Now You See Him

by Stella Cameron

  “As long as you don’t mind if I fall asleep while you’re talking to me.”

  “That would be fine.” It wouldn’t, but it was better than nothing. “Excuse me.”

  In the bathroom he stripped off his shirt and hung it on the back of the door. His shoes and socks came off next and he set them aside. He splashed water over his face and hair, and his upper body, and dried off with a huge, fluffy towel. All he could do with his hair was run his fingers through it and enjoy the cool feel of wet curls on his neck.

  “I feel better,” he told Ellie when he flopped into an armchair and stretched out his legs. “These old houses were built to deal with muggy weather like this. The tall ceilings and all.”

  “I won’t bite, Joe.”

  “Huh?”

  She patted the mattress beside her. “Stretch out on the sheet. It feels cool. Then you won’t do yourself an injury when you fall asleep.”

  He might do himself an injury if he lay beside her on the bed and tried to pretend he felt more like her brother than her lover. “Thanks, cher, I’ll do that.”

  Ellie sensed his hesitation and decided to be flattered by it. Her challenge of the moment was to look at him without being too obvious. She had to look at him. Naked to the waist, his tanned body gleamed and drops of water from his blue-black hair clung to his shoulders.

  He climbed onto the bed, reclined against the pillows and crossed his ankles. Tan linen pants settled over his flat stomach, his muscular thighs and calves. She was a voyeur, Ellie thought, and smiled a little as she shut her eyes.

  “The questions you asked earlier,” Joe said, looking down at Ellie. She rolled toward him and curled up on her side. “The ones about two men in your yard. Lucien’s going to be the one to clear up that mystery. Or he will if he keeps on recoverin’ well. Maybe he’ll be stronger tomorrow.”

  “I hope so,” Ellie said. “I keep thinking I must have missed something that was right under my nose.”

  “You do?” He snorted. “That makes two of us.”

  When she swept the backs of her fingers lightly across his belly, he jumped.

  “Sorry,” Ellie said. “It’s your fault for looking so good.”

  He expanded his lungs. How was he supposed to react to that?

  Ellie propped her head on a hand and turned her face up to his. “No, no,” she said when he smiled at her. “Don’t look at me. I’m such a fright.”

  “You do look pretty bad, but I’ve got a strong stomach.”

  Ellie tugged at hairs on his chest and he yelped.

  The humidity had turned her hair into tight curls. From his angle he noted how thick and long her lashes were, and how very blue her eyes.

  “Could Jason have been back there in the yard?” she asked. “Jason and…No, it doesn’t make sense. I can’t put Jason together with the other one.”

  “Neither can I.” Carefully, Joe settled a hand on her neck. “Does that hurt?”

  She shook her head. “You make me feel better.”

  “I hope I do. You’re makin’ me feel better, too. I like your touch—and your feel. Don’t hold back. Anythin’ I have is yours.”

  Her lips curved.

  The thought of doing more than pet her unnerved Joe. Best hold off trying until she gave him a more definite sign that she wouldn’t suddenly become frightened. They had grown so close, but he would never forget the first time they had started to make love.

  Shifting closer, Ellie nestled her head in the hollow of Joe’s shoulder and used the backs of her fingers again. She covered every inch of his shoulders and chest until she tucked her arm around his waist. “I love being close to you,” she told him, and gradually lowered her face to run the tip of her tongue over a nipple. “Anyone who thinks a woman’s chest is more erotic than a man’s is high on something.”

  He laughed. “You’re killin’ me. And as far as which chests are the most erotic, do you think that might be different for different people? A woman versus a man, say?”

  She shook her head. “Absolutely not. If you knew how I feel you’d understand I’m right.”

  “I know what I know,” Joe said. He was too hard for comfort, even if the pain he felt was good, too. Hesitantly he cupped her breast through the robe. She moaned and he slipped his hand inside to smooth her ribs, to stroke her breast in wide circles.

