Lethal in Love

by Michelle Somers

  She made her body relax.

  Once upon a time she’d clung to the misguided delusion of ‘saving herself’. Thanks once again, Liam. For pounding the final nail on that three-studded coffin, then leaving her without a backward glance. She’d never ventured down that path since. Still saving herself for someone worthy of her all. Just as her mother had.

  Bullshit!

  Knots squeezed at her chest.

  That fabled life of love and wedded bliss was a lie. If her parents could walk away after twenty-five years, what was she still waiting for? Perhaps it was time to tend urges other than that to succeed in her career. Time to take the bull by the horns and give him a big, hard yank.

  A deep breath and she met that bull head-on. Grinned. Let every sexy, wicked thought swarm that one look.

  Feather-light fingers skated up her neck, the tips resting under her chin, raising her eyes to meet and melt in his.

  God, she didn’t want those fingers to stop. Wanted them to skate downward, touch every part of her that hadn’t felt a man in way too long.

  ‘No need to be embarrassed. We were all there once.’

  A slow burn rolled out from beneath his touch, the soft murmur of his voice glazing her body, warm and thick like smooth, sinuous caramel.

  Temptation. Not something that mixed well with the job.

  Change might be the answer, but not here. Not now, with her unit listening in and so much on the line.

  ‘You?’

  He blinked and withdrew his hand. ‘Yes, me.’

  ‘How long since you started?’

  ‘Swinging?’

  She nodded.

  He contemplated his drink. ‘How long is a piece of string?’

  She tilted her head. ‘That’s not really an answer.’

  ‘No.’ The admission accompanied a grin that dimpled his chin and made his eyes sparkle. ‘But it’s better than stringing you along with a lie.’

  For some reason her heart stumbled. ‘You make a good point.’ Her gaze roved the surroundings before returning to him. ‘So, help me out here. If no one shares anything personal, how do you work out whether you’re compatible?’

  ‘You feel it.’ He took a step closer. ‘Can you feel it, Shana?’ Caught between the wall at her back and temptation incarnate, she sidestepped, disregarding his question and the heat it aroused. ‘H–how do you know my name?’

  He grinned, undeterred by her evasion. ‘I’m extremely resourceful.’

  Their gazes locked. Impossible to drag her eyes away. What else are you?

  It was a moment before she realised she’d whispered the words aloud. She refused to be embarrassed—the question was necessary, essential to playing a part. Regardless of the impulse that created it.

  ‘I could demonstrate, but I understand you’re only here to observe.’

  She stilled fingers that longed to fidget with the stem of her glass. ‘Yes. And to satisfy my curiosity.’

  ‘Just your curiosity?’

  His entire presence filled the room until there was only him and her and heat. She remembered to breathe. ‘So, what else did you manage to discover?’

  He looked at her blankly.

  She rolled her hand through the air. ‘About me.’

  His expression said he recognised the conversational ice-pack, but he let it go without comment. ‘You’re a friend of Gina’s and a first-timer.’ His gaze softened. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She blinked, the contacts making the show of moisture in her eyes easier. Then she drew in a deep breath. ‘Did you know Gina?’

  ‘Not really. But in these circles, word gets around when someone leaves.’

  ‘What word?’

  ‘This and that.’

  ‘More string, I take it?’

  His grin completely dissolved her knee ligaments and she reached for the wall to steady herself.

  ‘Something like that.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘What was Gina like outside of this place?’

  She feigned hesitation. ‘Fun, but private. In all our years of friendship, I never knew this side of her life existed.’

  ‘That’s not uncommon.’ The tone of his voice dropped. ‘Would you have joined in if you’d known?’

  ‘I . . .’

  This time when he stepped in, she stayed.

  His thumb skimmed along her bottom lip, rubbing sensation across its circumference until she felt the rush of blood there and other deeper, darker places below. She let out a shaky sigh, eyes widening as he closed the distance and dipped his head, firm male lips ducking to meet hers.

  She held her breath, allowing him in. Cementing her cover. This was for Gina, and all those women who’d succumbed to the hand of the Night Terror.

