But she didn’t want to think about that. She’d play Scarlett and think about it tomorrow…or the next day. For now, she just wanted to be with Jonathan.
He’d kicked off his shoes, and he lay with his head in her lap as they watched The Philadelphia Story on the classic movie channel.
Christy stroked his hair. The area Dr. Mayes had stitched was growing back. Tomorrow the stitches would come out. “Tired?” she asked.
“A little. The task force has a huge database to work with now. A lot of security companies with dozens of employees operate in the Medical Center area. I’m doing a spread sheet to see who matches the characteristics of the Stalker.”
Christy bent to kiss his temple. “Don’t think about it tonight. Watch the movie.” She turned her attention to the TV. “I love Katharine Hepburn. She was such a gutsy lady.”
He smiled up at her. “Like you.”
Christy stared at him in surprise. “I’m not gutsy.”
“You’re tougher than you think,” he said and turned back to the television. “I like her slinky dresses.”
“I have a slinky negligée.”
That got his attention. “With you?”
“As a matter of fact.”
With deft fingers, he unbuttoned her blouse and opened the front snap of her bra. “On second thought, I like you better without it.” Lazily, he traced a finger around her nipple and watched as it pebbled.
Christy saw his eyes go dark, his pupils widen with desire. But his touch stayed featherlight on her breast.
“Come closer,” he whispered. He raised his other arm and drew her down toward him. He flicked his tongue over her nipple, then drew it into his mouth. The movie—the dialogue, the music, even the room where they sat—faded. All Christy’s senses focused on her breast. For a moment, all she could do was be still and absorb the sensations—the rhythmic movements of his tongue, the warm pressure of his hand on her shoulder, the longing he stirred inside her.
She wanted to give him those same feelings. Tearing her attention from what he was doing to her, Christy covered the hard mound in his jeans. She pressed and it grew harder, released and it went harder still. She stroked, teasing him, then unfastened the snap at his waist and slowly undid his zipper.
He moaned, then said, “The pants. Gotta…get ’em off.”
“Let me.” She slipped out of his grasp, knelt by the couch and began to ease the jeans off. He reached to help her, but she pushed his hands away. “I said, let me. I want to make you crazy.”
“Trust me, you are,” he gasped.
“Good. Now lie back and relax.”
“Relax? Not…possible.” But he stilled his hands and let her have her way.
For now, she was in total control. And it was heaven. To watch his chest, see the effort he made to slow his breathing. To hear him groan with passion, to make him want. Want only her.
“Lift up.” He did and she slid his pants down over his buttocks and then down his legs inch by inch. She paused to run her fingernails over his thighs and was rewarded with a groan. “I love your thighs. The muscles are so strong,” she murmured, then dropped a kiss on one knee. A reflexive jerk made her chuckle, and then she continued kissing his legs until she had his jeans off. She pulled off his socks and took a foot in her hand. “Such sexy feet,” she murmured. She kissed his toes and laughed when they wriggled.
“Christy…” He started to sit up, but she pushed him back. “Not done yet. We have a long way to go to get you naked.”
“Good grief.”
He started to tug at the waistband of his briefs, but she grabbed his hand. “Uh-uh. That’s last. Shirt next.”
Her breath was almost gone but she refused to rush. She unbuttoned his shirt, urged him up so she could slip it off, then pleasured them both by kissing his nipples, laving and sucking them as he had done hers.
He couldn’t stay still any longer. His body began to writhe…and she loved it, but she put her hand on his chest. “Shh, wait.”
“You’re driving me…insane.”
“Told you so,” she whispered and silenced his mouth with hers. Then she murmured, “Now,” and slipped off his briefs.
She sat back for a moment and gazed at him in all his masculine glory. “You’re beautiful, you know,” she told him. “Sexy and beautiful.”
“Men aren’t beautiful.”
“You are. Just looking at you makes me…hungry.” She took him in her mouth, savored the male taste of him, his rock-hard desire. But now she couldn’t wait either.