  This wasn’t the time. Joe slid lower and took her in his arms. “See if you can sleep. Later we’ll have to deal with Spike and maybe some others we don’t even know. This thing has gotten big, cher. I want to know why Clark didn’t hunt you down after the first killin’.”

  “He probably never knew about it. Mostly he didn’t take any notice of what went on in the world. And they did a good job of not revealing too much about me then. This time every detail’s been in the news.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “Forget about it for now.”

  She was silent. Joe listened to more thunder and the crackling of lightning. It was the kind of storm that started you praying for whatever was going to happen to happen fast.

  “Joe,” Ellie whispered, “make love to me.”

  He held his breath and willed his arousal to settle down. “Cher, you aren’t up to it yet. I couldn’t stand hurting you.”

  “Please.”

  He raised her chin. “It isn’t easy to stop once I start.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” She turned onto her back again and undid her sash. Slowly, she peeled back her robe, bared her body except for her skimpy white panties. “This is only fair.”

  Only fair? Or taking unfair advantage of a weak man? He kissed her collarbones and tweaked her nipples. When he pulled on them, she writhed and raised her hips from the bed.

  He couldn’t get past his fear of reinjuring her healing wounds.

  “Joe?”

  “Yes,” he told her. “Hold on.” He undid his pants, lifted his butt and shucked off the rest of his clothes. Then he eased her panties down and over her feet.

  Her eyes were wide open.

  “Let me do this,” he told her. “Just give yourself up to me.”

  Ellie nodded. The only man she could give herself to without reservation was Joe Gable. Whatever happened, she would never stop loving him.

  Straddling her thighs, he made sure she took none of his weight. He smoothed her so softly she whimpered, and when he kissed his way from her belly to her breasts the waiting overwhelmed her.

  “Tell me if something’s painful,” he said. “I want my tongue in your mouth.” He slid his forearms beneath her shoulders and held himself so that their bodies barely brushed together. “I’ll just have to wait for the kisses. It’ll do me good.”

  Inside, Ellie ached, a deep arching ache. Very slightly, she rocked from side to side, moving her breasts across his chest.

  If he didn’t take her, he’d explode. Joe parted her legs with a knee and settled his thighs between hers. He used the tip of his penis to excite her and she jackknifed her legs, opened herself up to him. Joe swept smoothly into her but settled a thumb where he could keep on exciting her.

  He hadn’t guessed that holding back, entering and withdrawing millimeter by millimeter and excruciatingly slowly, could sear him in a way he’d want to be seared many times. Ellie’s eyes were closed and tears squeezed from the corners. Her lips pulled back from her teeth, and as if in surrender, she threw her arms over her head on the pillow. Her body jerked with each thrust and her full breasts swayed.

  A convulsive contraction squeezed her around him and he poured himself into her, rocking, supporting her head with both of his hands.

  Ellie’s climax rippled on for seconds, even after Joe had maneuvered himself to her side and taken her into his arms. They didn’t speak. She settled her face into his neck and felt a satisfied peace, even as she knew he could arouse her again in a moment if he wanted to.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he murmured at last. “How would you like to take a soothin’ bath?”

  She
craned her neck to see his face. “Would that be a bath with you?”

  “Would you enjoy it any other way?”

  “Mmm, probably not.”

  Five minutes later Joe lifted her into the deep bathtub, already filling with warm water and some sort of bubbles that smelled wonderful.

  “Have you done this before?” he asked.

  Ellie shook her head. “Never.”

  “You’ll want to do it again.”

  She had no chance to protest his arrogance before he got in with her and pulled her legs over his. He drew her close enough to hold him against her. At the same moment he entered her again and she slipped back and forth on the warm enamel bottom of the tub. Joe paused long enough to dump suds on her head and plop a blob on the end of her nose, but went right back to driving her insane. She found her release in that warm, bubbly water, wrapped in the strong arms of a man who couldn’t get enough of her, and afterward he held her where she was, joined to him, while he caressed her.

  Through drooping eyelids she took in what appeared to be an ocean of sudsy bathwater on the floor—and didn’t care.

