Had he changed the subject because talking about her was easier? Whatever, she’d go with it. “The accent gives me away,” she admitted, “but how do you know the rest?”
“Your family lives nearby. You said your parents bought this place because you could come at Christmas.”
“Right. They live in Fort Worth.”
“You’re close with your family,” Jonathan continued. “When you talk about them, your eyes soften. And you chose the house where you spent summers together to think about your future.”
“You’re right again,” she said. “You pick up on everything. I guess that’s what makes you a good profiler.” She took a sip of sparkling water. “Interesting, isn’t it, that you kept right on using those skills even when your memory was gone?”
“I guess I’ve practiced them so long they’ve become automatic.”
Christy rose to take her bowl to the sink. She handed him the cracker box. “Want more?”
His eyes gleamed. “Crackers? Or something else?”
She laughed. “Whatever you’re hungry for.”
“That would be you.” He tugged her into his lap, and for once Christy forgot about cleaning.
“Here,” she whispered, kissing him, “in the kitchen.”
He was already ahead of her, fumbling in his shirt pocket for a condom, then pulling up her blouse, baring her breasts, and sliding into her for another wild ride.
Christy collapsed against him. “Wow,” she gasped. “All this lacked was whipped cream.”
“Have some?” Jonathan asked.
“If I did, it’d be spoiled by now.”
“Good, because my FBI training has deserted me. I don’t think I’m good for another round, yet.”
Christy yawned. “Me, either…yet.”
Jonathan woke slowly the next morning. In the pale dawn light, everything seemed strange and unfamiliar. Fear clutched at him. Was he back in the half world of amnesia?
No. He turned his head, and there was Christy beside him. He was in her bed after a night of nonstop lovemaking. Hell, nothing, not even another blow on the head, could make him forget that.
He turned on his side and watched her sleep, her head pillowed on her hand, her mouth as innocent as a child’s.
Innocent? No way. That mouth belonged to a witch who could seduce and beguile and kiss a man until his blood sizzled. Who could’ve guessed, when he’d stumbled into her house, what treasure he’d find?
Hoping to slip out of bed without waking her, he sat up.
“’S it time to get up?” a sleepy voice asked.
He turned and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Uh-uh. Go back to sleep for a while. I’m going to borrow your father’s razor, okay?”
“Yeah, but it’ll cost you a kiss,” she murmured.
Seemed like a reasonable price to pay. He kissed her, more than once, then grabbed his clothes and left the bedroom.
First things first. He needed a bath but his clothes needed one worse. He dumped them in the washing machine, then went back to the bathroom to shower and shave.
As soon as he was dressed, he called Armand Frazier, head of the Stalker task force. He recalled that he’d come here to question Todd Berlin, ex-husband of the Stalker’s first victim, Janice Berlin. But, reluctant to rely on memory, he asked Armand to give him the details of his assignment.
“Berlin had an alibi for the night Janice was killed, but it was shaky,” Armand said. “We decided you’d question him. Figured sending a psychologist would keep this low-key, that you could draw him out and see if we need to move him up on the suspect list.”
“He’s near the top of my list,” Jonathan said. “Nichols told you what happened to me, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, think it was the Stalker who tried to off you?”
“Good chance. And who had a better opportunity than Berlin? He’s been on the island the last few days, for sure. But there’s a problem. He doesn’t fit the profile.”
“Maybe you’ll have to revise it,” Armand said.
“Yeah. Fill me in on the guy, would you? The details of the case are still fuzzy.”
“Berlin managed a construction company in Houston and was doing pretty well. But he was a compulsive gambler, and Janice couldn’t take it anymore and wanted out. The word is they fought like dogs over the community property, and the animosity lasted. Meanwhile Todd got remarried, moved to San Sebastian, and started his own company. Made a go of it, too. And allegedly got his gambling habit under control. Last year Janice came on hard times and started blackmailing Todd. Threatened to spill the story of his gambling to the new wife.”