Pulling her clothes off, she sheathed him, then mounted him and guided him inside her, as deep as he could go.
Now neither of them could go slow. Their movements quickened, their sighs became moans until finally, with cries of ecstasy, they flew over the edge and into oblivion.
Wrapped together, they surfaced slowly. Jonathan kissed the tip of Christy’s nose. “Condom sales are soaring.”
She laughed. “And all because of us. Helping the economy is good.” She sat up and pushed her hair back from her face. “I need a shower. Care to join me?”
In moments they were under the spray together and soaping one another, laughing as Christy drew a happy face on Jonathan’s chest with soap bubbles. Afterward, they dried each other and then, wrapped in towels, strolled back into the bedroom.
“Hungry?” Jonathan asked.
“A little. Thirsty, too. Shall we call room service or get dressed and go downstairs?”
“Neither. We’ll raid the in-room bar. I think I saw a couple of bottles of wine.” He opened the refrigerator door, and they chose a chablis, some crackers and a pâté. Jonathan turned to her. “Where’s that slinky negligée?”
“I’ll get it. I’ll be Katharine, you be Cary.”
Jonathan figured he was going to enjoy this. He leaned back in his chair, stretched out his legs and waited.
A few minutes later, Christy’s hand appeared on the bathroom door frame, then she peeped around the edge of the door. “Here I come,” she said and stepped into the bedroom.
His eyes widened. She wore a long silk negligée in pale bronze, not sheer but transparent enough to show the outlines of dusky nipples, the dark triangle below her belly. The gown clung to her, outlining her sweet curves, accentuating her long slim legs. She’d brushed her hair into a long, straight fall. As she walked slowly toward him in high-heeled slippers, she looked like a confection good enough to eat, delicious enough to devour.
“Like it?” she asked huskily.
Unable to find his voice, he nodded. Like it? With every step she took, he grew harder. He rose and went to her, took her in his arms and kissed her.
“Nice,” she murmured. “I guess that means you like me, you really, really like me.”
“Wrong movie star, but I do,” he chuckled, still holding her close. “So, Kate, will you have a drink?”
“Delighted.”
She put her arm around his waist and, punctuating each step with a kiss, they moved to the table. He pulled out her chair and seated her, left for a moment to turn the radio to a Golden Oldies station, then returned and poured the wine with a flourish.
With the music soft in the background, they held hands across the table, fed each other bits of pâté. They gazed into one another’s eyes as they sipped the wine. “Well, Cary, no clever repartee?” Christy asked.
“Uh-uh, I can’t think of anything to say.” He leaned his cheek on his hand. “I just want to look at you.” He traced her lips, brushed his finger over her chin. “You have such a delectable mouth, such a sweet chin.”
She caught his hand, kissed the fingers one by one, then touched his chin. “You have a cleft in your chin. Sexy.”
“Nah. A hole in my chin’s not sexy.”
“Mmm, but it is.” She leaned over the table and dipped her tongue inside it. “Pour me some more wine. Not too much, I’m already floating.”
“Maybe we should go to bed.”
Christy chuckled. He could
tell she was already feeling the wine. “Maybe we should dance.”
“Why not?” He got up and put out a hand. She took it, and he pulled her close, spun her in a circle, and dipped her back over his arm.
“It’d be better on a hard surface. You know, like a floor.” She giggled, definitely feeling the wine now, he decided. “Can I have some more to drink?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Spoilsport.”
He kissed the pout off her lips and led her across the room in intricate steps that seemed to come naturally though he was sure he’d never danced quite this way before. She put both arms around his neck and gazed into his eyes. She was so sexy. His hands traveled down to her waist, brushing her breasts. The silky fabric was sexy, too, but no more so than her skin.
“Kiss me while we’re dancing, Jonathan,” she murmured. “That’s so ‘old romantic movie,’ don’t you think?”
He couldn’t think, not with her body pressed against him, her mouth teasing his. He kissed her longer, deeper, tasting the wine on her tongue.
