Love is Murder

by Sandra Brown

  “You were mad at me because I jumped into the action.”

  “No, I don’t expect less than that from you.” He rested his forehead on mine. “You are ten kinds of kick ass and you don’t need me. Sometimes I wish I could sweep in and rescue you. Even if it’s just saving you from getting a rip in your dress.”

  “I do need you, Dawson. Just not to come in, guns blazing, to save me.” I pressed my lips to his. “I need you in ways that scare me.” I kissed him again. “And I want you so much it makes me crazy to think about it.”

  “So don’t think. In fact, forget about everything but this.”

  Any protest died as Dawson kissed me. Languidly. Assuredly. Touched me in that leisurely manner that warned me he’d keep this slow and easy until slow and easy wasn’t enough for either of us.

  My baser instincts were screaming for more when his big hands slid my dress up past my hips. Then his hands moved down so his rough-skinned thumbs stroked the skin between my navel and the top of my thong.

  He kissed a path down my throat and roughly yanked the top of my dress aside. His wet mouth closed over my right nipple and he bit down softly as the blunt tips of his fingers teased the underside of my breasts.

  A noise burst from my mouth, half sigh, half hiss. I untangled my hands from his hair, running them down his broad chest to his belly until I reached his belt buckle. I tugged.

  Cheap-ass thing popped loose on the first try.

  He inhaled a swift breath when I lowered the zipper and freed him, tracing the hard length from tip to root.

  Our eyes met. Words were unnecessary. Unwanted.

  Dawson eased back only far enough to drop his Wranglers. Then he hoisted me against the side of the house and held me there. Bending his knees, he thrust inside me, hard and high.

  This was what I needed. This man knew exactly how to make my world tilt and at the same time set it right again.

  Staring into my eyes, he slowly pumped his hips. “More?”

  “God yes.”

  Dawson angled his head and put his lips on mine, eating at my mouth, destroying me with his voracious kisses. Slamming into my body with finesse that always shocked me. Stroking inside me with precision that robbed me of air and reason.

  The tight coiling sensation built. Sweat trickled down my back. In the haze of passion I heard the rhythmic clank of his belt buckle hitting the siding. The harsh mix of our breathing. Holding myself rigid, I pulled away, craving that elusive pulsing rush. When he buried his lips in the curve where my neck met my shoulder, it was over. I unraveled.

  When I returned to earth, Dawson watched my face with a hunger that made my belly swoop. He pressed my knees wide and took what he needed. Hard. Fast. Urgently. Then he exploded with a shout, and damn if that didn’t send me soaring right over the edge with him again.

  Luckily I had something solid holding me up, because I became completely boneless. Mindless. Sated in a way that went beyond hot sex. Then Dawson sweetened the finish, sending new chills across my skin with his every whispered word, with each labored breath against my damp skin, with each soft kiss.

  When I felt him smile against my neck, I murmured, “What?”

  “I’m thinking for the piss-poor way it started, this was the best date ever.”

  Relieved, I laughed. “And I haven’t even broken out the handcuffs yet.”

  * * * * *

  VACATION INTERRUPTED

  A Lucy Kincaid/Sean Rogan Story

  Allison Brennan

  Kincaid and Rogan are plunged—literally—into another adventure. Two pairs of lovers, plus one psycho, equals a less-than-ideal getaway. ~SB

  “No dead bodies, no psychopaths, no one trying to kill us.” Sean Rogan leaned back on the blanket spread out on the semisecluded beach. “Just you and me, princess.” He took her hand and closed his eyes.

  In five days, Lucy was to report at Quantico to start her twenty-week FBI training. She’d suggested a few weeks ago that she and Sean find a couple days to go away—alone. They’d tried twice since they first started seeing each other six months ago, but each time their vacation plans were ruined by criminal activity. Because they were both so busy—Lucy working at the regional FBI office and Sean at his security company, RCK East—Lucy didn’t think they’d have the opportunity.

  On Tuesday morning, Sean announced he’d finished his assignment early and asked if she wanted to go to the beach. When Lucy said yes, she hadn’t expected to leave an hour later in Sean’s plane, landing before noon at a small executive airport on Cape Cod in Massachusetts.

