If Looks Could Kill

by Heather Graham

  “They let him out of an asylum for the criminally insane,” Madison reminded him. “Maybe he’s cured.”

  “Right. And that’s going to make him as handsome and charming as Sean Connery, right? This guy picks up young, beautiful women. A broken, crazed old lunatic is not going to turn into Don Juan, trust me.”

  Madison swallowed uneasily, closed her eyes and sighed. “I know they found him with the murder weapon. He had the knife, and it had my mother’s blood on it. But I never thought it was him. It just didn’t feel right.”

  Kyle lifted his hands in an exasperated motion. “A point that I was far too young and inexperienced to pay attention to at the time. Think about it. There was Harry Nore, in a neighbor’s kitchen, happily cutting bread. Yet when you ‘saw’ the killer, saw him holding the knife to kill your mother, he was wearing gloves. Flesh-toned gloves, the kind doctors use.”

  Madison nodded. “Well, if it wasn’t him, and if the real killer was caught at the scene of the murder, all he needed to do was dispose of the knife—”

  “And be clever enough to slip by me, you, Kaila, my father, and all the cops and everyone else flooding the property within minutes.”

  Madison shivered again. She was soaking, and the air-conditioning was cold. And as the dream faded, her vanity was kicking in. She felt sticky and sweaty, her hair was plastered around her face, and she didn’t feel the least bit enticing.

  She eased away from Kyle, rising from the other side of the bed. “I’m going to shower quickly.”

  He nodded.

  Once inside the bathroom, though, she was amazed to feel unnerved again.

  She looked out the door.

  “I’ll be here,” he promised her.

  Madison slipped out of her gown and into the shower, turning the water on warm and letting it sluice over her face and body for long moments before she scrubbed her hair and sudsed lavishly. As she rinsed conditioner from her hair, she heard Kyle’s voice.

  “Madison?”

  “What?” she called.

  He stepped into the shower behind her. Naked.

  “I didn’t want to scare you,” he said.

  His arms slipped around her, drawing her back against himself. He lifted her wet hair from her shoulders and neck, kissing her nape. His hands eased up her torso, caressing her breasts. She closed her eyes as electric flashes of pure sweet fire instantly began to sweep along her limbs.

  His kisses moved lower down her spine. His tongue teased at the small of her back; then he turned her around, still kissing and caressing her flesh. Each stroke and touch grew more intimate and so incredibly erotic, blended with the heat of the water cascading down upon them both, that she began to fear that she would fall. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, desperately whispering his name. He showed no mercy. Her limbs felt like water, yet mercury seemed to tear throughout her, until she couldn’t bear it anymore and she cried out his name. He was on his feet then, kissing her lips, and their tongues melded, with the taste of their lovemaking. Then he turned her, fingers laced with hers as he braced her against the tile. He entered her from behind, and the water poured down, hot and slick. He moved with an urgent passion, swiftly lifting her to a place she’d thought she couldn’t possibly reach again so quickly. The thundering in her ears compounded with that in her heart, with the pulse in her body. Then he ground against her hard, fast, his body knotting with tension, and the volatile force of his climax precipitated her own. She felt as if the rush of the shower were around her and within her as the hot seed of his desire spilled into her.

  She collapsed back into his arms without a murmur of protest. She heard him sigh after a long while, and she realized they’d been in there so long, the water was growing cold.

  Kyle reached over and turned off the water. He stepped from the shower, reaching back for her with a towel, wrapping her in it when she came against him.

  “Martique made hot brandied tea,” he told her.

  “Is it still hot?”

  “I’m sure it is. She brought it in a coffee carafe, then left us to our privacy.”

  “She knows,” Madison murmured, turning around and leaving the bathroom.

  “So what?” Kyle asked, drying himself, then wrapping his towel around his waist and following her out to the bedroom. “She doesn’t seem to be shocked. What difference does it make? You’re over twenty-one. So am I.” He poured two mugs of tea, then handed her one. “We’re not biologically related, and as I pointed out before—although you assured me at the time that the situation wouldn’t arise—we’re not going to have children with pointed heads or anything.”

  She smiled, then looked at him gravely. “Kyle, I have a little girl,” she reminded him.

  “I know. I never forget that,” he told her.

  She held silent, turning away from him and wondering if he also never forgot that he had lost a wife he loved deeply.

  Or that he had once called her a witch.

  Or that they were usually at one another’s throats within a matter of minutes during even the most casual conversation. So this…passion would surely burn itself out.

  “I have a daughter, and I need to make sure she isn’t hurt by anything I do,” Madison said.

  “She’s with her father right now, isn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “So she’s not being hurt by anything we’re doing. She’s being helped.”

  Madison arched a brow. “Oh? How’s that?”

  “I’m afraid for your safety. But anyone would have to come through me to get to you.”

  “Ah.”

  “And I’m damned hard to get through,” he assured her. He finished his tea, set down his cup and took hers from her hands.

  “Still obsessed?” she whispered as his mouth neared hers.

  “Still obsessed.”