“So he murders her and then resorts to overkill to draw suspicion away from himself,” Jonathan mused. “Helluva lot of trouble to go to, killing five more women. My memory’s still shaky but I don’t think that’s been done before.”
“There’s always a first time,” Armand reminded him.
When Christy woke again, the sun shone through the window. She sat up, hugged her knees to her chest and smiled, replaying everything that had happened since Jonathan’s memory had returned. Recalling his sweet kiss, she touched her lips. Her fingers traced the indentation of his head on the pillow next to hers, then she bent to bury her face in the pillow and breathe in his scent. Where was he? She scooted out of bed, threw on some clothes and went to see.
The aroma of coffee gave her the answer. She padded barefoot down the hall to the kitchen. His back to the door, he was seated at the table with the newspaper spread in front of him. Christy stood for a moment, watching him.
And then he turned to face her.
Christy stared. His face was clean-shaven.
For the first time, she saw him without a beard or a hint of five o’clock shadow. He looked like a stranger.
Chapter 11
“Good morning,” Jonathan said. As he got out of his chair and came toward her, his eyes traveled down her body with the familiarity and appreciation of a lover. He pulled her into his arms for a coffee-flavored kiss. “Want some coffee?”
“Mmm-hmm, I’ll get it.” She went to the counter and poured a cup from the coffeemaker. As she stirred in sweetener, she glanced at Jonathan out of the corner of her eye. His shirt and pants were freshly laundered. Even his sneakers were free of mud.
Slowly, she returned to the table and sat across from him. “You look…different,” she said.
He grinned. “Cleaner?”
She managed to smile. “I guess.” Not certain she could express what she meant and unwilling to travel farther down that road until she could, she stared into her coffee cup.
Jonathan glanced at the clock they’d reset when the power came on. “I’ve set up the interrogation I’m supposed to do for ten o’clock.” The clock read nine-fifteen. “May I borrow your car?”
“Well, sure…but you don’t have your driver’s license.”
He shrugged. “I’ll take a chance. If I get stopped, I’ll have them call the Houston police department.” He stood. “Want some toast?”
“Thank you.” Christy watched him as he strode across the room. No, the difference in him this morning went far deeper than newly washed clothes. She saw it in his demeanor, heard it in his brisk, confident tone. Jonathan Talbot was not J.D.
What did she know about the man who stood across her kitchen putting bread into the toaster? Not much, except he was a fantastic lover. Or had that been J.D.? She’d called him Jonathan, but when they made love, she realized she’d thought of him as J.D.
At dawn, had he completed some sort of transition and become his old self? Because the streak of vulnerability that had drawn her to J.D. had vanished.
She observed him as he walked back to the table. His hair was the same, his eyes the same smokey gray. Well, of course they were. She must be losing her mind. Regaining his memory couldn’t change him into a different man…or could it?
He sat down and began spreading jam on his toast. “The causeway bridge is open,” he said.
She nodded. He’d be leaving. So would she. She pushed back the plate of toast he’d handed her.
“You could spend the rest of your vacation at your brother’s,” he continued.
“I don’t want to.” At Steve’s she’d have to deal with all kinds of questions about the storm and why she’d decided to leave San Sebastian. Not to mention advice about the dangers of letting a strange man into her home.
“Go home, then,” Jonathan said and reached for her hand. “Don’t fight me on this.”
“I’ll think about it.”
He checked the clock again and rose. “Damn, I need to get going. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Think fast.”
“Wait!”
He stopped on his way to the door. “What?”
“We talked about this last night. That man you’re going to see. He could be the guy who tried to kill you.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re going back there again. You could be walking into another trap.” She rushed to him and seized his hand. “Don’t go.”
He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t worry, I’ll be oka—”
“Stop it. Don’t patronize me,” she snapped. “You may not be okay.”
“I’m not patronizing you.” He pulled her close, gazed into her eyes. “This is what I do, Christy. But usually I’m armed.”
