Epiphany

by Rita Herron

  He pulled away as if she’d burned him and studied his hands. “Manicured? You’ve never mentioned that before, either.”

  She closed her eyes and put her right hand to her throat. “When he grabbed me to push me down—”

  “Wait a minute.” Trevor’s sharp gaze assessed her. “Which hand did he use?”

  “His right.”

  “Then where was the gun?”

  Her eyes flew open. Where was the gun?

  Fear sliced through her, the adrenaline rush causing the baby to kick restlessly. The smell of bananas swirled in her brain. Death brushed against her.

  She cradled her belly as a cramping sensation nearly doubled her over. “I don’t know,” she gasped. “I don’t think talking about this is good for my baby.”

  “I’m sorry.” Trevor touched her shoulder and she knew he was sincere. “But none of what you’ve just told me is in any of the police reports or your statements. If they come up at trial, your credibility will be destroyed.”

  “The D.A. said I was a good witness.”

  “You smelled banana oil, which is used in gun cleaner. You suddenly remembered his nails were buffed. And now you say his right hand—his gun hand—was on your throat, yet you insist he held the gun in his right hand.” His blue eyes burned into hers. “The defense will eat you up.”

  “I’m telling you the truth!”

  “Then convince me. Tell me exactly what happened when he grabbed you.”

  “He choked me.” She tried to recreate the horror of that instant when she thought she was going to die. A shuddering chill ran up her spine.

  She took Trevor’s hand and placed it on her neck, bracing herself for a rush of panic as his fingers curved around her throat like the thick fingers of the Widow Maker.

  But his hand was different. He touched her as carefully as he might a kitten or a newborn baby.

  “His thumb was here, and his index finger was here.” Guided by her, he slid his finger along the sensitive skin behind her ear. For a second they stood motionless, close enough that his belt buckle pressed her tummy.

  His thumb glided up to the underside of her chin, then back down, a seductive caress, and the heat of desire spread through her loins, surprising her. She caught her breath.

  “Like that?” he said, his eyes changing color, from late summer azure to electrifying blue.

  Merry blinked, trying to escape the seductive intensity of his gaze. “Yes. I grabbed his hand. That’s when I felt his smooth nails.”

  Trevor took his hand away.

  As he moved his hand, memory came flooding back. “I know what he did. He switched hands.”

  She reached for Trevor’s left hand. “He pushed himself off me for a second and shifted. Then his left hand grabbed my throat. That’s when he pulled out his gun.” Merry’s throat felt dry as the desert. How had she forgotten the awful feel of the man squirming on top of her as he dug in his pocket for his gun?

  Trevor eyed her with a thoughtful scowl.

  “If Bonner didn’t attack me for my money, will that help prove he’s the serial killer?”

  Trevor shook his head. “No.” He paused. “I don’t think he is a serial killer.”

  Merry’s pulse thudded in her ears. “But what about those other women—”

  “I think he’s a professional.”

  Trevor watched Merry closely as he delivered his bombshell. Her eyes widened and her hands went directly, protectively, to her belly. “A professional? You mean, like a kidnapper?”

  He clamped his jaw and shrugged his shoulders, adjusting the straps of his shoulder holster. Not a kidnapper.

  How could he explain to her where his instincts were leading him? That if what she was telling him was true, her attacker didn’t sound like a serial killer or a desperate robber.

  Carefully maintained weapon, fastidious grooming. Professional hit men took pride in their work. Murder was their career.

  If he was right, her attack was a professional hit.

  “Detective?”

  Her eyebrows pulled down as her gaze assessed him. She paled. “Oh, my God. You think someone hired Bonner to kill me.”

  Merry looked so small, so helpless, her huge green eyes bright with fear as she tried to deny it. “But what about the other widows, the similarities in the cases?”

  “There are two possibilities. Either Bonner copycatted the serial killer, or he killed the other three women to draw attention away from you—his real target.”

  She swayed. “That can’t be true,” she whispered.

  Trevor didn’t speak.

  “Those poor women died because of me?”

  Her face crumpled and Trevor’s heart squeezed in compassion. He was surprised. Merry Randolph was one of the wealthiest women in the southeast. Her life could be in danger, yet her first thought was of the other women who had died.

  Her eyes overflowed with tears. “This little guy’s playing havoc with my hormones. I don’t ever cry—” she interrupted herself with an involuntary sob.

  “I need to call the D.A.,” he said, pulling out his phone. “I’ll check around outside.” He headed out the door, to give her some privacy, and himself some distance.

  Outside, the sky was darkening and the air was cold and damp. There was nothing nastier than a wet, Southern winter. Trevor welcomed the sharp bite of the wind. It cleared his head.