  “Ellie,” Joe said. “I love you so much.”

  She rested her forehead on his and flattened her hands over the sides of his head. “I love you, too.”

  “Sometimes corny is okay, right?” he asked.

  “It’s fabulous. It fits just right.”

  “Like other things around here,” he murmured. “Will you be my wife, Ellie Byron?”

  Protests rose to her lips. Her mind tumbled with thoughts of the challenges they still faced. Let the peace in, she told herself. “Yes, Joe, I will.”

  38

  Joe couldn’t believe he’d slept for hours. It was after four in the afternoon and other people would already have arrived at the house. Madge for one needed to get home before darkness, and the danger of flying debris made the trip more hazardous. Apparently her rooms were in the east wing where the family lived.

  He slipped from Ellie’s bed and pulled on his pants. He’d leave her to sleep. No one would be surprised that she needed rest.

  For a moment he watched her. They would be married. This woman had agreed to be his wife. He wanted to shout it out loud.

  He collected his socks and shoes and cracked open the door. The hall was deserted and he slipped out, locked Ellie’s door and slid the key underneath.

  For the first time he got a good look at his own room. He had returned to the land of monkeys, palms and pineapples—and what looked like a harem scene painted on the ceiling. A huge divan heaped with brilliant silks dominated the room.

  Joe enjoyed the novelty only long enough to pull on a navy-blue T-shirt and tuck it into his pants. He found a comb and tamed his hair, then set off to join whoever was downstairs.

  He reached the second floor and thought of Paul. No doubt he’d still be holed up in his rooms, but it was past time for Joe to talk with him. The idea of setting another man straight didn’t thrill him, but this was about his sister and he was all the family she had.

  He walked past rooms, a thick Persian runner muffling his footsteps, until he reached a door with small tiles bearing Paul’s name beside it. Joe rapped with one knuckle and waited. Not a sound came from inside.

  Later would do. He’d already been “careless,” as Cyrus called him, for not keeping a closer eye on the type of man Paul was, so a while longer before an unpleasant interview wouldn’t make much difference.

  Earlier, when Paul had been at All Tarted Up, he’d been despondent. Sure he deserved to be fried for what he’d done to Jilly, but Joe felt disquieted when he considered how Paul might be taking the collapse of all his plans. The guy had shown his temperamental streak before.

  Joe knocked again, and when he still failed to get an answer he cautiously turned the handle, not expecting it to open. It did, and a cluttered room, obviously where Paul worked, confronted him. “Paul? Are you here?”

  Not a sound.

  The dark jacket the man had been wearing when Joe last saw him trailed from the back of a cane-seated chair. On a big Chinese desk, a mug of coffee steamed slightly atop an electric warmer set beside a laptop computer. A red light glowed on the warmer, showing the heating device was on. Paul must have stepped out but intended to return quickly.

  Shelves lined the walls and many of them sagged under the weight of books with other volumes set horizontally on top. Books stood in piles on the floor. Several hefty Hungry Eyes bags with handles marched in a row behind the door, each one filled with books. Ellie had mentioned Paul’s kindness in ordering books from her. Regardless, Joe wasn’t in a mood to feel grateful to Paul for anything.

  He sat in a chair facing the desk and prepared to wait. When he craned his neck to see inside the coffee mug he saw a thick skin on top of the drink. It had been there awhile.

  The lid of the computer had only been half lowered and the machine whirred softly.

  Paul Nelson needed to move on from here and if he didn’t like that idea, Joe would see what it took to change his mind. Jilly would heal, but that would take time and running into Paul regularly wouldn’t help.

  Joe got up and paced. He made a circle around the desk. An open box, also full of books, sat underneath. Other books Paul must be using lay on top—some open and upside down where their spines would be broken.

  With one finger, Joe raised the top of the computer. The screen saver was on. He made a move to lower the panel again but it buzzed and came to life. Paul was researching a list of Internet sites.

