by B. J Daniels
“Nothing wrong with that,” he said, smiling over at her, hoping that was why she moved so much, but all his instincts told him she was a woman on the run. It was what she was running from that worried him.
They ate, complimenting the food and then talking about their favorite meals. He wasn’t surprised to learn that she liked all different kinds of cuisine, including Thai.
“Not much of that in Montana, is there?” he asked.
“You’d be surprised. There’s some around. You just need to know where to find it.”
Was she flirting with him? She was. “Maybe we’ll have to try it if there’s one that’s not too far away.”
She gave him a mysterious smile in answer. Yes, he liked her, he thought as he looked across the table at her before lowering his gaze to his food. He liked her more all the time. While he’d always thought that falling for someone was scary, nothing was scarier than feeling himself drawn in even more by this woman.
Maybe a gun wasn’t the only weapon she carried in her purse. Or maybe she planned to pick up a steak knife before they left the restaurant tonight.
He told himself that sounded more like Laura than the way he was feeling about Callie, when he looked up and saw Carson Grant come through the door on a gust of wind. Before the door closed, he saw that the storm had finally hit. Snow whirled out on the street in a kaleidoscope of huge flakes.
* * *
CALLIE SENSED HIM even before she turned to see Carson enter the restaurant. He’d already spotted Rourke and now sneered, giving a tip of his Stetson to them before climbing onto the closest bar stool and shaking the snow off his coat.
She looked down at her plate, her appetite gone. Fortunately, most of her meal was also gone. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, putting down her napkin. “I’m going to the ladies’ room, and then I thought maybe we could get dessert to go?”
Rourke smiled. “Great idea.”
“We can eat it at my apartment,” she said brazenly and left the booth. Once in the bathroom, she leaned against the door for a moment to steady herself. The bathroom looked as if it was from the original hotel with its black-and-white tile and older fixtures. She’d sensed Carson because of the malevolent aura around him. She’d never felt it so strongly as she did tonight. Her head throbbed, no longer a dull ache.
That terrible feeling of déjà vu washed over her. She couldn’t bear the thought that it was happening again.
She stepped to the sink and pressed a cold wet paper towel to her cheeks. She tried to fight off the darkness that seemed to come over her. She wouldn’t let anything spoil this evening. Nor would she let the headache.
Straightening, she looked at herself in the mirror. You have tonight. Make the most of it.
On her way back to Rourke, she passed a table with several small children sitting with their parents, when she got a flash. The family radiated warmth and happiness. They were all having fun, the parents interacting with their two daughters. She smiled at the little girls, wishing as she hadn’t in years that she’d had a childhood that had looked like that, that had felt like that.
Just then, the smallest of the little girls started to reach for her glass of milk. Callie had been so intent on the little girls that she saw the whole thing happening long before it did.
She quickly stepped to the table and rescued the glass as it started to shoot off the surface. Catching it without spilling a drop, she returned it to the little girl. The parents looked at her in surprise and then thanked her.
“No problem,” Callie said, but as she turned toward the booth where she and Rourke had been sitting, she saw his expression.
He looked...shocked. She realized he must have been watching her approach, so he’d witnessed the whole thing. As his gaze met hers, she saw what she’d feared in his eyes. He knew.
* * *
ROURKE BLINKED, DISBELIEVING. He’d never seen anyone move that fast. It was as if Callie had known beforehand that the girl was going to spill her drink. With a start, he remembered another time at the café when he’d seen her move to a table to save a plate that had gotten too close to the edge. Both times, there had been no warning, and yet...
He stared at her, his mind reeling. She’d somehow known both incidents were going to happen before they did. It was the only way she could have gotten to the table fast enough. The realization stunned him because of the ramifications.
If Callie had second sight...
His heart began to pound. Then she could know about the murders. No scanner by her bed. She could have seen them, and that was what had led her to the crime scenes. But then she would have also seen the killer at each murder—just as she had as a child.
His heart began to pound at the thought that she really might hold the answers to the crimes. She might be the one person who could tell him who the serial killer was.
Or she could be the killer.
No. He knew he was reaching, but what he had seen could explain why his instincts told him she was the connection. If true, how strong was her gift? He remembered her reaction to him. What had she seen?
He realized with a silent curse that if she really did have some psychic ability, then she would know who he really was and what he’d come to Beartooth to do. That thought left him cold.
“Ready?” Callie asked, smiling as she saw the two containers on the table. “I hope that’s dessert.”
“It is. I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a couple of different ones.” He hadn’t realized that he’d stood and was holding her coat. He nodded numbly and helped her with her jacket.
He told himself he was overreacting. He couldn’t even be sure of what he’d seen, let alone what it might mean. He was jumping to crazy conclusions. Callie wouldn’t have gone out to dinner with him if she knew why he’d come to Beartooth. Or maybe she would have if she planned to kill you tonight. Laura’s voice in his head.
Maybe she wasn’t psychic after all. Maybe he’d imagined what he thought he’d seen. Or maybe she just had quick reflexes. Or maybe...
