Lethal in Love

by Michelle Somers

  Better she stick to all work, no play. At least her job was the one scrap of her life she could depend on, where she felt safe.

  Which was weird, considering what she was about to do.

  The screen beside Georgie flickered, the house a fuzzy contrast of black, white and grey in the approaching dark. So sedate. Serene. Innocuous, even. No hint of what was really going on inside.

  She could feel Chase’s gaze at her back, his crystal blue eyes piercing, hankering for more than she was willing to give. They were partners, and that professional boundary should never have been scaled, would never be again. Regardless of what he thought he felt.

  She stepped away from Georgie’s over-alert ears, her hand shifting to cover the mic on her chest. The familiar scent of spice assailed her nostrils as she whispered in Chase’s ear. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It was a mistake.’

  He winced. ‘I know.’

  ‘We work together, for god’s sake.’

  ‘I know, Jayda.’

  ‘Then stop with the wisecracks.’

  ‘I only do it ’cos you’re so easy . . .’ he paused, eyes sparkling, ‘to wind up.’

  She fought the rising boil in her blood. The job was her focus right now, not this wannabe stand-up comedian.

  ‘Leave that to some other wise-ass who’s not my partner.’

  His smile evaporated. ‘You know I’ve got your back, don’t you?’

  She play-punched his bicep. ‘Yeah, I know, you big goofball. I trust you with my life.’

  ‘Just not your heart.’

  She searched his expression. Impossible to tell if he was still serious. She knew he was attracted to her, but love? That was a stretch of mega proportions. And top on her ‘not in this lifetime’ list. Never date or fall in love on the job.

  ‘Chase, we’ve been through this.’

  His expression lightened. ‘Just kidding, Jayda. Geez, better loosen up before you go in. I’ve never met an uptight swinger before.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware you’d met any type of swinger.’ She looked at him then. Really looked. They’d been partners for two years, worked together for the greater portion of that time, saw more of each other than they saw of their own families. Yet how much did she really know about Chase Durant beyond the odd snippets he’d shared?

  Lately, something had felt off. If only she could put her finger on what that something was.

  His gaze darted somewhere in the vicinity of her left shoulder. ‘I haven’t. Stop reading stuff that isn’t there.’

  ‘Now look who’s uptight.’

  ‘You guys ready?’ The techie who’d been sitting silently beside Georgie turned in his chair. ‘The private party’s in the house outside, not my van.’

  Sam Hathaway may have been joking, but it didn’t stop the heat from finding and stamping Jayda’s face. Or the alarm from filling her stomach as she imagined what he was drawing from their behaviour.

  Paranoia wasn’t a valuable commodity when you were about to go deep under cover.

  Chase moved away and slapped the other man’s arm. ‘Stop being such a grouch, Sam.’

  ‘You try sleeping on the couch five nights running and let’s see who’s a grouch.’

  ‘Christine still not talking?’

  Jayda let out a sigh at the shift of spotlight, only half listening to the banter, her mind already on the job.

  ‘Oh, she’s talking alright. In volumes they can hear way down in Patagonia.’

  Georgie’s control panel crackled and all eyes zipped to the man who appeared on the second of the three screens lining the wall.

  ‘Enough of the Oprah bloody heartbreak.’ Detective Inspector Hackett’s voice rumbled out of the speaker. ‘We’ve got an op to run.’

  Jayda sipped sparingly at her citrus martini, willing her racing heartbeat to match the sensual murmur of Marvin Gaye. Not a practised spirit drinker, she calculated she could afford one drink, two at a stretch. They were a necessity to blend in, but she also needed to be sharp. Razor senses were the order of the night. One lapse in attention could be fatal.

  She closed her eyes, inhaling deep and slow. Reminding herself that if her nerves showed, it only served to cement her role here as a newbie. A first-time swinger looking to skirt the boundaries into a world where inhibitions and limitations didn’t exist. Where lines were blurred and sex was free and easy and abundant.

