A raging hunger filled the pit of her stomach, spreading to her toes. What were his thoughts as he gazed down at her? What would it feel like when he touched her?
The fantasy seemed so real, maybe because she wanted so much for it to happen. If Dade walked into the bedroom this minute, she couldn’t refuse him.
I should not be thinking this. Sleeping in Dade’s bed has to be the cause of these wild imaginings. Dade is my law partner, not my sex partner. The hunger raging inside of me is actually that, hunger. It’s seven o’clock. I haven’t eaten anything in a while.
Time to forage. Julie swung her feet over the side of the bed. When they touched the floor, the room spun crazily. She clutched the mattress, waiting for everything to straighten out.
She must have gotten up too fast. Where were her slippers? Boy, she was muddled. Of course, they weren’t here. They were in her bedroom. She was in Dade’s. She had to wake up. She had to eat. Then she’d feel right.
* * *
Julie had never had occasion to visit Dade’s condo alone. A few years ago, after she’d moved out of Chicago to Arlingdale, he’d relocated here from the old neighborhood so he could be close to the office. She’d gotten a grand tour with the family then, but he’d remodeled since.
As she stepped into the stylish yet practical kitchen, Julie smiled with delight. Gleaming copper plates hung from black wrought iron hangers. A trailing English ivy plant swung over the sink window sill. A cooking grill was built into the counter-top.
What in other homes might be a recipe nook, instead was a repository for sports magazines and a legal pad. That was Dade for you.
As she opened the steel door of the refrigerator and reached down for the carton of eggs on the bottom shelf, the floor creaked. Straightening, she turned.
What she saw made her eyes widen. Dade stood behind her with only a wet towel slung around his waist.
She wasn’t the only one who worked out and went to pump classes. Those abs of his could sell a million machines on TV. She tried to look away, but couldn’t help noticing the dark curly hairs forming a vee extending down to a point below his waist, an area barely covered by the towel. Her mouth went dry and she swallowed hard.
Their eyes met. He looked hungry and not for food.
“Oh, hi,” she said brightly, ignoring the odd thumping of her heart.
He backed away. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were up. I’ll get dressed.”
Julie nodded dumbly. She could pretend what he was wearing didn’t matter, but why fool herself. He looked way too inviting. She couldn’t deal with that sort of thing now. She had enough on her plate already.
She smiled. There she was, thinking in food metaphors. She better get something to eat.
* * *
Safely clad in an armor of Dockers, polo shirt and loafers, Dade stepped back into the kitchen. Julie was standing exactly where he’d left her, in the middle of the floor, holding the carton of eggs, looking dazed and charmingly helpless. He didn’t see this side of her often, which made her all the more appealing.
Her full lips, with the lipstick bitten off, were damn inviting, as were her sinfully long legs. Breakfast would definitely be an exercise in will power. Would he be up to it, in more ways than one?
“Okay, let’s get the grub going,” Dade said, determined to set things back on an even keel.
She nodded absently.
“Here, let me take that.” He reached for the carton and connected with her hand. A bolt of lightning shot from his palm up through his arm. He almost dropped the eggs.
Her eyes met his then glanced away. Had she felt the collision of chemistry? She did have a knack for reading his mind.
He tightened his grip on the egg box and placed it safely on the counter. He reached for the bowl inside the cabinet and the whisk brush from the holder.
The usually capable Julie looked disoriented as she searched for silverware and sought to make sense of an unfamiliar kitchen.
He pushed the chair out. “Sit down and relax. I’ll do breakfast. Pretend you’re in a restaurant.”
She opened her mouth to protest. He flashed a stern look and she complied. While he whisked the eggs, his peripheral vision caught the back-and-forth swinging movement of her long legs. Dade leaned closer to the marble counter, so she couldn’t see the bulge developing in a certain portion of his anatomy.
He rounded up some orange juice and toast then presented the finished product. Instead of slowly appreciating Dade’s handiwork, they both gulped down breakfast, as if the hounds of hell were after them.
“Well, let’s get back and try to make sense of things,” he said, gathering up the plates off the table.
“It is Sunday. If you want, we could go to the service at St. Peter’s, downtown. They’re usually short,” Julie said.
“All right. We could use some divine intervention.”
Church might be just the ticket to get his mind off of Julie and back on the right track.
Her lips curved into a surprised smile. “And I thought I knew everything about you, tough guy.”
* * *
Since Julie had announced she was leaving and Nora had wreaked her havoc, Dade’s world had shifted into uncharted territory. Kneeling at Mass on a Sunday morning with Julie beside him, however, somehow seemed right, kind of domestic, as if she were his wife. The liturgy was familiar, yet different, since this time he shared it with her. It gave him kind of a warm feeling. This had to be one of the things Todd missed now that Laura was gone. The thought was sobering.
As customary, along with the rest of the congregation, he and Julie shook hands after the Lord’s Prayer. The moment felt sacred, not sexual, as if he were pledging his life to her. Dade swallowed a lump in his throat.
Maybe marriage wouldn’t be so bad. Of course, it would mean spending time away from the firm and not making as much money, but the sacrifice might be worth it with the right woman, someone like Julie. It was something to think about.
