Forgotten (Shattered Sisters Book 2)

by Maggie Shayne

  And then she would lose him. Even if she managed to keep up the charade long enough to save him from the Slasher, in the end she would lose him to her own lies.

  Why did it hurt so much to know that? Why was she standing on a balcony, in the dark, sipping wine and silently crying?

  "Couldn't sleep, huh?"

  She stiffened, but didn't turn around. She didn't want him to see her foolish tears. "No."

  "Neither could I." He moved up to the railing beside her, slipping an arm around her shoulders. He wore a short terry robe, untied, over the briefs he'd slept in.

  "Liar. You were sawing timbers when I left.”

  "Until you left." He turned her to face him and looked down at her. "What's this?" He wiped the moisture from her cheeks with his fingertips.

  "Stress, I suppose." She reached for the wineglass. He did, too, bumping her hand with his and sloshing the wine onto her wrist. She drew her hand away, but he caught and lifted it. He brought it close to his face, his lips. Then he kissed it, drinking the wine from her skin, his mouth moving slowly over her wrist and forearm.

  She trembled, and he straightened.

  "Cold?"

  She shook her head, unable to speak. She wanted him so much, wanted this make-believe marriage to be real...just for tonight And she knew he wanted it too. His eyes glimmered with desire for her.

  She averted her gaze. This was insane. "The shirt will stain," she said to break the tension.

  Then his fingertips were at her neck, and she realized he was undoing the buttons. And she stood there, not moving, with neither the will nor the desire to stop him.

  He reached the lowest button and stopped. He looked into her eyes, not touching her, waiting for her to say no. She didn't. Instead she caught the front of the shirt in her trembling hands, parted it and let it slide down her shoulders to fall at her feet.

  And there, in the moonlight, he looked at her...the way a lover of art must look at the work of a master. Awe and adoration glowed from his face, as he looked at her from head to toe. Then he blinked and met her gaze again, lifting a hand to caress her cheek.

  "Ah, God, Joey." It was a whisper, hoarse, as if he was in some kind of pain. His hand drifted downward, over her chin, her throat. His fingertips skimmed her breast, then his palm closed over it.

  She closed her eyes and let her head fall back in reaction to his touch. His hand slid over the curve of her waist, around to the small of her back, and he pulled her to him. His free hand buried itself in her hair, and he brought her face level again, and then he kissed her.

  It was slow, almost reverent in its tenderness, that kiss. As if it was the first one, as if he wanted to learn the shape and taste of her mouth, memorize it, savor it. She felt the roughness of a day's growth of whiskers razing her skin. She tasted the wine on his lips. His fingers kneaded at the base of her spine, hypnotic and wonderful.

  She brought her hands up between them and pushed his robe open, wanting more, needing the brush of his chest over her breasts and the feel of his taut skin under her hands. He released her with only one hand at a time to shrug the robe off, never breaking the sweet, erotic rhythm of his kiss.

  His head angled. His lips slid over her face, and he nibbled at her jaw, then moved lower, the damp warmth of his mouth bathing her neck and the hollow below her ear. Her heart raced, drowning out the sounds of traffic below. Her senses filled with him, with wanting him, needing him.

  "Ash...we should go...inside," she managed, her voice sounding weak and shaky.

  He kissed a trail back to her mouth, pausing in between as he spoke, not lifting his mouth from her skin, so that his words were warm caresses against it. "No, Joey. There have...been others...in there." His fingers tangled in her hair and he lifted his face slightly from hers, staring into her eyes. "This is different. You're different. I want you here, where there's never been anyone else."

  Tears burned her eyes as she twined her arms around his neck to bring his lips to hers. He lowered her to the floor on a rumpled bed made by the shirt she'd worn and his robe. And he came down with her, his arm pillowing her head as his lips moved over her body. His mouth moistened her throat and chest, her breasts and her belly. His free hand roamed downward and her hips rose of their own will. She was trembling, and her desire encompassed her mind and soul.

  When she felt his hardness touch her softness, she closed her eyes and pulled him closer.

