A fantasy built in her mind. Him, standing behind her with his hands creeping under her clothes, telling her what he intended to do in his rough, deep voice. Her eyes closed, and her head fell back as she pictured his mouth on her skin. Slick tension dampened her folds between her legs. She set the guitar down, ready to play another instrument.
Slipping her hand inside the robe, she played with her clit, imagining the two of them naked and entwined. Would he be a tender lover, coaxing her into ecstasy with his fingers and mouth? Or would he be rough and passionate, grabbing at her hair, and making her come with his powerful thrusts? Maybe he’d be both, starting gently, and then losing control. Her breath and strokes quickened.
Orgasm came quickly, and swept over her hard, stiffening her toes as her hips rocked forward. Her womb clenched and shuddered in sated aftershocks as she went limp. That had been one her better self-inflicted climaxes. Whatever else happened in real life with Ben, this fantasy was staying on tap for future reference. Business intruded on her bliss. Should I write a pro-masturbation song for Aggi? It was risky but possible. With women refusing to be silenced on both their experiences and their pleasure, the time might be right.
She detuned the guitar to prevent the neck from warping. As she put it back in its case, she noticed the cardboard storage box was askew.
Opening it, she saw a flat white square box inside. A plain, cardboard jewelry box. One she hadn’t put there. Her heart pounded as she slowly lifted the lid.
Katie,
I didn’t want to disturb your practice. I hope you’ll enjoy this small trinket of my affection.
I remain your faithful admirer and servant, Walter.
Chapter 13
This was a mistake. I should have stayed at the motel. Ben slammed the rental car’s door. Being at the same hotel as Katie was already testing his willpower.
Ray’s phone blared an infectious song. The female singer blared out, “Pet me once, pet me twice, but if you want my advice? Watch the claws—”
Ben glared at his partner. Ray waved at him in dismissal as he prepared to go into the hotel. Ray froze, and turned around. His sober expression sent the first spike of adrenaline coursing through Ben’s veins.
“Slow down, Katie—”
Second spike. Ben reached for his gun.
“Where’s Orlund?” Ray asked. A silent moment. “Shit. Just stay there.”
Ben didn’t wait to hear more. He charged into the hotel’s stairwell. Hang on. I’m coming.
He took the stairs two at a time. Thank God for sadistic trainers. His made him do stair climbs at least twice a month. The blood thudded through his chest, creating a dull roar in his ears. Four more floors. His breath rasped in his throat. His legs burned from effort, but he didn’t slow. He needed to get to her. Two more.
He reached the penthouse level, and yanked on the door.
Nothing.
Belatedly, he remembered hotel security. No access to a floor without a keycard. Furious, he slammed his fist against the wall, hoping someone would hear. Come on. Visions of Katie lying hurt and alone made it hard to think. I need to get through.
He leaned back, and kicked the door with all the weight of his concern and determination. His foot made solid contact with the door, hitting the weak spot below the knob.
The door held.
The frame did not.
A long crack opened in the split trim.
Ben backed up as far as the landing would let him. Then he launched.
His shoulder smashed into the door. With the weight of his body behind the blow, the frame gave way entirely.
Ben staggered past the wreckage, nearly landing on his face from his momentum. There was no sign of Orlund in the hall. No sign of any security. At all.
He ran to Katie’s door. Locked.
The elevator opened as Ben prepared to kick the door down.
“Wait!” Ray shouted, sprinting forward. “I have the keycard.”
“Open it,” Ben ordered through clenched teeth. If she’s bleeding out, seconds could count.
Once Ray fumbled the card into the reader, Ben shoved the door open. Katie’s suite was quiet. No overturned furniture, or broken bits of glass and ceramic on the carpet. No one lurking in the corners.
“It’s Ray and Ben from Special Investigations,” Ray called.
“I’m in here.”
The words were barely a whisper. Ben rushed into the bedroom.
She crouched in the corner, a slim black phone locked in her hand. Her brilliant hair was slick and dark, still damp from a shower. She clutched her white cotton robe together at the neck.
No wounds. She was pale, but not shocky pale from blood loss. Her big green eyes met his, and her shoulders slumped in relief.
“Are you hurt?” He ran his hands lightly over her arms and shoulders before skimming up to cup her face.
His actions were automatic, checking for injuries the victim might not have felt due to shock. But when his fingers touched her bare skin, it stopped being professional. His hands sizzled as if from an electric shock, though far more potent. The buzz locked him into place, and overwhelmed him with sensory input. The softness and warmth of her skin. The faint scent of freesia in the air between them.
She shook her head slowly, once, then twice. Answering the question he’d forgotten asking. Then she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him, and burying her face in his shoulder.
He held her close, inhaling the sweet scent of her damp hair, and sending up silent prayers of gratitude. She’s safe.
Abruptly he realized that she was naked underneath the thin layer of dimpled cloth. Arousal sent a rush of heat swirling from his brain to his stiffening erection. She was still clinging to him. He eased himself to one side, so she wouldn’t feel the bulge. I have to get my mind out of the gutter. Be what she needs right now.
“Katie?” Aggi’s shout broke the spell.
