“Because you work for the FBI, for crying out loud! There must be some way you can find out what this guy is up to.”
Pru’s duties in the Criminal Investigations Division were more analytical than investigative in nature. She’d been stuck behind a computer far longer than she’d planned. It was a sore point, but she didn’t feel like explaining all that to Tiffany. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
“Why not?” she asked in exasperation. “Can’t you at least run a background check or something?”
“No, I can’t.” Pru decided to be blunt. That was the only way to get through to Tiffany. “Even if I wanted to get involved, which I don’t, and even if I could get authorization from my section chief, which I can’t, you don’t have a name, address or place of employment. You don’t have anything. How am I supposed to run a background check on that?”
“You could have him followed,” Tiffany said in a rush. “That way, you could find out where he lives and then you could…” She trailed off as Pru began to shake her head. “Oh, okay. I get it. You’ve already made up your mind so you’re not even willing to hear me out. You think I’m overreacting, and maybe I am. But I’m telling you, Pru, something isn’t right about this guy. I can feel it.”
“Unfortunately, that still isn’t a basis for launching a federal investigation.”
“How can you say that when you haven’t even heard the whole story?” Tiffany persisted.
Pru tried to hide her irritation. “All right, then let me hear the whole story.”
Tiffany scowled at her skeptical tone. “Are you going to keep an open mind?”
“I’ll try.”
“I suppose that’ll have to do.” Tiffany folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. “I’m not supposed to say anything about this. Clare made me promise not to tell anyone, but under the circumstances…” She bit her lip. “Pru…she thinks someone’s following her.”
Pru felt a slight chill go up her spine. “What do you mean, following her?”
“Just that,” Tiffany said. “Footsteps behind her. The same car following her on the freeway two days in a row.”
“Does she know who it is?”
Tiffany’s expression clouded. “She’s never actually seen anyone, but she thinks it might be this creep at work…Sid Zellman.”
“Has she gone to the police?”
“No, because there’s nothing they can do. Whoever he is, he hasn’t threatened her or anything like that. He just…follows her. She won’t admit it, but I can tell she’s really freaked out about it.”
“Then I don’t understand,” Pru said. “Why wouldn’t she want you to tell anyone about it?”
“She doesn’t want the partners at her firm to start thinking of her as a liability. And besides, if it is this Sid Zellman person, he seems to have some pretty heavy-duty clout.”
“So why are you telling me about it now? Are you suggesting there’s some kind of connection between the guy she’s seeing and whoever is following her?”
If anyone was following her. It was entirely possible that Clare had imagined the whole thing. Both she and Tiffany had always been a bit melodramatic.
Tiffany tucked a strand of blond hair behind one ear. Diamonds glittered on her lobes, and Pru wondered if they were real. Knowing Tiffany, they were. “All I know is that there have been a lot of odd coincidences lately.”
“Such as?”
Tiffany hesitated. “A day or two before Clare told me about someone following her, I had something strange happen to me. I’d stopped in for coffee at a little place across the street from my building, and a guy walked up to me and told me his name was Todd Hollister. He seemed to know me, and then he reminded me that we’d gone to high school together.”
“Todd Hollister,” Pru murmured, trying to put a face to the name.
“I know. I didn’t remember him, either. And it’s always so awkward when someone recognizes you and you can’t place them to save your life.” She paused to shoo away the hopeful waiter. “Anyway, we talked for a few minutes while we finished our coffee, and then he left. I didn’t think too much about it until later when I realized that, even though he’d been the one to approach me, I’d done most of the talking.”
Imagine that. Pru took a sip of her drink. “What did you talk about?”
“Mundane stuff at first. Do you ever see so-and-so and what’s such-and-such up to these days and did what’s-her-name ever get married. And then he started asking a lot of questions about Clare. Like I said, I didn’t think anything of it at the time because everyone in school knew how close she and I were. It was only natural that he’d ask about her. But, looking back, I’m not so sure his questions were all that casual.”
“You think he was pumping you for information about her?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I think.”
“What did Clare say when you told her?”
Tiffany glanced away. “That’s just it. I didn’t tell her because I didn’t want to worry her. After a few days, though, when I couldn’t stop thinking about this guy, I decided to look him up in our yearbook.”
“And?”
“It wasn’t him.”
“Are you sure? It could have been a bad photograph,” Pru suggested. “And people do change in ten years.”
“That’s what I tried to tell myself. Our bumping into each other didn’t mean anything and his questions about Clare were harmless. But now I’m not so sure. Now I’m starting to put all these things together—this guy showing up at the coffeehouse claiming to be someone he’s not, Clare being followed, a new boyfriend she won’t talk about…” Tiffany gripped the table. “Pru. What if all these things aren’t coincidences? What if she really is in some kind of danger?”
Pru paused, choosing her words with care. “Look, I can see you’re really worried about this, but I still say you may be jumping to conclusions. And I’m not sure how I can help. Unless you want me to talk to Clare.”
