La Fleur de Love: The Series: Books 1 - 4

by Leger, Lori

Sam crooned words of comfort to her, sensing the tears were close. One quiet sob escaped, then another. She finally dropped her forehead onto his chest and let her emotions spill out like water over an overflowing levee, first a trickle, then gaining speed and strength with the rush of emotions.

  Sam held the woman he loved, terrified for her, but so proud she had allowed herself this moment of weakness in his arms. He let her cry until she stopped on her own, all of two minutes later.

  “Feel better?” He snapped two tissues from the box on the counter top and handed them to her.

  She wiped her eyes and then her nose. “I think so.”

  “Good, let’s sit here. Are you still going to work in the morning?”

  Carrie released a groan. “I have to. I only have a few days of annual built up.”

  “Take a sick day.”

  “If I do that, sure as shit I’ll get sick and need it.”

  “Then you need to get some sleep.”

  “Not right now, Sam. I need to be here, close to you.”

  Sam settled himself on the sofa and pulled her down next to him as they watched thirty minutes of the news with no sound. When her lids started to droop he pulled himself away from her and stood.

  “Okay, that’s it.” He punched the remote’s off button and drew Carrie to her feet. “It’s time for bed. Give me a blanket and a pillow and I’ll be fine.”

  “Grant’s futon is empty in his room.” Her tone was quiet and insincere.

  “I don’t want a wall between us tonight. The sofa will be fine.” Her look of relief made him want to pull her in his arms again, but he restrained himself. Sam waited for her to gather the items from the linen closet and took them from her arms. He dropped them on the sofa, and walked her to her bedroom door.

  “I’ll tuck you in. You want to change into your pajamas again?” She shook her head, and he gently pushed her toward her bed, made her climb in so he could tuck the thick quilt around her. He kissed her forehead and then walked to the door.

  “Leave it open, Sam.”

  “Definitely.” He made up the couch and attempted to get comfortable, nearly impossible since it was shy a good foot in length to fit him. He turned this way and that, unable to stretch out. He heard Carrie in the bedroom, tossing and turning as she fought her own demons of insomnia. After fifteen minutes, she asked if he was awake.

  He turned on his side one more time, trying to find a position that wouldn’t leave his back screaming in pain by morning. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Come here.” Her voice carried a note of pleading.

  Sam rolled his six-foot-two-and-then-some frame off his pallet of torture, grateful to have a reason to stretch out his back. “Is something wrong?”

  “I can’t get past this awful feeling that he’s close. I don’t want to be alone in here, Sam.” She pulled the covers aside, inviting him in her bed. “Please, stay with me?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” The mattress creaked with his weight as they snuggled close, his arm around her shoulders and her head on his chest. “Better?”

  She nodded and hooked her foot around his muscular calf, denim to denim. “Better, but I still can’t shake the feeling we’re being watched, like he’s outside my window.” She shuddered, releasing her breath. “I wonder if I’ll ever be able to enjoy this place.”

  He pulled her closer. “Everything will work out, hon. Get some sleep.”

  He unfolded himself from the dark solitude of her bedroom closet. He’d had plenty of time to oil the door’s hinges, and it opened without a sound

  He stood at the foot of Carrie’s bed, staring at the couple sleeping like the dead. No, not a couple. Carrie and him. The man who was totally unaware he was seconds away from death.

  Carrie slept fitfully, looking far from peaceful. Her brow furrowed even in her sleep. He wondered if she dreamed of being watched. That would be the ultimate turn on: if, somehow, Carrie dreamed that he stood over her, watching her dream, as she watched him watch her. Like mirrors facing each other, never ending. That would be a nightmare of his making, with no hope of her waking. I’m a damn poet.

  He almost felt like laughing. Almost. He hadn’t laughed in a long time. Not since he’d stopped believing there was any good in this world or a God to deliver him from his personal hell.

  He walked over to her side of the bed and reached his hand out to move a curl from her brow. She turned away as if she sensed his presence. He smiled, knowing how upset she’d be if she knew he watched from inside her room instead of outside, as she’d suspected. He grew hard remembering how he’d watched her undress earlier. Would it break her? No. She’d get angry before she let that happen. He’d known it when he’d chosen her.