  Gaining admittance had been easier than she’d expected, despite the exclusivity of the club. She’d given Gina’s name as a reference and while not necessary it had paved the way. They were expecting her.

  She’d handed a wad of notes to Clara—the woman who’d answered the door in a black satin corset and stilettos—and won immediate acceptance, after the automatic condolences and niceties, of course. Gina’s murder had hit the news two days earlier.

  Another sip and she opened her eyes, allowing her gaze to skim the dim-lit interior. Low chandeliers flickered from high, cornice-edged ceilings, their shadows providing obscurity to the guests gathered beneath.

  Occasionally she sensed interest, hushed whispers, blatant curiosity and awareness. But as yet, no one had approached, which was fine. It gave her time to scan the layout, get a handle on the group’s dynamics. Work out if a ruthless killer could have wangled his way into their ranks.

  Lemon zinged across her tastebuds as her gaze roamed, the icy vodka cool and refreshing but not nearly sweet enough. The sensation was, however, sophisticated. A perfect fit with the environment.

  Unease shivered up her spine. Stifling the urge to bite her lip, she thrust her shoulders back and turned.

  Premonition hadn’t prepared her for this. Him. Martini clogged in her throat, now drier than the drink itself.

  She swallowed, tried to drag her focus back. Failed.

  Their gazes locked, and steely eyes the grey of a gun barrel charged the distance between them.

  2

  The shaking had to stop.

  Jayda gulped down a not-so-sparing portion of her drink and tightened her grip on the glass. This might be her first time under cover, but that was no excuse for nerves. Or the quiver sending her body into waves of hyper-awareness.

  Intel was the only thing she’d be picking up tonight.

  Get back in the game, Jayda girl. Don’t lose it over something as shallow as broad shoulders and tight pecs. Or eyes with the power of a high-speed vortex.

  Sand rasped her throat. She returned his gaze, with confidence and invitation she anything but felt.

  His brow arched and he turned, revealing a scar that hugged the corner of his right eye. She shivered. What did Bec always say? Bad boys make the best lovers. Great advice from a sister who’d twice married a bad boy and was unashamedly hunting for a third.

  The hunk in the corner met her stare for stare. A bad boy if ever she saw one. Although nothing about him could be mistaken for anything less than a man. One who made her body react in ways it never had before.

  It was the atmosphere. The low lighting, the sultry music, the burn of gardenia and orange blossom incense, the promise of culmination. The knowledge that just metres away, in nearby rooms, couples and groups were getting it on with an abandon Jayda had never before experienced.

  Yeah, it had to be this place.

  And yet, every brush of that penetrating gaze stroked flesh already aware and firing. Blood warming, nipples peaking, beckoning to be touched. By him.

  A face sculpted from the gods. Brick-house shoulders. Firm, lean muscle. His blue shirt hugged a chest broader than should be allowed for common men, tapering down to disappear beneath the waistband of his fitted black pants.

  Her gaze roved lower still. After all, it was expected here. In a club of free love and free expression. If she really were one of them, a swinger, wouldn’t she check out the merchandise? Unabashed. Confident. Brazen.

  It was what she’d been sent here to do—fit in and evaluate the male clientele. Not that she
needed a reason to appreciate the cling of dark fabric against his thighs. No points for guessing he worked out. And she wasn’t talking about weights. Something in his bearing hinted at passion: fervour, wild and unleashed. Hot, sweaty, back-against-the-wall sex.

  The air shifted beside her. She dragged her gaze away from Bad Boy and towards the stranger moving in.

  ‘Hi, I’m Brian.’

  He was older, a couple of years either side of forty. Blond hair, eyes a cold, glacial blue. Your classic order of calculated good looks. Not something that had ever jerked, let alone yanked, her chain.

  ‘I’m Shana.’

  He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘A beautiful name. It suits you.’

  She tried not to cringe, allowing herself a sidelong glance into the corner again. It was empty. The loss wasn’t nearly as sharp as the disgust she directed her way.

  Mind on the job and off your damn libido!