Alarm flickered in Tiffany’s blue eyes. “No, don’t do that. She’d know I put you up to it, and I don’t want to upset her. Things have been pretty tense between us lately as it is. Whatever we decide to do, we have to be discreet.”
“Whatever we decide to do? Tiffany—”
“Don’t say it,” she begged. “Don’t say you won’t help me. You have to. I don’t have anyone else to turn to.”
Pru raked fingers through her brown hair. She’d pinned it up earlier in the day to get it out of her way, but strands were tumbling out of the clasp, making her look as bedraggled and worn-out as she felt tonight. “Look, I’d like to help. I really would. But this isn’t a matter for the FBI. There’s nothing I can do officially, and without a name or address, there’s very little I can do unofficially.”
“What if you had a fingerprint?” Tiffany eyed Pru with cagey eagerness. “Couldn’t you start from there?”
“You’re telling me you have this guy’s fingerprint?”
“I have someone’s fingerprint.” Tiffany pawed in her leather tote before uncovering a packet of photographs that she shoved across the table toward Pru. “No, be careful!” she said when Pru started to open the envelope. “Those were taken a few weeks ago at Clare’s birthday party. I’d just gotten them back when I went into the coffee shop that day, and Todd Hollister, or whoever that man was, saw me looking at them. I dropped one and he handed it back to me. I’m pretty sure he left fingerprints on it. I noticed because it always drives me crazy when people are careless with photographs. Anyway, I put the pack back in my purse, and it’s been there ever since. Isn’t it possible his prints could still be on that pic ture? Couldn’t you lift one of them and run it through the FBI computers or something?”
Pru had a feeling that had been Tiffany’s intent all along, she’d just taken a roundabout way of getting there. “What makes you think his fingerprints would even be in the database?”
Tiffany shrugged. “I don’t. But it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? If you g
et a match and they belong to Todd Hollister, then I’ll know he is who he says he is and our bumping into each other was a coincidence. But if they belong to someone else…” Her gaze darkened. “Clare could really be in trouble.”
CLARE MCDONALD stepped out of the elevator and hurried across the parking garage toward her car. “Of all the days to have to work late,” she grumbled to herself.
An attorney with a prestigious downtown law firm, she and the other low-level associates were assigned most of the grunt work while the partners enjoyed all the glory. That was the way of the world, and Clare tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that it wouldn’t be like that forever. She was smart, savvy and extremely ambitious. A girl could go far on those attributes alone, but throw in a great pair of legs and nothing could stop her.
Already life was looking up. One of the senior partners had specifically asked to have her assigned to his case, which meant that she was making a name for herself in the firm. The right people were notic ing her, and that put her a notch above most of the competition.
And she had a new man in her life.
Her heart fluttered at the knowledge that they would soon be together, and if everything went according to plan…they would be lovers by midnight.
She couldn’t stop smiling at that prospect.
They’d been seeing each other for nearly two weeks but hadn’t slept together yet. His idea. She would have tumbled into bed with him on that first night, she’d been that infatuated, but he’d wanted to hold off.
And now Clare readily conceded that he’d been right. The tension that had been building between them was excruciating and thrilling and wonderful, but strangely enough, now that the moment was finally at hand, she felt a bit nervous about it.
What if she didn’t please him?
But that was crazy. She’d never had any complaints, had she? Quite the opposite, in fact. No reason to assume that tonight would lead to anything other than explosive, earth-shattering sex.
Her heart started to pound as she imagined that first exquisite moment when their bodies became one….
She squirmed a little in anticipation, but first things first. The stage had to be properly set. Mood was everything, he insisted.
Which meant she had to hurry. She had to go by the florist’s for roses and the liquor store for a bottle of champagne. So many things still left to do. She mentally began to prepare a list as she strode toward her car, her high heels clicking against the pavement. Everyone else had gone home hours ago, and now the level she’d parked on that morning was almost deserted.
Shifting her briefcase to her left hand, she dug in her shoulder bag for her keys. When she couldn’t find them, she cursed softly and set the case on the concrete floor while she rifled through her purse.
Keys finally in hand, she stooped to retrieve her briefcase. And that’s when she heard the footsteps. Slow and methodical, like a hunter stalking his prey.
Gooseflesh prickled along her spine as she whirled.
The footsteps stopped.
She couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. The lighting was dim in the garage, and the concrete support beams could easily provide a hiding place.
“Hello,” she called in a tremulous voice. “Anyone there?”
No one answered, of course. He never did. He never said anything to her. Never showed himself. But she knew he was there, just the same. Following her, watching her.
Her hand slid inside her purse and fastened around the smooth cylinder of Mace. She thumbed off the top and held the can in front of her.
“Who’s there?” she called again.
Still no answer, but after a moment, she heard his footsteps again, this time walking away from her. Frantically, she scanned the garage and saw only a fleeting shadow near the stairwell.
For one desperate moment, Clare considered chasing him down and finding out once and for all the identity of her tormentor.
But it was only a passing whim. In the next instant, she spun and rushed to her car. Using the remote to unlock her door, she climbed inside and then locked herself in. With shaking fingers, she started the ignition, and only when she emerged into the steady flow of traffic on Main Street did she begin to relax.