  Before today he’d have said that hell was a pregnant woman determined to celebrate Christmas.

  Now he knew what real hell was. It was a brave, beautiful, pregnant woman whose determined vulnerability was wreaking havoc on his emotions.

  He should have never taken this assignment. He should have followed the same routine he’d followed for the past four Christmases. Work every case on the roster. Catch up on paperwork. And rent a bunch of non-Christmas DVDs to play nonstop at his apartment.

  His well-meaning family and co-workers were right. The pain lessened after a while—if less meant merely wrenching his heart in two rather than ripping it beating and bloody from his chest.

  He would never get over the loss of the unborn baby he’d been so excited about, or the guilt he’d felt for allowing his pregnant wife to go to a party on that cold, wet Christmas Eve that was so much like this one.

  The thoughts flitted through his brain in the few seconds it took to punch in the number of the D.A.’s office. The answering service told him the offices were closed, so he left a message for Brian Waverly to call him immediately, to discuss new information in Merry Randolph’s case.

  Then he called Captain Jones and requested that Merry’s clothes be run through trace again, looking for gun cleaner.

  “What have you got?”

  “Maybe nothing. Maybe a clue to the real reason Merry—Mrs. Randolph—was attacked.”

  “What are you getting yourself into, Adkins?”

  “I don’t know yet. There’s something fishy about Bonner.” He quickly went over what Merry had told him. “Doesn’t sound like a serial killer to me.”

  “None of that was in her statement.”

  “I know. I’ve left a message for Waverly. He needs to reinterview her.”

  “Leave it to you to dig up a new angle. You been listening to the weather?”

  “Nope, but I’m looking at it. It’s freezing out here and it’s starting to rain.”

  “There’s a winter storm warning issued. We’re in for freezing rain and sleet. Could get rough by the time your shift is up.”

  Trevor looked at the sky and shivered as darts of freezing rain stung his face. “I’ll check out the Weather Channel. There’s plenty of firewood. Even if the electricity goes out, Amanda and Merry should be plenty warm.”

  Pocketing his phone, Trevor stepped back into the living room and brushed off slivers of ice that turned to water at his touch. The warmth of the house sent a shudder through him. Winter in Atlanta could penetrate through to the bones.

  He locked the door and turned to tell Merry about the we
ather. The sight in front of him sent shock waves reverberating through him.

  She was stepping up onto the seat of a straight-backed chair, holding a red-and-white ornament in one hand and steadying herself with the other.

  Trevor’s heart nearly leaped out through his throat.

  Merry balanced on the chair and held out the candy cane ornament, straining to hang it between two blinking lights.

  “Come on, little guy, don’t kick.” But he did, and his kick sent a tight pain echoing through her. “So you’re going to be stubborn, like your mother.” She took a shallow breath and stretched her arm a bit more.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  The gruff voice came out of nowhere. She jerked and her feet lost traction on the chair seat. Just as her heart leaped into her throat, strong arms caught her.

  A litany of inventive curses whirled around her as Trevor pulled her against his warm, broad chest. His heart beat against her ear—fast, heavy thuds that punctuated the colorful words spilling from his mouth. After a few seconds he went quiet, still holding her.

  As his arms tightened around her, Merry felt something she’d never felt before in her life. She felt safe.

  Then the baby kicked again.

  Trevor jerked away, a look of horror mixed with wonder transforming his face. He held up his hands, palms out, his fingers curved only inches away from her protruding tummy. She didn’t know if he were pushing away or longing to touch.

  “Detective, what’s the matter?”

  He blinked, then straightened and turned away. “Nothing’s the matter with me. What’s the matter with you, climbing up on a chair?” His voice grated, but he didn’t turn around. “If you’d fallen, you could have killed—”

  A tinny melody interrupted him. Merry grabbed her purse and fished in it, coming up with a cell phone.

  “Hi, Lawrence. I’m fine.” She paused. “No, I can’t tell you where I am. I can’t tell anyone.”

  Trevor scowled. What was she doing with a cell phone?

  “Trust me, Lawrence, this little guy’s not going to be born tonight.”

  He pulled his notebook out of his back pocket and flipped pages.

  Lawrence Randolph. Dead husband’s half-brother. Lawrence was apparently a big gambler and an even bigger partier.

  “Monaco? When are you leaving? Tomorrow? Christmas Day? Well, of course, you have parties tonight.”

  Her voice sounded faintly wistful. Was it the parties she missed, or her family? Trevor knew her sister and parents were out of town.

  “I hadn’t heard about an ice storm. But no, I don’t think they’ll move me. What? I’m having trouble hearing you.” She listened and laughed. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. There’s a fireplace. Now behave. Of course you can’t come over and rub my belly for luck.”

  Trevor scowled at her.