As Katie’s head lifted, her grip on him loosened. Ben stepped back, and drew the edges of the robe together to cover her. Her sister burst into the room, eyes wide.
“I heard shouting.”
“We had a visitor.” Ray held up an evidence bag containing a small jewelry box.
“Where the hell is Orlund?” Ben demanded, physical frustration sharpening his irritation. “He was supposed to be watching.”
“I called you first,” Katie said quietly. She didn’t seem distraught anymore, standing calmly beside her sister.
She called Ray. Ben’s fingers scraped over his scalp as if they could dislodge the unpalatable conclusion.
“FBI!” Orlund charged into the room, gun drawn.
The agent’s day-late-and-a-penny-short shout gave Ben the perfect target for his temper.
“He was here,” Ben informed the man who had failed to keep Katie safe.
“Left a present.” Ray lifted up another evidence bag, this one containing a short length of sparkling gems. “Quite a nice one. I’m not an expert, but I know a rhinestone from a diamond. These are real, and worth several grand.”
“It was in my guitar case.” Katie’s voice broke on the last word.
He’s escalating. Leaving the bracelet inside the hotel room sent a clearer message than the three sentence note. The box had been left in Katie’s bedroom, out of sight. That spoke to planning, and a sense of purpose. The unsub wanted Katie frightened, but wasn’t finished playing yet. He still had a remnant of self-control.
Ben’s gaze fell on Orlund. “Where were you?”
“I went for coffee.” The man’s apology hit a false note.
“I’m fine, I promise,” Katie said.
Her firm reassurance soothed her sister, but Ben caught the hitch in Katie’s voice before she spoke. This show of strength was just that, a show.
Katie shrugged off her sister’s hands. “Agent Morgan, is there anything more you need to do?”
“No. We have the note and the bracelet,” Ray answered.
“Then I’d like to have some privacy to get dressed for the show.” Katie’s voice held steady.
As if nothing happened. Ben dropped his gaze to his shoes to avoid staring at the creamy expanse of neck disappearing into her robe.
“I’m staying,” Aggi insisted.
“Fine. But everyone else can wait in the main room.” Cool, professional, and distant. Nothing like the woman who’d been shaking in his arms a few minutes before.
Ben followed Ray and Orlund out of the bedroom, wondering if he was reading her signals correctly. It was the first rule that Adler taught. If someone wants a conclusion to be true, they’ll find the evidence to fit. His fingers still tingled from their brief contact, and he could smell the hint of freesia on them. He was nowhere near objective when it came to her.
Orlund loudly issued orders into his phone.
Ben stepped in front of him. “Did you search the room?”
“Of course.” Orlund began to turn away.
“Everywhere?” Ben growled. The three syllables sounded more feral than human. His hand tightened on the FBI agent’s shoulder.
Orlund yanked loose. “What are you implying?”
“I want to know if the box was here when she arrived, or if the unsub got in while you were supposed to be guarding the door.” Did the unsub watch while she showered? The urge to hit something was overwhelming after that thought.
“I don’t answer to you, Special Investigations.” Stalking to the hallway door, Orlund hauled it open, and left.
Before the door could close again, Bernice walked in. “Aggi, darling? Tell Katie to take care of it, and we can be on our way to dinner.” She spotted Ray, and immediately spread her lips in a predatory smile. “Why Investigator Corwin, I didn’t know you were here.”
“Always a pleasure.” Ray gave no hint of irritation as he took the woman’s hand.
“Is Katie still giving you trouble?” Bernice clucked, clinging to him. “She always had a vivid imagination.”
“She’s not making this up,” Ben growled, pointing to the evidence bags.
Greed lit up the older woman’s eyes. “Someone gave her this?”
“We can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.” Ray put his fingers to his lips, and winked as if to imply he’d be willing to comment later.
“So someone left her a tennis bracelet.” Bernice sniffed. “In my day, we called that a compliment. We certainly didn’t bother strong, handsome men like yourself about it.”
“Mother, I asked you to wait for me across the hall.” Aggi had emerged when they’d been distracted.
Katie stood behind her, wearing a fitted jacket that cupped her full breasts and slender waist like a lover’s hands. Ben shoved his imagination back into a box before it could get him into more trouble.
“Aggi, darling, I was worried.” Bernice’s hand fluttered to her chest. “And aren’t you supposed to be resting your voice? Honestly, if Katie can’t take care of matters, you should hire someone else to deal with them. And we should talk about the security people downstairs. They don’t give the right impression.”
“We’re following the experts’ recommendation,” Katie said coolly.
“I’d rather take precautions and look foolish than risk Katie’s safety,” Aggi replied, squeezing her sister’s hand.
Bernice scoffed. “She’s overreacting to fan mail. Honestly, it’s embarrassing. And it will make your fans uncomfortable. They might hesitate to buy tickets to your shows if they don’t feel welcome.”
“Enough.” The double syllable whipped from Katie’s lips. “She’s right. You should be maintaining silence to rest your voice. Go ahead to dinner, and I’ll see you backstage.”