The footsteps had probably been nothing more than her imagination, she tried to tell herself. The shadow near the stairwell nothing more than…a shadow.
After all, a stalker usually made contact, didn’t he? Wrote letters, made obscene or threatening phone calls. Something. She hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of anyone following her, and yet she couldn’t shake the notion at times that she was being watched.
And she had heard footsteps, damn it.
What if it really was Sid Zellman?
She shuddered as an image of the creepy man materialized in her head. He’d been at the firm forever, but no one seemed to know much about him. There were rumors, of course, but the details were always a little sketchy.
He never appeared in court. Clare knew that much. Jared Hathaway, another partner, handled all the litigation for him. He even met with Zellman’s clients. It was a strange setup, but Clare didn’t question it. She didn’t want the partners to think she was the gossipy type and besides, all she wanted to do was keep her distance from Zellman. Once when she’d run into him in the hallway, he’d stared at her in such a way as to make her think he might not be playing with a full deck. After that, Clare tried to avoid him.
And now she tried to put him out of her mind. She had much more important things to think about at the moment. The evening stretched before her and she smiled again in anticipation. Tonight….
Finishing her errands, she arrived home forty-five minutes later and quickly jumped into the shower. A relaxing bath would have been nice, but she didn’t have time for that. Maybe later they could bathe together…
Quickly putting the finishing touches to her makeup, she rose from her dressing table and slithered into the black jersey dress she’d laid on the bed. It had the texture and fit of fine lingerie, and she slid her hands down her sides, luxuriating in the erotic feel. Next, she slipped into the four-inch stiletto heels—a little gift to herself to help celebrate what she had come to think of as The Night.
She was probably making too much of it, she cautioned herself, as she spritzed the air with her favor ite perfume, then waltzed through the scent. This was hardly her first time, after all. At twenty-eight, she’d had plenty of lovers, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so thoroughly swept off her feet.
They’d been slow-dancing to this point for days now, but every step, every move, every dip and swirl had been carefully choreographed for her maximum pleasure, he’d promised.
She shivered now as she imagined all the ways his hard body could pleasure her. Forget seduction. She wanted him now….
“Patience,” he’d whispered when she’d begged him to make love to her last night. And then his tongue had traced her lips before plunging inside her mouth.
God, but he knew how to use that tongue. Within a matter of moments, he’d had her moaning and writhing uncontrollably as she pulled him on top of her and slid her hand down, down, down until she touched him…
Her legs went weak with excitement as she remembered the way he swelled against her hand, the way he touched her in return…
Pressing her palm against her chest, she felt the pounding rhythm of her heart. “Patience,” she whispered on a quivering breath.
Taking one final check of her appearance, she hurried downstairs and poured a glass of wine to settle her nerves.
Cradling the delicate stem between her fingers, she glanced around. The place looked fantastic, if she did say so herself. Candles flickered from an ornate candelabrum on the dining room table; in the living room, a bottle of champagne chilled in a silver bucket. She’d set out her grandmother’s crystal flutes, and the effect was understated elegance complemented by a background of romantic music. As her gaze followed the trail of scarl
et rose petals up the stairs, she sighed in satisfaction.
Perfect. Everything was just the way he wanted it. He would be so pleased with her attention to detail.
She frowned as she lifted the glass to her lips. Everything was ready. She was ready. So why that shiver of unease up her spine?
Why those worrisome little doubts that maybe, just maybe, he was too good to be true?
He wasn’t at all the sort of man she was normally attracted to. In fact, he was the kind of guy she might easily have overlooked if not for a chance encounter in an elevator.
But he knew how to treat her. He knew what she wanted and when and how she wanted it. He seemed to intuit her every need, her every desire, and his eyes—just before he kissed her—mirrored her deepest, darkest fantasies.
When he looked at her that way, she could forget her doubts. She could easily ignore that nagging premonition that something wasn’t quite right about him.
The doorbell rang, and in her nervousness, she spilled a little wine down the front of her dress. She didn’t really care. With any luck, she’d be out of her clothes before he even noticed.
Rushing to let him in, she caught a glimpse of the rose petals out of the corner of her eye, and for just a split second, the splash of crimson spilling down the stairs reminded her of blood.
She nudged the image away and, plastering a seductive smile on her face, opened the door to her would-be lover.
Chapter Two
Once a bohemian enclave for artists and musicians, the Montrose area of Houston had slowly been evolving over the past twenty years. The free spirit was alive and well, but progress had brought money to the galleries, boutiques and trendy eateries that lined the eclectic streets.
The true starving artists had moved to the wards closer to downtown, and now the quaint cottages and bungalows were being overshadowed by a glut of apartments and condos.
Cahill knew the area. He’d grown up in Houston, but he’d spent the first decade of his career in Washington before a rash of serial murders in Southeast Texas had brought him back here to establish a local arm of SKURRT—Serial Killer Unit Rapid Response Team.
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