Why would a guy with limited means come all the way across the country for revenge—killing as he went and risking an arrest that would keep him from Abbie, his main goal—when all he had to do was sit tight and wait for her to come back to L.A.? Her apartment was there. Her life, job and friends were there.
All Long had to do was be patient, and Abbie would come to him.
The image that materialized next made Jace’s blood run cold. Jerking to his feet, he walked to his window, stared out at his backyard pavilion, and gave himself a firm talking-to.
What happened or didn’t happen in L.A. wasn’t any of his business—she was none of his business. He’d committed himself to keeping her safe while she was here…but whatever happened when she went back to L.A. was out of his control.
The wind was still kicking up, bending the tall hemlocks and whistling under the eaves…bringing warmer, more welcome temperatures. But, in the way one thought tumbles into another, a different kind of wind snagged his attention, and Jace drew a shuddering breath. Her hairdryer was still humming, still blowing through all that dark, silky hair…still blowing her scent straight up the stairs and into his nostrils.
And suddenly Danny Long and any danger Jace might be facing vanished from his mind, replaced by the powerful urge to haul her into his arms again and finish what they’d started in the kitchen.
The Oklahoma sun was high in the sky on Monday afternoon when Danny left the service station and roared onto Interstate 40. Glancing into his rearview mirror, he noted the cop cars still haunting Misty-the-waitress’s restaurant. The news vans had moved on, though, probably speeding off to the next big story.
Maybe he’d give them one. But not until he’d changed routes—turned north on I-44, then to I-70.
Danny scowled. Interstate 40 Murders? What genius had come up with that one? He deserved something more creative, something cool like the Zodiac Killer or the Hillside Strangler. His mood sobered. But then…he hadn’t killed those women for some deviant rush like those criminals had. He’d done it because, as his father said, evil needed to be dealt with. The women were evil, and they’d deserved to die.
Danny rolled his eyes sarcastically as organ music filled his head and his father’s charismatic voice thundered over it. When the just allow wickedness to thrive, they too are destined for hellfire! But no one will burn hotter than the betrayers and the fornicators!
Betrayers and fornicators. He’d heard those words almost every day after his mother had turned in her choir robe and tambourine and run off with one of the faithful. So basically, his father had given him permission to kill. He liked that idea. All of the pleasure, none of the blame.
Quickly, Danny retracted his thought, silently denying that he liked the way his skin tingled when he approached one of them, denied that he’d killed for the pure breathlessness of the moment. He was merely ridding the world of evil. Each time he’d swung the tire iron, he’d grown more powerful and confident, and he’d performed a little better. But he could improve. He knew it! He just needed more practice. Because her death had to perfect. It had to be better than Maryanne’s. Better than Lorelei-the-painted-whore’s. Better than Misty-the-waitress’s. She’d hidden her sins behind a white blouse and an innocent smile, but when he’d peeked inside that parked car and saw her whoring with her rutting boyfriend, he’d known what he had to do, and he’d done it.
He flipped down the visor on the windshield, the sun hurting his head and eyes, making it hard to think.
Until he’d logged onto the Internet last night at the motel’s dinky little business center, the Winslow bitch’s location had been one of his never-fail hunches. Then he’d checked to see if her town had a Web site and struck gold when he’d clicked on the link for their daily newspaper. In their pride and stupidity, the Laurel Ridge Herald had run photos of the town’s Mardi Gras benefit. Only one snapshot had filled him with loathing and nervous excitement at the same time. There she was on the screen, whoring with some guy in a tux.
That’s when he’d known it was time to execute the next step in his plan—keep her confused and uncertain about his location. All it had taken was another phone call.
Cranking up the radio, Danny put the pedal to the metal, then focused happily on the DJ’s latest selection. “Please, Mr. Postman”? He nearly split himself laughing.
It was fate! Everything he did, saw and heard was a reminder of his quest! Humming along, he hoped his letters were being delivered, like the song went. And the sooner they were delivered, the better.
