Targeted

by Lori L. Harris

  And Alec? Let him go on as he was now? Possibly day after month after year? He was a strong man, but even strong men eventually broke.

  She didn’t want to see that happen to Alec. And she wanted her life back. She wanted to be able to get on a plane and go see her mother.

  “Get out? Hell, no! I want to get this sick bastard!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Just after midnight, Alec sat in an overstuffed leather chair opposite the door to Katie’s room, one foot propped on the ottoman, the Glock and a tall glass of grapefruit juice within easy reach on the small side table.

  Katie had gone to bed more than three hours ago. She hadn’t been alone when she did. Demon cat had followed her in, bouncing up on the bed and immediately claiming a spot at the foot as if he had every right to be there. Alec didn’t know why the sight had irritated him so much. It just did.

  Eyes closed, Alec rested his head against the chair cushion. He never slept well after attending an autopsy. Sometimes, like tonight, it was worse than other times.

  Most people would have expected Jolie Kennedy’s murder to force Katie back into hiding, but it hadn’t. Instead, it had made her even more determined.

  He had worked with a lot of very talented and brave people who, because of their principles, were willing to put their lives on the line on a daily basis. But not one of them had been any more courageous than the woman sleeping in his guest bedroom.

  He knew it was emotionally healthy for him to be having thoughts about another woman—it was a step in the recovery from a loss—but he also knew that the situation they were in clouded emotions. How much of what he was feeling for Katie had to do with guilt? How much of what he saw in her eyes when she looked at him was motivated by a sense that he was her protector, that he alone would keep her safe?

  For the past three hundred and sixty-one days, he’d adhered to a daily ritual. He would close his eyes and call up the image of Jill. Tonight, he’d had more trouble with the exercise.

  It was some time later, maybe an hour or so, when he heard sounds of movement in her room. The door opened and she stood there, wearing another of his Tshirts, a dark one. The white lettering across the front read: PROPERTY OF THE FBI. Jill had given him it as a birthday present one year, a not-so-subtle reminder that she felt as if the job owned more of him than she did.

  The shirt was shorter than some of the others, leaving Katie’s long, shapely legs exposed. He curled his fingers into a loose fist, recalling just how smooth and silky her thighs were.

  She walked toward him, out of the moonlight and into the shadows where he sat.

  His foot hit the ground silently, and he sat up. “Did you need something?”

  She rubbed her arms. “I haven’t been able to get to sleep. And you don’t seem to be planning to…” She glanced down at the cat that had followed her out, and now brushed against her bare legs. “When I was at Martinez’s it sometimes helped to play cards. Just to take the edge off.” She propped one knee on the ottoman. “I thought maybe, if you were willing, we could try a few hands of poker.”

  He could think of other, more enjoyable ways to take the “edge” off. And the only type of poker game that came to mind when he looked at her was the strip variety. It wouldn’t take many winning hands before she’d be…And he’d be…

  His body tightened at the image of tangled sheets and legs. Alec ran a hand over his face. “Sure.” He slipped the Glock into the shoulder holster as he stood. “Why don’t you get on some more clothes? I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

  He’d put on coffee for himself and milk for Katie when the phone rang. Standing next to it, he picked it up before it could ring a second time. His adrenaline was already pumping hard before he spoke a greeting. Middle-of-the-night phone calls never brought good news.

  “This is…with the Philadelphia…Department.”

  Alec could barely make out what was being said because of the amount of background noise. Sirens and shouting and traffic sounds. “This is who?”

  “Detective Evans,” the man attempted to shout to make himself heard this time. “We have your wife’s killer in custody.”

  These were words Alec had been waiting to hear, but he hadn’t expected them to come tonight. Especially not from anyone in Philadelphia.

  “Are you sure? You have a confession?”

  “No. Not yet. We just put the perp into an ambulance.”

  “How bad is he?”

  “Not good. When he spotted us, he ran. Unfortunately, he forgot to look both ways before crossing King Boulevard and an SUV clocking between forty and forty-five hit him. One leg’s busted all to hell, and he’s got a head injury. There’s a strong probability that the state’s going to save some money on this one.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “David Adams. Mean anything?”

  Alec ran the name through his mind. “No.”

  “He’s twenty-eight. Reps for a medical supply company based in Boston, but he has a local address here.”

  Because it would account for how each of the postcards had been postmarked from a different city and state, traveling sales had been considered as a possible profession for the UNSUB.

  “When you talk to his employer, you might want to get a list of where his job has taken him over the past year, and if he has to file an expense report, we might be able to use that—”

  “Listen, Alec, as far as federal guys go, you’re not too bad, but I do know how to do my job. Right now I’m working to establish a connection to you. With Seth Killian and the FBI’s help, of course. I’ll call you when I have more.”

  “Wait. Is there any way to nail down that Adams was out of town last night?”

  “Maybe after we question his neighbors. But don’t worry. He’s our guy. The fact that he was in Philly tonight doesn’t mean he wasn’t in Deep Water last night. It’s a three-hour flight, or a seventeen-hour drive.”

