She weighed her options. Sex. Wonderful sex. Or being murdered. Brutally murdered. Okay, she wasn’t stupid. She knew one had a lot more going for it than the other, but…
It was just that sex for sex’s sake, with zero pretenses that it could lead anywhere, was wrong. It was just…well, it was so un-Ray-like.
Not that her parents had raised an idiot, either. It had only taken her one-tenth of a second to conclude she’d be going home with him. The other nine minutes, fifty-nine and nine-tenths of a second she’d spent thinking about it were for fun. She loved the look of total disbelief on his face.
“Only for a few days,” she said. “And I’ll need to get some things at my place first.” She studied him again.
He smiled. The scratches she’d given him were fading. Again, she was hit by how much he looked like Antonio Banderas, how attracted she was to him. Not that this was just a physical attraction. She liked him, inside and out.
And right then, Katie knew that if she didn’t proceed with caution, she’d leave behind more than a wet spot when she crawled out of his bed. She’d be leaving her heart.
She had just pulled out of the parking lot to pick up some of her things from her house when her cell phone rang. The thought that it might be the killer made her want to toss the cell out the window; then she forced herself to look at the caller ID. Just Les.
“Hi.” Katie hoped she sounded normal. Normal versus a woman who’d just found out she was being stalked by a serial killer. Then a sprinkle of guilt hit her for having forgotten about her best friend’s grandma. “How’s Mimi?”
“She’s okay.” Stress clung to Les’s voice.
“What happened? She didn’t have another stroke, did she?”
“No. She…Oh, Katie, I was watching her and she got away. We found her walking down Megan Drive. Naked.”
“Oh, my,” Katie said. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was,” Les said. “The doctor went ahead and had her X-rayed to make sure she hadn’t fallen, but she’s fine.”
“Thank God.” Katie knew how much Les loved her grandma. There was a silence; then Les spoke. “Katie, I’m thinking about getting my ticket moved up and heading back to Boston.”
“Why?” Katie asked.
“I’m just not…I can’t handle being home.”
“Because of Mike?” Katie felt Les’s pain. Some days she missed her family too much to be alive.
Another pause, then Les finally answered. “Probably.”
Probably, again. Right then, Katie remembered the whole Joe and Les issue. She almost blurted out that if Les was attracted to Joe then she should explore it. But knowing Les, she would deny it. Best to broach that subject in person.
“Please don’t leave. I need you,” Katie said. “I—”
“Oh, shit. I forgot. You aren’t at the hotel yet, are you? Please tell me you aren’t there.”
Reacting to the panic in Les’s voice, Katie stopped at a red light a little fast. “No, why?”
“It’s probably nothing, but someone who said he needed to speak with you about the wedding called my house this morning. Mom told him where we were. I’m sure it’s nothing, but it weirded me out after what that cop said about being cautious.”
Chills tap-danced up Katie’s spine. A deep breath later, she told Les everything. Well, she didn’t tell her about having almost had sex with Carl in the middle of the gallery, but she told her friend about the elephant painting—which brought on more dangerous feelings than the almost-sex episode.
Katie looked in her rearview mirror to see the elephant-painting giver following her in his car. Then she told Les about the break-in at the hotel, about how the cops thought the man who’d shot Tabitha was the same one who’d killed the two women on the news. “And they think he’s after me now.”
“Why do they think that?” Panic radiated from Les’s voice.
“I’ve been getting calls and someone just plays music.”
“Oh my God! He called your house three times that night you were missing!”
Great. All Katie needed was more proof that the psycho was after her. Forcing herself to continue, she told Les about how Ben thought someone had broken into the house and that it hadn’t been just the storm that broke the window.
Silence echoed across the line. Les’s whispered words finally came. “Joe showing up saved my life.”
Fear crowded Katie’s chest. Then it faded as an idea began to take shape. “Guess you owe him, huh?”
“Yeah,” Les said. “So, are we going to change hotels?”
More ideas formed in Katie’s mind. It was a long shot, but if she could pull this off, maybe, just maybe, she could force Les into facing things head-on instead of always running away.
“Actually, Les. I have a big, big favor to ask.”
“Why do I not like your tone?” Les’s voice echoed. Les always picked up on tones.
“I’m going to go stay with Carl for a few days.”
Hear-a-pin-drop silence came over the line.
“Les?”
“Yeah, I’m just trying to figure out what I’m supposed to say to that. Tell you to go for it, or talk you out of it.”
Katie changed lanes. “Didn’t you just tell me last night that life was too short not to listen to bells?”
“Are you sure about this, Katie?” Les asked.
“No,” she admitted. “But I’m going to do it anyway.”
“Are you going to sleep with him?” Les hung the question out there.
“Probably.” Probably. Now Katie had said it. Funny, how little she’d used that word in her past. It just wasn’t a Ray-like word. Rays didn’t believe in probably. They set a course of action and made it happen. And if what ever they were after didn’t seem attainable, Rays didn’t go after it. Because failing wasn’t an option.
Sometimes, Katie was certain she’d been adopted.
“Okay,” Les snapped. “Who are you, and where have you hidden my best friend? Because the Katie Ray I know would never think of sleeping with a man she barely knows.”