  Though early August was the height of the tourist season, Sean finagled a wonderful room at a bed-and-breakfast with a view of the bay. Lucy didn’t want to ask how—her boyfriend relied heavily on his charm to get him in and out of tricky situations. If that failed, he used his brains or brawn.

  Lucy rarely relaxed, and didn’t particularly enjoy sunbathing—ironic considering she had earned many blue ribbons and trophies swimming in high school and for Georgetown University—but she found herself half-asleep under the large umbrella Sean had pitched, the soothing lap of waves rolling up the shore leeching the tension from her muscles.

  A scream shattered her peaceful afternoon. Lucy sat up quickly; Sean was already on his feet scanning the horizon. It had come from a young woman standing on the shoreline. “Someone help him!”

  The blonde was looking out into the ocean, pointing to a man flailing in the waves about a hundred and fifty yards out. Sean was already running and Lucy followed, searching for a lifeguard tower. The only one she spotted was so far away she couldn’t see the person manning the booth.

  Lucy had spent her high school summers working as a lifeguard in San Diego, and while she didn’t have a tube or float, she spotted a boogie board near the shoreline. She didn’t know or care who it belonged to, but strapped the board’s leash around her ankle and ran into the ocean. The salt water was cold and itchy against her warm, dry skin. “Sean—get the lifeguard!” she ordered.

  She pictured where she last saw the man, then swam toward that spot with long, confident strides. The shore was shallow, but fifty yards out it dropped steeply and the water turned choppy.

  Every few seconds Lucy stopped briefly to ensure she was still headed toward the troubled swimmer. Her hundred-yard record in competition was 48:10, but she was fighting the current and waves, and it took three times that long.

  When she thought she was close to the man, she stopped and treaded water. She didn’t see anyone. Had she passed him? The waves were high enough to thwart her view, so she rode them up and down, looking 360 degrees.

  Something brushed by her ankle. She dived, fearing the victim was underwater and unconscious, but didn’t find anything. She surfaced, dived again, deeper, and swimming a wider perimeter.

  Lucy breached the surface, fearing she was too late. As she began to lose hope, she spotted the man only a few feet away, his face twisted with pain and fear as he slipped under again.

  She dived at an angle, kicking with all her strength, making a straight line to where she predicted he’d be if sinking. Her hands made contact with flesh, and she grabbed what she could—his biceps, it turned out—and kicked toward the surface, pulling the added weight with her.

  She gasped for air when she broke through the surface. She immediately turned the man to his back because it was easier to help him float if he was lying as flat as possible. He wasn’t unconscious, but definitely in distress and noticeably exhausted. He coughed and pushed at her, his eyes unfocused.

  “I’m here to help,” she said.

  “Get away!”

  He pushed her down, but Lucy saw it coming. She dunked below the surface so he couldn’t hold her down, and then popped up a couple feet away.

  Disoriented, he must be on drugs. He tried to swim, but a wave hit him in the face, almost pushing him under. She grabbed him. “I’m a lifeguard. Calm down!”

  Lucy put the boogie board under his body to help him sta
y afloat. “Remain calm,” she repeated. She glanced toward the shore and saw the lifeguard swimming swiftly toward her. “Help’s coming.”

  “Someone,” he gasped. “Someone here.” He coughed up water.

  “Calm down or you’ll hyperventilate. Slow, deep breaths.”

  “Kill,” he breathed heavily. “Me.”

  Someone tried to kill him? She scanned the area, but being this far out diminished visibility. The only other swimmers were much closer to the shore, where it was only a few feet deep.

  The lifeguard approached on a rescue board. He rolled off, barely glanced at Lucy, his attention focused on the near-drowning victim. “What’s your name?” he asked the victim.

  “Ted.”

  “I’m Andrew. I’ll get you back to shore.” He glanced at Lucy. “You okay?”

  “I’m good.” She rested a minute while Andrew secured Ted to the rescue board. When he was ready, the lifeguard pulled the board with Ted and she followed at a steady pace.

  Was Ted delirious or had someone really tried to kill him?