As they were leaving, Carson said something. Callie hurried her step, as if wanting to get out of there without a scene. Rourke didn’t want trouble. Especially tonight.
Once on the street, he took a deep breath. Snowflakes whirled around them from the dark sky overhead. The cold night air helped clear his head. Now he wasn’t so sure what he’d seen earlier—if anything.
It was obsession, he thought as he looked over at Callie. He couldn’t turn back. Whatever was going to happen tonight...he was ready. Each thing he learned about Callie was like a layer that he peeled away, only to find there were more and more layers. What would he discover if he peeled enough away? He shuddered to think.
Even if she wasn’t the killer, she knew who the killer was. He couldn’t discount that she might be the co-killer, maybe the one who reeled them in for the real killer, and maybe he’d already gotten too close.
“I hope Carson didn’t spoil your night,” Callie said.
“Not mine. How about yours?”
She smiled and took his arm as they walked toward the SUV through the falling snow. “I’m having a wonderful time. I can’t wait to see what you have planned for dessert.”
He smiled over at her, telling himself that if she did have some type of psychic ability, then she would already know.
As they reached the car, she took the two dessert containers from him.
“Don’t shake those like they’re Christmas presents,” he warned. “I want you to be surprised.”
She eyed the boxes, then him and smiled. “I’m always surprised around you.”
He wondered about that as she slipped into the SUV, and he went around to climb behind the wheel. With any luck, he would find out once they reached her apartment.
CHAPTER TWENTY
CALLIE UNLOCKED HER apartment door. Behind her, Rourke stood holding the desserts. She loved that she had no idea what he’d gotten—just as she had no idea what he was thinking right now.
The falling snow made the night seem to glitter. The cold air felt good in her lungs. She couldn’t remember ever feeling more alive. Even her headache was better. Her skin prickled with excitement as she pushed open the door.
At the back of her mind, the tiny voice of reason warned that she was making a mistake. She didn’t know this man. Worse, all the signs indicated that whatever was coming, he was a part of it.
She stepped in, turning on a small lamp. It cast a warm glow in the corner of the room, chasing away the dark shadows. Behind her, she heard Rourke close the door and lock it.
Her heart was pounding, her blood running hot, as she slipped off her coat and stepped to him. She knew that if she had any sense at all, she’d offer him dessert and nothing more. His arrival in town and her headache couldn’t be a coincidence. She knew how badly this could end, and yet no man had ever made her feel the way she did.
True, part of the attraction was that she couldn’t read him. But that was also the danger. He was a mystery to her—just as she suspected she was a mystery to him. She’d seen his interest in her from the very beginning. That alone should have made her smart enough not to take this any further.
He’d carried in the dessert boxes. She took them from him, setting them aside, and looked up into his handsome face. He was waiting for her to make the first move, but she could see the same aching need in his eyes that had her nerves strung like piano wire.
Looping her arms around his neck, she drew him down, her mouth hungry for a taste of him. Her tongue teased his, making him groan as he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her hard against him. A moan escaped her as she felt the heat of him, the need, as he buried his free hand in her hair and deepened the kiss.
He swung her around, pushing her against the wall as he pressed his hard body into hers. Shifting a little, he cupped the swell of her breast. She felt her nipple straining hard against the fabric of the silken dress. Drawing down the neck of the dress, he freed her nipple and pressed his hot, wet mouth to it. He sucked it into a hard, aching point, sending heat racing to her center.
“Rourke,” she cried out as his hand slipped under the hem of her dress to the cool silken fabric of her panties. His fingers found the heat of her. Just the touch of him, and she lost it, trembling as all reason left her.
* * *
ROURKE CARRIED HER into the bedroom. Warning bells were going off in his head. He had to remind himself of who he was, why he was there and, more important, who this woman was. A suspect. A captivating and beautiful but dangerous suspect. Get too close and he could find himself tied to a bed with a knife to his throat.
He could feel her still trembling in his arms. She seemed so small, so vulnerable. Rourke gently set her down on the bed. She met his gaze and slowly drew her dress up over her head, discarding it to the floor. Her dark eyes shone as she pulled him down next to her and began to unsnap his shirt.
He closed his eyes, reveling in the touch of her warm hands against his bare skin. As she unbuttoned his jeans, he opened his eyes again to look at her. Only a little light bled into the bedroom from the adjoining room. He held her gaze as he shrugged out of his clothes.
Taking her in his arms, he slowly removed her undergarments. He laved her nipples with his tongue and kissed a path down her flat, warm stomach to the dark V at her center.
She writhed and cried out again and drew him back to her. He pressed his body to hers, soaking in the warm smoothness of her nakedness against his own as he kissed her. The kiss was gentle, loving, but quickly turned passionate as he rolled her over on top of him.
Callie straddled him, throwing back her head as she took him inside her. He gazed at her amazing face, the long curve of her neck, the rounded firm breasts and the wild dark hair that hung around her like an aura. He’d finally given in to what he was feeling. He’d fallen for this woman.