“Take the gun.”
“And leave you here with no protection?” He shook his head.
Christy dropped her gaze. “We both know I wouldn’t use it.”
He hesitated, and she saw him considering the pros and cons. “All right,” he said, “I’ll take the gun, but you stay inside.”
She nodded.
“And don’t let anyone in.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.” She pulled back.
“You let me in. That was a mistake.”
At his words, tears threatened and she turned away. “Was it?”
“No.” He caught her against his chest and kissed her. When he let her go, they were both breathless.
He checked the time again, held out a hand. “Keys?”
“I’ll get them, and you’d better take some money, too.”
She brought him the keys and a twenty-dollar bill along with the gun and ammunition. She watched him check the weapon, drop bullets into the chambers, and shove the gun into his waistband. She’d been right last night; he was a warrior, with the cool confidence of a man used to putting himself on the line.
She followed him out to the garage. Warrior or not, he didn’t seem like a reckless man to her. Still, she couldn’t help saying, “Be careful, please.”
“I will.”
He got into the car and shut the door. She heard the engine turn over and then he began backing out. She ran to the driver’s-side window and tapped on it. When he rolled it down, she said, “If you think I should leave here, I’ll go home.”
“Good. How long will it take you to get ready?”
“Not long. I pack light.”
He nodded. She watched him back out of the driveway and disappear around the corner, then glanced at the yard as she headed back to the door. The flood had left the grass strewn with trash. She’d see about getting someone to clean the yard, maybe replace some of the oleanders.
A glimpse of white in the flower bed by the back door caught her eye, and she bent down. She found pieces of seashells, broken by the wind and tide, but among them she spied a sand dollar. She looked closer. Undamaged by its journey from the Gulf, it lay there, a perfect circle amid the battered bits of shell. How nice to find a survivor.
Christy picked up the sand dollar and carried it inside. Another keepsake.
Jonathan glanced out as he drove along the seawall. The day was clear and bright, and summer’s heat had returned. Nevertheless, he decided to roll down the windows. He wanted to feel the sun on his face, to breathe in the salty air, hear the seagulls squawking and the waves booming as they raced toward shore. To rejoice in finding himself again. He’d like to just drive and enjoy the day, to take pleasure in remembering last week or last year, but he didn’t have the time.
He needed to plan this morning’s interrogation carefully. Presumably, he’d done that last week, but he needed to think his strategy through again.
He thought of what Armand had said about Todd Berlin. Nothing about the guy jibed with what Jonathan knew about serial killers. Most men who murdered multiple victims weren’t savvy enough to own businesses. Or determined enough to overcome a gambling addiction…if indeed Todd had kicked his habit. Most relied on murder to give them a sense of competence, because in their daily lives the majority of serial killers were abject failures.
The scenario the task force had come up with for Berlin—that he’d killed multiple women to cover up the murder of his former wife—was unlikely. It made the guy sound like some kind of criminal mastermind. Jonathan frowned, trying to recall what he’d said when they decided he should question Berlin. Whatever his objections, they’d evidently insisted. He couldn’t fault them, either. They were all desperate to nail this killer. Pressure from City Council, the media, even the rest of the police force was tremendous.
So today Jonathan’s first job was to figure out if Todd really might have pulled off such a scheme. His second was to protect himself.
Armand had given him directions to Berlin’s house. Jonathan recalled—and how he relished being able to remember!—that Berlin had told him to park in the alley behind the house when he’d first set up the meeting last week. Didn’t want the neighbors to spot Jonathan and recognize a face that had been on the news in connection with the Night Stalker.
The hell with the neighbors. This time Jonathan would park in front.
He found the street and drove along it slowly. Berlin lived in a neighborhood of comfortable, middle-class homes with large, neatly kept lawns. Palm trees grew in most yards. Jonathan’s thoughts spiraled back to the day he’d come here for the first time. The wind had howled, and the fronds of those giant palms had blown wildly, like outdoor ceiling fans.