He waltzed her to the bed, bent her back…and let her go. She plopped on the bed, laughing, and he followed her down. Had it only been an hour or so since they’d last made love? How could he be so ravenous so soon?
He parted her negligée, hungry for her skin. Ah, there she was. Satin smooth, soap-scented, and warm. Growing warmer under his kisses.
She took his face in her hands. “I’ve never been danced to bed before. You’re so creative.”
Though he was intent on other things, a laugh burst out. “Stop teasing me and let me have you.”
“But old movies fade out with a kiss. Those people never had sex.”
He undid the sash at her waist. “This is a remake.”
“Oh, in that case…” She unbuttoned his shirt, planted kisses across his chest. Quickly they disposed of the rest of their clothes and soon were lost in the rhythm of love.
Jonathan lay on his side and watched Christy sleep. How long would this union last? Only until he made sure her life was no longer in danger. To do that, he had to catch the Night Stalker.
The killer was smart. He was careful to leave no trace of himself at the murder scenes. They needed a break. They needed him to make a mistake.
How could he let Christy go back to work? He knew the killer would go after her eventually. And what better place than in the hospital? So many strangers prowling the halls, so much confusion. People weren’t alert. They were focused on their own pain, not on a pretty nurse being accosted by a man. The thought made him ill.
Nothing could happen to Christy. She was too…special. Special in a way he hadn’t ever experienced before. She made him laugh, she made him want…
…what he couldn’t have. Shouldn’t have.
He leaned over and kissed her cheek, listened to her sigh, then gathered her close against his heart and fell asleep.
Across town a man clenched his fists as he relived his past.
A little boy again, he sat at the breakfast table dreaming, as his hand automatically guided the spoon from the cereal bowl to his mouth. Lost in a fantasy far out in space, he jumped as footsteps came up beside him. Blinking, he looked up and stared into the angry eyes of his Aunt Meg.
“You.”
She never called him by his name, just “you” or something worse. He was in for it, he supposed, and tried not to cringe as Meg loomed over him in her faded robe, her dyed red hair tangled around her face. “Yes’m.”
“Why’re you dawdling over your breakfast? Put those dishes in the sink.”
“Momma always said to eat a good meal so I could be strong,” he protested.
“Yeah, well, your momma’s long gone. Dumped you on me.” Her mouth twisted in rage and disgust as she glared at the teaspoon-sized red stain on the breakfast table. “Spilled ketchup makin’ your lunch, didn’t you, you mangy little creep.” Her voice was raspy from too much booze and too many cigarettes. “Can’t keep your fat face outa trouble five minutes. Clean up the mess. I gotta get to work at the hospital. I got rooms to clean an’ bedpans to empty. I don’t have time to come along behind you, taking care of your sloppiness.”
Obediently, he got up and started for the kitchen, but Meg grabbed his arm, her fingernails digging into his soft flesh. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”
“T-to get a rag.”
She gave him a shove. “Use your shirt.”
“B-but it’s my only clean one and—and it’s picture-taking day at school.”
“Picture-takin’ day, huh?” Her lips curled into a sneer. “Then you’ll look just right, you dirty little pig.”
Scared of what she’d do if he argued, he wiped the table, then backed toward the door.
“Not so fast. You didn’t get your punishment.” She grabbed him by the collar and reached for the paddle she always kept handy.
The board slammed against his back, his legs, his bottom again and again. He tried to wriggle away, but she held him fast, so he endured the pain. For now.
But someday, he thought…someday he’d be big. Bigger than she was. Stronger, too. Then he’d fix her, punish her back. He could feel his fists connecting with her, feel the strength behind his blows…
He blinked, and a face swam into view. Not Meg’s. Another woman’s, a stranger’s. Fists clenched, he stared down at her, trying to make sense of the scene.
A moonless night. The smell of fetid water from a drainage ditch mingled with the odor of disinfectant from the woman’s hands. No one nearby. A dog howling somewhere in the distance.
