He dropped to his knees in front of her, unzipping her pants and pulling them down to her ankles. He reached for her panties, then his hands moved across her breasts. Reaching behind her, he pulled her hand forward, causing her top to tumble onto the carpet. Gabby was barking and lunging at the window, all four paws striking the glass. Chris didn’t seem to notice and pushed Lily back onto the floor, then climbed on top of her.
“My dog thinks I’m being attacked,” Lily said, staring up at him. “This might be more fun on a bed, don’t you think?” She started to tell him she had a bad back and couldn’t roll around on the floor like a teenager, but it would ruin the moment. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him that she had a phobia of having a man on top of her. At the moment, she was more concerned with Gabby breaking a leg.
He stood and pulled her to her feet, then swept her up in his arms.
“Put me down, Chris. This isn’t a romance novel.”
His face fell in disappointment. She gave him a quick peck on the lips, then headed up the stairs. Her back was already throbbing. He wasn’t heavy like Bryce, but he was taller and more muscular, and muscle weighs more than fat. She glanced over her shoulder to make certain he was coming. “Hurry up, slowpoke,” she tossed out.
Lily halted when she reached the top of the stairs. It was daylight and they didn’t have drapes in the master bedroom. She and Bryce never made love during the day. Chris would see everything, and so would she. Maybe she should take him to one of the guest bedrooms. She couldn’t drag the poor guy around the house, though. The bottom line was she had made a reckless, stupid decision. He wouldn’t understand. She tried to tell herself to calm down, but she was already trembling. What if she panicked when he got on top of her?
She was about to turn around and tell him she couldn’t go through with it. But it was too late. He had come up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She felt a bolt of pain hit the center of her back, in the spot where the disk was herniated. It was as if she had a boa constrictor wrapped around her, squeezing the life out of her.
He lifted her hair and began kissing the sensitive spot on the back of her neck. She gave thought to simply bending over and letting him have his way with her. Women weren’t the same as men. A woman might find it exciting to make love to someone for the first time, but it wasn’t always sexually gratifying. This held true even for women without Lily’s history. Women needed time, not just to reach a point of arousal, but to feel comfortable enough to let go. They also had to train a partner to do the things they found pleasurable.
They were standing in the doorway now. In her rush to get ready earlier, Lily had forgotten to make the bed. As soon as Chris saw the tousled covers, he unzipped his pants and pulled down his jockey shorts. His erection was enormous.
He climbed onto the bed, reaching out and pulling her down beside him. “I’m too aggressive, aren’t I? My God, you’re shaking.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m just nervous.”
Chris slapped his forehead with the back of his hand. “What was I thinking? This is the bed you share with your husband. You’re getting back at him. Isn’t that what this is all about?”
“No, please,” Lily said. “I just need you to go a little slower.”
“We can go to my place if you want.”
“It’s all right, I promise. And I might be getting back at Bryce, but that’s not all of it. I’m attracted to you, Chris. I was attracted to you the day we went to lunch.” She curled up in his arms, and he gently stroked her back with the tips of his fingers.
“I haven’t been with a woman since my wife died,” he told her, speaking in hushed tones. “It’s taken me all these years to find a woman I’m even remotely interested in. I’m not here just to sleep with you, Lily. Obviously, I desire you, but I want a relationship and it’s too soon for that. You’re not even divorced yet. Jesus, are you even officially separated?”
“Bryce asked me for a divorce,” Lily said, becoming more comfortable now that they were talking. “I was going to divorce him anyway. How could I stay married to an attempted rapist? Don’t worry about him walking in on us. He’s in jail until Monday.” She linked eyes with him, then turned away. “We basically had a marriage of convenience. Bryce knew it. He was jealous of my position. He and my daughter despised each other. What can I say? The man’s an imbecile. I have no idea why I even married him.”
Chris reached down and pulled the sheet over them. “Why was it a marriage of convenience?”
“I’ve had a problem being alone since the rapes.”
“I understand that, Lily. I’ve had the same problem since Sherry and Emily were killed. Some nights it’s as if they’re in the room with me. It used to comfort me. Now it freaks me out.” He paused and cleared his throat, clasping her hand tightly. “I still have Sherry’s clothes in the closet, and Emily’s toy chest at the foot of my bed. I’ve tried, but I just can’t let go.”
Lily sighed, wishing she could help him. “You will, Chris. Just by being here with me today, you’ve made your first step.”
“I’m sorry about the way I acted downstairs. I assumed that’s what was expected of me.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “You have no idea what a sheltered life I’ve led. Most of what I know about sex I learned from books and movies. Your husband might be an idiot, but I’m not much better. I know what you’ve been through. I should have realized that type of behavior was inappropriate.”
Lily found his honesty and innocence touching. They remained locked in each other’s arms, each of them holding on for their own reasons. She could love this man, she told herself. He’d been through something far worse than she had. There was even a possibility that together they could become whole again. Maybe if she’d been honest with Bryce, their marriage would have been more meaningful.
