Waking Nightmare

by Kylie Brant

  She reached into her purse to withdraw a compact, checked her makeup in the mirror. The pains she’d taken with her appearance showed. She hadn’t missed the subtle appreciation in Warren’s expression whenever he looked at her.

  Laura allowed herself a little smile as she slipped the compact back into her purse. After the string of dead-end dates she’d experienced in the past several months—the last of which had been an unemployed thirty-five-year-old Trek kie enthusiast still living in his parents’ basement—she was entitled to feel a little excitement at the prospect of a date with a real man.

  And maybe not just one date. At least she hoped not. Maybe this would develop into a real relationship. She wasn’t necessarily in the market for white lace and organdy, but if a prize like Warren Denton came along, she wasn’t going to close the door to options either.

  “Beautiful view, isn’t it?”

  Laura started at the sound of a voice. A stranger had approached to face the glass wall behind her, which looked out over downtown Savannah.

  Deliberately keeping her eyes from straying toward the view, she said deprecatingly, “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t looked at it.”

  “You haven’t . . . well, turn around and see for yourself. A little later, with the lights from the city below, it will be truly spectacular.”

  Just the thought had Laura’s stomach hollowing out. “No, thanks. Heights scare me stiff.”

  Chuckling, the stranger said, “Odd place to pick to come and eat then.”

  “It was my date’s idea. I’m trying to impress him.” Laura chanced a quick glance at the newcomer, keeping her eyes deliberately diverted from the window. “I didn’t want to tell him that I’m terrified of heights. At least not yet.”

  The stranger gave her an intimate wink. “Well, don’t worry, my lips are sealed. Your fear . . . will be our little secret.”

  Chapter 15

  Abbie halted her approach and just took a moment to look at the man seated at the desk next to hers. Ryne’s jacket was off, hung carelessly on the back of his chair, and he was reading something on the computer and scribbling notes in a notebook next to the keyboard.

  His hard jaw was shadowed—it was past eight already—and his short brown hair showed signs of careless fingers being jammed through it more than once that day.

  She had an urge to lift a hand to smooth it, a gesture that was distinctly feminine and totally unfamiliar. She didn’t recognize where the wave of tenderness stemmed from; couldn’t remember experiencing it for a man before. She was certain that if he knew of it, it would frighten Ryne as much as it did her.

  She curled her fingers into her palms to keep them from reaching for him and continued her approach.

  “You didn’t call.”

  His back was still turned when he spoke. How long had he been aware of her standing there? Before her surprise could turn to embarrassment, he swiveled his chair to face her. “I expected you to check in before now. Did you hit a snag with the employees at the bar?”

  Shaking her head, she set her purse on her desk and propped her hips against its corner. “You know how it goes. By the time you get someone down there with access to the time sheets and then call the employees in, it’s hours.”

  “Tedious work. You should have left it to the uniforms to finish.”

  She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand and shrugged. “We didn’t talk to every person who worked in all the bars that night, but we got most of them. I think the bartender at The Loose Goose is our guy, though.” She gave him a run-down of that conversation she’d had with him and Ryne gave a bemused nod.

  “So it’s like we figured. She arranged to have him follow her home afterwards, and that accounts for the front door being left unlocked, and all the candles. He doesn’t show, she falls asleep—or passes out—and the candle catches the drape on fire. Which would be the end of the story if she didn’t appear to have the same chemical in her bloodstream as the rape victims. His alibi check out?”

  “His boss backed up his story about keeping them all there an extra three hours or so, and can say with certainty the bartender remained with everyone else.” And after fifteen minutes of conversation with the man, she’d been inclined to agree with the bartender’s assessment of him.

  Ryne worked his shoulders tiredly. “She could have issued the same invitation at a bar she hit earlier and the employee lied about recognizing her picture. Or maybe she came on to one of the patrons, too. One might have even known the bartender was going to be held up and decided to take his place.”

  “I thought of that. But according to both guys behind the bar, she spoke exclusively to the one bartender for the last hour before closing time. I’ve got O’Malley and Dugan following up on the patrons the employees recognized in the bar that night. But if there was an attack,” and it was beginning to seem probable, “it’s just as likely the rapist was hidden in her home, the same way he was in most of the other victims’. Larsen said it was unusual for her to go out at night. With her temporary nursing status, her schedule was likely erratic. He would have to be watching her closely to know when he could slip into the house.”

  “Next time we approach her, we’ll bring up the arrangement with the bartender and see if we can get her to admit to inviting him. Maybe she’ll be ready to talk once she sees what we know. What’s his name?”

  Abbie gave him the bartender’s personal information. “I came back to run a background check on him myself.”

  “It’ll keep.” Ryne stood, picked up his coat. “I’ll follow up on it when I come back in tomorrow morning.”

  “Might be simpler to pitch a tent at your desk,” she noted, trying without success to keep concern from tingeing her tone. He kept long hours. Well, when she was on a job, so did she, but she’d be the first to admit there wasn’t much else in her life to concentrate on. A pathetic admission, if there was ever one.

