fifteen minutes wasn’t a lot of time.

  She dropped her shoes and lab coat in the living room, then struggled out of her skirt and panty hose as she moved down the hallway. By the time she reached her bedroom, she was nearly ripping off the buttons on her white tailored blouse and feeling for the back catch on her bra. Her trail of clothing behind her, she jumped into the shower before turning on the water, then squealed with surprise as an icy spray met her face. Muttering, she warmed the water.