  Over and over his steely strength caressed her from within, and all the while he kissed her and whispered softly against her skin. Words that had no meaning for her then. Words like "You're safe, Joey...always safe with me."

  Time stood still. There was nothing but the two of them, entwined like one being, rising together until they broke through the clouds and into space.

  And then they slowly drifted back to earth together, coiled muscles began to relax into blissful fulfillment. Lying close to her, he wrapped her in his strong arms and let his chest be her pillow.

  Ash held her there, snuggled against him. Not that she tried to move away. She wrapped her arm around his waist and she nestled even closer. Which was good, because he hadn't yet managed to blink all the moisture away from his eyes, and he sure as hell didn't want her to see it there. He hoped her mind-reading talents were as undependable as she'd said they were. His thoughts, his feelings, right then were something he had no desire to share with her. He wasn't even sure he understood them himself. He'd never been moved near to tears by making love to a woman before.

  Hell, he'd never thought of it as making love before. But damned if there was anything else to describe what had just happened with Joey. Until tonight, he hadn't been aware of the difference, hadn't thought there could be more than physical pleasure, mutual satisfaction, two adults sharing a few minutes of passion with the connection broken as soon as it was over. He'd never expected there to be anything more.

  He almost laughed at his naiveté. Then he justified his ignorance. How could he have known it could be like this? He'd never seen it firsthand, never known a man and a woman to share anything deeper. No, wait, that wasn’t true, was it. Radley and Amelia had that kind of connection. There wasn’t anything his editor wouldn’t do for his beloved bride.

  He looked down at Joey, cuddled against him, and wished he was the one with ESP. He'd kill to know if she felt anything like what he was feeling. As if she belonged to him now, and he to her. As if there was no one else in the world he could feel this way with. As if he'd never let her go...not now, not if it meant he had to battle an army to keep her.

  The power of his feelings scared the hell out of him. Especially knowing she'd been lying to him from the start, and still not knowing why. But he would find out. He would dig until he knew everything about Joey, and he would find a way to make her trust him.

  He rose to his feet, smiling when she looked up at him with her delicate brows arched. He bent and scooped her into his arms, carried her inside and lowered her onto the bed. Then he got in beside her and held her close. And somehow he knew that as long as he did, the nightmares of his childhood would be powerless to haunt his dreams.

  She was in the shower when the phone bleated the next morning and Ash snatched it up, growling a greeting. He hated the interruption, since he'd been about to slip into the bathroom to join her.

  "Okay, Coye, you owe me big time for this one."

  Rad sounded smug, and his opening line caught Ash's attention. "What have you got for me, pal?”

  "Nothing you wouldn’t have got on your own, just saved you some legwork. A lot of it. I figure the sooner we get this asshole caught, the safer you’ll be. You were planning to sift all the information from the Vegas murders, but I did it for you, and two tidbits came up that I think you'll find pretty juicy."

  "What're you, longing to get back into the action? Tired of sitting behind a desk?”

  "Only when my star reporter’s—my good friend’s—life is on the line."

  Ash tried to avoid getting choked
up. What the hell was going on with his emotions anyway? "Admit it, Rad. You don't trust me to check the facts with an unbiased eye."

  "Hell, what're friends for?"

  Ash sighed into the mouthpiece, but he was still smiling. Come to think of it, he’d been smiling ever since he woke up all wrapped around Joey. He might’ve even been smiling in his sleep, for all he knew. "All right, Rad. What've you got?"

  Rad chuckled. "I knew you'd come around." Then he cleared his throat, and his tone turned serious. “This might go down hard, Ash. Joey Bradshaw was in Vegas during the summer the Slasher killings went down."

  Ash felt his spine pull tight, as if it might snap in two at the base of his neck. "How do you know?"

  "Hotel records. I still have a few connections from my reporting days, you know."

  Ash released his breath in a rush, not bothering to ask how Rad had known which hotels to check. He'd either checked them all, or he'd had a tip. "What else?"

  "Your Christmas present. Like I said, you owe me one. I kind of like that little mind reader of yours. She’s cute. And she’s spunky. I like spunk.”