  “Are you sure you’re not just in a protective mode, and sex is just a pleasant diversion?”

  “Yep, I’m sure,” he said flatly. “And you?”

  “Still…curious” was the best she dared admit as his mouth molded over hers.

  She gave up attempting to reason and gave into sensation.

  Kaila snuggled against her husband, basking in a sea of contentment unlike anything she had experienced in years.

  His arm pulled her closer, and he whispered against her forehead, “Wow.”

  “Incredible,” she agreed.

  And it had been. Absolutely. She would never have thought of herself as the kinky type, and she still didn’t. She didn’t judge others, but she was sure she never wanted to play some of the sex games she’d seen on the cable shows. She knew she didn’t want to be handcuffed, hurt or whipped, or have Dan act like a child who needed to be punished. She had no desire whatsoever to call him “naughty boy” and make him grovel for her sexual favors. She didn’t want to take part in an orgy, or get involved with couples who played switchies.

  But tonight…

  Wow.

  And all because of his sexy little gift. He’d gone crazy, seeing her in the panties. And the things he’d done…and the responses she had given…

  Just the two of them. So alone, so intimate. Having fun. As they hadn’t in a very long time…

  “What an idea. Thank you,” she told him softly, kissing his lips, then snuggling back down beside him again.

  “What do you mean? Thank you. Honey, you were awesome. So sexy. You have to buy more of those. What gave you the idea?”

  She felt the strangest sensation of icy cold sweeping over her. It wasn’t exactly fear, but it was awfully close.

  She was silent too long.

  “Kaila?”

  “I…”

  Dan was frowning, leaning over her and staring at her with angry eyes. “Kaila, where did you get those panties?”

  “I—I didn’t get them. They were a gift. They arrived at my table today at lunch, addressed to me. I assumed you had sent them.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Dan!”
<
br />   He leaned back against the pillows, still staring at her, and the accusing glitter in his eyes was frightening.

  “Dan—you didn’t send them?”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “No, I didn’t send them.”

  “Then they must have been a mistake. Someone else was meant to have them.”

  “You just said they were addressed to you.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes, you did! Were they, or weren’t they, addressed to you?” he yelled.

  “Dan, stop it! This isn’t a courtroom. You—”

  “It might turn into a courtroom pretty damn quick. They were addressed to you, right?”

  “Right! What are you getting so angry about? If you didn’t send them, one of the girls must have been playing a trick—”

  “Oh, Kaila, quit it.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “What does that mean?” he repeated. “It means that you’ve been flirting with someone. Flirting enough to give him the idea that you might be available. Christ! Here I am feeling guilty that you’re so depressed, stuck home being a mother!”

  “I’m not depressed being a mother!” she protested. “And I never said that. And I don’t flirt!” She said the words boldly, then realized they were a lie.

  She had given someone the idea she might be willing to have an affair.

  She felt cold again. Really cold. He didn’t know that she had decided she was every kind of a fool and really truly loved her husband.

  Oh, damn.

  He might have sent the…gift.

  “Look, Dan, honestly—”

  “Save it, Kaila,” he said softly, then rose. He slipped quickly into his robe and left the room, slamming the door in his wake.

  Kaila stared after him, stunned. And cold, so cold.

  The panties…

  She shivered, feeling dirty. Had she really come so close to an affair? Worse, had she really already destroyed her marriage?

  The next time she saw him, she was really going to give him a piece of her mind. She was going to explain that she had just been going through a bad period, that she really loved her husband.

  Oh, God…

  She still felt dirty. Squirmy. And afraid.

  Dan had never looked at her like that before.

  She got out of bed, wrapping up in her own robe, wondering how such wicked ecstasy could turn to something so horrible. She walked out to the living room. He was standing in the kitchen, staring out at the back, drinking a beer.

  “Dan?”

  “What?”

  “I love you.”

  “Who sent you those panties, Kaila?”

  She lied. She had to lie. “I have no idea, Dan. Honest to God. I swear on the kids’ lives—I never cheated on you.”

  “Well, it’s just interesting that another man would send my wife edible underwear,” he said dryly.

  “One of the girls must have done it as a joke.”

  “Sure, Kaila.”

  She walked to him, slipping her arms around his waist, really frightened that she might lose him.

  “I love you, Dan!” she whispered.

  She felt his muscles ease. His arm came around her. Tears slid down her cheeks, he brushed them away with his knuckles and kissed her lips.

  “Every once in a while…” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “Well, you look like your mother. Maybe I get a little afraid you might want to try out several husbands.”

  “Dan, what an awful thing to say.”

  “You did receive edible underwear.”

  “I love you, Dan.”

  “Do you?”

  “God, yes! I’ve just been afraid, I guess, because you’re gone so much! Because you work with young, bright attorneys, so many women. And sometimes I feel that I can’t compete with the excitement of your day because all I do is wear spit-up and baby drool, and all I can talk about is the most recent PTA meeting or the latest Disney movie.”

  He smiled and smoothed her hair. “That’s my child’s spit-up you’re wearing, Kaila. And I love Disney movies, and believe it or not, the PTA matters to me. And you’re intelligent and articulate and interesting. I love you, too, Kaila.”