Could Chris accept the fact that she had killed Bobby Hernandez? If she provided proof that Hernandez had been a vicious murderer who had taken the lives of five innocent people, she believed he could. He would understand the rage she’d felt when her child was violated.
His body was so warm, Lily wanted to crawl inside of it. They stroked each other, embraced each other until he fell silent. When she saw he had fallen asleep, she turned over on her side and drifted off.
The room was bathed in evening shadows when Lily was gently awakened by his touch. She rolled over into his body, and they finally made love. It was nothing like she’d feared. He was tender, considerate, and emotional. Instead of heaving on top of her, he pulled her onto his lap and slowly moved her up and down on his body. Then he would stop, gaze into her eyes, and gently caress her. When his hands moved over her body, she felt as if her skin had turned into silk. He would cup her face in his hands and kiss her, then slide his finger between her legs where they were joined, causing Lily to moan in pleasure.
After it was over, he experienced such a release that he broke down and wept and Lily found herself crying with him. She had never felt such an intense, intimate connection with another human being.
When Chris got up to go to the bathroom, Lily stared out into the dark room. His clothes were in a pile over by the chair. She didn’t see a man crouching there, waiting to jump out and rape her. It was only a few pieces of harmless clothing. Her eyes drifted to the light emanating from the bathroom. The terrifying image of Marco Curazon, as she had seen him just before he’d fled the night of the rapes, was no longer present. She thought Bryce would make her feel safe, but it hadn’t turned out that way. With Chris, the demons were finally receding.
All she had needed was a good man to chase them away.
TWENTY-SIX
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 1
QUANTICO, VIRGINIA
Mary called Hank Sawyer, her former partner at the Ventura Police Department. Supervisor over the homicide division, Sawyer was a rugged old-school cop. He’d been hell to work for, but he had taught her everything she knew. “Hank,” she said once the switchboard transferred her
to his office, “it’s Mary.”
“Mary who?”
“Come on, Hank, don’t play games with me. You know who I am. You could recognize my voice even if it was coming from inside a toilet.”
“Oh, that Mary, the one who flat left me for a job with the FBI. How the hell are you, stranger?”
“Up to my asshole in murders. I need your help.” She gave him the particulars of the house in Thousand Oaks.
“My God, woman,” he said, “has the FBI sucked your brains out? The sheriff’s office covers Thousand Oaks, not us. Don’t you remember that?”
Thousand Oaks was located in Ventura County, but the PD only covered crimes committed in the city of Ventura. “Of course I do, Hank, but the SO is huge and I doubt if anyone there remembers me. I need a warrant and I need it fast. Do you know a judge who’ll sign a half-baked warrant without making a big deal about it? The house is probably empty, but we can’t be certain. The killer may be running an alibi club out of it. That’s where we think she gets her victims.”
“What’s an alibi club?”
“I don’t have time to explain everything,” Mary told him. “It’s just what the term implies, a club that furnishes alibis.”
Hank fell serious. He knew the unit she was assigned to and the type of crimes they investigated. “How many?”
“Three that we know of,” Mary told him. “We only got wind of the case last Monday. We’re chasing the clock, Hank. This one isn’t going to stop until we catch her.”
“You keeping saying ‘she.’ Are you telling me you’ve got a female serial killer? That’s a strange duck. Shit, we haven’t seen one of them since Aileen Wuornos.”
“You know how it works, Hank. We’re not certain what we have yet, other than three dismembered men and a few promising leads. Whatever you do, keep this under wraps. We haven’t gone public with it, and my SAC will have my head on a chopping board if it gets leaked to the press.”
He thought a few minutes, then said, “Do you remember Lily Forrester?”
“The DA who was raped? I thought she became a prosecutor in Santa Barbara.”
“She’s a superior court judge in Ventura now,” he told her. “I know her pretty well. Compared to some of the other judges, she’s your best bet. Someone’s got to write the request for the warrant, though.”
“Hold on.” Mary put the call on hold and coughed to get Genna Weir’s attention. It made her nervous to have someone looking over her shoulder. The meeting was scheduled to start within the hour and she hadn’t had time to go over the credit card records yet. “Who should handle the paperwork on this? My old supervisor thinks he knows a judge who’ll sign it.”
“Go for it,” Weir said, spinning her chair around.
Mary punched back into the line, putting Hank on the speakerphone. “Can you get in touch with Forrester today?”
“I think so,” he told her. “She might be on the bench, so I can’t guarantee when, but I’ll get right on it.”
“You work for the FBI now,” Weir told Mary. “We have jurisdiction everywhere. Have him track down the judge and tell him the warrant’s coming. Can you write it in an hour, Stevens?”
“Impossible,” Mary exclaimed. “It would take me a week to put all the facts together. Besides, we have the meeting at three. It’s already two-thirty.”
Weir leaned back in her chair and stretched. “So you’ll be late. You don’t have to document everything. All you have to do is justify a need for a search warrant. You said the owner of the house was deceased, so it shouldn’t be that difficult. The other agency can execute the warrant once a judge signs it.”