  What the detective said was all true, but it wasn’t enough for Alec. “What about receipts? Anything in his wallet? An airport or gas receipt? Anything that would put him here? Or put him there?”

  “Hold on,” Evans said. “I’ve got someone here who wants to talk to you.”

  “Alec, this is Seth.” Alec recognized his good friend’s voice, though it was much more tense that usual… “Let me find a quieter spot.” Seth and Alec had worked together when Alec had still been with the FBI. They’d been close, closer than brothers, and it had been Seth who had kept Alec sane in those first few weeks following Jill’s funeral.

  Another few seconds passed, seconds in which Alec tried to picture what was going on there.

  Seth’s voice broke into Alec’s thoughts. “You there?”

  “Yeah. How did it happen?”

  “Philly PD staked out Jill’s grave site and got lucky. David Adams showed up just after ten with a dozen red roses. A few days too early, but that could be because he figured no one would be watching quite yet. It won’t be the one year anniversary for another—”

  “I know the date,” Alec said quietly.

  There was a slight pause on the other end. “I know you do.”

  Alec could hear what Seth left unspoken. That he, too, remembered the date, that Jill had been important to a lot of people.

  “Hold on, Alec.” Sounds were suddenly muffled as if someone had placed a hand over the phone. Then the noise level returned. “Evans says you’re interested in the receipts in Adams’s billfold.”

  “I’m just looking for anything that ties him to Deep Water last night.”

  “Got an airport receipt for parking that puts him leaving the airport just after one thirty this afternoon. The car had been there two days, so the timing is good for him to have been in Florida.”

  “But no receipts for hotels or restaurants?”

  “Not on him. And we haven’t located his car yet. A couple of patrolmen are cruising the streets in the area.” Seth paused. “What are you worried about, Alec? That the man wh
o killed Jill isn’t the same one who killed the reporter last night?”

  “I guess I’m questioning the evidence, and I can’t understand why you’re not. From the sounds of it, all Philly PD has is a guy who shows up in a cemetery at night with a dozen red roses. Hell, maybe he was looking for his grandmother’s grave and got lost in the dark, ended up standing over the wrong one.”

  “Adams is the right man. I would stake my career on it.”

  “How can you be so damn certain? Before DNA comparison comes back, before you question him?”

  “Because he was wearing Jill’s necklace. And because he had a picture of her in his billfold.”

  Alec took a deep breath and tried to absorb what his friend had just said. Jill’s necklace, the gold dolphin that he’d given her on their honeymoon, had been hanging around David Adams’s neck. “What picture?”

  “Just a picture,” Seth said. “One he took of her that night.”

  Alec clenched his eyes shut as if that could lock out the image. The ultimate souvenir. A photo of the victim taken in the hours or minutes before death, or sometimes taken afterward, the body carefully posed. He tried to breathe past the tightness in his chest.

  “I’m sorry, Alec,” Seth said, his voice filled with regret. “I know none of this is easy for you. Or for any of us who knew Jill. Perhaps I should have waited until morning to call, when I’ll have better answers for you, but I thought with what you’re dealing with down there, you’d want to know as soon as possible.”

  “You’re right.” He scrubbed his face. “I needed to know.”

  “It’s over,” Seth said, but there was a heaviness in his tone.

  “I’ll catch a flight tomorrow. As soon as I take care of some things here.”

  “You might as well wait. At least for a day or two. Even if Adams pulls through, chances are we won’t be allowed in right away.”

  After hanging up the phone, Alec stood staring at it for several minutes, his hands curled into tight fists, planted on each side of the wall-hung phone. He’d expected to feel relieved, but he didn’t. If anything, he felt empty.

  Was it because he hadn’t been there? Hadn’t looked David Adams in the eye? Hadn’t held a gun to his head and made him plead for his life?

  Alec wasn’t a vicious man. He’d seen too much of it in his life to ever believe that violence solved anything. So what was it? Why wasn’t he able to feel anything but this numbness? He’d loved his wife. He may not have been a good husband, but he had loved her.

  HAVING CHANGED into jeans and a white blouse, Katie walked into the kitchen and found it empty. She scanned the room. Cards rested in the center of the granite island, as did a container of toothpicks. The coffee had finished brewing. And whatever that was on the stove, it was long past the point of no return. But where was Alec?

  She turned off the burner beneath what she suspected must have been milk but now resembled dried yellow scum and smelled as appetizing as burnt rubber. After running water into the pan, she left it soaking in the sink.

  Admitting that she was suddenly uneasy, she grabbed a knife from the block. Because it was the closest room and the door was open, she stepped into her temporary studio. Instead of the usual smells of oil paints and turpentine, the air carried the scent of orchids, and Katie realized the French doors leading out into the solarium were open.

  She moved cautiously through them and into another world—a more exotic one where the smell of wet, dark soil was like a rich perfume.

  For some reason—perhaps because the room’s glass ceiling magnified it—the moon seemed both brighter and larger and appeared to hang close overhead, filling the cavernous metal and glass structure with light.

  Tall palms in oversize pots encircled the room, leaving the center empty but for the two Victorian couches.