  She smelled pine, a woodsy outdoors kind of scent, and man. Pure, virile, aroused man.

  Her eyes fluttered closed. She leaned in to meet him, heart gunning in her chest, blood thrashing through her veins, making her body heat and soften. His breath warmed her face, the last swig of his whiskey taunting her tastebuds as the whisper of his lips met hers.

  A groan escaped. Hers? Or his?

  Hand and glass dropped to her side. Thankfully, she’d swallowed the last of her martini well before he kissed her.

  His tongue skirted her lips, sweeping away any last resistance, testing and tasting her as if she were everything. Warmth seared her hip, his palm brushing there, and lower, fingers sinking deep into her flesh, pulling her inward. Her body sighed, sank into him, meeting and melding with heat and hard male muscle. All the while her body buzzed with the promise of more.

  Static shrilled in her ear. She flinched. Jerked back.

  Room and reality shot into cruel, harsh focus, leaving what could have been and what was in a tug of war with her conscience.

  Chase’s voice echoed in her earpiece. ‘They’ve found another victim. We have to go.’

  Her blood chilled, even while her heart still seemed determined to escape her ribcage. Her gaze darted towards the door.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  His hand left her chin as she fought for breath. And sense.

  She grabbed his wrist as it drew away, ‘Oh my god! The time!’ She stared at the Omega watch face, the hot skin beneath her fingers zapping her anew, before she let go to grip her cool empty glass with two hands. ‘I was supposed to meet my sister half an hour ago.’ The practised words left her lips with superficial confidence.

  ‘Really?’ Left eyebrow raised, the word oozed scepticism.

  ‘Bad enough that I’m late, she’ll kill me if I don’t show.’

  Her tone was unequivocal, even as she searched for a place to offload her glass. There was none, of course. She thrust it towards him and those long, sure fingers wrapped it inside. His gaze never once strayed from hers.

  ‘Thank you for— It was— I mean—’ Yep, there it was. The unmistakable proof. Her entire unit listening in and she couldn’t string more than three words together. Training hadn’t prepared her for that kiss.

  Not that she expected much when her entire blood supply had rushed south with the promise of—

  She shook her head. If only her flustered innocence could be chalked up to acting.

  His gaze narrowed, and she pounced before he could call her bluff. ‘See you around sometime.’

  Her legs carried her to the front door, leaving her brain a few steps behind. She fumbled with the lock. Second try, it gave way. Steeling herself not to turn for one last mind-melting look, she slipped into the cool evening air and tugged the door closed behind her. The clatter of her heels down the front steps did nothing to calm her nerves.

  A narrow escape, thanks to Chase.

  Her mind whirled, spinning-top style. Holy hell!

  This stranger with fathomless eyes and the scent of a forest meadow. She didn’t know his name, but she knew she’d been willing to kiss him, and more. She was certain she would have done more. And she couldn’t blame the drink—she’d hardly had any. Was it the a
tmosphere in the house? She’d be kidding herself if she said yes.

  It was her. And him. Her burning need and some indefinable, uncontrollable attraction. How could she have reached twenty-seven and never have experienced that before?

  The ground rose before her as she stumbled. A crack in the pavement. Fatal and dangerous, if you didn’t take care. Lessons she should well keep in mind.

  She rounded the corner and approached the black ‘Antenna Solutions’ truck hugging the curb.

  A cat skittered across her path and she froze, willing her nerves to get a grip. He had her unsettled, frazzled. Men didn’t do that to Jayda Thomasz. Not anymore. She was unsusceptible to them, their wiles. Had a lifetime of fortification around her emotions to prevent exactly what had just taken place.

  The job had been her single-minded focus for the past seven years. A moment’s fancy couldn’t be allowed to change that.

  One slip. That’s all it was. And damn certain it would never happen again.

  ‘What’ve we got, Teddy?’

  Jayda braced her stomach as the stench of decomposing flesh hit her nostrils. The reek of urine from the adjacent lane didn’t help. Or the overflowing dumpsters, a consequence of the council rubbish collectors’ rolling strikes. The reason this victim wasn’t found as quickly as the others. That and the fact she wasn’t displayed so publicly and proudly.