Chapter Seven
Tyler grit his teeth, remembering the day before, when he’d stood before the assemblage of dullards who didn’t share a brain amongst them. They weren’t the reason for his workshop. They could burn in hell for all he cared.
He didn’t understand it. He’d seen the excited look in her eyes. She’d known what he’d offered and had seemed to want it. Something or, more accurately, someone had to be interfering. Probably that partner of hers who constantly infringed on her free time.
His mind whirled from the impatience of the stalk. He craved fulfillment, yet he, like the less worthy, must jump through hoops to attain his goal.
No one would stand him up. The more he thought of it, the angrier he got. For all he knew, she might even be making love to her partner right this minute.
The fool didn’t deserve her. Julie McGuire was meant to be his. He’d make sure she had no choice, but for the time being he’d have to leave her to her own devices. He had a publisher to appease and a story to finish.
Squaring his shoulders, Tyler prepared himself to enter the other dimension. His fingers swept over the keyboard as he commanded the blurred thoughts into focus. He no longer sat in his luxurious penthouse on Chicago’s Michigan Avenue, but instead, stood five miles away in the modest, chintz-covered living room of a Lincoln Park townhouse.
* * *
Clutching the pick tightly, he crept through the semi-lit hallway into the kitchen. The house was silent, except for the ticking of the cow-shaped clock directly over the sink. Its hands showed nine fifty-one.
A cinnamon-like aroma wafted from the cabinets. Pressing the gloved finger over his nostrils, he stifled a sneeze.
He crossed the threshold and continued down the hallway to a partially opened bedroom door. Inside, the glow of a nightlight illuminated a woman’s supine form. A satin sheet covered her from the waist down. Fascinated, he watched the pear-like breasts rise and fall in cadence with her soft breaths.
She looked tiny a
nd helpless, warm from sleep. Even in the dark, her wispy golden hair shone like a halo. Something stirred deep within him, making him harden. He knew her. Only last night, he’d tasted her skin. She’d teased and touched him. He’d plunged himself deep into her warm wetness.
Then she’d spoiled it by saying he wasn’t the only one. For that, she’d pay.
He stared down at her sleeping form. She was lovely, but he’d not be dissuaded. With renewed purpose, he inched closer.
A floorboard creaked as he reached the side of the bed. Her eyes flew open. When she recognized him, she frowned.
“How did you get in? I thought you left the key.”
“Can’t keep track, can you?”
“Don’t cop an attitude. I want you out.”
“I need to do something. It won’t take long. Then you won’t see me again.”
Her forehead puckered in confusion. He raised his arm to enlighten her. The pick glinted in the soft light.
Her eyes widened. The veins in her neck expanded.
She jerked upright. “What are you doing?” Her voice sounded husky from sleep.
“Let’s call it getting even.”
Ah, this was the fun part. Smiling, he waved the pick back and forth and watched her eyes follow its dancing rhythm.
Like a kitten pouncing at a string, she sprung for it. He laughed and snatched it away.
She pursed her lips. “I don’t care for your nasty little game.”
“It’s not a game. Say a quick prayer.”
He swung the pick down in a wide arc. She caught his hand and jerked it in the opposite direction. Her talon-like fingernails dug into his wrist. He’d underestimated her.
“You bitch,” he said, wincing at the pain.
He’d dole her some of her own medicine. With his free hand, he grabbed her by the wrist and pushed it sideways until it snapped.
She gasped. His hand was free.
Clutching one palm over the other, she stared up at him, her mouth twisted in a grimace. “You’re crazy,” she whispered.
“And you’re dead.”
A rush of power filled him. He felt supercharged as, grasping the pick, he watched her cringe.
The fun was over. With a whoosh, he plunged the instrument down, straight into her neck.
A soft gurgle escaped, then all was silent. Warm blood skewered onto his glove, splattered over the sheets. A smell of copper permeated the room, as the clock in the kitchen chimed ten times. Nine minutes were all it had taken to slide a human being from this world to the next - - an awesome accomplishment.
He smiled in satisfaction. He’d purchased his peace. She’d never torment him or any other man again. It was time to leave. Still, he couldn’t resist one last look.
Marring what had once been a graceful neck, the pick jutted sideways, a symbol of primitive justice for everyone to see. One less deceitful woman to taint the earth.
“Goodbye, my darling,” he whispered.
* * *
Early morning sunlight peaked through the mini-blinds of Tyler’s spacious office above Lake Michigan. He blinked against the glare. Damn, he was tired. That chapter of his new novel, Goodbye, My Darling, had proven incredibly intense.
He felt dizzy, as if he’d been drugged. In a way he had been, but by something more powerful than any known substance, his imagination. Like an addiction, something drove him into the fantasy world. He couldn’t live without it, though each time he emerged, he felt more drained. The pain in his abdomen made him reach for the antacid bottle next to the monitor.
As so often happened, bits of reality shifted from one world to the next. He rubbed his sore, reddened wrist. He’d have trouble typing tomorrow, but he would. He had to.