  Joe bent forward and frowned. Why would the man want to know about drowning? Accounts by people who had almost drowned, a theory on the stages experienced by a drowning person, a forensic pathologist’s report on the autopsy of a drowning victim.

  Quickly, Joe lowered the top of the computer again. His stomach squeezed. He hated Nelson’s guts, but he’d be relieved to see him about now.

  Would he kill himself because he’d been revealed for the creep he was?

  No, there had been too many brushes with unnatural behavior lately and they were coloring Joe’s reactions. Paul could be anywhere, he could even have behaved like a total fool and gone out into the storm.

  A piece of screwed-up paper had missed the wastebasket. Automatically, Joe picked it up and went to toss it in the right place. He glanced at the door and uncurled the sheet instead. There was just one paragraph at the top of the page, followed by a signature.

  The paragraph read: “Hang in there, Paul. In time we hope to continue the project. You know we hold you in high regard and we hate to let you go.” “Kathleen” was signed with a flourish.

  At the bottom of the page a single line of tasteful gray script identified a New York publishing company: Worth House. The symbol was, appropriately, a small, square house. Paul’s trade-size paperbacks with a yellow chevron on each spine were easy to pick out on a shelf near the desk. Beneath each chevron the little gray house was printed.

  Joe crumpled the paper again and dropped it into the wastebasket. “Poor bastard,” he muttered. Paul had been kicked more than once today.

  Rosebank was so large it took Joe almost five minutes to find his way back to the east wing. When he reached the top of the stairs leading to the ground floor he heard a number of voices in earnest conversation coming from the receiving room.

  He walked through the door and the talking stopped. Spike, Cyrus and Guy stood around looking anything but relaxed. Madge perched on the arm of a chair. Each one of them showed signs of rain damage.

  “Good news and bad news,” Spike said. “We’ve got a big break. Lucien picked out Jason on the Ben’s Foods tape.”

  “Great,” Joe said. “Absolutely great.”

  “We already knew it was Jason,” Guy said. His frown turned his brows into a single rucked line. “If Ellie needed backing up this would do it, but Clark is already in custody and apparently talking. Tell him the really rotten news, Spike.”

  Spike grunted. “Okay. On the night in quest
ion, Lucien heard Ellie’s window breaking and walked to the end of the square to see what was up. He saw Daisy run into the alley and figured she shouldn’t be loose, so he went after her. He found the dog unconscious by the guest house and saw glass glinting on the ground. He was picking up pieces to see what they were when someone jumped him from behind. This guy struggled with him. He held Lucien down and pulled the hand with the glass in it against Lucien’s face—forced pieces into his mouth.”

  Madge put her head in her hands and Cyrus went to her at once. He rested an arm across her shoulders and eased her to lean against him.

  Joe saw the other two men looking at them and felt annoyed. Everyone made too much of Cyrus and Madge’s strong friendship. That’s all it was, a friendship. “So Jason went for Lucien and pushed glass in his mouth. Sick bastard. Does Lucien know what he hit him with?”

  Guy and Spike glanced at each other. “No,” Guy said. “But it wasn’t Jason who hit him the first time—and fed him the glass sandwich. He never saw that man. Jason came along after Lucien listened to the first guy scrabbling around—he was probably stuffing pieces of the chloroform bottle under the siding. Then he ran away. Jason showed up and apparently thought he’d found a dead man. He rolled Lucien over. When he realized he was looking at someone who was still alive, he turned Lucien on his face again and dealt him the blow that nearly killed him.”

  “So we still don’t know who murdered Stephanie Gray and Billie Knight,” Madge said. “But we can assume he was sneaking around behind Hungry Eyes with a bottle of chloroform. It makes more sense that the stuff was meant for Ellie, not the dog.”

  39

  Bathing alone ought to be against the law.

  Ellie smirked at herself in the bathroom mirror while she did a speedy job of making herself respectable. She glanced at the innocent-looking tub and shivered. Mr. Gable had a lot of style….

  She didn’t know how long ago Joe had left her but it was after six now and she had a feeling she’d slept a long time.