  He cocked his head slowly to one side then the other, cracking his neck both ways. Take a deep breath, and let the game begin—the one whose rules were known only to him. The Restrain Game, he called it. He enjoyed it—both loving and hating at the same time, the act of holding himself back from his victims.

  He reached out his hands to touch her, stopping just short of contact. Slowly, he moved his open palms over her face and exposed arms, only a fraction of an inch from her skin. He leaned his face over hers, his lips a mere hairsbreadth away from touching hers. The v-style collar of her sweater stretched down and twisted so that and a good portion of her neck was exposed to his gaze. He brought his nose and mouth near, breathing in her scent. He straightened suddenly, frowned at the smell of some type of scented soap. That wasn’t at all what he wanted to smell on her warm skin. Her perfume, that woodsy, spicy, almost musky scent—the one she kept on her vanity. That’s what she should be wearing, always.

  He allowed himself the extravagance of touching her hair. Amazed at its softness, he tucked his finger just inside a ringlet that formed on the end of her shoulder-length hair. He lightly brushed his fingertips over her tendrils, releasing the scent of her shampoo and conditioner. Lowering his face, he breathed in, looking forward to the moment he could bury his face in her hair.

  He made his way into her private bath and picked up the small bottle of amber liquid, uncapped it, and inhaled. That’s it. The smell made him want to lose control, the name … Obsession … perfect. One more sign she belonged with him. Suddenly inspired, he sprayed a good amount on his index finger, taking the bottle with him. He reached out with his fingertip and touched the skin in the area of her carotid pulse, then dipped it down to the lowest part of her neckline, just at the top of her breast. Lastly, he touched just behind the only ear exposed to him. He gave it a few moments to mix with her own scent, then lowered his face as near to her as he dared and breathed her in. Oh, yeah, that’s more like it.

  He watched Sam’s reaction. The asshole took a deep breath, almost as though he sensed the change in Carrie’s presence. Even fast asleep, Sam released a low moan as he pulled her closer.

  He straightened to his full height, his entire body tensing with the effort it took not to snap Sam’s neck like a twig. Carrie saved him the trouble by turning in her sleep to rest on her side facing away from the man in her bed.

  After several minutes more of the game, he left Carrie to check out the other residents of the house. He entered one room and walked out quickly, uninterested in his teenage son. The next room held Carrie’s twin daughters. They’d apparently fallen asleep while watching television. He saw their faces clearly from the light emitted by the small set and realized how potentially gorgeous they would be in a few short years. He reached down and touched their hair, curlier than their mother’s soft tendrils. If things didn’t work out with their mom, he could always turn his attentions toward one, or both, of her daughters.

  He’d never had twins, and the thought intrigued him. It would be a first. Nevertheless, he wasn’t into pedophilia. He backed carefully out of the bedroom. Years from now perhaps—and after they’d matured. For now, he wanted to savor everything he’d experienced tonight.

  He placed the uncapped bottle of perfume on the kitchen
counter, wondering if she’d catch on. It was all part of his plan to test her reserves. He peaked out the window to verify the cruiser’s location and then crossed over, slipping out a window on the north side of Carrie’s home.

  Only one thing left to do before slipping back into the darkness.

  Carrie woke with the soft chirp of her alarm clock. She turned it off and stretched under the covers before rolling over to see Sam’s semi-sleep gaze on her. “Don’t get up yet, it’s still too early for you.” She stretched again. “But I need to.”

  Sam pulled her to him and buried his face in her neck. “Hmm babe, you smell so good.”

  She turned her face away from him as she spoke. “I hardly think dragon breath first thing in the morning can be that much of a turn on.” She rolled out of bed, slipped her feet into her slippers, and wrapped herself in her robe. She padded into the kitchen and pushed the start button on the coffee maker before going to the back door to check on Toto. She pushed the blind open enough to see him sprawled out on his side just in front of the back door. Good dog.

