by Brenda Novak
He was doing his job. It wasn’t real, he reminded himself. He couldn’t take advantage of the involvement his cover gave him in other people’s lives.
But the knowledge of how wrong it would be to touch Maggie the way he wanted to did little to ease the tightness in his body. Rubbing the day’s growth of whiskers on his chin, he cleared his throat and tried to think of something else. “What if I lent you the money for the air conditioner?”
“You can’t be serious.” She yanked the sheet up under her arms and studied him. “Why would you even say that? Two thousand dollars is a lot of money. You don’t know me well enough to take that kind of risk.”
He knew her well enough to know he didn’t want to see her dead. Money was nothing compared to her life. “Will you keep your doors and windows locked?”
“This serial killer really has you spooked.”
“After what you wrote last night about the other murders, he should have you spooked, too. Wasn’t one of the women he killed a journalist?”
“Yeah. She worked for the Seattle Independent. And I have been a little nervous,” she admitted. “The Dumpster where Sarah Ritter’s body was found is only a few blocks from here. Normally I wouldn’t sleep outside, but tonight I felt safe.” She gave a little shrug. “You were here.”
“I can’t protect you if I’m fast asleep in the other part of the house. You need to stay closer to me.”
“Just knowing someone else is around helps.”
“It’s not enough. This guy is…this guy is beyond sick. He’s confident and he’s bold and he’s extremely dangerous.” Nick forced himself to leave it at that before the passion he felt about capturing Dr. Dan gave him away. What he’d already said was enough to make Maggie shiver.
“Let’s not talk about him. You’re scaring me,” she said, but then she quirked one eyebrow. “Or is that what you’re trying to do?”
“It is what I’m trying to do. But not for the reason you think.” Resting his elbows on his knees, Nick leaned forward and set the flirting and teasing aside. This was serious. They were talking about life and death. Maybe hers. And if he kept going along the same track he had been with Maggie, he’d cross lines he had no right to cross. It was time to level with her—as much as he could.
“I want you, Maggie,” he said softly. “I think you know that. I’ve wanted you from almost the first moment I laid eyes on you. But I won’t act on that desire. I know it wouldn’t be good for you in the long run. I don’t plan to be around for more than a few months. I’ve got job opportunities opening up elsewhere, and you deserve more than a temporary fling.”
Her chest lifted as though he’d just dealt her a stinging blow, but if she was feeling any emotion, she didn’t reveal it. She kept her face passive. After a moment, she even smiled. “Is that little confession supposed to make me trust you?”
“I was hoping it would. I want to be friends. I want us to agree that’s all our relationship will ever be. And I want you to know I won’t act beyond the boundaries that go with friendship.”
“Right. Friends. I understand. It’s not like I was expecting anything more.”
“You act as though I’m proving you right about something.”
She tilted her chin. “You are.”
“I guess that’s good,” he said, even though it didn’t feel very good. After Irene, some small part of him wanted to see if he was capable of a deep, fulfilling relationship, one in which the thought of marriage didn’t leave him in a cold sweat. But another part warned what it would cost Maggie—and himself—when the time came to leave. “I’m going to take a taxi home now. In the morning, I’ll get a good HVAC company out here and—”
“No.” Maggie shook her head, adamant. “I’m not going to let you pay for my air-conditioning. That’s a little much to accept from a friend, especially one as new as you are.”
“You can pay me back when you get the money.”
“I need all of my paycheck just to take care of my monthly bills. I’m not going to borrow an amount that could take me years to repay.”
“Maggie, there’s a crazy man out there running around, raping and stabbing women. I want your doors and windows locked, at least the ones without bars.”
“What are the chances he’ll set his sights on me?” she demanded.
Nick couldn’t answer that without giving himself away. But he knew her chances were better than most.
“I’m a big girl,” she went on. “I can take care of myself.”
Nick wondered if Sarah Ritter had thought the same thing.
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN MAGGIE’S ALARM went off at five-thirty the next morning, her first thought was that she wasn’t going to dwell on what had happened with Nick. She’d known from the beginning that he wasn’t husband material, so last night’s revelations shouldn’t have come as any surprise. Of course, he was a little more honest than she’d expected, which made him more admirable, too. But honest didn’t change the bottom line. So why the nagging disappointment? Especially today, when her article would be on the front page of the paper?
Remembering the reason she’d set her alarm, Maggie untangled herself from the sheet and padded barefoot to the door. She poked her head outside, glanced up and down the dark street to be sure she could venture forth in her sleepwear, and dashed down the walk to retrieve her paper. Then she set herself up in the kitchen for the big moment.
Birds chirped in the trees outside as Maggie stared down at the rolled newspaper for several seconds before ripping off the rubber band and flattening the paper out in front of her.
Finally, there it was:
RITTER MURDER—LATEST OF SEVEN?