  “I’m not much of a camper.” He studied her, the corner of his mouth kicking up. “Although I could be talked into it if you’re offering to share my sleeping bag. Protect me from these wild animals.” He jerked his head in the direction of the nearest detectives.

  Abbie’s cheeks heated, and she threw a quick glance around them. The crew at this time of night was thin, and none of them appeared within hearing distance. And in spite of his light tone, the mental picture of the two of them wrapped around each other in a sleeping bag took on sudden vivid imagery. It was a moment before she could respond, and when she did, it took real effort to match his easy tone. “Somehow I think you’d be fine on your own. But if one of these guys makes a move for your s’mores, I’ve got your back.”

  “S’mores. Geez, I haven’t had them since I was a kid.” He was silent for a moment, and the heat in his eyes had her flesh tingling. “Have you eaten?”

  “Are you kidding? After talking to those employees today, I may never eat again. At least not in a bar.”

  “Another guy would take you out. Decent restaurant. Wine.”

  “But you’re not that guy?”

  His voice lowered, and the intensity in his gaze had her pulse stuttering. “I’m the guy who’s had his concentration shot to hell and back today, thinking of last night. The kind of guy who’d just as soon grab a bucket of chicken and get you in bed again as quickly as possible.” He paused a beat. “But we can go out. If you’d rather.”

  She knew that she had only to say the word and he’d do exactly that, despite his weariness. Go home. Shave. Get changed and go out for a late dinner in an expensive restaurant. She could appreciate the offer, even while she wasn’t tempted by it in the least. Not when she wanted exactly the same thing he did. To get him in bed, hot and naked, with the long hours of the night stretching invitingly before them.

  She cocked her head, smiled slowly. “Extra crispy?”

  In the end the chicken waited until an appetite of another type had been sated. It was only after, once his mind had cleared and his breathing returned to normal, t
hat Ryne had done the honorable thing and fed her. Because all of a sudden they were ravenous.

  They ended up picnicking in her bed, still naked, propped with pillows against the headboard and a towel across their laps to catch the crumbs. And as picnics went, this one kicked ass. There were no ants to worry about, and the view, he thought, eyeing Abbie’s bare breasts, couldn’t be beat.

  Scooping up a dab of mashed potatoes with one finger, he dropped it on one of her nipples, then leaned over to lick it off.

  “Interesting table manners.”

  “I don’t see a table.” He reached over and turned the bucket around to read. “But now I understand how mashed potatoes can turn this into a ‘Valu-pak.’ ”

  Abbie snickered, gave him a light push. “You’re depraved. I’m not sure when I started liking that in a man.” She waggled her oily fingers at him. “Hand me a napkin, will you?”

  Instead he reached for her hand and brought her fingers to his mouth, sucking the pad of each. And watched her eyes go to smoke. Satisfaction curled in his stomach. She was usually so guarded, it was all the more gratifying to observe her expression when he surprised her. Pleasured her. Evidence of her desire was heady, especially given the strength of his attraction to her.

  The power of her appeal should have alarmed him. It had been a long time since he’d let himself get this close to a woman. Longer still since he’d done exclusive. But since he’d stopped drinking, he’d spent a year and a half denying himself one kind of craving. He had no intention of denying this one.

  Tugging the towel from their laps, he wiped his hands on it before dropping it to the floor. He rolled to his side and the roundness of her shoulder caught his attention. Brushing his lips over it, he explored the shape and softness with his mouth. Abbie would be here for the length of the investigation, and then she’d be gone. A pang of regret accompanied the thought. But he’d regret it more if he didn’t use this time to steep himself in her, to get his fill before their time was over.

  He covered her hand, linking their fingers to stretch out their arms, his lips skimming over her bicep. There was toned muscle beneath the silkiness there, reminding him of the toned perfection of her body elsewhere, too. Softness belying strength. Much like her personality. Upon first meeting, he doubted most would see beyond the quiet composed exterior to the sharp mind beneath, or to her steely determination.

  And no one would suspect the secrets she harbored, or the cause for them.

  He lifted his head slightly to study the fine white lines crisscrossing the inside of her arm. A testament to past suffering. His gut clenched, as it always did when the mental image of her flashed into his mind, of a young girl, alone and terrified, mutilating herself out of misguided guilt and fear. All of them carried scars of some sort. Some just kept them buried.

  Ryne bent her arm to skim his mouth over a scar that had remained pink and puckered, and Abbie shifted to press one leg the length of his. Her hand brushed his thigh, teasingly skirting the area showing remarkable signs of interest.

  “You went to the scene of Larsen’s fire today?”

  His mouth was busy at the inside of her elbow. “Mm hmm.”

  “Describe it for me.” She crossed her leg over his, skating her foot up to his knee, and then down again.

  By lifting her arm, he had access to the soft outer curve of her breast. He traced the shape of it with the tip of his tongue, smiled when she shuddered in response. “Small two-bedroom with two exterior entries. Northern-facing front door, the back is accessed by a set of three concrete steps. No garage or carport. Parking on the street in front. No security system, but there were deadbolts on both doors.”

  “Signs of entry?”