  Carrie went in to her bathroom with her work clothes and emerged thirty minutes later, dressed, made-up and ready for the day. She smiled at Sam, who stood there, sleepy-eyed and rumpled, looking as though he was unsure of what to do.

  “Want some breakfast?” She kissed his cheek.

  “Sure, are you buying?”

  “Yep. Want to help?”

  “Uh huh.” She cracked eggs, one-handed, into a bowl. He moved up closer to watch over her shoulder. “Nice technique, babe. Not a shell in the bowl. Need any help?” he asked, wrapping his hands around her waist.

  “You can toast some bread. I don’t have time for biscuits.”

  “I’m on it.” He grabbed the loaf of bread and inserted two slices in the toaster, then reached across and picked up the bottle of perfume sitting on the snack bar. He waved it slowly under his nose then pulled her hair aside and buried his face in her neck. “This stuff is good in the bottle, but it’s delicious on you.”

  Carrie scrunched her shoulders, giggling, and pulled out of his embrace to start whisking the eggs for scrambling. What started as a brisk movement slowed to a halt as the fork fell into the bowl of yolks and whites. She pulled his hand around and stared at the bottle of perfume he held.

  “Where’d you find that? I know it was on my vanity last night. I could smell it in my bathroom this morning, but I couldn’t find the bottle.”

  “It was right here on the counter,” he told her. “You must have left it there after you used it last night.”

  She frowned and shook her head. “I didn’t use any after my shower.” She turned to look at the counter top. “When we left the kitchen last night, the counter was completely cleaned off. Where the hell’s the cap? I never leave it uncovered.”

  He frowned and leaned in toward her. “Babe, you’re definitely wearing perfume, and it’s this stuff. It’s here …” He sniffed her neck, then checked behind both ears. “Not this one, but it is behind the other.” He touched the back of one ear.

  She raised both wrists and smelled. “This doesn’t make sense, Sam. I always spray it on my wrists then touch my wrists to my neck.” She held her wrists to his nose.

  “There’s nothing there.” He shook his head. “Babe, you must have—”

  “I didn’t!” She tried to reason things out as a last resort to panic. “This doesn’t make sense. When I took my shower, I didn’t put any on. I know that.”

  Sam shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Well, you’re right. This doesn’t make sense.”

  Her eyes fixed on the bedroom door. “Sam. Last night. Could he have—Did he—He couldn’t have. Could he?” Her entire being filled with dread. She spun around toward the other bedrooms. “Dear, God. Was he in my home?”

  They rushed forward to check on their children and found them all unharmed and asleep.

  Far from relieved, Sam paced the living room, as Carrie searched the kitchen for other clues. He stopped in his tracks and met her troubled gaze. “Is this possible?”

  Carrie stared into the bedroom where she and Sam spent the night. “It’s the only answer.” She made her way to the bed, terrified of finding proof that she was right. There, at the foot of the unmade bed, sat the familiar top to her bottle of perfume. Carrie clapped one hand over her mouth to keep from screaming, and continued to search for anything else out of place. She pulled open the closet door and stepped closer flipping on the interior light. Bile rose in her throat at the distinct odor of tobacco smoke. “No. No. I can’t believe this could happen. How could that happen?” She spun to face Sam.

  He shook his head in denial. “The cop outside—and your dog—”

  Carrie rushed out of the bedroom to the back door, pulling it open. “You would have let us know, right boy?” Toto was still there, sprawled out in the same position as he’d been earlier. Carrie tensed at the sight, praying her suspicions were wrong. “Get up, Toto.” She waited. Repeated the command, knowing in her gut he wouldn’t obey—he couldn’t obey—he’d never hear her again. She reached over with her shoe to nudge his stiff body—pulled it back. She dropped to her knees, strangling on the scream that lurked in the shadows, just out of reach.