  Alec sat on the end of one, bathed in moonlight, his head between his hands, his shoulders hunched forward. As she watched, he raked his hands slowly through his hair as if desperately trying to wipe something from his mind.

  What had happened? Had the phone call been bad news? Another murder? Katie left the knife on the edge of the plant shelf. God. She couldn’t handle much more of this.

  Were the horrors ever going to end? Was this going to be what her life was like from now on? This uncertainty? This fear?

  The stone floor that acted as a passive solar collector during the day radiated warmth beneath her bare feet, but even that couldn’t ease the sharp chill that seemed to climb her spine with each step. She expected him to look up as she approached, but he didn’t.

  She was only a few feet away when he spoke in an emotionless tone, “I’d like some privacy.”

  Glancing back the way she had come, she briefly considered doing as he asked. But then what was she going to do? Wait to see if he was willing to talk? Ready to talk? She might very well lose her mind before either of those things happened.

  When she didn’t move, Alec looked up and seemed to study her with that cool, detached expression of his.

  She took another step closer. “Who was that on the phone a few minutes ago?”

  “Detective Evans with the Philadelphia police department.”

  “What did he want?”

  “It’s over, Katie.”

  Her eyes narrowed. What was he saying? What was over? “What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

  “They caught Jill’s killer,” he said and let out a harsh breath. “Tonight. In Philadelphia.”

  The words both stunned and confused her. “They’re sure? There’s no possibility of some kind of mistake?”

  “No.” He shook his head, then looked up at her.

  “So that means—”

  “That means we can all get on with our lives.”

  Was it really possible? That just when she’d thought she couldn’t cope for another minute, the nightmare was suddenly over? That after all the times she’d been certain she wouldn’t, she had survived? She closed her eyes as relief washed over her, loosening the hard knot in her gut. For the first time in days, she managed to really breathe.

  She could have her life back, she realized. Could go back to painting. Could do anything she wanted to. Buy a ticket to go see her parents.

  But what did she want? Katie looked down at Alec. Why was he so still? Why wasn’t he expressing happiness, or relief?

  She sat on the second couch, facing him, uncertain what was going through his mind, but realizing that it was something very difficult. And she knew that, even as just a friend, she couldn’t leave him alone with whatever it was that he wrestled with.

  She started to reach out to touch him, but then pulled her hand back. “Alec?”

  “Go to bed, Katie. It’s over,” he repeated quietly, but with an edge.

  “You sound as if you’re trying to convince yourself of that.”

  He let out a ragged breath. “Sometimes, you have a habit of pushing too much.” He ground the heels of his hands against his eyes, and then let his fingers dangle between his legs. She could almost see him deciding that it would be easier to tell her.

  “Making certain Jill’s killer was brought to justice was the last thing I could do for her. Now it’s done. She no longer needs me.” He tried a wry smile, but even that failed. “That really sounds out there, doesn’t it? My wife’s been dead for nearly a year, and yet I still talk as if she has needs.”

  Was he just feeling as if a large part of the reason he got out of bed each morning had suddenly disappeared?

  “The dead do have needs.” Katie reached out, resting her fingers on his knee this time. “I felt all those things with Karen, too. I remember the week after her death because there were funeral arrangements to make.” She smiled sadly. “I recall the trial. The weeks of testimony.” She straightened. “But most of all, I remember the terrible moment that came after the verdict was read. Because I realized that it was time to let go. That in most ways, she wasn’t part of my future, that she had finally and forever entered the
past.”

  She slipped down on her knees in front of him. They’d been through so much over the past week. She couldn’t begin to say that she really knew Alec, but she did know he was a good man, a caring man. And she knew that she was falling in love with him.

  He looked at her, his eyes still bleak.

  “Time heals, Alec. Sometimes, like now, it’s hard to remember that, but it does. You just have to wait for it to happen. Have faith that it will.”

  Reaching out, he let his fingers drift over her cheekbones, then her lips. “You look so damn fragile, but you’re not.”

  She was a big girl. She knew where they were headed, and she knew she could stop it with a single word. But she wanted it to happen, more than she had wanted anything in recent memory.

  She’d been playing it safe all her life. Just over a week ago, a monster had entered her life. But no matter how abhorrent the experience, it had given her something the previous twenty-seven years hadn’t. The ability to live in the moment. Not to think about the past or the future. To live as though the present was all that she had.

  “No, I’m not fragile,” she agreed.

  He threaded his hands into her hair and held her gaze as he lowered his lips until they were only an inch from hers. “If you tell me to stop, I will,” he said, his voice ragged.

  When she didn’t say those words, his well-formed male mouth crashed down on hers, emptying her lungs of air and her mind of coherent thought. The heat of it left her light-headed.

  Needing something to hold on to, she ran her hands across his chest, enjoying the hard masculine feel of it beneath the T-shirt. He was built lean, like a long-distance runner, but his chest was still broad and well-formed.

  When her hands encountered the leather of his shoulder holster, she tried to push it aside. His mouth still on hers, he shrugged out of it.

  She immediately trailed her hands over taut abs and felt her own pulse beat even more unsteadily. Needing to feel bare skin, she twisted her fingers into the bottom of his T-shirt.