  Only the occasional car horn and rumble of a city tram disturbed the deceptive calm of the blind alley; reminders they were standing in the hub of Melbourne’s city centre.

  Medical examiner Rod Bearinger glanced up and nodded. ‘Chase. Jayda.’

  He pushed up with his cane, leaning heavily against the brass T-handle, his bespectacled gaze giving Jayda a once-over. ‘Big night out?’

  ‘I wish.’ She tugged at the dipping neckline of her top. ‘Undercover op. But because I’m lead on the case . . .’

  ‘. . . you had to bail? Well, good for you. Your dad must be proud.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Warmth flooded her cheeks. She ignored the butterflies in her chest, gesturing instead towards the woman who deserved their undivided attention. ‘Same MO?’

  ‘Looks that way. Although discovery took longer this time. I’d place time of death around seventy-two hours, possibly more. Which makes her victim number seven, not eight.’

  He pushed back a strand of grey hair with his wrist and waved a gloved hand towards the victim. ‘Proximate COD appears to be asphyxia by strangulation. Body propped up against the wall. Eyes open. Blistering around the mouth, white chemical burns on the surrounding skin. I’ll get the lab to check it out, but from the look of it, I’d say concentrated hydrogen peroxide.’

  ‘And the finger?’

  Leaning heavily against his cane, he bent and lifted the woman’s left hand. ‘Ring finger severed. Surgical incision at the proximal inter-phalangeal joint. Only difference is what appears to be a nick in the proximal phalanx.’

  He pointed to a small but clear indentation in the bone. ‘Usually a cut of this nature indicates hesitation. Sometimes, even rushing or impatience. Not that I would have linked either of these with our killer before now. I’ll know more when I get her onto my table.’

  ‘Do we have an ID?’ Chase’s breath fanned the hair at the back of Jayda’s neck.

  She edged sideways, giving him space that didn’t invade her own. The discomfort, she shrugged off. She was being ridiculous.

  ‘Sure do.’ Teddy’s baritone interrupted thoughts better left till never.

  ‘Angelique Sutton. Twenty-three.’ He handed Chase an evidence bag containing a hot pink Cara Vinelli wallet, opened to reveal a Victorian driver’s licence.

  Jayda braced the hem of her skirt and crouched beside the body, eyes searching. Eventually he’d slip up. He had to. And when he did, that vital clue wouldn’t escape unnoticed. She would catch the bastard and see he rotted in a steel six-by-eight until the end of his days.

  Chase’s hand shook as he handed her a pen. Good to know he shared her anger.

  With the nib, she lifted a blonde curl from Angelique’s forehead. The hair was coarse, dry, as if bleached without care or conditioner. Recently, too, considering the absence of dark roots to match the chestnut of her eyebrows and lashes.

  She inspected lower. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Wondered if you’d notice.’ Teddy leaned over the top of his cane again. ‘Needle mark below the left earlobe, indicating an injection into the glossopharyngeal nerve.’

  Jayda’s gaze wandered beyond the body. ‘I assume no needle was found at the scene?’

  ‘You got it in one. Won’t know what was injected until we do a tox screen. But lividity suggests she was killed elsewhere, then posed here.’ Straightening, he nudged his specs with the back of his hand. ‘I’m all done here. Once you’re finished I’ll organise to get her back to the lab.’

  Teddy limped towards the white coroner’s van. Seemed his hip had flared up again. Weird that in a modern, non-wartime society, gout still existed. She’d always associated the ailment with older, ex-military men; Grandfather Joe’s generation.

  Chase moved to stand beside her. ‘He’s evolving. What’s the bet it’s propofol diluted with lidocaine again?’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘Two vics with needle marks. What do you figure that’s about?’

  She straightened, her mind racing.

  First Gina Hennessey, then Angelique Sutton. Two deaths that didn’t add up. Never had she been more certain.

  ‘It’s not the Night Terror.’