  “Oh, Dan!” she murmured. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that the kids are so little, I sometimes feel that I need three hands, and yet I adore them, and…and I adore you. You’ve been so good!” she whispered.

  “You know what?” he told her, his voice growing harsh again.

  “What?”

  “I’m going to find out where the hell those panties came from.”

  His arms were around her, but despite that, she felt the devastating cold once again.

  “I’m really not sure why you’re so worried,” Madison said. She was driving, and Kyle was at her side in the passenger seat, sipping coffee from a paper cup as he reached in the back seat for the Miami Herald she had just bought. “Kyle, this guy is a pattern killer, and if he goes by his past record, he isn’t due to strike again for another several weeks. The middle of the month.”

  He was staring at the paper. “Damn it!” he swore.

  She nearly jumped. “What?”

  His knuckles were white as he clenched the paper.

  “Kyle?”

  He shook his head, staring at her. “Someone leaked the information that we were searching the last victim’s house for snapshots of the killer.”

  “What?”

  “Jimmy and I found the place where Holly Tyler, the last victim, got her tattoo. The woman who ran the place said Holly nearly showed her a picture of the man she was going away with, except that she couldn’t find the picture. The cops are searching her home. And it’s in the damned paper.”

  “Kyle, maybe it’s not all that bad. I mean, the cops are already searching the house, right? So the killer can’t come in now and ransack it to get his hands on the pictures himself, right?”

  “Right,” he said, staring out the front window, still furious. “And in a perfect world they’ll have found the pictures by the time we reach Miami, he’ll have a record, we’ll find his identity by computer and arrest him by this afternoon.”

  “It could happen that way.”

  “It’s not going to. What will happen is that we’ll wind up tracking down Holly’s third cousin twice removed who lives in rural Arkansas. And both crackpots and helpful friends will start sending in snapshots, and our needle will wind up in a giant haystack.”

  “Maybe not. The first scenario is still possible.”

  “Sure,” Kyle said. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed headquarters, getting Jimmy on the line. Jimmy assured him that they were looking for the leak, and that there was going to be hell to pay for someone.

  Kyle clicked off.

  “Kyle?” she said quietly.

  “Yeah?” he asked, looking at her.

  “Remember what I said before? The killer strikes in the middle of the month. He isn’t due for another three weeks.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that you can’t be so worried about me. I’m going home now.”

  “And?”

  “And Carrie Anne is coming home tonight.”

  “And?”

  “Kyle, I can’t just…I can’t just sleep with you at home. You’ve got to go back to your hotel tonight.” She felt him watching her as she drove. “Kyle, she’s a little girl, and I don’t know how to explain—”

  “So you think Darryl never sees anyone when he has his daughter?”

  “I’m the custodial parent,” Madison said. “She’s with me most of the time—”

  “So you’re going to spend your life having two-day affairs when your daughter is with her father?”

  “You’re being completely unreasonable—”

  “I’m just curious. What are you going to do if you ever get serious about a man?”

  “If I get really serious, I’ll get married again,
and that way I can explain to Carrie Anne that I’m married!” she explained, aggravated. “Kyle, she’s a very little girl. And no matter how well Darryl and I get along, I don’t ever want to give him any ammunition against me if he decides he suddenly wants custody.”

  “Darryl wouldn’t do that.”

  “You never know.”

  She felt him watching her. “Well, you can always marry old Darryl again. That would solve that problem. Or sleep with him now and then—I guess that would be all right.”

  She stared at him, incredulous and furious. There was a gas station ahead. She pulled into it.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Stopping. Get out of my car.”

  “What?”

  “Out!”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m telling you to get out.”

  His eyes narrowed. “And I’m refusing. I have to get to work in Miami.”

  “Call a cab.”

  “Out here? In the middle of the Keys? Call a cab to Miami?”

  “Call a cab—call the damned FBI. I don’t care. Get out of my car.”

  “Why?”

  She stared at him, absolutely incredulous. “Because you’re being hateful and vile and—”

  “Scared!” he told her, his voice so deep and husky that she broke off, staring at him. He crushed his empty coffee cup in his hand, his knuckles white around it.

  “Kyle…”

  His coffee cup fell unnoticed to the floor, and he took her face between his hands, staring into her eyes. “Someone is murdering redheads in the middle of every month, and you’re a psychic—whether you choose to be or not. You see the murder victims. Law enforcement is beginning to get a few leads. Just a few! But maybe enough to spook the killer. I don’t want you to be alone. We don’t have to sleep together, but I won’t leave you alone at night. I can sleep on your couch, and we can explain to Carrie Anne that I’m a cop like Jimmy, and I’m just there to watch out for you both. Any objection?”

  Madison tried to shake her head. “No, I guess not. And you can let go of my face now!”

  He released her, easing back into his own seat. “May we go?” he asked politely.

  They drove again. In dead silence. But fifteen minutes later they passed Theater of the Sea, one of the few facilities where people could swim with dolphins.