  “I have to go. Lawrence—Merry Christmas. Lawrence—?”

  She disconnected, then sent Trevor a rueful smile. “I lost the signal there at the end. That was my brother-in-law. He’s been wonderful since my husband died.”

  “Your husband’s brother?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s who was with you the day you picked Bonner out of the lineup?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “I was at my desk when they brought Bonner out right in front of you. I saw your reaction and your brother-in-law’s.”

  She nodded and smiled sadly. “They’d promised me Bonner wouldn’t see me. I almost fainted when I saw him coming right toward me. Lawrence was so worried about me.”

  Worried. Trevor considered the word, then shook his head slightly. “He looked scared to death.”

  As Merry’s delicate brow creased in a puzzled frown, the lights flickered and went out.

  Chapter Three

  Lawrence tossed his phone onto the distressed leather seat of his vintage Porsche. His sister-in-law was all settled in and, thanks to his spies in the Ducharmes Boutiques delivery department, Lawrence knew exactly where she was.

  No thanks to that bumbler, Bonner. Every time Lawrence thought about how the hit man had screwed up what should have been a simple job, he was consumed with anger all over again.

  Lawrence had been concerned about the idea of killing other women as a cover for his real target, but Bonner had assured him that the plan was foolproof. And for a while, it had looked as though Bonner was right.

  The man the media had dubbed the Widow Maker hadn’t had a bit of trouble with the other three widows he’d killed as a cover for Merry’s murder. Two of them he’d just walked up to and delivered one shot to the head as they got out of their car. The third he’d dispatched as she’d loaded groceries into her trunk.

  The killings were clean and professional, just as Lawrence had expected.

  But then, when it was most important, Bonner had dropped the ball.

  Lawrence let out a shriek of rage and slammed the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. How could his pregnant sister-in-law get the best of a professional killer?

  He’d asked Bonner that question earlier this evening. He hadn’t been satisfied with the killer’s answer. So he’d decided to take care of the problem himself—all the problems.

  He pulled into his garage. He wasn’t even worried about the impending ice storm. His other vehicle was a Hummer.

  Tonight, under cover of darkness, Lawrence would eliminate the last obstacle to his inheritance—his brother’s unborn child.

  THE LIGHTS FLICKERED on and off. Merry cringed and rubbed her arms as she waited for Trevor to return from outside with the firewood. It amazed her that they’d only been here a few hours and already the room felt chilled and barren without him.

  She shivered, remembering the warmth of his arms around her as he’d helped her down from the chair, picturing the awestruck look on his face as he stared at her tummy. From that instant, everything had changed.

  For the first time since her attack, her world had ceased to be an alien, dangerous place. Trevor’s strong body represented a haven of safety that she’d forgotten existed. She wondered how it would feel to be cherished by him, to be kissed by his straight, wide mouth.

  The thought warmed her. How had she managed to end up with a crush on her bodyguard in such a short time?

  Trevor pushed through the kitchen door, carrying an armload of firewood, bringing with him the fresh smell of icy rain. His graceful form moved in jerky motions as the lights on the Christmas tree flared and dimmed like strobes.

  “That should be enough to keep you and Amanda warm tonight, even if the electricity goes out.”

  The lamps glowed then brightened as Trevor stood and dusted off his hands. His black hair sparkled as though he’d been sprinkled with diamonds. Merry couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  There was something about the whisper of frozen rain on the roof, the earthen odor of wet firewood, and the sight of Trevor, his biceps still taut and bulging from the weight of the logs, that combined to send molten desire flowing through her like hot lava.

  She’d loved Zach. Everyone loved him. Even though she knew their parents had pushed them together, and the gossip rags had referred to their wedding as “the merger of the year.” But Zach’s touch had never evoked a response in her that was even close to what just looking at Trevor caused.

  Her face flushed as she smiled tentatively. “Thank you.” He never had to know she wasn’t just thanking him for the firewood. Once his assignment was over, he’d go back to his life and she’d go back to hers, with her baby to keep her from being too lonely.

  If she harbored a secret wish for someone as strong and sexy as Trevor at her side, then no one ever had to know but her.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Was she dreaming or had she really seen a ghost of a smile?

  He sat beside her on the couch and picked up the remote. “Now if the cable hasn’t gone out…”

  He found a news channel and it was obvious that today’s breaking sto
ry was the weather. Icy-road warnings kept up a steady crawl across the bottom of the television screen, and the local meteorologists were busy issuing winter storm warnings and reporting on worsening road conditions.

  “Looks like it’s going to be a nasty night. It will be nice to have the firewood—” A dull, cramping pain caught Merry in her lower back. She gasped.

  Trevor glanced at her, a shadow of alarm crossing his face.