Wolf's Trap (The Nick Lupo Series Book 1)

by W. D. Gagliani

  He had cried, too, and held her, and then they’d made love.

  Later, she had whispered to him. “I hope they never let Martin out.”

  Martin.

  Martin Stewart.

  He remembered a photograph she had shown him of her brother, but the face was fuzzy. Only a few years younger than she, that made him a couple years older than Lupo. Was he still locked up in the Institute? First chance he got, he’d call and give Ben the word, but Ben would have to pretend he’d found it. Bad enough Lupo was connected to Corinne, but his connection to Caroline had to be kept secret.

  He snapped out of the reverie. Jessie looked at him, curious and concerned. He’d gone away for a minute, and it must have looked strange—he could almost feel his own vacant expression.

  “Can I borrow your computer tomorrow?” he said. “I want to run a Google search or two, and log on to the department database through the Web.”

  “I have a brand-new Mac on a cable modem at the office. Just stop by and it’s all yours.”

  “Thanks,” he said. He wished he could recapture the feeling they’d shared a few minutes before.

  Jessie

  The sadness rolled off him like sweat she could almost see. She sensed deeper-than-surface feelings and she understood that Nick Lupo had lost some kind of soul mate in Corinne.

  My God, she was a call girl and yet I’m convinced there was some sort of bond between them that even he couldn’t explain to me. But there’s something else, something that made him sad even before this murder. In fact, Nick Lupo has been sad as long as I’ve known him.

  His back was to her as he fiddled with the miniature stereo while she poured more coffee. He dug into a CD case and selected something she’d never heard before, something that sounded like a cross between Celtic and hard rock. She examined his square shoulders and his posture and sensed that the music was important to him, that it soothed him in ways she couldn’t quite understand. But then, she knew how much her music soothed her, and she smiled because it was a quality she really liked in a man. Emotion based on art—that was a real turn-on!

  When he turned back, they resumed their conversation, but she could tell some connections had been made in his mind or his memory.

  “1 hope you don’t mind the music,” he said.

  “Not at all. It’s nice.”

  He nodded. “It’s a Scottish guy named Fish. Sometimes music’s the only thing I can hold on to.” He shook his head sadly. “If you had a chance to profile my guy, where would you take it? I mean, do you have any other insight?”

  “What about the photograph strips? Anything else stand out, so to speak?”

  “Well, it appears the guy’s bland looking. His clothes are nothing fancy or flashy. Off-the-rack Dockers stuff.”

  “My guess is that’s how he gets close to people. He’s a bit of a chameleon, maybe, something of an actor.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “You know, like the William Goldman novel they made a movie out of with George Segal and—what was her name? Lee Remick. And Rod Steiger.”

  “You mean No Way to Treat a Lady?”

  “Yes! Remember, Steiger’s a serial killer who was an actor, and he could be a handyman one day and a priest the next. And I think he painted the women with lipstick, too. He gave them fake red lips on the forehead. But they were older—mother figures. He was obsessed with his mother. What’s the matter?”

  “I’m an idiot, that’s what’s the matter!” he said, smashing his hand on the table and making their cups bounce. “A priest. I think he came to Corinne’s funeral!”

  “You mean this guy came disguised as a priest?” She felt her pulse racing a little. It was scary to think that someone you ran into—even a priest—could be a serial killer.

  “I think it’s possible, yeah. He’s got it in for me and he’d want to stick close.”

  I think he’s figured out who this guy is, but he’s not telling me.

  Lupo set his coffee cup aside with a distasteful look, as if it had soured on him suddenly. He rubbed his eyes and scratched his hands, then caught himself and hid them out of sight below the edge of the table. She had the distinct impression he was still scratching them, however. He noticed and brought his hands back out onto the table.