  Her heart shattered as she passed both hands over the deathly still body of the pet she, her children, and even Dave, had loved for eight years. Her mind replayed the day she saw a car stop and drop off the tiny white ball of fluff in the middle of a busy street in Lake Erin. She’d doubled back in her car, praying he wouldn’t get hit before she got to him, and finally found him hiding in a ditch. She’d pulled over onto a side street, opened her door and called to him. He’d run straight to her and launched his tiny body into her car. The powder puff had scrambled up onto her lap and buried his nose under her arm, knowing immediately he’d found his niche, his home, his family. It had been love at first sight for both of them. His first bath, the trips to two kindergarten classrooms, then a second grade classroom to show the kids, nights of bringing him outside to do his business, and laughing as the winter wind made his backside flip right over his head because he was so tiny. Memories flooded, soon replaced with the acute ache over losing a pet so loved.

  The room filled with a low moan that turned into a wail. Somewhat shocked to discover the sound was coming from her, she clamped both hands over her mouth. A steady stream of curses from Sam brought her out of it. “No. No. Don’t wake the girls, Sam.” She sobbed into her hands, trying to stifle her cries.

  Heartbroken for her, Sam knelt behind Carrie, wrapped his arms around her and held on tight. What kind of man could do this? Not a man. A sadistic son of a bitch. He clenched his jaw so tightly it popped. All he could do was hold her as she mourned her pet. A gnawing awareness filled him with dread: anyone who could do this under these conditions, and so easily, was capable of much worse. Feeling helpless, he muttered a low curse and held her tighter as she sobbed. He cursed again when he thought how heartbroken her kids would be. He glared at the police officer on guard who came around the back of the house.

  “Is everything all right here?” Cody asked.

  Sam cleared his throat and pulled the sobbing woman closer. “We’ve seen signs he was in the house last night and—” He lowered his voice. “We suspect he killed the dog.”

  The officer swore quietly and shook his head. “I never saw a thing. I never left my post, and I didn’t fall asleep, Sam. I swear I didn’t. The second patrol car made regular passes with the search light on all sides at least every thirty minutes.” He pulled out his radio and ran to his cruiser.

  Sam listened as Cody called in the probable breaking and entering, then walked Carrie back inside the house and away from Toto.

  After a few minutes, the officer came back and stood inside the doorway. He cleared his throat and shuffled his black-booted feet. “Ms. Jeansonne, I’m so sorry this happened, but the chief thinks we should perform an autopsy on the animal to discover the cause of death. He’s send
ing the K-nine officer over to pick him up since Kenton doesn’t have any full-time animal control personnel. That guy usually comes from the parish seat, but he’s out of state for the holidays.” He stared down at the floor, shifted, and repositioned his clipboard. “Did, uh, did he have any health threatening conditions?”

  Carrie sniffed and wiped her nose with the tissue Sam handed her. She shook her head. “He just had all his shots. The vet said he was good.”

  The officer shook his head and groaned. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I really am.” He turned as the K-9 unit pulled into the driveway and left to meet the truck. He came back a few minutes later and introduced her to another young officer.

  This officer spoke to her in a quiet and respectful tone. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ma’am.” He pointed to the specially outfitted K-9 truck parked in her driveway. “My name is Officer Bertrand, and I applied for this position because I’m a dog lover too. What’s his name, ma’am?”

  She took a deep breath. “Toto.”

  The officer nodded. “From The Wizard of Oz, huh? It fits him perfectly. How old was Toto, ma’am?”

  “He’s eight years old.” She faltered and cleared her throat to stem the tears. “We raised him from a puppy.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Can you take him now, please? I don’t want my girls to see him like this.” She shook her head. “This is gonna break their hearts.”

  Officer Bertrand crouched next to Toto’s lifeless body. “From here on out, he’ll be treated with nothing but respect, I can promise you that.”

  She nodded but kept her silence.

  Sam thanked the officer. “How soon do you think we’ll know something, Heath?”

  “If there are any toxins in his system, it could take a couple of days, depending on what k—what was used on him,” he finished.

  “Toxins.” Carrie nearly choked on the word. “That’s a pretty way to say ‘poison’ isn’t it?” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue again. “If you rule out natural causes, it won’t matter what he used on him.”

  The officer got to his feet. “The identity of the poison may be used as evidence when we catch this guy. It could help us put him away or even link him to any other unsolved crimes.”