By Tribune Reporter Maggie Russell
SACRAMENTO—At first glance Sarah Ritter, Sophie Johnson, Helen Swanson, Lola Fillmore, Jeanie Savoy, Winnie Hartman and Tasha Thomas would seem to have little in common. They didn’t know each other. For the most part they lived in different states, had different jobs, different backgrounds, different marital status. Yet they were all murdered in the past year by what authorities believe to be the same man…
Those were her words, the result of her research. Because of her, Sacramento was better informed about the threat posed by Sarah Ritter’s murderer. The women in California’s capital would now know that he might strike again. They could take precautions and not leave themselves vulnerable. They could keep an eye out, stay in groups whenever possible and lock their doors and windows at night.
She looked up at the window above her sink and amended her last thought to include if they have central air, which brought her full circle to Nick. But she refused to let what he’d said last night darken her mood—either the rambling man routine or the frightening admonishments. She was on the front page of the paper! This was a special day. Although it was a little lonely being the only one to celebrate…Who could she tell? Darla would kill her if she woke her this early, and Mrs. Gruber didn’t get up until eight. Nick would probably be awake—he’d left her house only a few hours earlier and Maggie doubted it was to go back to bed—but despite the new classification he’d given their relationship, he hardly felt like that kind of friend. So she called her mother and Aunt Rita in Iowa.
“What is it? Is something wrong?” her mother asked as soon as she heard the pitch of Maggie’s voice.
“No. I’m fine. Zach’s fine. I just wanted to tell you that my article’s on the front page of the paper today. The front page! For the first time.”
“Your article?”
“One I wrote.”
“That’s nice, dear. What is it about?”
“A mass murderer.”
“Oh.” Silence. “I guess that’s good, if you like that sort of thing.”
“I don’t ‘like’ mass murderers, Mom. I report on them. Don’t you think it’s important for the public to know if there’s a killer in their midst?”
“So they won’t feel safe at night? What use is that?”
“It puts press
ure on the police to solve these crimes, for one thing. It keeps the public aware of the state of our society, too, so good people can make positive changes. And it warns potential victims to be careful.”
“There’s not much crime out here. No one in Cedar Rapids has been murdered. When are you going to settle down and forget this terrible fascination with crime?” her mother asked. “It’s unnatural. And it’s not like they’re paying you a lot for what you do. You barely get by. What you need is a man.”
After the way she’d paced the floor last night—agonizing over whether or not to wake Nick, wondering whether he’d leave if she did, not knowing if she actually wanted him to stay—Maggie was beginning to believe she needed a man, all right. But not for the reasons her mother thought. “It just hasn’t been in the cards.”
“You’re too busy running around writing about sickos.”
“It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at, I hope.”
“What about that nice young man from around here who was moving to California? Ralph Peters?”
“The Ralph who has seven kids by five different women?”
“Poor man. He just can’t seem to find a decent wife.”
In Maggie’s opinion, Ralph was the common denominator, not his ex-wives, but she wasn’t about to throw her hat in the ring on that one.
“I gave him your number,” her mother was saying. “Did you ever hear from him?”
“No.” Thank God.
“Well, Bertha has a cousin who lives out in California. I wonder if she has any sons who are available. Or there’s always Luke Wordelly. His boys are all plumbers. I think one of them lives in Auburn, which isn’t far from—”
“Whoa, that’s okay, Mom,” Maggie interrupted. “You’ve set me up enough times already. There’s no need to do it again. I’ve met someone I sort of like, anyway.”
“Really? How wonderful.” Rosalyn’s voice warmed considerably. “What’s his name?”
“Nick—I mean John.” Maggie felt a blush warm her cheeks even though no one was around to witness her embarrassment. “His name’s John,” she said to reinforce it to her own mind as much as her mother’s. “I’ll be sure and let you know how things progress. We’ve only gone out once so far—” she decided to save herself a lot of grief and not mention the cyber thing “—but I like him. Is Aunt Rita there?”
After grilling her for another ten minutes about John, Rosalyn passed the phone to Aunt Rita, and Maggie finally got the joy of sharing her accomplishment with someone who seemed genuinely excited for her. She was still smiling when she hung up and Zach wandered into the room.
Proudly, Maggie presented the newspaper to him. “See this, Zachy? Mommy wrote this. This is my story.”
He blinked at it, obviously unimpressed.
“It’s on the front page,” she pointed out.
He switched his focus to her. “I’m hungry.”
Evidently lack of enthusiasm ran in the family. Maggie sighed, pulled out a box of cereal and poured him a bowl, adding milk. “There you go, kiddo. Maybe by the time I win the Pulitzer, you’ll be old enough to understand.”
Zach shoved a spoonful of cornflakes into his mouth and smiled at her as he chewed. Maggie smiled back—at him and the paper. John would probably appreciate the significance of her big day, she decided.
She got some juice and grapes to go with Zach’s cereal, put the whole thing on a breakfast tray, and helped him carry it into her bedroom so he wouldn’t have to eat alone. Then she signed on to the Internet. She was dying to hear if John had received her pictures. What did he think of her red hair? Did the reality of seeing her with her son frighten him at all? Did he mind that she had a child?
Maggie raised her brows as she watched her screen. She could always ask him. According to her buddy list, he was online, too. But he’d sent her an e-mail, and she wanted to see what that said before contacting him via instant message.