  By the time she got back to the shore, Andrew was assessing Ted’s injuries. An EMT unit was coming down the beach.

  “Thank you, thank you,” the blonde repeated. “What happened?”

  The lifeguard said, “Caught in a riptide is my guess.” Lucy didn’t think so, but before she could question Ted or the lifeguard, the EMT arrived.

  Sean pulled Lucy to him and hugged her tightly. His body felt hot against her cold skin. She held on, shaking from the adrenaline spike and cold water, grateful for someone to lean on.

  He looked down at her, his dark blue eyes full of both worry and pride. He pushed her long, dark hair out of her face. “You really don’t know how to relax, do you?” He kissed her repeatedly. “Let’s get you in a hot shower.”

  “I need it.”

  He smiled at her, his dimple practically winking. “Me, too.”

  * * *

  While Sean and Lucy napped after sharing a long shower, the phone rang. Wendy Potter, Ted’s fiancée, insisted on taking them to drinks as a thank-you. “Why’d you give her our number?” Sean moaned. Sean tried to talk Lucy out of agreeing, but Lucy hadn’t been able to get Ted’s odd comment out of her mind.

  Three hours later, just after sunset, they walked into a popular club. “One hour, tops,” Lucy assured Sean as they spotted the other couple.

  “I’m holding you to that.” Sean glanced at his watch.

  Lucy smiled as they sat down. “You look much better than you did earlier,” she said to Ted. He was of average height and build, with a warm manner and attractive smile, even though he appeared both tired and apprehensive. Lucy’s mother would classify Wendy as “cute as a button”—blond-haired, blue-eyed and petite. She, too, looked worried.

  “We don’t know how to thank you,” Wendy said.

  “I’m just glad I could help.”

  “What happened out there?” Sean asked. “The lifeguard said you were caught in a riptide?”

  Ted shook his head. “No, and the risk of riptides was low today. I checked before I went out.”

  “You were out pretty far,” Lucy said.

  He looked sheepish. “I wasn’t paying attention, I’ll admit. Then I began to feel light-headed and my heart was racing. I felt high, but I haven’t done drugs since college. Then—” he glanced at Wendy.

  She said, “It’s not like she wouldn’t do it!”

  Lucy’s interest was piqued. “Excuse me?”

  “His ex-girlfriend.”

  Ted took a long drink from his beer. “I broke up with Patty a year ago, and she’s made my life a living hell since then.”

  “You think she drugged you?”

  “I think she tried to kill me. I felt something grab my legs. I kicked and thrashed, and it still pulled me down. I know it sounds ludicrous, but she’s a diver.”

  “Did you tell the police?” Lucy asked. They remained silent. “You need to file a report and get a restraining order.”

  Wendy laughed humorlessly. Ted said, “I can’t go to the police. Patty is a cop. The first time she harassed me, it was right after I moved out. She trashed my new apartment. I filed a report, but there was no proof she did it. Then two of her cop friends beat me up when I was walking to my car after work. She then started following me, accidentally bumping into me at a restaurant, or the movies, things like that.”

  Wendy said, “Six months ago I transferred to Boston for a job and met Ted. On our third date, Patty showed up at the restaurant and made a scene. The manager called the police, and when they arrived, they arrested Ted! If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have believed it. He didn’t do anything except try to calm her down.”

  “A week later,” Ted said, “I was arrested for assault. Patty said I’d gone to her house and when she told me to leave I hit her. I was never there!”

  “You have other options,” Lucy said. “Reporting her to internal affairs, for example. Or to the FBI if you’re concerned about police corruption.”

  “I didn’t know I could go to the FBI. I guess that’s next.” He sighed, defeated. “I just want my life back. I proposed to Wendy on Saturday, and we were enjoying our vacation until today. How did she find us? We even lied to our friends and families, told them we were going to Maine because we didn’t want them accidentally telling her where we were.”

  Lucy had been skeptical when they started their story, but they both had the right body language and verbal responses. Still, while police corruption existed, could a cop get her buddies to participate in such harassment? “Why would her friends help her?”