  Before she could think and overthink it, she laid her hands over his, letting her warmth penetrate his rough skin. Then, while he looked down, as if trying to determine what she was doing, she leaned close and tilted her head just enough to let her lips meet his. Her eyes were open, gazing into his and registering the surprise there, the shock, and then suddenly the welcome. Their lips opened at the same time, and then they were kissing passionately, tongues exploring and tasting, as if the end of the world had been declared and time were running short. Into each other’s eyes they gazed, openly and without embarrassment, with no hesitation and no turning back.

  Their hands clasped and unclasped, but then he raised his away from her grasp and instead took her flushed cheeks into a gentle grip, and she was sure she felt some sort of shiver run through his body, a ripple of—what? Feelings? Fear? Expectation? She couldn’t be sure, but the sweetness of her first tentative kiss had given way to passion, and she felt herself respond, becoming aroused even as they clutched at each other like lovers caught in a gale, fighting the wind that would tear them apart.

  I had no idea he was so passionate, she thought, giving herself over to the heat. She wanted to cry, sing, smile, and cheer all at once, because this was something she now knew she’d wanted for years, but that something had kept her from expressing. Something had plagued her with doubts, something dark and twisted within her, inhibiting her from exploring her feelings about him all this time. Sure, she’d had her share of bad or simply static relationships, but this one had tickled at her until she’d suppressed it and made damn sure she dealt with her city detective on a business-only level.

  Until now. It was as if she’d sensed he was vulnerable and swooped in like a great owl looking for prey.

  It didn’t matter! Her heart screamed at her and reminded her that she was overdue for some tenderness, and right now his hands on her cheeks and his lips pressed tightly on hers supplied just the right amount.

  Her hands went looking for a place to rest, finding his shoulders and feeling his muscles roiling under his clothing, almost as if they were under there knotting and changing, and in shock she took her hands off and broke their kiss suddenly. She gasped. But then he covered her lips again and she responded and nothing else mattered, and whatever was happening to his shoulder muscles had to do with the tension he felt, the sadness, and now the suddenness of their passion, finding themselves so starved for each other.

  Jessie abandoned her professional side altogether and lost herself in Nick Lupo’s embrace, and for a second there was nothing at all wrong with the world.

  Martin

  After maneuvering around the cottage, contending with bushes and the woodpile under the overhang of the large deck that surrounded three sides of the house, and almost losing his footing on the steep hillside that swept down to the water’s edge, Martin had finally located a place to hide that gave him a view of the bastard Lupo and his woman.

  He peered through the glass pane and open blinds, past a long wooden dining table and into the small kitchen, where they were seated next to each other at a small round table with three chairs around it. The table was like an afterthought in the kitchen, which was open on all sides and flowed into the paneled living room and its rough-hewn bar down the opposite wall. Had the lighting been different, Martin wouldn’t have been able to see them at all. But he was watching as they drank and talked and drank some more, and he was getting bored. He fleetingly thought about killing the woman as soon as she left Lupo’s place—another message. He’d either not heard of the other hooker yet or had ignored it and driven north to let the old fuck cover his ass, Martin figured, and he knew damn well why the cop had left the city Martin knew how to read a calendar—it
was the full moon, and Caroline’s journals made clear what happened to the fucker during those times.

  It was during one of those times that Dominic Lupo had killed his sister, tearing her apart like barbecued pork and—

  He’d gotten away with it, the bastard, but he wouldn’t escape Martin’s wrath. Martin caressed the A4 Magnum revolver in his jacket pocket. It was loaded with six of Rag’s best silver-jacketed bullets, and Martin knew damn well he could just burst into the cottage right now and kill the two. He could empty the gun into them and worry about the full moon later—most likely the bullets would just kill the bastard anyway, and if the silver was needed, well, it was there. In fact, the temptation was so great that he drew the revolver and cocked it silently. Rag had taught him that, unlike what all those stupid suspense books said, revolvers don’t have safeties. He was ready to go, just kick in the window and start blasting—

  But then the two leaned toward each other and started kissing like teenagers in heat.