She clicked on the small envelope icon, expecting a few paragraphs, at least, but soon saw that he’d sent only one word: Beautiful.
No signature. No attachments. No promise to send pictures soon. Nothing. Just “beautiful.” Maggie frowned at it. “Cheater,” she muttered irritably. Maybe she’d been wrong about John. He’d seemed so nice on their cyber-date, but anyone could seem nice online. Men could be serial killers and describe themselves as the kindest, most generous beings on the face of the earth. They could also say they looked like Mel Gibson when they really looked like Ralph from Cedar Rapids.
Probably her request for pictures had scared him. Maybe he wasn’t really six two, one hundred and ninety-five pounds. Maybe he was closer to sixty and bald, with a hairy back.
Mntnbiker: Hi, Maggie.
Evidently she was on John’s buddy list, too, because he was contacting her instead of the other way around.
Mntnbiker: What are you doing up so early?
Zachman: Wondering if you have a hairy back.
Mntnbiker: Was there a typo in that last response?
Zachman: No.
Mntnbiker: Hmmm. No back hair. Want to check out my dental records?
Zachman: Maybe. There must be some reason you won’t send me a picture.
Mntnbiker: I told you. I don’t have a scanner. And I’ve been really busy lately.
Zachman: I assumed that from your one-word e-mail.
Mntnbiker: Hey, it might have been short but it was sweet. I don’t tell every woman I meet that she’s beautiful.
Zachman: You didn’t say I was beautiful. You said “beautiful.” That could mean you think Zach’s a beautiful child, that the pictures came through beautifully, that my coloring is a beautiful example of red hair without many freckles…
Mntnbiker: Don’t pout, Maggie. It means your pictures are all over my walls right now. Sometimes I look at them and imagine pulling you into my arms and kissing you. But I didn’t want you to think I was some kind of pervert, so I left that part out, okay?
Maggie took a deep breath. So he had liked the pictures. Perhaps she’d overreacted just a bit, but she couldn’t very well explain that her preoccupation with Nick Sorenson was making her desperate to establish a relationship with someone safer, could she?
Before she responded, John sent her another line of text.
Mntnbiker: I bought you something at a virtual reality store, by the way. They’ll be notifying you by e-mail so you can tell them where to ship it.
Zachman: I think I’m feeling better already.
Mntnbiker: LOL. Glad I could help. How’s work going? Anything new on that serial killer?
Zachman: An article I wrote about him is on the front page of the paper today.
Mntnbiker: Congratulations! How’d you get the story?
Maggie explained what had happened with the coroner’s wife and her own subsequent research. Then she told about her tip from Dorothy Jones and the diamond bracelet find.
Mntnbiker: Great work. Sounds like you’re better at investigation than some of the detectives on the case. Or are they feeding you information, too?
Zachman: They’re pretty stingy. I don’t think their mothers taught them to play nice with others. What did you buy me?
Mntnbiker: It’s a surprise.
Zachman: What kind of surprise? An edible surprise? A photo surprise? Something else?
Mntnbiker: Yes.
Zachman: Yes, what?
Mntnbiker: It’s something else.
Zachman: Like?
Mntnbiker: I’m not going to give it away. Want to meet me online again tonight? We can drink a glass of champagne to toast your journalistic success.
Zachman: Together?
Mntnbiker: At the same time.
Zachman: Ooo, same time, huh? That really gets me excited.
Mntnbiker: I’m getting the feeling you’re not crazy about long-distance relationships.
How could a long-distance relationship satisfy her when Nick Sorenson was so real, vital—and close? When her mother was threatening to set her up
with one of the Wordelly brothers? Maybe she should’ve gone out with Ray from Sports….
Nah, she wasn’t that desperate.
Zachman: Just tell me that eventually, if we get to know each other and like each other, you’ll want to meet me in person.
There was a long pause.
Mntnbiker: It’s a little early to worry about that, isn’t it? Let’s just take it one day at a time and see where things go, okay?
A dodge. He was dodging her. Maggie had asked enough questions in her lifetime to know. But why?
Zachman: Now you’ve scared me again. I’m thinking you might be some reclusive freak who weighs eight hundred pounds, eats sixty cheeseburgers, fifty orders of fries and a dozen shakes at each meal and won’t leave his bedroom.
Mntnbiker: Don’t beat around the bush, Maggie. Tell me what you really think. LOL
Another dodge?
Zachman: Well?
Mntnbiker: I’m normal. Would you relax?
Zachman: Normal can be a very broad term. It can include all kinds of phobias and maladies. For instance, some men think fear of commitment is normal.
Mntnbiker: It’s not?
Zachman: Very funny.
Mntnbiker: Okay. I don’t think I’m particularly afraid of commitment, just really involved in my work.
Zachman: My ex-husband was really involved in his work.
Mntnbiker: Holy cow, are you having a bad day?
Maggie stared at the screen and sighed. Why was she grilling John? What was she hoping to achieve? Obviously some of her own insecurities and phobias were taking over.