* * *
ROURKE WOKE WITH a start. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. The unfamiliar room had a chill to it, making him aware that he was naked. And alone.
He tried to sit up but found his legs were tangled in the sheets. The clock next to the bed glowed a dull green. 3:44 a.m. He kicked at the sheets, freeing himself as he rolled over, remembering his earlier lovemaking with Callie.
Only Callie wasn’t in bed next to him.
The covers were thrown back on her side of the bed. He felt the sheet. It was icy cold. She’d been gone for some time.
Getting up, he pulled on his jeans and padded barefoot into the living room. The desserts were where she’d set them earlier in the evening, untouched. The apartment was small enough that he could tell right away that she wasn’t there. But still, he glanced into the open door of the bathroom before looking out the window to where her pickup had been parked. The falling snow had filled in the space where the vehicle had been.
Callie was gone—and judging from the snow where her pickup had been parked, she’d been gone for a long time.
* * *
THE BOOZE HAD worn off. So had the gambling glow. Carson Grant tried to open his eyes and realized with a start that he was blindfolded and tied to a bed.
His head swam. Where was he? He couldn’t remember. His last recollection was of leaving the poker game not quite broke and realizing he was starving. He’d pulled into the truck stop in Big Timber, half-sick to his stomach. As he’d climbed out of the ranch pickup, he’d complimented himself on not losing more than he had. Once he got paid this week, he would pick up another game and make up for what he’d lost and then some. So far, luck had been with him only in the fact that his sister, Destry, would never have to know.
That was what he’d been thinking when he’d pulled open the door to the truck-stop all-night diner and collided with the young woman coming out. “Callie?”
He couldn’t remember much else, but he must have forgotten all about his hangover and his hunger and his bad luck at cards and brought her back to his cabin for a drink. Then what? That was where his memory ended.
As he tried to sit up, he realized that his wrists were bound to the ornate iron headboard of his bed. He heard the familiar creak of the bedsprings as he tried to pull free. He was definitely in his cabin.
A cool breeze moved across his skin, making him realize that he was naked. He smiled, hoping it really had been Callie and that now she was playing some sex game. Bring it on, he thought.
“Hey,” he called out. “Getting a little cold here by myself.” He tried to move his feet but realized that, like his wrists, they, too, were bound to the bed frame. He wasn’t sure he liked this as he heard the floorboards of his old cabin creak. “Take off the blindfold at least, so I can see you.” Carson didn’t mind kinky or rough, but he liked being the initiator.
Something skittered over his bare thigh, making him start. He pulled harder on the bonds at his wrists as realization hit him. He was at the mercy of this woman, and if he was right and it was Callie... Or maybe she’d just said that was her name.
He tried not to panic. He would play her little sex game, and when she was through, he’d show her a thing or two. But he could feel his heart pounding too hard against his ribs. His chest rose and fell, faster and faster, as his fear rose with it.
A sound made him stop struggling. He held his breath. She was right next to the bed. He could hear her breathing. She was only trying to scare him. This was about the night at the lake. Hell, maybe this had been Callie’s plan all along. Get him back to his cabin, ply him with drinks—he vaguely remembered digging a couple of cans of beer out of the fridge while the woman showed herself around the cabin. So, why couldn’t he remember her face?
He frowned as he remembered seeing her standing
in front of the window, the snow falling in a wall of white on the other side, her naked body silhouetted against the cold light as she turned toward him.
Another floorboard creaked. Another brush of something cold over his skin, this time along his rib cage. He jerked at his bonds, getting pissed off now. “Untie me right now, you hear me? A joke is a joke, but this is no longer funny.”
A harsh whisper next to his ear silenced him. At first he thought he’d heard wrong. Then his captor repeated the same three little words.
“Beg for mercy.”
* * *
ROURKE HAD TURNED from the apartment window, when he heard the sound of Callie’s pickup engine. He stood for a moment watching her get out and head up the stairs. She had her head down, a weariness to her as she began to climb the stairs. A cold fear filled him as he turned back to the bedroom. He quickly shed his jeans and crawled under the covers.
She came in quietly. Laura would have said she “sneaked” in. He lay perfectly still as he listened. His pulse raced, his heart thundering, as he debated what to do. Follow his instincts or get his gun and be waiting for her when she entered the room, possibly armed with a knife?
All the other victims had been drugged, he reminded himself. Wouldn’t she offer him something to drink first? Or was she looking to end it all tonight?
He rolled over, his back to the door, and waited. He heard her step to the bedroom doorway. She was standing there looking at him. He could hear her breathing, breathing hard. He doubted it was from the climb up the stairs, considering what good shape she was in.
Rourke felt an icy finger of unease race up his spine. He tried not to shudder. He told himself that if she had wanted him dead, he would have awakened tied to her bed.
He listened as she disrobed. A few moments later, she slid into bed behind him. He couldn’t pretend sleep any longer as he felt her ice-cold skin brush against his.