Ben was fairly certain only he noticed the split-second spasmodic trembling of Katie’s hands, evidence she wasn’t as confident as she appeared.
“You can’t talk to me like that.” Bernice straightened indignantly.
“Mom, stop,” Aggi pleaded. “Let’s go.”
Katie watched her sister and stepmother leave, her stiff limbs betraying her weariness. Ben wanted to go to her, and support her. Emotionally, physically, it didn’t matter. She could stand on her own, but she didn’t seem to have anyone she could turn to. Her sister relied on her, the business depended on her, and the demands never seemed to end.
He stayed in place, unwilling to test his interpretation by acting on it. Especially in front of others. But one thing was certain. Managing this case from a distance was over. From now on, wherever she went, he would be behind her.
Chapter 14
“Why send me the dress and bracelet?” Katie asked as they walked into the venue. “That’s the part I don’t understand.”
Every time Ben looked at her, he struggled to keep his mind focused. “He thinks of himself as an artist. The dress and the bracelet are part of the image he wants to create.”
Katie entered a security code to unlock the door. “Great. My stalker is the stylist from Hell.”
Ray touched her shoulder. “I know it doesn’t make sense. And it shouldn’t, because you’re a caring, well-adjusted person. He isn’t. He sees others as objects, living toys to manipulate any way he wants.”
Ben curled his fingers into his jeans, resisting the urge to knock Ray’s hand away.
“How certain are you?” She drew a strand of auburn hair over her shoulder, and twisted it between her fingers. “You said you don’t know the man who’s stalking me.”
He didn’t blame her for doubting. Profiling could still be a controversial tool. It depended on accurate information to get useful results. “We don’t know his name, or where he lives, but we can know what drives him. Actions define people, and the more effort they exert, the more important it is to them. The stalking, the letters, the post-mortem posing, all of those take an enormous amount of work and time. That tells us this is an obsession. It’s probably all he thinks about, it defines his existence.”
She nodded slowly. “I’ve seen similar stuff before. People who say they want to do something, but never take the first step. Too bad this guy isn’t a poser more interested in bragging rights than accomplishments. Do you deal with this a lot in Special Investigations?”
“I worked in the Behavior Analysis Unit before I joined Special Investigations. I analyzed a number of killers.” Ben noted the increased signs of anxiety. Twisting her hair faster, restless fidgeting, avoiding eye contact. The last thing he wanted was to erode her confidence in their ability to protect her.
Her eyes met his. “That must be intense. It would be hard to find the positive after immersing yourself into evil.”
You need to laugh more, or your job will give you a heart attack, big brother. Ben could still hear Peter’s words in his mind. Most people found his work fascinating in a morbid, accident-gawking kind of way. Not many considered the impact such work would have on his soul.
“Katie, we’re ready for you,” the makeup artist interrupted.
She stood, and her eyes met Ben’s. “You’ll be here when I’m done?”
“Absolutely,” Ben replied quietly.
Ray waited until she left before he spoke. “The sexual tension between you two is worse than season five of a will-they-won’t-they sitcom.”
“Shut up,” Ben growled.
“No need to get pissed at the color commentator when the play isn’t going the way you want.” Ray paused. “You’re really upset. Why?”
Ben’s gaze dipped down to the phone in Ray’s hand.
“My phone? What . . . oh, I see it. She called me, not you.”
It was stupid. And th
at didn’t matter. Ben’s gut twisted remembering only hearing half the call.
“You do recall not giving her your number, right? Because you were in your isolated-protector phase.”
Logic wouldn’t stop Ben’s emotional reaction.
“And she didn’t hold on to me once we arrived.” Ray lowered his voice. “I’m also not the man who tore through this hotel to get to her. I may not know how this will play out, but the connection between you is too strong to ruin it with petty jealousy.”
Ben’s phone rang. When he saw Adler’s number, his pulse thudded faster. “Hello?”
“Investigator Morgan,” her smooth voice replied. “Since you’ve concluded the investigation into today’s note, I presume you would like to receive the information we have assembled about your unsub.”
“How did you know about the note?” If he hadn’t been distracted, Ben would have known better than to ask the question.
“We were notified of the police call to Miss Ballard’s hotel. There were no additional calls for medical or coroner services. Clearly, the unsub struck again, but not in a way which caused harm. Delivering a note would be within his normal pattern of behavior.”
Someday she’ll be wrong. Ben wasn’t sure if he was looking forward to it or not. “Okay, what have you found?”
“An additional five cases involving the unsub, ones where the targets apparently failed his initial test of contact. Lucy will send you the particulars. We traced the fabric from the dress. It is a rare type of heavy silk, not available for commercial sale, and only available through one online distributor. There were four deliveries to California in the last year. Three were to design houses, and one to a private mailbox.”
“That last one must be the Director,” Ray said in excitement. “We can go—”
“Unnecessary, Mr. Morgan,” Adler interrupted. “We examined the records. The picture on the driver’s license is a stock image, the card number is not one issued by the state of California, and the address is an apartment building which was demolished ten years ago. In short, it is a forgery. The most significant information from the delivery is the date it occurred, four months ago.”
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