“Find Judge Forrester,” Mary told Hank. “I’ll e-mail you the request for a warrant as soon as I finish it. Maybe you should call the SO and advise them they’re going to be executing it.”
As soon as she disconnected, she turned to Weir again. “Shouldn’t the L.A. Field Office be involved in this?”
“They’ve already been informed,” she said, staring at her computer screen and clicking her mouse to open a document. “If anything or anyone in that house looks even remotely suspicious, they’ll go out. Otherwise, I’d rather not waste their time. I checked it on a map. Thousand Oaks is a good distance from Los Angeles.”
“I haven’t had a chance to go through the credit card charges on Madison and Goldstein yet.”
The printer started spitting out paper. “Just write the warrant,” Weir told her, walking over and picking up the sheets. “I’ll go over the credit card charges.” She stopped and glanced around the room. “What’s that noise? It sounds like a woodpecker. They’re not around this time of year.”
Mary placed her hand on her knee to keep her foot from tapping. “Must be rats,” she tossed out, attempting to organize her thoughts into something cohesive enough to get them the warrant.
Fifteen minutes later, Weir called John Adams. “The cards are falling into place, chief. Now isn’t the best time to grind to a stop and worry about profiling. I’m about ninety percent certain Stevens has nailed it for us. I’ll fill you in on the details later. We might be zeroing in on our target.”
“What’s going on?” Mary asked.
Weir’s face was flushed with excitement. “What are the chances of a person who lives in Denver and another who lives in San Francisco using an Exxon gas station in Dallas?”
Mary’s jaw dropped. “Are you certain it was Khan’s?”
Weir dropped the stack of papers on her desk. “Khan’s Preston Exxon is listed on both Goldstein’s and Madison’s credit card records. You can’t get any closer than that, Stevens. It’s a good thing you twisted Adams’s arm and let him send you to Dallas.”
“Thank you, Jesus,” Mary said, shoving her fist in the air. “We’ve established a definitive link between all three homicides. I knew the tape wasn’t a fake. I just knew it.”
“Congratulations,” Weir said, smiling. “I’ll get in touch with the L.A. Field Office and have them respond to Thousand Oaks. How far along are you on the search warrant?”
Weir had kicked into high gear. The inside of the small room was turning into a whirlwind. “I’ve got it outlined,” Mary said. “Now all I have to do is type it and shoot it to Hank Sawyer. If he can’t get Forrester, he’ll have to track down another judge.”
“I’ll take it to the Justice Department if we don’t hear from him within thirty minutes,” Weir told her, exhaling a long breath. “We need to get inside that house in Thousand Oaks immediately. I’m going to call Agent East and have him book Khan for credit card fraud, then instruct him to get a search warrant so we can rip that gas station apart.”
“Don’t you want me to do that?” Mary said, eager to talk to Brooks again and update him on their progress. “I mean, I’ve been working with him.”
Weir arched an eyebrow. “Not everything you’ve been doing with Agent East can be classified as work. You’re about to make a name for yourself with the Bureau. Now isn’t the time to be playing patty-cake with another agent. Are we clear?”
First she commended her, then she spanked her. Mary cursed herself for telling Weir about what had transpired between her and Brooks. “Perfectly, Agent Weir.”
“Take care of the warrant. Leave everything else to me.”
Anne’s bloodlust had finally stopped.
She spent most of the day cleaning house, and attempting to erase all traces of her former life. She collected all her pay-as-you-go phones and tossed them into a plastic garbage bag. The next to go was her collection of wigs, her sexy clothing, and all shoes with high heels. Her feet hurt like a bitch every time she wore them. She stood back and smiled at the neat rows of tennis shoes. The closet was now filled with sportswear, gym clothes, jeans, classic tops, and skirts and dresses. She started to toss her collection of designer purses, as she had carried many of them when she was courting victims. She had paid too much money for them, though, so she decided to keep them.
The house didn’t have air-conditionin
g and she was sweating. She kept an ice chest in the kitchen, so she grabbed a bottle of water and poured it over her head. She thought of going to a church one day and having herself baptized. Maybe she could become a born-again Christian and her previous sins would be forgiven? Nice idea, but she didn’t think for a minute that getting submerged in water would do anything more than get her wet.
Some of her most abusive foster parents had been regular churchgoers, which had soured her on organized religion.
The next place Anne attacked was the bathroom cabinets. She trashed all her diet pills, laxatives, and the majority of her makeup. As long as she didn’t have to look like the slut of the month, she could get by fairly well with lipstick and a dab of blush. She hated mascara, as it clumped, and was almost impossible to remove. If you did manage to get the damn stuff off, you lost half your eyelashes.
The house she was in was a dump. Chuck had rented it, and after he was shipped back to prison, she’d kept it more or less as a staging area, as well as a possible hideout if the police put any heat on her. She’d rented an apartment in Ventura, but hadn’t gotten around to moving the rest of her things. There was also the problem that someone might see her coming or going in one of her disguises. Her plan was to buy a house, but she decided to stay in the apartment until she found out how things went with Lily.
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