  “She’s a liar,” Wendy said. “She told me once that Ted left her because she was pregnant, then had a miscarriage. Then she changed her story and said Ted made her have an abortion. Then she said she had her tubes tied because Ted didn’t want any kids.”

  “None of that was true,” Ted said. “She even called my mother and told her we were engaged! The only reason the assault charges were dropped was because I had a good lawyer, but then Patty got a restraining order against me!”

  Sean spoke up for the first time. “Can I see your cell phone?” Ted handed it over. While inspecting the device, Sean asked, “Have you posted any pictures of your trip on the internet? On Facebook? Emailed anyone?”

  Wendy shook her head. “No. We didn’t want them to know—God, I hate that she’s turned us into liars, too!”

  “I know how she found you,” Sean said. He powered down the phone and took out the battery. “Don’t use your phone until you contact your provider and tell them to wipe your backup files, then have the software reinstalled. You’ll lose everything on the phone, but it’ll also wipe her GPS tracking program.”

  “She had us bugged?” Wendy asked, incredulous.

  “Close. She knew exactly where the phone was at all times.”

  “I’ll get another phone,” Ted said.

  Sean shook his head. “Won’t do any good. The program is integrated and unless you get a completely new phone number and account, it will be downloaded from your backup files.”

  “We have friends in law enforcement who might be able to help,” Lucy said.

  “It’s too late,” Ted said. “Wendy and I have been talking about leaving Boston and moving to California. My sister lives there and said we can stay with her until we find jobs.”

  “And you don’t think she knows where your sister lives?” Lucy said. “Your ex-girlfriend is obsessed. If she tried to kill you today, moving cross-country isn’t going to stop her. If you file charges—” She stopped. “Did you get a drug test this afternoon?” When they shook their heads, she added, “Depending on the drug, it may still be in your system. Go to the hospital first thing in the morning. Or now.” Though, even if the test was positive, there would be no proof that his ex-girlfriend had been the person who’d drugged him.

  Wendy said, “I thought I saw her yesterday, but dismissed it—I wasn’t certain because her hair was muc
h darker and she wore big sunglasses.”

  “Even if we could prove she was here, that’s still not going to help.” Sean picked up Ted’s phone again. “I have an idea.”

  Lucy didn’t like the plan even before hearing Sean’s plan. “I already don’t like it.”

  He grinned as he popped the battery back in the phone. “What do you mean? I haven’t even told you.”

  “I know you, Sean Rogan.”

  He leaned over and kissed her, then said softly, “You know and I know that Ted’s psychotic ex-girlfriend will get caught eventually, but probably not until after they’re dead.”

  Wendy gasped.

  “Tactful,” Lucy muttered.

  Sean turned to the newly engaged couple. “So this is the plan. We’re taking your phone and your room. Where are you staying?”

  “We have a cottage on the beach,” Wendy said. “But I don’t understand.”

  “I also need her full name and address if you have it.”

  “Why would you help us?”

  “It’s what I do.” Sean slid over his business card. “I’m in the security business. It’s clear to me that your stalker has escalated. She’s going to kill you unless we stop her. And it’s also clear that going through the proper channels at this point will take too long. So what do you say?”

  Lucy wanted them to decline, but wasn’t surprised when they both nodded their heads. “What do you want us to do?” Ted asked.

  Sean explained how they would trade phones and rooms, then wait.

  “Do you really think she’ll try to kill Ted again?”

  “If she’s still in town? I guarantee it.”

  * * *

  For well over an hour, Sean and Lucy sat in Ted and Wendy’s small cottage, digging up everything they could on the parties involved. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe Ted and Wendy, but their story did stretch credibility. A cursory background check showed them to be exactly who they said they were.

  Because of his P.I. license and RCK connections, Sean could go deep. Because of his computer skills, he could do it faster than most. “Patricia Annette Glover, thirty-two, born in Providence, Rhode Island,” he said. “Received an AA from a community college. Joined the Army Reserves when she was eighteen. She went through the police academy and worked for Boston Police Department for seven years, then her Reserves unit was called up for service in Iraq. She volunteered for two more tours. Was honorably discharged three years ago.”