“I know him. I mean…I don’t know him. But I do. Know what I mean?”
“Oh, hell yeah, that made perfect sense.” Les laughed, but it stopped abruptly. “Maybe you should think about this first.”
“I have thought about it, Les. I’m safer with him. And you’re safer not staying with me.” Katie had another near panic attack when she thought about how she’d feel if something happened to her friend. “Can you stay with your brother?”
“Yeah. But…I might as well go back to Boston.”
“No! I need you,” Katie pleaded, and turned down her street.
“But if you’re staying with Antonio, you don’t need me.”
Katie hesitated, decided to jump in headfirst and hope her plan worked. “I need you to help Joe.”
Silence filled the line. “Help Joe do what?”
“Help Joe cancel the wedding. I obviously can’t do it.”
“Joe’s a big boy. He can handle that by himself.” Les’s voice sounded tight.
“That’s not fair and you know it.”
“What does fair have to do with it?” Les snapped.
“Fine. Don’t help.” Katie hated resorting to the manipulation skills her parents had used on her. But hey, they worked. “I hardly ever ask you to do anything. How many times have I been there for you? Covered for you with your parents? Helped you study? How many nights in college did I sleep on the sofa so you and Paul Bakley could do the wild thing? I even pretended like I didn’t hear you two going at it. Over and over again. And I ask one thing. One thing.”
“Okay. Stop! I’ll help Joe.”
Katie smiled. “Thanks. Do you have his cell number?”
“Yeah, he gave it to me today.”
“Today?” Katie smiled again, and knew Les hadn’t realized what she’d said. Good for Joe. “Then call him. We were supposed to meet to night and start making calls. And then there’s
all the gifts at his place that need to be returned. Oh, ask him how his talk went with his mom. She’s sort of hard to handle sometimes, so I know he’s upset about it.”
Les moaned. “You are so going to owe me. And if you ever bring up me banging Paul Bakley again, I’m divorcing you.”
“Agreed.” Katie parked in her driveway. The sight of her cozy patio home had always brought out a sense of pride, but knowing the killer had been here changed that cozy feeling.
“And what am I supposed to tell Joe about you?” Les asked.
Katie looked up and saw Carl sauntering over to her car. All six feet and more of him, a brown-eyed devil in khaki pants and a pink button-down, he was moving toward her with a slow, sexy gait. Their gazes held and he winked. The air in her lungs caught.
I’m probably going to have sex with him. Probably.
“Tell him…tell him the truth. I think he’ll understand.”
“It’s not as impressive as your place.” Carl watched Red glance around his small one-story starter home in a suburb west of Houston. Was she doing the same kind of thing he’d done at her place, when he’d looked for clues to help him figure out who Katie Ray really was? Her place was neat, feminine, cozy, and homey. All words he’d use to describe Katie herself. She even had those scented candles that his sister-in-law loved. One room smelled like apples, the next like flowers. Her bedroom smelled like her, though. And on the hallway walls, Katie had nothing but photographs of her family.
While she’d packed her things, he’d taken the time to look at those images. He’d found himself hurting for all she’d lost. A whole family. Gone. He could only imagine how much she’d grieved. Or how much she still grieved.
“This is nice.” Katie’s voice brought Carl to the present. She leaned in to look at his L-shaped kitchen, then she glanced back at his living room with an adjoining dining room.
Carl watched her gaze move from item to item, his sixty-four-inch television, his old leather sofa—which had seen better days but was more comfortable than any couch he’d tried to replace it with—to his dad’s old, scarred desk, which Carl had placed in the corner of the living room so he could use the third bedroom as a weight room. Then her focus cut to the swimsuit calendar hanging over the desk.
He wondered what she assumed about him by looking at his things. Compared to her place, his home came off as cold and unfeeling. Is that how she saw him—cold, a little scarred, and maybe even a little lonely? He reached up to rub his shoulder, hating the fact that his home did indeed reflect his life right now, hating the fact that he cared how she viewed him and his home. He’d never cared what other women thought.
“Here, let me take your things.” He reached for her bags, but she pulled them back when his hand touched hers.
“Just show me where.”
He turned the corner to show her to his room, flinching when he spotted his unmade bed. Not that it should have surprised him; he hadn’t expected it to make itself. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d made it. But he could still hear his mother ragging him to do it.
His frown deepened when he saw the dirty socks lying next to the Victoria’s Secret catalog on the nightstand. Oh yeah, he was looking really good now.
“Isn’t this your room?” she asked.
“I’ll sleep in the guest room,” he said, but honestly, did she really believe they wouldn’t be sleeping together? In spite of what she might or might not think of his home, the sexual energy between them flowed so hot it could melt concrete.
Back in the car when she’d been weighing the options of having sex with him or getting murdered—which ticked him off royally, by the way—he’d come within a hair of promising her nothing would happen. But he’d caught himself just in time. He didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. While he’d never pressure her to have sex with him, he sure as hell wouldn’t get in the way of its spontaneously happening. And considering the sparks flying between them, a spontaneous explosion had pretty much been written in stone.