That day he’d driven around to the alley, parked and locked the car. The air had smelled of rain. He remembered looking up at the sky and seeing low, black clouds. Although it was only midafternoon, the light had waned, making it seem later. Behind a fence, a dog had been whining.
Jonathan frowned as he strained to recall what had happened next. The moment he’d started down the alley, the first drops of rain had begun to fall. As if a video played before his eyes, he saw lightning flash. A rumble of thunder followed and the dog began to howl.
Jonathan saw himself stop by a garage marked with the Berlins’ house number. As he put his hand on the gate beside it, there was a lull in the wind. Everything went still, even the neighbor’s dog. Jonathan remembered having the eerie feeling that the world was holding its breath. Waiting.
What next? Shaking off the fanciful thought, he’d lifted the latch on the gate, then paused. Why?
Because in the quiet, he’d thought he heard a sound behind him. Adrenaline had flooded his body.
He turned, saw a flash of movement. Then an impossible pressure pushed his head forward and down. He’d had only an instant to register pain before stars exploded behind his eyes and everything went black. He remembered nothing more about that afternoon. Everything was blank until he woke on the beach.
Now Jonathan parked Christy’s car in front of Berlin’s house. God, the mind was a strange thing. The memory of his earlier visit was so vivid, his head pounded. He sat in the car for a minute, collecting himself, then checked the gun and went to the front door.
A pretty woman, followed by a small boy who looked to be around five years old, answered. “Doctor Talbot?” she said. “Come in.”
The child slid behind his mother. “Is the doctor gonna give me a shot?” he asked, peering at Jonathan.
Jonathan smiled at the boy. He was a sucker for kids. “No way,” he said.
“You sure?” the boy asked h
is mother.
“Of course I’m sure, Sean. Doctor Talbot is here to see Daddy.”
Sean stepped out and grinned at Jonathan. “Are you gonna give Daddy a shot?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Because I could help. I could hold his hand.”
“Maybe another time.”
“Sean,” his mother said, “Doctor Talbot needs to talk business with Daddy. Why don’t you put on Nemo?”
“Okay.” The child scurried off, and Jonathan followed Mrs. Berlin into the living room where her husband sat in an armchair.
With one glance, Jonathan was ninety-nine-percent certain Todd Berlin was off the suspect list. The man had a broken leg.
And badly broken, too. He was in a cast from his ankle nearly to his hip. No way was he the guy who ran from Christy’s house the other night. Unless he broke the leg in his flight across the field.
“Excuse my manners, Doctor Talbot,” Berlin said. “But as you can see, I’m incapacitated. Take a seat.” He frowned at Jonathan. “You’re late. I expected you nearly a week ago.”
Jonathan tapped the side of his bruised face. “I had an accident myself.” He sat across from Berlin. “What happened to your leg?”
“Broke it during the storm. When the wind picked up, it blew out a window in the attic. I slipped on a wet spot at the top of the attic stairs and fell all the way down.”
“Ouch,” Jonathan said.
“Yeah, they got me to the hospital just before the roads flooded.”
That’d be easy enough to check. Berlin hadn’t come after him, Jonathan concluded, but he could still have killed Janice. Maybe just her or maybe the others, too. But Berlin had evidently anticipated Jonathan’s thoughts. He handed over his medical receipts, proving he did indeed break his leg when he said he did.
Jonathan began his questioning. Berlin stuck to the story he’d given the police: that the night of Janice’s murder he’d gone to his son’s Pee Wee League game, begun feeling ill, and gone home, where he was alone until his wife and Sean arrived around ten-thirty.
“Pretty late bedtime for your son,” Jonathan remarked.
“It was a Friday night. After the game, they went out for hamburgers and over to someone’s house. Happens all the time.” Berlin squirmed in his chair. “Look, I didn’t care much for Janice, and I sure as hell didn’t like what she was trying to do to me. But I wouldn’t kill her.”
Stranger in Her Arms Page 12