by Rachel Grant
Mark’s gaze met hers and the pleasant hum changed octaves. She actually might sleep with him tonight. She’d caught Simone shoving condoms into her purse and scoffed at the gesture because Simone knew Libby never, ever, slept with someone so early in a relationship. She usually took weeks to decide if she was willing to get naked and vulnerable. She came close to breaking that rule with Aaron. The mistake had cost her.
But now, tonight, a terrifying but exhilarating recklessness swept through her. She sipped her wine and enjoyed the heat her companion elicited.
After dinner, they walked to the police station to get Mark’s car. With an apology, he left her alone in the parking lot while he went inside. He returned moments later carrying a brown paper bag.
They drove to the historic district and parked next to the sawmill. He grabbed the bag and took her hand as they walked down a long dock that extended out over Discovery Bay. Full darkness had descended, and a canopy of stars glittered above them, the only sounds their footsteps on the wooden dock and the small waves lapping against the pilings.
They sat on a bench at the end of the dock. The water shimmered as ripples caught the starlight. Mark pulled from the bag a bottle of wine and two glasses, followed by two spoons and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream.
Libby loved Chunky Monkey with a passion that bordered on mania. This was no lucky guess. “How did you know?”
“I asked Simone.” He grinned. “I told you I’d find your weaknesses.”
“No fair. If I want to know about you, who do I get to ask?”
“Me,” he said.
“You’ll answer any question I ask you?”
“We can even use the polygraph machine if you want.”
“That sounds like fun.”
She scooped a bite of ice cream, making sure she got the perfect ratio of banana cream, chocolate chunk, and walnut. The cold ice cream slid down her throat. She wanted to purr with pleasure, not because of the treat, but because of him.
How had she gotten so lucky that this incredibly sexy, amazing man was interested in her? Her life didn’t work that way. Perhaps her luck had changed, but her pessimistic side worried he was too good to be true. If she had him strapped to a lie detector, she’d ask him if he was really as perfect as he seemed. She searched for a less neurotic question. “Baseball or basketball?”
“Football.”
“Liberal or conservative?”
“Depends on the issue. Moderate.”
“Star Wars or Star Trek?”
“Lord of the Rings.”
She laughed. “Chocolate or vanilla?”
“Mint.”
“Boxers or briefs?”
He flashed a sexy grin. “You’ll have to find out for yourself.”
She smiled. “I intend to.”
HE WAITED FOR HER in the living room of the Shelby house. Crouching low, he looked out the front window. She would come home tonight. Her car was here. The chain locked the back door from the inside. She would enter through the front.
He’d unscrewed the light bulb above the entryway and shook it until the element broke and then put it back. He would attack her in the darkened living room before she got to another light switch.
He heard a car pull up in front. At last. He glanced outside.
Fuck. The car was driven by the police chief.
Maybe the cop was just dropping her off. His heart beat frantically when the chief climbed out of the vehicle. He held Libby Maitland’s hand as they walked up the front path.
He had a split second to decide. Hide upstairs, in the basement, or in the entryway closet. The basement would be safest. If the chief was here to get laid, they’d go upstairs.
They reached the porch. He’d hesitated too long and dove for the closet, and then concealed himself as best he could behind the hanging coats. He stood absolutely still, his finger on the trigger of his gun.
He could hear the click as the deadbolt disengaged. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you here alone,” the police chief said as he entered the house.
“I just want to get the Suburban. I need it tomorrow. I’m staying with Simone tonight.”
“There goes my excuse to invite you to stay at my house.”
“You don’t need an excuse.” Even through the closet door and layers of coats, he could hear the blatant invitation in her tone.
“I know,” Colby said in a low voice.
Christ, listening to their verbal foreplay made his finger itch on the trigger. He’d shoot them for sure if they started screwing in the living room.
“Was this light burned out before?” Colby asked, his tone changing to alert. He’d gone into cop mode.
“I don’t think so.”
“I want to do another walk-through, make sure nothing has been disturbed.”
Fuck. Any other cop would have written off her complaints by now. This guy was taking her too seriously. If Colby searched the closet, he’d have to kill them both. He’d shoot the chief first.
He could hear only one pair of footsteps head toward the back of the house. Had they both gone, or just Colby? He couldn’t hear breathing or other movement in the room. If she was waiting in the living room, he could shoot her and run out the front before Colby saw him. He’d have to aim for her head, kill her instantly, so she couldn’t identify him before bleeding out.
He opened the door. The room was empty. He stumbled over her shoes in the dark as he silently slipped through the front door. No wonder he hadn’t heard her footsteps. No shoes. He ran down the front steps, around to the side of the house, and into the backyard. Inside the shed, he threw a tarp over the stuff he’d stashed there. He’d get it later.
Right now Colby trusted her. If the cop was smart enough to follow the trail of evidence, his opinion would change. But tonight wasn’t the night.