He wanted her to sweat the way he had while he waited for the jury to come back. Between her and his blabbermouth father, they’d nearly put him on death row. She never would’ve found Prudence without the preacher’s help.
Danny’s heart beat fast, feeling the added weight of Misty’s warm gold medal against his chest. Fornicators and betrayers. He chuckled, bloody images filling his brain.
Maybe when Abbie was dead, he’d kill his old man, too.
On Tuesday morning at nine o’clock, Ida popped into the office with the morning trivia question. “Got a good one for you today, honey.”
Jace looked up from the figures he’d been trying to make sense of and summoned a smile. After nearly swallowing Abbie whole on Sunday, Monday had been an exercise in gut-wrenching frustration. Last night as they’d discussed the articles and public service announcements she’d written for the two area newspapers and the local TV station, they’d kept their twitching libidos under wraps. But there’d still been enough electricity between them to light his house for a month. One more sleepless night and he’d be a raving lunatic. “Okay, shoot.”
“On what continent did dinosaurs first appear?”
Rising, Jace walked around his desk and grabbed his navy quilted vest from the coat tree. “I don’t know. Asia?”
“Wrong,” she declared smugly. “During the early Triassic period, all the continents were joined into one great big lump called Pangaea.”
Grinning, Jace zipped his vest. “Stumped me again.”
“You’ll do better tomorrow. Where are you off to?”
“I need to toss some wood in the back of Ty’s truck. It’s sap cookin’ time.”
“Wonderful! When?”
“Tomorrow, probably. Interested?”
“Only in the finished product. I’ll leave the work to you boys, and just enjoy the syrup.”
Grinning, Jace tugged a lock of her gray hair and followed her out. “We’ll make sure you get some, Curly.”
Forty minutes later, after collecting scrap wood and seeing off a load of lumber headed for Indiana, Jace came back inside. The day had warmed, and shrugging off his vest, he returned to the back office to check the latest kiln data.
Ida followed him in, mischief in her blue eyes. “Got another trivia question for you. Why would that pretty Abbie Winslow be calling you from your house?”
Instantly anxious and damning caller ID, Jace faked a smile. “No idea. Maybe she broke in.” Then he waved Ida out of the office, grabbed the receiver and depressed the flashing light on his phone. “Yeah, Abbie. What’s up?”
Her trembling voice started his nerves twitching again. “I just picked up my dad’s mail at the post office. I got another card. Another L.A. postmark.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“No, stay. We both have work to do. It’s already on its way to L.A.”
“Did you open it?”
“No, I—I didn’t want to hear the music again.”
Adrenaline pumped through him. An L.A. postmark seemed to say that the bastard was still in California and posed no immediate threat to her. But there was also the chance that Long just wanted her to think that. “I’ll pick you up in a few minutes. Throw the files and whatever else you need in a bag. You can finish your work here. And Abbie?” he added, suddenly uneasy with her daily checks on Morgan’s house.
“Yes?”
“Do not take your dad’s mail out to the house alone. From n
ow on, we’ll do it together.”
That evening, Abbie’s gaze moved nervously as she and Jace finished gathering the day’s sap and carried the plastic pails to the tree-shaded shed for storage. Dried maple leaves whispered along the gravel and crunched beneath their feet as they approached. Spring was coming. Hard red buds were popping out on a few of the trees, the afternoon sky was a clearer blue and the days were getting longer.
Less darkness, more light. Fewer shadows where a man could conceal himself.
Jace unlatched the door, and she glanced at him as they carried the pails inside. She felt edgy, but he seemed worse. At least Danny’s latest card had given them something more to focus on than that kiss.
“Feels colder in here than it does outside.”
“Has to be cold,” he said, emptying their buckets into a plastic trash can. “Sap’s like milk. If it gets too warm, it spoils.”
“How much more do you need?”