  Bad Boy was attractive. So what? She could handle it, maybe use her reaction to her advantage. It was all part of the act. His presence just made acting all the more easy.

  No matter how hot, he’s a suspect, like every male here. Don’t forget what happened to those other girls.

  Images of cold, broken bodies assaulted her brain. Innocent prey to the devil.

  The grip on her hand tightened. ‘Hey. Are you okay?’

  She tugged free. Game face on, Jayda. ‘Yeah.’

  Brian’s ice-blue scrutiny did nothing but chill her blood. A male version of the Night Terror’s victims.

  ‘I’m here to watch. It’s my first time.’ Words she’d been coached, tailored to allow observation without the pressure of joining activities she neither wanted nor needed.

  Her gaze strayed to the still-empty corner. Several open doors led out from this main front room. He could be through any one of them, and what he’d be doing . . .

  She shivered, met Brian’s stare head-on as she dragged in a deep breath. ‘I’m a friend of Gina’s.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You knew Gina?’

  ‘Everyone here knew Gina.’ The smile bypassed his eyes.

  She tilted her head, eyes wide. ‘Oh. Why’s that?’

  He shot her a quizzical look. ‘She was a party girl. Willing to do pretty much anything.’

  Her heart quickened. ‘Did you see her the night she . . . you know.’ The contacts scraped as she blinked, stemming tears over a woman whose legacy should have amounted to more than Brian’s snide assertion. No matter that the assertion provided new direction to the case.

  ‘Died?’

  She swallowed. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What night was that?’

  ‘Thursday. Two nights ago.’

  His gaze sharpened, piercing her with razor scrutiny.

  Swinger on, internal cop off, Thomasz. Slow down and stop with the interrogation steamroller.

  She gulped. ‘I can’t believe it’s been two days already.’ Fingertips trembling against her lips, she blinked some more. ‘I wonder if anybody here saw her. If at least she was happy those last few hours.’ Her hand tentatively touched his arm. ‘Did you see her then? Do you know?’

  He considered, covering her hand until she tugged it back.

  ‘Don’t believe I saw her. Difficult to remember. One night blends in with the next, know what I mean?’ His lips twisted into what she assumed he meant to be a grin.

  ‘And Joel?’

  ‘Joel?’

  ‘Her boyfriend. Did you know him?’

  That razor scrutiny sharpened. ‘First rule of the scene: no questions. Feel free to reveal whatever you wish,’ his gaze poured slowly down her body, ‘but personal details of other members are off-limits.’

  Irritation made her blush genuine. More difficult to mask the evidence in her eyes. She lowered her gaze to her drink. ‘I–I didn’t realise.’

  ‘I know you’re new, so if you need any help . . . adjusting?’

  His look, his tone, made her feel dirty—as though a million centipedes crawled the length of her skin. She shivered again.

  ‘You’re cold.’ He rubbed his palms over her biceps, his beer breath attacking her nostrils. Her first instinct was to pull away. But other eyes watched her reaction, assessing, analysing. This was a test she daren’t fail.

  ‘Just nerves.’ She forced her lips to curve upward. ‘Sorry for the questions. It’s just . . . I thought Gina had only been a few times. And if I’d known it was without Joel, I might have come with.’

  ‘How well did you know her?’

  ‘Not as well as I thought.’

  One palm remained on her arm, caressing her skin. ‘Sure you don’t want to do any more than watch?’

  She suppressed a shudder. ‘I’m sure. I . . .’ She dropped her gaze, performing a role not so difficult to feign. The innocent, unsuspecting, in search of a change. Her voice wavered and he leaned in to hear.

  ‘I wanted to see what it was like. To see if I could do it.’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  He waited, sharp blue eyes appraising her, weighing every reaction, every word.

  ‘I think I like what I see. So far.’ Injecting just the right mix of shyness and innocence to cement her character, she bit her lip. Stared down at her smarting feet, and heels she couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn. ‘But I’d like to take it slow.’

  ‘That’s a shame, Shana.’