She eyed his bed with skepticism.
He frowned. “The sheets are clean.”
“It’s not that. It’s…I’m not running you out of your bed.” She U-turned, but stopped short at the door. “Oh!”
What now? Had he left his underwear out? He moved in. “Damn!”
“Is that…Tabitha’s dog, Baby?”
“Yup.” There in the entrance of the extra bedroom were Baby and Precious. Precious had ripped off another pair of Baby’s panties. They weren’t standing there cute-like with their tails wagging. They were going at it like…like a couple of dogs.
“And that’s Precious?” She chuckled. “Your big, manly dog?”
“Yup. But hey, he’s looking pretty good in the manly department right now.” He chuckled and moved closer. So close the smell of Red’s hair filled his nose. He ached to encircle her waist with his hands and pull her against him.
“You took Tabitha’s dog?”
Her voice came out soft. As soft as her lips looked when the words left them. He opened his mouth to blame all this on his dad, but something that looked like admiration passed over her expression. “Yeah, sort of.”
“You really are a marshmallow, aren’t you?”
“Is that a good thing?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Her smile widened with admiration. “It’s good.”
“Then I’m a marshmallow.” He took her small suitcase and set it against the wall. They could fight about where she’d sleep later. After the spontaneous explosion.
“Why don’t we let them have their privacy?” He gave her a little push out of the hallway before the temptation to pull her back to his bed overtook him.
She started moving, then stopped. “I would kind of like to get out of these clothes.”
He’d kind of like to get her out of those clothes, too. Holding his breath, he motioned back to the bathroom off the hall. “It’s all yours.”
Patience, he told himself.
As soon as she disappeared into the bathroom, he shut the door to the extra bedroom so the dogs wouldn’t make another embarrassing appearance. Then he ran to his bedroom, grabbed up his dirty socks and the Victoria’s Secret magazine, and hid them under his bed. Trying to think of anything else his mother would have griped about, he ran to the master bathroom, gave the toilet a few swipes with a brush, and lowered the lid. After washing his hands and gargling with some mouthwash, he headed back to the living room. He started to turn on the television and decided instead to go for music. He found the easy-rock station and set it to low. Looking around, he realized his palms were sweating.
Holy hell. He was acting like some pimple-faced teenager about to get his first piece of ass!
It’s your first in a long time. Yeah, that had to be it.
And he’d been up-front with her. He’d told her he wasn’t into The Brady Bunch. He had the green light. So, why the nerves?
Inhaling, pushing the negative thoughts away, he went to the kitchen to see what he had to offer her to drink. Two beers. Was that bottle of red wine still in the cabinet?
He found the wine, dusted it off, and set it out with two glasses. They didn’t match. Tomorrow, he’d buy another set. Then he found the neighborhood phone book, which listed the restaurants that delivered.
He heard her footsteps. His heart took a tumble when he turned around. She’d let her hair down and it hung loose around her shoulders. The formfitting jeans she wore did more for her body, and more for his, than the skirt had. Her top, a long-sleeved gray T-shirt, clung to her breasts and told him he’d been wrong: her breasts weren’t just amazing, they were fucking fantastic.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No.” He glanced at the phone book he held in front of his zipper. A good place for it, considering his dick liked her T-shirt, too. “I was deciding who to call for dinner. Chinese? Italian? It’s your call.”
“No quiche?” she teased.
“Hey, I ate my quiche.”
She grinned. “Okay, no more quiche jokes. I guess I can’t tease you about wearing pink either, huh?”
“Nope. I think this might be my favorite shirt now. And I now have two sissy dogs. I can almost say I like them.”
She grinned. “You definitely get points for taking in Tabitha’s dog.”
And what did points get him? His body needed to know.
She glanced at the phone book. At least, he hoped it was the book and not what he had going on behind the yellow pages.
“I’m easy. Most anything will pass these lips.”
Okay, that didn’t help. He fought back the desire to suggest they skip dinner. “Chinese it is, then.”
Les knocked on Joe’s door. Flurries of uncertainty swirled in her stomach. She’d called Joe and told him about Katie asking her to help him cancel the wedding. He hadn’t even asked why Katie wasn’t going to come.
So, would someone please explain this to her?
It didn’t make a freaking bit of sense. How in the hell could two people be planning to get married one day and both be interested in other people three days later?
Because they were never in love. They couldn’t have been in love. Mike had been dead for a year and a half, and the idea of being attracted to someone else felt like trying to walk with rocks in her shoes.
Joe opened the door. His hair hung a little darker, like it was still wet. He wore jeans, a navy T-shirt, and a smile. “Come in.” He motioned her into his well-decorated, contemporary-style condo. Lots of dark wood and chrome.
“Thanks.” She walked in, feeling those imaginary rocks in her shoes, and caught a whiff of his clean, masculine scent.
When she pulled off her jacket, Joe’s eyes widened as he took in her dress. She’d worn it just for him, so the fact that he noticed seemed appropriate. Back in Boston, she’d had her own apparel for such an occasion. But she’d packed in a hurry and hadn’t thought she’d need any special outfits.
Weddings Can Be Murder Page 23