  Martin’s rage was suddenly matched by his lust. What harm in watching for a while? The woman was a beauty. He’d seen her very clearly earlier. Her eyes, her hair, her cheekbones, and best of all, her lips—on which she’d used some subtle mauve or wine shade—they’d all thrilled him. And now that she was in a clinch with the cop, he was aroused by what he saw, and by knowing that they didn’t see him. He very badly wanted to fuck her painted mouth, then her corpse. Then maybe her mouth again.

  He uncocked the gun the way Rag had shown him and tucked it away. Then he reached inside his pants and felt his warm stiffness there. He started massaging, thinking that this was almost as good as how he would feel when he killed him. No, them.

  Lupo

  The shock of her lips on his melted immediately, and Lupo surrendered to the feelings it released within him.

  He’d been alone since Caroline, whom he had loved beyond words and time and space. Yet his feelings for Caroline had not been able to keep the Creature within him at bay as she had thought, and as he had relented and agreed to the test. The test had gone awry—he had somehow willed a Change, but the Creature’s hunger and frustration had overridden any control Lupo had been able to bring with him through the Change, and he had murdered Caroline.

  Now it had to be her deranged brother, returning to extract a price, and the first payment had been the life of Corinne, another woman who’d snuck into his life without his even realizing it. He knew now that he’d loved Corinne, that on some level he had loved her from the moment he had met her, despite what she was and what she did. Her personality really had nothing much to do with her work, at least he hadn’t thought so, and he had fallen into a comfortable relationship that maybe someday would have revealed itself to them both. But that possibility was shattered, taken from him as her life was taken from her, and it was because of him. Because of Caroline. Because of him and Caroline.

  Now here was Jessica Hawkins, Dr. Hawkins, his straight-laced landlord and casual friend, suddenly melting into him with a passion that threatened to overwhelm both of them, and through her soft, willing lips he could feel her loneliness and her long frustration with regard to her feelings about him, and he felt himself respond, understanding that—like Corinne—Jessie Hawkins was a person he could have fallen in love with and whose love could have helped dispel his fears and self-hatred about Caroline, but that he’d not allowed himself to notice these feelings. He’d suppressed them for years.

  Their passion increased and their tongues tested and tasted and tangled, and the fragrance of her was heady and he looked into her eyes and felt years of self-pity wash away in mere moments, knowing that here, perhaps, was the home he had longed for, the place he wanted to be, and the person he wanted to be with.

  His arousal struck him as almost sinful, so pure were the feelings in his heart at that moment. But his body would not be denied, and he abandoned his attempt to suppress, instead leaning into it and feeling her respond even as they came closer, their chairs scraping the wood floor as their knees touched and electricity coursed through him…

  But then he felt an intrusion. Two intrusions.

  One was the Creature, whose essence was being drawn out by the full moon that would rise soon—was it dusk already?—and claim it and his body for its own. Lupo felt his muscles begin to warp as if beginning the Change, moving liquid-like, flowing under his skin like molten rivers of animal blood and sinew, and he knew that hair had begun to sprout on the backs of his hands and up and down his spine. He took Jessie’s face in his hands so she wouldn’t notice, but then she put her hands on his shoulders and he could see in her eyes that she felt something—

  But it was as clear as the lancet scent of ammonia, and it entered his nostrils and jabbed his heightened sense of smell like a poison. The other intrusion was a hint of something he’d smelled before, the third thread from Corinne’s apartment, where the guy—was it Martin Stewart?—had been. The knowledge flooded into Lupo’s brain that it had to be Martin Stewart, because that explained the fourth thread, what he couldn’t place before, but what clearly had been the scent, no her scent, in the Creature’s memory. Caroline’s scent.

  Suddenly, Jessie pulled away and their kiss ended, leaving an aching loss in his lips and in his heart. He could still taste her on his lips and tongue, a very desirable sweet tartness. Inside, the Creature boiled just under the surface, torn between Lupo’s interrupted passion and the scents that were arousing anger and hatred and huge wells of sadness.

  Jessie sat back in her chair, still staring into his eyes.