He replaced the lid and led her outside. “Depends on how much syrup we want.” Handing her the empty buckets, he relatched the log shed, reclaimed the buckets and started toward the house. The sun was beginning to set and it flashed golden red on the house’s warm brown logs and plate glass. “A quart of syrup takes ten gallons of sap.”
“Will you do that soon?”
“Tomorrow, after closing.” He nodded toward the stone-and-timber picnic pavilion below the house. “We cook down there. Ty and Pete—our forester—will probably get things started.”
When they entered the kitchen, Jace shrugged off his vest, hung it on a hook then went straight to the sink to rinse the buckets. His burgundy shirt was tucked into his jeans, and his sleeves were rolled back over his muscular forearms. Abbie felt a tingle remembering the downy feel of hair beneath her fingertips last night. Remembering the touch, smell and taste of him.
“Something wrong?” he asked, looking over at her.
Shaking her head, she turned away to slip off her suede jacket. She’d just taken her cell phone from her pocket when it rang. Quickly checking the ID window, she flipped it open.
“Hi,” she said lightly. “How are things in the City of Angels?”
Stuart’s tone was serious, yet calm. “Not very angelic, I’m afraid. I have news, Abbie.”
Abbie sank onto one of the maple chairs, aware that Jace had stopped rinsing the buckets and was alertly standing by. “What kind of news?”
“The lab work is back. He was careful not to leave his prints on the card he sent you, but he licked the envelope. His DNA is all over it.”
“That means—”
“That means there’s enough evidence to hold him. For a while. Hopefully, once they grab him, they can build a stronger case for stalking.”
“Then he’s not in custody?”
“No. Powell and Rush went to his apartment a while ago, but he was gone. And before your mind starts spinning off in the wrong direction,” he added quickly, “I must remind you that he’s still visiting his apartment sporadically. He will be picked up.”
Abbie’s reply came through a relieved breath. “Good. I guess.”
She didn’t have to explain. Stuart understood her fear.
“No matter what happens afterward, you’ll be alive,” he returned solemnly. “That’s the important thing.”
Would she? How alive would she be if she could never practice law again? What kind of life was that? Not much of one.
When they’d discussed the latest card and Powell’s theory on the new murders, and said goodbye, Jace came up behind her and settled his hands on her shoulders.
“You okay?” he asked. “You’re shaking.”
“It was cold in the shed.”
“That’s not why you’re shaking.” After a pause, he continued a little stiffly. “The man on the phone. Was that your ex-husband?”
Despite her distress, Abbie couldn’t stop an amused smile. “No, Collin and I don’t speak. Stuart’s the senior law partner at my firm. For the time being, he’s my eyes and ears in L.A.”
“Well, whatever he said has you worried again.” Moving to the front of the chair, he drew her to her feet. As usual, his touch sent a thrill through her, and Abbie wondered if he knew that Stuart’s call was only part of her problem. “Come on. I’ll make a fire and get us something hot to drink.”
“You’re hovering.”
“So sue me.”
The brown leather sofa in the living room sat at an angle near the polished fieldstone fireplace. Leading her to it, he sat her down, grabbed the cream-colored afghan from the back and tucked it around her.
He didn’t speak again until he was crouched beside the hearth, arranging the logs and tinder. Snug denim strained over his lean hips and powerful thighs as he worked. “So, what did your boss say?”
“The lab found Danny’s DNA on the envelope. They know he sent it—or at the very least, licked it.”
The dry tinder caught quickly. “And?”
Abbie pulled the afghan more tightly around her, uncertainty creeping in again. “As soon as he surfaces—if he surfaces—they’ll pick him up. Stuart’s going to call when it’s a done deal.”
Grim-faced, Jace looked askance at her. “You’re still convinced that he’s headed east.”
A few moments ago, she was ready to believe everything Stuart had said. At least she’d wanted to. Now…
Abbie massaged the tension over her eyes. “I don’t know what I believe anymore. Danny’s been seen going in and out of his apartment from time to time, so he must be in the city. And it’s natural for him to want to evade police because they’ve been dogging his every move for a month and he and his lawyer are tired of it. A few nights ago, he flipped off the surveillance team parked down the street from his apartment.”