  4

  ‘How can you be sure?’ Chase stared at the lifeless human remains, his expression imperceptible. ‘Everything else fits, including the bleach around the mouth. Something we’ve successfully kept from the media. How would a copycat know about that? And let’s face it, it’s not unusual for these sons of bitches to change MO.’

  ‘I can’t explain how he knows what he knows, but something doesn’t feel right.’

  Chase leaned in, his breath an uncomfortable itch against her ear. ‘Could be that’s nothing on our vic and more about you locking lips with Mr Macho.’

  She stepped back, shooting him a dagger-tipped glare. Just as she’d started to believe her slip in good sense had gone unnoticed, he’d delivered a right hook straight to her false sense of security. If he’d identified that moment of silence in the house for what it was, all bets were on that the rest of the team had too.

  She laced those daggers with venom. ‘Never heard of playing a part?’

  ‘You were playing alright. I’m just not convinced it was an act.’

  ‘Get a grip on that little green monster, Chase. This is work. If you can’t handle it, maybe I need a new partner.’

  His smile slipped. ‘Damn, Jayda. I was just ribbing.’

  ‘I don’t give a rat’s. Take your ribbing and shove it.’

  ‘Since when did you lose your sense of humour?’

  ‘Since when did you become an ass?’

  He opened his mouth, a whirlwind of thought traipsing across his face before he clamped his lips and cleared his throat. ‘Just because there’s a shift in MO for the last two vics, doesn’t mean there’s more than one killer.’

  ‘Not always, but in this case it does. The injections. That hesitation mark. They mean something. The Night Terror’s never anything but precise. Hence, the reason he’s never been caught.’

  She gestured towards Angelique. ‘Here’s a woman who is immaculate in almost every way. Expensive makeup, hands well cared for, nails long and manicured. Her dress sense is impeccable. That shirt is Gianni Alessandro and wouldn’t cost a cent less than three hundred bucks. Yet her hair looks like it’s been dumped into a bucket of bleach. That wasn’t her doing. It was the killer’s, post-mortem. He wanted her to be blonde, to fit the vic profile.’

  She squared her gaze on his. ‘Someone else killed Angelique and Gina. Someone who wanted their deaths to look like the Night Terror’s.’

  ‘I guess that makes sense. Disgruntled boyfrien
d or partner kills the missus and frames it to look like the serial killer monopolising the media at the moment. But why two girls?’

  ‘I don’t know. To perpetuate a pattern? My guess is Angelique was practice. The hesitation indicates inexperience, maybe even remorse. And unfortunately for Gina, once he discovered he could kill, he went after his real target. This bastard is sick, alright. But he’s not the Night Terror.’

  Chase’s brows dipped into an almost perfect vee. ‘All great theories, but why don’t we wait for Teddy’s results before making snap judgements.’

  She bit back the words itching to leap from her tongue and slap his confounded complacency. What was up with him? Ever since this case . . .

  It had to be the case. Twenty-five years of silence and the Night Terror re-emerges—it had thrown them all. Everyone in the squad wanted to catch the bastard and bring him to the justice he’d dodged last time round.

  That had to be it.

  Chase hadn’t lost his edge, he was just stunned with the killer’s return. He’d back her up when push came to shove. They were a team, worked well together. And no two-bit psycho—or momentary lapse in judgement—would change that.

  ‘You’re late.’ Bec’s pink-painted lips dipped into her usual conspiratorial grin.

  Jayda retaliated with an eye-roll and lack-of-sleep grumble. ‘Good morning to you too.’

  Her sister’s grin widened. ‘If only more than a love affair with your job was keeping you from our crazy addiction to pain, sweat and tears.’ Barely a breath, she continued, Bec-style. ‘Unless there’s a new distraction on the horizon? Or in your bedroom? Last night’s hot date transforming into Sunday morning sex?’ Perfectly sculpted eyebrows played hide and seek with her side-swept fringe, underlining an expression both ridiculous and hopeful.

  Jayda offloaded her gym bag and jacket before joining her sister at the back of the class. With any luck Bec would assume the rush to class put the burn on her face, not truth in her words. Not that there was any. Blue-grey gun-barrel eyes notwithstanding.