  What does she see there? He suppressed any other thought along those lines and tried to imagine where Martin could be. Was he outside, as he had been at the Sabatini house?

  She was breathless, but then so was he.

  She reached out a hand and started to wipe her lipstick from his lips, but he stopped her gently. He wanted to smell her on him. The only good thing he had to hold on to at the moment. Especially if Martin Stewart was lurking outside.

  Could the Creature be wrong?

  He kissed her fingertips tenderly, and enjoyed the smile that curled her smeared lips.

  My God, he thought, am I really that different from Martin right now? His arousal was plain to see if she glanced downward.

  “That was very, very nice,” Jessica Hawkins whispered, still smiling, suddenly becoming aware that he was staring at her lips. She reached up and wiped along the top of her upper lip and below the edge of her full lower lip, seeing the color there on her fingers and blushing again. Remembering their conversation.

  “Yes, it was.” He wanted to say more, to shout and laugh aloud, but it took a lot of his concentration and skill to suppress the Change he felt wanting to crest. Was the Creature making his presence felt because of the coming moon or to protect him against Martin’s apparent presence? Perhaps both.

  Either way, the nearness of the Creature frightened him, for he might come to the fore and hurt Jessie. He couldn’t live with another Caroline on his conscience.

  “I—” she began.

  “I think—” he began.

  They chuckled, as in a silly TV script. He deferred to her with an overdone chivalrous wave. She fake curtsied.

  “I’d better get home. I’m supposed to be on call tonight, and I don’t have my cell phone. I—I really had a good time, Mr.—uh, Nick. I’m sorry—”

  He cut her off. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, Jess. We’re both adults, and I think there’s something here we need to…”

  “Explore?” she finished for him.

  “Yeah, explore. That’s it. I want to. I have some things to get over. I’m—you know, Corinne was my friend, nothing more really, but I owe her, finding the man who killed her, and the others, and helping to get him what he deserves.” He hoped she couldn’t sense the finality and hatred in his words. “He wants me just as much, though, and that means I’m dangerous to be around right now.” He hoped this oblique reference would be enough to make her understa
nd without his having to be specific.

  She nodded.

  “There’s a lot about you I don’t know, isn’t there?” she said, standing. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind that. It might be fun to learn it all.” She laughed, probably at his stunned look.

  He hoped she didn’t find out under the wrong circumstances.

  He walked her upstairs and to the door, then to her SUV. He sniffed the cold night air but couldn’t quite grasp any scent. The moment had passed. Or the breeze had carried it away. Or he’d been wrong. Or the Creature had hunkered down, out of sight. In any case, they seemed alone again.

  He held the door for her and she climbed in, then leaned out and suddenly pecked at his cheek. “I want to explore a little more like we did tonight,” she said, a wicked little smile on her lips. “Very soon. Lunch maybe? You think about that.” She started the Nissan and started to back out.

  “I am thinking about it,” he said. “Believe me.”

  “Good.”

  “Jess?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Watch your back. This guy’s dangerous.”

  She nodded. As she pulled away, he heard early Alan Parsons Project coming from her speakers.

  Damn it, something else we have in common!

  He walked out to the road, watching her taillights redden and then fade between the pines. His breath fogged in front of his face. It was cold, and getting colder fast as darkness fell. He shivered but walked the whole of Circle Moon Drive, finding no other car, but a set of tire tracks that seemed to indicate that someone had stopped a ways down the road. Was the scent there? He thought so, but he couldn’t be sure. But his instinct said yes.

  In the cottage, Fish—once the lead singer of Marillion—was on the stereo singing about seeing his life as a shadow play.

  Lupo had to agree.

  Jessie

  “Damn it, girl! I can’t believe how you threw yourself at him!” she said to herself. She giggled a little. She’d lied about being on call, but she had sensed that they both needed a little time to figure out what had happened between them. Tomorrow was another day. Maybe some fresh bakery for breakfast and some of her own jelly preserves. And some fresh fruit. And no sports bra. She giggled again.