Tomorrow he’d try again. If she didn’t return to the Shelby house, he’d get her at the apartment building. He’d burn the whole damn building down if he had to.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE FIRST THING MARK noticed when he searched Libby’s office again was Angela Caruthers’ boxes. Libby had sorted the contents into neat piles, showing the boxes contained more than dissertation research. The stacks of phone bills, Master Charge statements, and receipts would aid his investigation. Given the room for error on the dental ID, he would wait for the DNA results before requesting a warrant for the boxes. “Have you gone through all these boxes yet?” he asked Libby.
She pointed to four taped-up boxes stacked at the end. “Those four are all I have left. I should finish tomorrow.” She paused. “We found Angela, didn’t we?”
“We’re still looking into that possibility. I should have told you yesterday to stop going through the boxes.” The fact that he didn’t think of that until now was a sign of how distracted he’d become by Libby. She was affecting his job.
“But I need Angela’s papers. I’ve got a deadline.”
“They may hold important clues to what happened to her. I have a better chance of being able to use any evidence in court if they remain sealed.”
She opened her mouth to speak, and then stopped.
“This is important, Libby. If the remains are Angela, then I need these boxes.” He didn’t want this to spoil what had otherwise been a spectacular first date. “Let’s finish going through the house.” He led her down the hall and stopped outside the door to the guest room. She remained in the hall while he searched the room.
Streaks of blood still trailed down the wall. She’d been sleeping across the hall while some bastard sprayed this wall with blood. Back in the hall he said, “Tomorrow I’ll arrange for a cleaning service and hire someone to repair the damage to the sheetrock.”
She stood with her arms crossed over her chest. “Thank you, but Jason has already done that.”
He stiffened and reminded himself Jason was her landlord.
She shivered. “I can’t go in there.”
Jason may
be her landlord, but Mark could comfort her. He pulled her into his arms and she relaxed against him.
“Do you hold every victim when you search their house?”
“First time,” he said. “And I’m not on duty, remember?” The top of her head just reached his chin. He touched her hair; the soft curls looped around his fingers. He only aimed to comfort her, but something shifted. He wasn’t sure what. The tension in her body changed and merely holding her was no longer enough.
He slid his hands down her back to cup her butt, while she looped her arms around his neck. She raised her head and stared at him for a long silent moment.
He traced her hairline, her ear, and then cradled her head in both hands. Finally he lowered his mouth and brushed his lips lightly over hers. He began to pull away but her arms tightened. She rose on tiptoes, demanding more than a fleeting kiss. He was more than happy to comply and pressed his lips firmly against hers.
She opened her mouth and his tongue slipped inside to stroke hers. She let out a soft purr. The sexy sound was sparks on dry tinder, the kiss a conflagration. He devoted himself to exploring her mouth, coaxing more sounds of pleasure from her.
His lips slid across her cheek to her ear and down along her throat. Her fingernails trailed along his scalp, causing a ripple of heat to run through him. He pressed her back against the wall and returned his mouth to hers.
Pinned, she let out a soft moan when he slipped his knee between her thighs and pressed against her center. The sound alone could bring him to orgasm.
He pulled back. Her green eyes stared into his. He saw the same raw need he felt. He could make love to her here, now. But she deserved better than a quickie in the hall.
“Do you need to be up early tomorrow?” his voice rasped with arousal.
“Yes.”
“So do I.” He held her face in his hands. “The first time I make love to you I want to explore every inch of you. Make you come so many times we lose count. Then I want to wake up with you the next morning and start all over again.” He brushed his lips lightly over hers. “I’ll pick you up Friday at six.”
She rose on her toes and slipped her tongue into his mouth. She pressed her hips against his. “You sure?”
No. But he nodded.
“Friday, then.”
He released her before he could change his mind. “I’m going to finish searching the attic. Then we’ll leave.”
Several minutes later, the house locked up behind them, he stood with her next to the Suburban. “Have I given you my home number?” he asked.
“No.”
He wrote his number on the back of his card and gave it to her. “Call me if you see or hear anything that worries you, whether you’re at Simone’s or here. I don’t care if the noise turns out to be a branch brushing against the house or a breeze slamming a door. I don’t want to worry that you’re going to second-guess yourself into a dangerous situation. If you don’t think it’s an emergency, call me; otherwise, call 9-1-1 first, then me.”
“What if I’m positive it’s a false alarm?”
“You call anyway.”
“Are you planning to protect me from things that go bump in the night?”
He caught her against him for another deep kiss. Afterward he whispered, “I want to be the thing that goes bump in the night.” He traced the outline of her bra. “One more question.”
She tilted her head to the side and waited.
“Is your bra red?” he asked, gently tugging on a strap.
“It was your choice to stop before you could find out.” She gave him a frisky grin. “I have no idea how I’m supposed to sleep tonight.”
He pressed against her, his erection demonstrating his own frustrated state. “If you figure it out, let me know.”
LIBBY AWOKE WITH A START. The digital clock on the nightstand told her she’d kissed Mark goodnight hours before. She’d gone to sleep with the memory of his touch. Now sweat drenched her neck and pillow, and her heart beat with unfamiliar speed. The adrenaline that laced her system had nothing to do with Mark and anticipation. No, the feeling of fight or flight that had her shaking was the result of a dream.