  Her fingers were kneading his thigh, ignoring the heated length of him only inches away in what had to be by design. His voice was more strained than he would have liked when he answered, “Front door was unlocked, which we already knew. The other was locked, but the deadbolt wasn’t engaged. The heat from the fire blew most of the windows out and the fire investigators didn’t notice any signs they might have been tampered with. Of course, in light of Larsen’s statement, they didn’t really have reason to look.”

  He relinquished her hand to smooth his palm over the curve of her hip, and at his urging, she rolled to face him. A measure of satisfaction filled him at the access provided him by her position. He stroked the warm slope of her narrow waist, his fingers inching upward to brush a velvety nipple.

  “Front door opens directly into the living room,” he continued. “Across the room and down a six-foot hallway is the bathroom and spare bedroom on the right with Larsen’s bedroom opposite. Her room had two windows, one facing the street and the other facing the east, toward the neighbor’s house, which is about ten feet away. It was the east window drapes that caught fire first. The flames followed the southern wall, blocking off escape from the bedroom door. Larsen went out the north window. That portion of the home was consumed by the fire. Most of the living room and the kitchen are also damaged. Benson, the fire investigator, said it’s a total loss.”

  “Our UNSUB wouldn’t follow her home from the bar and into the house.” Her hands skimmed up his chest, and down again. “He’d have been waiting inside for her. We know he has a talent for locks, with finessing alarm systems. And if the deadbolt wasn’t secured on the back door, he could have exited through either door. I don’t suppose they canvassed the neighbors?”

  He still wasn’t willing to say with any certainty that Larsen had been a target. But he was getting there. “They talked to a few of them, but I’d like to do it again, more thoroughly.”

  “How many windows in the spare bedroom?”

  He swept his hand up one silky thigh, over her hip to squeeze her butt lightly. She had the sweetest ass. Toned and curved like it had been fashioned to haunt a man’s dreams and scramble his thoughts. It took effort to shift his focus to answer her question. “One, facing the back of the property. Fairly secluded backyard, with a hedge around the east and south sides. A small storage shed sits on the southwest corner.”

  “So if this was our guy, why didn’t he use the back bedroom?”

  He frowned, not following her line of thought. “Why?”

  “With only one window, which faces to the back of the property, he’d be assured of more privacy. He must have realized that the flames would be visible from the street. Unless . . .”

  Somehow it didn’t seem strange to be lying in bed with a woman he wanted, discussing a case with her. It should have been. It certainly shouldn’t have felt so natural, so right, to discover that their minds were as much in sync as their bodies were. “Unless what?”

  She tipped her head up to look at him. “He doesn’t want his victims to die, does he? Not if their long-term suffering is his end goal. It occurred to me when we went to the Richard ses’ beach house and saw that opened window, the one that alerted the security guard to check the house and subsequently discover Amanda Richards.”

  “I’m not following you.” And he didn’t think it was the distraction of her naked curvy little body pressed up against him that had him so dense. At least not totally.

  “I did a little checking on the tides for St. Andrew’s Sound. The UNSUB put Barbara Billings in the water at high tide, or close to it. Even then, she was able to avoid drowning by pressing her face to the top of the kennel. The water was only going to get lower for the next several hours. If she hadn’t been discovered by Marine Patrol, she almost certainly would have been by local fishermen early the next morning.”

  Ryne was silent for a moment. Since the UNSUB hadn’t killed any of the victims, it was obvious their death wasn’t the guy’s intent. “Yeah, okay.”

  “He wants them found. After he rapes and tortures them, the ultimate payoff is the psychological suffering that will ensue. He has to make sure they don’t die before they’re discovered or he doesn’t achieve the purpose of his ritual. Sommers was found by her husband. Knudson investigated
Hornby’s house after the alarm clock radio didn’t turn off. It was on maximum volume, right?”

  “So, if Larsen is another victim, you think the UNSUB purposefully chose the bedroom with a window in view of the neighbors so they’d call the fire in. Pretty risky. What if they had been sound sleepers?”

  She scraped her nail lightly across his nipple and he flinched a little. When he saw a smile cross her lips, he could be fairly certain it hadn’t been accidental. “I think sometimes he might hang around in the vicinity to make sure discovery takes place. If it hadn’t, he would have brought attention to it some way himself. He doesn’t want them dead. He isn’t going to go to all that trouble and have them die on him.”

  Ryne smiled grimly. “So he must have been pretty pissed when he found out about Hornby’s suicide.”

  She nodded. “It would have incensed him. He would have felt . . . cheated in some way. And as I said before, it would accelerate his cycle of choosing a new victim.”

  He didn’t need the reminder that they were running out of time. The twist had likely chosen his next victim already. He agreed with Abbie on that. It was probably only a matter of days before he struck again. The news accounts recently would mean the women of Savannah were more aware of the dangers, but they couldn’t count on that to stop the guy. He was too smart. Had been too damn lucky so far. And the leads they had so far weren’t going anywhere fast enough to make him certain they would catch him in time. The certainty lay like lead ballast on his shoulders.

  He could be sucked under by that knowledge, let it weigh him down and eventually destroy every shred of judgment, until he second-guessed every decision and allocation of manpower. Or he could use it to hone his determination. To focus his attention and do his damnedest to stop the perp in time.