Sudden blinding pain shot from his skull to his eyes. His temples throbbed.
“Oh, God, stop,” he yelled, pounding his fist on the desk. The pain worsened. The mouse and mouse pad fell to the floor. They could lay there forever, for all he cared. The way he felt now no money in the world could force him to reach down and pick them up.
Damn his head. Why must he live with this curse? He’d tried everything to get relief, but nothing lasted. The antacids controlled his ulcer. Why couldn’t he find something strong enough for headaches?
Four years ago, he’d submitted to a battery of medical tests to ferret out the root of his problem. When they’d come back negative, the internist offered one final suggestion. “You could try hypnotism.”
Tyler’s forehead broke into a sweat at the thought and he glared at the doctor. “I’m not mentally ill. I know your type. You’re incompetent and can’t do your job, so you make up excuses. You’re lucky I don’t sue you.”
He scraped back his chair to conclude the appointment. No one would say he was crazy. Furthermore, he wouldn’t let anyone mess with his mind.
The doctor shook his head and gave him a pitying look.
The action infuriated Tyler. He glared at the doctor. “You’re nothing but a quack.”
“Follow my suggestion. It’s all you have left.”
“I’ll see you in hell first,” Tyler said, turning away.
“Your life is already hell,” the doctor’s voice followed, as Tyler retreated down the hall.
How dare he say that. A psychiatrist was out of the question. Not for a second would he relinquish control of his mind. He knew what quacks could do to a person, planting false memories and suggestions.
He’d suffer the rest of his life if he had to. The headaches always passed. Yes, they hurt, but the alternative was worse.
Tyler never doubted his decision to reject the doctor’s suggestions.
Still, at weak moments like this, when his head pounded, his vision blurred, and his stomach cramped, he’d kill for relief.
How ironic that he owned so much yet couldn’t enjoy it. How could he when any moment another attack might grip him? Damn that doctor. He should have done his job right.
A nagging voice inside of him said he could still consult more doctors, but what if they agreed with the first? If there was something major wrong with him, he’d rather not know.
Chapter Eight
After finally getting to sleep in her own bed Sunday night, without the smell of Dade’s aftershave distracting her, Julie was ready for Monday. The deluge began a few blocks from the downtown Chicago commuter train station. Umbrella-less, already in “In Between Land,” three blocks between the train station and her office, she had no choice but to continue on.
The wind, a mighty alien being, buffeted her slight figure, treating it like scrap paper. Buckets of cold water poured onto her head, face and eyes, over her clothes and into her shoes. Dodging puddles, she raced the remaining way to the office.
Once inside the building, she breathed a sigh of relief, followed by a shiver, as a frigid blast of air conditioning hit, plastering her wet blouse and skirt to her skin. Water squished in her shoes.
In front of the elevator, she found Dade, once again the early bird. In one hand, he carried a dripping golf umbrella. With the other, he held the door open. At sight of her, his eyes widened.
Her breasts were taut and cold, pressed tightly against the flimsy fabric of her wet silk blouse. How much did he notice? Probably too much.
It was only Dade. She’d known him for years. He’d seen her in all sorts of clothes, even his own shirt. It didn’t matter, right?
“Don’t say it,” she said. “I look like an entrant in a wet tee shirt contest. The worst part is, since I don’t have any cases up today, I didn’t even bring a suit coat to warm me up. It wasn’t supposed to rain, was it?”
Dade shook his head and smiled. “I’m surprised at you, Julie. You actually believe the weather man? What kind of lawyer are you? If he took an oath, he’d be indicted for perjury.”
Julie smiled. “You’re right. I should know better.”
“That’s okay. I kind of like the wet look,” he said, with a wide grin.
“Watch it, you letch.” Anoth
er shiver escaped her. Suddenly she felt washed out and shaky. Earlier in the shower she’d suffered another dizzy spell.
Dade’s smile turned serious. “You don’t look so good.”
“No woman likes to hear that.” She made a dour face, as she tried to ignore the unexpected stab of hurt.
“Hey, don’t take it that way,” Dade said, automatically tuning in to her wavelength. “What I mean is you might be coming down with something. I’ve got an extra shirt in the office. You can wear that until your clothes dry.”
“I don’t think so,” Julie said with a wry grin. “That would certainly make an impression on what’s left of our office staff.”
The elevator stopped on the 12th floor.
“Tell you what. You go inside. I’ll run over to Walgreen’s. They always have sweats there. I’ll be right back.”
“Then you’ll get wet.”
“No problem. My monster umbrella will protect me from the evil forces of nature.”
“Are you sure you want to go back out there? I could wait until it stops.”
“Anything for you, oh wet and wonderful partner.”
She gave him a playful shove. “All right, nut, go. In the meantime, I’ll dry my hair with my handy dandy mini hair dryer.”
* * *
Julie was unplugging the hair dryer from the socket, when a knock on the bathroom door signaled Dade’s return. Thank God it hadn’t taken him long. Her clothes felt cold and clammy. She was completely chilled.
Smiling, he handed over a sweatshirt, sweat pants, underwear and socks. “I guessed on the sizes.”
Killer Career Page 6