The dream remained crystal clear in her mind. It began with the night she’d broken up with Aaron, and he’d attacked her. But then the dream moved forward in time, and she’d been at the library, giving her lecture. In her dream, as she had in reality, her eyes drifted above the crowd, not wanting to catch Laura or Earl Montgomery’s hostile glares. The crowd had been large, the faces an unfocused blur.
He’d sat near the back, slouched low in his seat. His hat was tilted low over his eyes. He’d put on weight. His hand had covered the bottom half of his face.
As much as she might wish otherwise, the first part of the dream—the night Aaron attacked her—was real. And Libby knew the second part of her dream was just as real. She hadn’t consciously noticed him last night when she was giving her lecture, but he was there. Aaron Brady had attended her talk at the library.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THURSDAY MORNING DAWNED CHILLY but clear, a perfect day for digging. Simone took a shower. She would be covered with dirt by eight o’clock, but at least she would start the day clean. She dressed in freshly laundered field clothes. Wearing clothes that were Monday clean on a Thursday was a rare treat.
She wasn’t surprised to see Libby at the breakfast table; she’d heard her come in last night. What did surprise her was Libby’s clothing. “You’re dressed for dirt. You digging today?”
“Just for the morning. I want to do the cleanup around the burial and finish excavating the adjacent unit. We’re behind on volume. I’d like you to dig, too, until we’re caught up. Are you up to a day without a screener?”
“Screeners just slow me down.”
“I want to clone you.”
“My dear, I am one of a kind.” She poured herself a cup of coffee. “So how’d it go last night?”
“So you like froofy and purple?”
Simone let out a squeal and flopped into a chair. “Details. I want details.”
Libby smiled. “He’s dreamy. I’m seeing him again on Friday.”
“Another date? No waiting by the phone wondering if he’ll call? Ohhh, he really likes you. You’re on the fast track.”
“I need to ask you something. Did you see Aaron at the library last night?”
“No.”
“He sat in the second row from the back. He wore a Mariner’s cap, which hid his eyes.”
“He couldn’t have been there. I’d have noticed.”
“I think he was.”
There was no way Aaron could have been at the library. She had purposely scanned every face in the room. During the talk, she sat toward the front, so it might have been possible for him to slip in then, but she’d glanced around periodically and didn’t see any new faces. Besides, Mark had stood by the door during the lecture. He must have seen photos of Aaron at some point. He would have recognized him.
She considered calling Mark and asking him whether it was possible Aaron was there, but discarded the idea. His relationship with Libby was too new, and the constant rehashing of her history with Aaron could only cause problems.
No, Libby’s reaction just confirmed Simone needed to do what she could to prove Aaron was the stalker and get him out of her life forever. Libby was finally putting the past behind her. Simone wouldn’t let Aaron drag her back under.
BY NOON LIBBY HAD FINISHED excavating the burial units. She conferred with Simone on the progress of the dig and then headed to the Suburban. She had to get back to Angela’s research, even though it meant working alone at the Shelby house.
“Hey, Lib,” Alex called out as she was climbing into the truck. “We’re all headed to the Coho Tavern tonight for dinner. Seven o’clock. Join us?”
She wanted to decline, but she hadn’t spent much after-hours time with this crew. The team had been together for nearly three weeks, and they had more than two months to go until the f
ield phase ended. They all would go through the full cycle of crew dynamics.
First came wary friendliness, and then a honeymoon phase as new and exciting friendships formed. Next, they would get sick of one another, which led to deep loathing and division into factions. Then the factions would shift and a second honeymoon would emerge. In the end, they’d all be relieved it was over, but there would be tears as they said goodbye. Libby’d been through it all so many times during her years as a dig bum, she could set her watch by the cycle.
They had now reached the end of the first honeymoon and little irritations were creeping up. If she didn’t join them for dinner now, then it might be another month before the entire group was willing to have dinner together again. “Sure, I’d like that.”
At the Shelby house, she took a quick shower to get off the top layer of dirt, and then she cleaned out the tub and filled it with steaming hot water. She soaked for a long time, letting her screaming muscles steep. Her previous excavation of the burial had been minor. She’d only used a trowel and hadn’t screened her buckets. This morning’s work, however, had been the intense physical kind that she rarely did anymore. Exhausting but invigorating, a reminder that she was one of the lucky people who got to work outside and get a workout no gym could provide. At least, she felt that way today because it hadn’t rained and she’d had an amazing date the night before.
Clean and relaxed, she entered her office. Angela’s work was still neatly arranged, awaiting her attention. She hadn’t promised Mark she wouldn’t make copies of the papers she’d already gone through. She’d avoided the question altogether because she feared he would tell her not to make the copies.
The pages were old and dog-eared, and some were within bound notebooks, so each page had to be hand-placed. It would take her several hours to copy everything she’d found in the eight boxes she’d already opened. She skimmed the notes as she copied them, considering the intersections between Angela’s research and her own. She kept a notepad next to the copier and jotted down ideas as she worked.