  She startled at the name that wasn’t hers, barely stemming the reaction with a fumbled sip of her drink. The movement gave her an excuse to step out of his grasp. If she was lucky, Brian and her other observers would chalk her reactions up to the nerves of a first-timer.

  He indicated to her almost empty glass. ‘Let me get you another drink.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Brian slipped through a door to her left and she allowed her gaze to wander.

  A delicious fusion of hot and cold rippled through her body as she studied the interaction of singles and couples. To get a feel for the place. Its workings. To understand how a serial killer could infiltrate this closed group simply to stalk and kill an innocent woman.

  Now those facts had changed. How much had Joel Vance known?

  Brian’s words muddled round her mind, looking for a rightful space to settle. Gina was a regular. Not only that, she wasn’t an ‘innocent’ like the vics who came before her. Which meant what? The killer had suddenly changed penchants? Not impossible, but all her instincts screamed it was highly improbable. Which raised questions about Gina’s death and its connection to the other Night Terror victims. Something she’d get her head around when her mind could focus.

  Brian and her refill never returned. Surveillance caught him stealing out the back and into his new model SUV. Before she could say a word, Chase was on it, ordering a tail on his car and a check on his registration. Leaving her free to return her attention to the room.

  With Brian gone, she was seldom alone for long. Others approached, a mix of single men, women and couples, their conversations only serving to cement Brian’s assessment of Gina.

  Around her the air buzzed, her senses buzzing right along with it. She watched with fascination—the come-ons, the blatant sexual displays, the lust.

  And all the while, as she overtly studied the comings and goings, she couldn’t help but covertly look for him. He was just as likely to be of interest as any other male in the room. And while too young to be the Night Terror, he could have knowledge useful to the investigation.

  She had to follow every lead.

  That’s what she told herself as she felt the hot burn of eyes at her back once again. Her goose bumps suddenly sprouted goose bumps of their own, and the hairs on her neck sprung to attention.

  Slowly she turned, knowing exactly who she would find.

  Beneath the muted glow of a nearby chandelier, Seth Friedin took his fill of the figure painted into her slinky top and short butt-hugging skirt.

  He didn’t bother to hide his interest, or the ob
vious appreciation in his eyes, his body. The environment didn’t require it. Tonight may have been about work but that didn’t preclude him from enjoying the perks. The hottie before him included.

  Her cheeks darkened, the flush spreading down her throat to disappear below the neckline of her top. What he couldn’t see, he pictured. Generous scoops of flesh thrusting against the silky, fitted top—how they’d pucker and swell at his touch, fill the curve of his palm to perfection. Would her areolae be dusky pink? Or darker, the shade of sweet, plump raspberries?

  His taste buds sprang to life with an intensity that surprised him, anticipating the flavour, the rich, ripe texture of her skin beneath his tongue. That wasn’t the only portion of his body to spring into gear.

  All thanks to the drought of recent months. It had to be. That and the sex-infused atmosphere of the house were toying with his mind. A mind that had focused on work to the exclusion of everything else lately. Perhaps too much.

  He raised his gaze to meet the unwavering fix of her stare. A pink tongue flicked over the arc of her lips triggering a keen jolt of muscle below. It was a challenge to his libido to ignore the invitation she offered. So he didn’t.

  She was too pretty, too soft and innocent to frequent a joint like this. Not a woman he’d pick as typical to ‘the scene’. But maybe that was a good thing.

  He knocked back the rest of his whiskey and Coke before homing in on his target. After all, she might just be the one he was looking for.

  3

  A panther-like tread brought his magnificent body to a stop before her.

  ‘Enjoying your first time on the scene?’ The voice matched the man; deep and rich, full bodied, sexy as all hell.

  Jayda’s shoulders stiffened. Inexperience was her cover, so she should have been pleased. Only, for some reason she found herself wanting to appear more worldly, more sophisticated for him.

  Ridiculous. Really. Maybe more than disappointment and drink had led her to fall into Chase’s arms. Thank God she hadn’t fallen further. But that didn’t mean falling was out of the question completely.