“Nice.”
Abbie nodded, something about the hand gesture bothering her. After a thoughtful moment, she realized what it was. “He’s changing. I don’t think he would’ve done that before. He has this warped code of respect. On the one hand—if my friend Susan is right—he felt justified in committing murder, yet until the end of the trial, he stood when I came into a room, called me Miss Winslow and never raised his voice. The character witnesses I spoke to said similar things. He’s charming and helpful.”
“And nuts?”
“Probably,” she replied. “The bottom line is, Stuart wants me to believe Danny’s still in L.A., Powell insists there’s a copycat killer out there ripping off Danny’s MO and logic tells me to accept that.” She sent him a woeful look. “Maybe I’m the one who needs a shrink.”
Standing and dusting his hands on his jeans, Jace ambled to the sofa and sat, then threaded his warm fingers through hers. Though she tried to ignore it, Abbie felt the tender connection.
“You don’t need a shrink. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”
She blew out a breath. “Right.”
“I mean it.”
Abbie’s gaze dipped to their interlocking hands, then met the concern in his eyes again. He might never forgive her for the past, but he didn’t let old hurts stand in the way of compassion.
“Thank you, but I suspect even you have moments when you wonder if all of my synapses are firing.”
“Are you forgetting I’m the one who insisted that you move out of Morgan’s place?”
“No, but that was before Powell came up with the copycat thing, and the stakeout guys said Danny was nowhere near Vegas when Lorelei Jardin was killed.”
The fire cast his rugged features in shadow as the flames leapt and flickered, but it couldn’t disguise the truth in his gray eyes. “Yes, I have doubts.”
Hurt, nodding slowly, Abbie slid the afghan off her shoulders and stood. Only a second behind her, Jace stood, too. She’d hoped he’d tell her that he believed everything she said and felt, but to his credit, he wouldn’t lie.
“I wasn’t finished, Abbie.”
“You don’t have to finish. You think I’m delusional, too. Maybe it would be better if
I went back to my dad’s.”
She tried to move past him, but he caught her waist and brought her back to him, his touch rippling through her.
“As I was saying, yes, I have doubts. But if you’re afraid and you feel as strongly as you do about this, I will absolutely try to keep an open mind.” He coaxed her closer, and those ripples intensified. “The last thing I want is for you to move out.”
“Just in case?”
He nodded gravely. “Just in case. Now, let’s talk about something else.”
“There is nothing else. If my mind isn’t on Danny, it’s on what will happen if Danny’s picked up. The second they arrest him, he’ll tell everyone what I did, Reverend Long will confirm it and I’ll never practice law again.”
“You did what needed to be done.”
Unexpectedly, tears stung her eyes, but she would not cry. A couple of nights ago her tears had led them in the wrong direction; they didn’t need that kind of awkwardness again.
“Unfortunately, an ethics board won’t see it that way. I did a terrible thing. I betrayed my oath, and there are rules. When they’re not followed, there are consequences.”
Jace remained silent, hesitant to say anything that would minimize the seriousness of her situation. Instead, he brushed a few strands of hair back from her face. It took all of his restraint not to do more. Their little mistake in the kitchen had pumped up the volume on his neglected libido, and his head was full of rumpled sheets and banging headboards. “Let’s get that cocoa—or better yet, let’s make popcorn and watch some TV.”
“Okay,” she murmured. Turning away, she picked up the remote. “I’ll put CNN on, maybe there’s more news on the—”
In a flash, restrained libido became blunt irritation. “No.” He said it more sharply than he’d intended, but this was not going to happen. He plucked the remote from her hand and tossed it on the sofa. “No CNN. You’ve been living and breathing murder and gore for days, now dammit, give yourself a break. Why do you want pictures like that crawling around in your head?”
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