  “Yeah, so do I,” he said.

  “I know you don't want to see the girl do time for this. Frankly, I don’t either. I’d rather find evidence that clears her. She’s good for you, Ash.”

  Aw, hell, his throat was getting all tight again.

  “Turns out there’s a far more likely suspect,” Rad went on.

  "Who?"

  "A cop. A cop who was fully involved in the Vegas investigation. The same cop who's heading up the local one."

  Ash frowned. "Bev Issacs?"

  "The same. She worked on the Vegas PD when the murders were committed. And she smokes the right kind of cigarettes."

  Ash swore softly, his mind working full speed. "I can't believe Bev's a killer."

  "No one believed Ted Bundy could be one either, Ash. I'm just giving you the facts."

  "Are the police aware of this?"

  "I don't know. If they are, they aren't talking. But Ash, I got a tip. The cops finally got lucky. Found a little DNA on a cigarette butt from the most recent scene."

  Ash’s heartbeat sped up, his reporter instincts kicking into high gear. The sensation was familiar, and a welcome relief from the chaotic emotional windstorm in his mind. "We need to get our hands on a sample of Bev's DNA and compare it,” he said. “That’s the only way we'll know for sure."

  Rad was silent for a long moment, then, "Look, Ash, don’t get mad, but if we're checking DNA, don't you think we ought to have a sample of Joey's, as well?"

  "Hell, no." He answered too fast, and automatically. “It wouldn’t match anyway.”

  "Then it would clear her,” Rad argued logically. “I'll get an independent lab to do the testing and work on getting my hands on a copy of the DNA profile the cops have on the killer for comparison.”

  Ash hesitated, chewing his lip.

  "Look, Coye, we won't tell the cops anything until we have the results. If this will clear her, you have to go for it. The evidence against her is getting dangerous. If you want to protect her, then—”

  "All right, all right. I’ll get a sample. How long will the test take?"

  "A few days."

  "That's too long."

  "Nothing to be done about that, Ash. Can you get me a sample from Joey?"

  Ash looked around the room, his gaze settling on the wad of bandages she'd taken from her thigh before going to the shower. There were traces of blood marring the white gauze. "Yeah. I can get it. What about Bev?”

  "I'm on it already." He didn't elaborate and Ash didn't ask. "I think you ought to sit tight on this until we have some answers. No more digging. It’s too dangerous for you, Ash. And for the mind reader too."

  "Okay. I mean, except that I already have an appointment to talk with that shrink I told you about. I want to see it through."

  "Waste of time," Rad said.

  "My time to waste. I'm still on leave, remember?"

  "Pigheaded son of a—"

  "It can't hurt, Rad. The more we know about who we're dealing with, the better."

  "No shrink's gonna tell you anything you don't already know. They're quacks, all of 'em."

  Rad’s feelings about psychiatry and profiling were well known around the office. Ash thought it was a generational thing. Radley cut his journalism teeth in the days when legwork, brains and instinct solved crimes. Not psychology.

  "This one might be different, though. Benjamin Kramer has been studying serial killers for twenty-odd years. I've only been at it for a few weeks, myself, so no matter how little he has to tell me, it’s liable to be more than I already know."

  "Kramer, eh? Never heard of him."

  "He's from Ithaca. I'm heading down there this afternoon."

  His boss sighed and said, “Might not be a bad idea for you to get out of town anyway. Wild goose chase or not. Taking Joey along?"

  "Well, I'm sure as hell not leaving her alone here until I get to the bottom of this. Not that she'd let me." Ash glanced toward the bathroom and smiled slightly.

  "Probably safer for her that way too. Wait, why wouldn't she let you?"

  “Because she thinks the Slasher's added my name to the hit list. And now that you mention it, while you're checking on Bev, keep your eyes open for a pair of black gloves, kid leather, two small buttons at the wrist. Joey says that's what the killer wears."

  Rad was quiet for a beat or two, and Ash didn’t blame him. He might as well have told him he believed in unicorns. Finally, he said, "Gee, Ash, why don't you just ask her who the killer is? If she's that good, she ought to be able to figure it out. Save us all a lot of time and effort."