He stared at his hand—not a boy’s now but a man’s—then frowned again at the red-haired woman. He’d brought her here to punish her.
She was different from the others, stronger, too. She’d fought him. But she was no match for him. In minutes, he’d overpowered her. Had her sniffling, begging for mercy. Now he was done.
He bent over and pushed her lifeless body into the ditch.
Chapter 16
The ring of the telephone roused Jonathan from sleep. Dawn was just breaking, tinting the hotel room a soft gray. He groped for the phone, managed a sleepy “Hello.”
Luis’s voice brought him to full alert. “Get over here. We found another body.”
Jonathan reached for a pencil. “Where?” He scribbled the directions and hung up, then turned to Christy and gently shook her shoulder until she stirred.
“’S’matter?” she mumbled.
“Get dressed. We need to go.”
She sat up, her eyes wide, frightened. “What’s wrong?”
He stroked her arm. “Nothing here. But they’ve found another body.”
“Oh, God, no.”
“I have to go over there.”
“Of course.” She swung her legs off the bed. “Get dressed. I’ll call Hannah. She’s bound to be up for the boys’ early feeding.”
Within minutes they were dressed and out of their room. While Christy checked out, Jonathan brought the car around to the front of the hotel. Fortunately, they weren’t far from Hannah’s. He dropped Christy off and was on his way.
Half an hour later he turned onto a narrow lane, and his heart began pumping. Houses. Not many, but a couple of ramshackle huts stood just in from the corner. This could be the break they needed. Houses meant people. Witnesses.
He parked at the far end of the street near a drainage ditch. No more houses here. As he got out of his car, he inhaled the odor of refuse…and death.
The crime scene unit had, of course, already arrived, and he spotted Luis in the group milling around. Jonathan held up a badge and nodded to the sergeant in charge and the man stood back respectfully and let him pass.
Luis hurried over. “Hey, compadre,” he said. “Looks like things are going our way for once.”
“Yeah, I noticed the houses.”
“Homicide cops are fanning out over the area. Keep your fingers crossed.” He nodded toward the group clustered around a still form. “Come take a look.
”
The woman had been beaten. Not with a blunt instrument but with fists. Jonathan had seen enough bodies to know the difference. Someone had hit her repeatedly. Her neck was broken, and her red hair lay tangled about her shoulders.
Bile rose in his throat. Christy could be lying there. He turned away, then forced himself to look again. The only way he could keep this from happening to Christy was to learn everything he could from this murder scene. “Who is she?” he asked.
“Wanda Mulroney,” Luis answered. “She’s a nurse.”
Although he’d expected it, the word nurse hit him like a punch in the gut. Whatever happened to the Night Stalker in the past was connected with medicine, he knew that. But why in God’s name had the woman who’d rescued him from the storm turned out to be a nurse? Focus, he ordered himself and shut down the useless questions.
“When did it happen?” he asked.
One of the investigators answered. “Sometime during the night. She was on the three-to-eleven shift at St. Mary’s.”
St. Mary’s. Christy’s hospital. Jonathan bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to stay calm.
The investigator continued. “When she didn’t show up at home by twelve-thirty, her husband called the police, and they started searching. They found her car parked about two blocks from St. Mary’s and, since this spot is pretty close to the hospital, it didn’t take long to find her.”
Too long for her. The murderer had had maybe forty-five minutes to pick her up, get her here, and kill her. How frightened was she? Could she have escaped? What if she’d had a weapon?
Tonight, as soon as he finished, he’d take Christy out to the firing range for the lesson he’d promised. Now the impulsive offer to help her improve her skill with a weapon was more than a friendly promise. It was vital.
“Our guy’s getting edgy. He’s starting to make mistakes,” Luis remarked. “He’s usually driven his victims a long way before killing them.” He pointed to the body. “And look at her hands.”
Jonathan bent to study them. Defensive wounds, and two broken fingernails. She’d fought back. And that meant…
“DNA,” he said, looking up at Luis.
Stranger in Her Arms Page 17