  "She doesn't know, says she can't control what she, you know, what she sees.” He sounded crazy even to his own ears. “I know how this sounds. But when she does get something, it's so damned accurate, it's scary."

  "Never thought I'd hear you talking like that about an alleged psychic."

  "No less than I did." Ash heard the shower stop running. "I gotta go. Later, Rad."

  "Be careful, Ash. Just in case we’re....” He stopped before he finished the sentence, and said again, “Just in case.”

  Ash hung up just as Joey stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. He got up, stark naked, and met her halfway across the room, pulling her towel away. She squeaked in surprise, but he silenced her with a kiss. God, she tasted good. Then he picked her up, carried her into the bathroom and turned the shower back on.

  Dr. Benjamin Kramer's office seemed more like a living room, and Joey was glad of the comfort after the hour-plus drive down from Syracuse. Her leg was still sore, but a million times better than it had been the day before. They’d stopped at her house and Ash had made coffee and filled a Thermos he said would keep it hot all day, while Joey had packed a few things. He didn't see her stuff her two caving helmets with headlamps into her duffel bag, and she was glad. She wasn't sure her attempts to get him into a cave would be successful and she was sure they wouldn't if he had time to think about it. She wasn’t even sure today would be the best time to try, but she wanted to have equipment on hand, just in case.

  Ash, she sensed, was a little bit claustrophobic. Maybe a lot. She wanted to help him get over it.

  Shivers of dread had rippled up her spine when she'd entered her bedroom, but the sense of a menacing presence had faded a bit overnight. Still, she packed quickly, wanting to get out of the house as soon as possible.

  Now she reclined in an armchair, extending her aching leg in front of her. Dr. Kramer frowned at her, his bushy gray brows bunching behind round tortoiseshell glasses. Then he pushed a footstool in front of her. She smiled gratefully and propped her leg on it.

  "Recent injury?" He settled himself into a rocker, his paunch protruding slightly over the waistband of cream-colored trousers.

  "Very recent," she replied.

  "Can I get you anything? Aspirin?"

  "No, thank you. It’s not that ba
d."

  He nodded and turned his attention to Ash. “Now then, the reason for this visit. You're interested in serial killers. No doubt due to the string of murders you're investigating for The Chronicle?”

  Ash said, “You know about that?”

  “Of course I do.”

  Of course he did, Joey thought. He was a serial killer expert. He’d probably been following the crimes as closely as she had.

  Ash said, "I'm hoping you can give me an idea of the kind of person we're looking for."

  "Perhaps. The press hasn't been very forthcoming with details. It's difficult to judge without knowing more. Have the murders been particularly grisly?"

  Ash glanced at Joey. "A single slash to the throat, Doctor. The victims bled to death. And there were..." He frowned a little. "Of course, I'm counting on your discretion. None of this is public knowledge."

  "You have my word, Mr. Coye. Believe me, I'd do nothing to jeopardize the investigation. Please, go on."

  Ash bit his lip. "There were cigarette butts found at three of the four scenes."

  Joey stiffened. He hadn't told her that.

  "Any blood on them?"

  "No. And there would be if the killer smoked while killing or if he smoked beforehand, say, while waiting for the victim, and tossed the butt aside. The butts would’ve had blood spatter.”

  Dr. Kramer rubbed his naked chin as if he had a goatee. "A man who slashes, then steps out of the way and calmly smokes while the victim lies bleeding to death." He shook his head. "He's a predator. A hunter. But then, they all are."

  Ash shook his head. "She, Doctor."

  "Ben, please," the doctor admonished with a wave of his hand. "Do go on. What makes you think the killer is a woman?"

  "The butts were ringed with lipstick."

  Kramer smiled slowly and shook his head. "Well, now I see why the police are stumped. They're taking too much for granted."

  Joey blinked. "Are you saying it isn't a woman, Dr. Kramer?"

  He tilted his head to one side. "No, no I can’t say that for certain. There are female serial killers, of course, but the latest studies indicate only about fifteen percent of serial killers are women.”