Chill Factor (17 page)

THE INTRUDER ROUGHLY GRABBED HER HAND, PULLED IT around to her
back,
and pressed her palm against his exposed penis. Marilee gasped in
shock. He folded her fingers around his erection and moved her hand up
and down.

She could see their reflection in the cheval glass across the
room.
It was an old-fashioned piece that had come to her through her mother
and maternal grandmother. Wide oval mirror, cream-colored wood with
pink roses painted on it.

But there was nothing quaint about the reflection caught in it
now.
It was carnal. Raw. Erotic. In the semidarkness she saw herself in her
short, skimpy nightgown. He was in shadow. All she could make out of
him was a watch cap and a pair of eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

Nudging the furrow between her buttocks, he whispered, "Lower
your
gown."

She shook her head, slowly at first, then more decisively.
"No."

Before she could react, he yanked the straps of her nightgown
off
her shoulders. It fell as far as her waist, leaving her breasts
exposed. At once he had both arms around her, mashing her breasts
against her chest.

Marilee moaned.

"Shh," he hissed sharply.

She clamped her teeth over her lower lip.

He slid one hand down the center of her body and tried to work
it
between her thighs. "Open them."

"Please—"

"Open them."

She moved her feet apart a few inches.

"Wider." She hesitated, then did as he ordered. He pushed his
fingers into her. She met his eyes in the mirror; they seemed to be
alight. "Get on your knees and put your face to the mattress."

Planting her knees on the edge of the bed, she bent forward
until
her cheek was resting on the mattress. His hands were hot as he
caressed her, separated her, exposed her. The tip of his penis probed
and teased before he thrust into her.

Convulsively her hands gripped the sheet beneath her as
tightly as
her body clenched around him. He groaned and pressed deeper. "Say it,
what am I doing to you?"

She mumbled a reply into the mattress.

"Louder."

She repeated the word and rocked back against him.

"You're going to come, aren't you?" His strokes became
shorter,
faster.

On a serrated sigh, she moaned "Yes."

The orgasm left her damp and weak and deliriously happy. It
was just
beginning to wane when she felt his climax. As he held her hips between
his hands, his entire body strained and pulsed. She came again, her
orgasm smaller this time but no less satisfying.

After catching her breath, she crawled forward onto the bed,
then
rolled over and reached for him. "That was exciting." He knew all her
fantasies because she had told them to him. They didn't always act them
out, but she loved when they did.

He took her breasts in his hands and rubbed his thumbs across
her
hard nipples. "You like to be scared."

"I must, or I wouldn't have you sneaking in here." They shared
a
long and languid kiss. When they finally broke apart, she touched his
face lovingly. "Did you catch my act in the bathroom?"

"Couldn't you feel me watching?"

"Honestly, yes. The instant I came into the room, I knew you
were
here. I wanted to draw out the striptease longer. Maybe, you know,
touch myself."

"I'd like that."

"Another time. It was too cold tonight. In fact, because of
the
weather, I didn't expect you."

He kissed his way down the center of her torso, then knelt
between
her open thighs. As he pressed his face into her, he groaned, "I can't
stay away from this."

Outside Marilee's bedroom, William listened at the door for a
few
more minutes, then, smiling smugly, barely suppressing a chuckle,
silently crept back down the dark hallway to his own room.

Tierney's question took Lilly off guard. She stared at him,
too
shocked to respond.

"Maybe I should have led up to it gracefully, rather than just
springing it on you like that," he said. "I'm usually more subtle."

More subtle when inviting a woman to sleep with him. And how
often
was that, she wondered, although she was reasonably sure it was often.
She was equally sure that few who were invited turned him down.

Her carefree laugh was totally false. "Should I be flattered
or
offended? Why don't you think a more subtle approach would work with
me?"

"None of the rules apply to you, Lilly."

"Why not?"

"You're too smart and too beautiful."

"I'm not beautiful. Attractive, perhaps, but not beautiful."

"You are. I thought so the minute you stepped aboard that bus."

She had been several minutes late and the last to board the
bus, she
recalled. She'd stood facing the others, looking for a seat. Tier-ney
had been sitting in the third row, next to the window. The aisle seat
beside him was vacant. They'd made eye contact. She returned his smile
but didn't accept his silent invitation to sit beside him. Instead she
moved past and took the aisle seat in the row behind him.

The doors closed and the bus pulled out. Their guide for the
excursion stood up in the aisle to welcome them all. He gave a
ten-minute spiel about safety and what they could expect during their
day on the French Broad River. His jokes were lame, but she laughed
politely, as did Tierney.

When the guide finished his cheerful speech and sat down
behind the
driver, others in the group began chatting among themselves. Tierney
turned to her.

I'm Ben Tierney.

Lilly Martin.

Pleased to meet you, Lilly Martin.

"You looked great that day," he said.

She knew she should stop this conversation here. It was
violating
the ground rules she'd laid down about keeping their minds on practical
matters and leaving anything personal out of the situation. But the
woman in her wanted to hear what he had to say.

She frowned at him dubiously. "In my kayaking getup?"

"Black spandex has never looked so good."

"Untrue, but thanks anyway."

"You introduced yourself by your maiden name. I didn't learn
until
my next trip to Cleary that the Lilly Martin I'd met on the river was
in fact Mrs. Burton, estranged wife of Dutch, newly hired chief of
police."

"I used my maiden name professionally. Once I'd filed for
divorce, I
started using it all the time. Who told you that Dutch and I were
married?"

"An old man named Gus Elmer. Do you know him?"

She shook her head.

"He's the owner of the lodge where I stay when I'm in the
area.
Colorful character. Always eager to talk to his guests. Without making
it too obvious, I asked him if he knew of a Lilly Martin who had a
cabin in the vicinity."

"And got an earful."

He smiled crookedly. "If Gus had any qualms against gossp,
bourbon
cleared his conscience. By the time the bottle was empty, I knew the
basic facts about you, including Amy's death. That explained a lot."

"About?"

He gave careful consideration to his answer. "That day on the
river,
I noticed that every time you laughed, you seemed to catch yourself in
the act, and you would stop. Suddenly. Your smile would vanish. The
sparkle would go out of your eyes.

"At the time, it threw me. I wondered why you'd trip a switch
to
stop having fun. It was like you didn't have a right to enjoy yourself,
like it was wrong for you to be having a good time."

"That's it exactly, Tierney."

"Enjoying yourself makes you feel guilty, because Amy is dead
and
you're alive."

"According to my grief counselor, yes."

His perception of her was uncanny. He seemed to know the
contents of
every secret chamber of her heart. Apparently he'd been able to read
her mind even on the day they met. It felt good to talk freely about
Amy, but his insight was disconcerting.

He eased himself onto the hearth beside her. "Tonight, when
you told
me in your own words about Amy's death, I recognized the sadness in you
that I'd noticed that day on the river."

"I'm sorry."

"Why apologize?"

"Sorrow makes people uncomfortable."

"Maybe other people. Not me."

She looked at him curiously. "Why is that?"

"I admire how you've tried to conquer it."

"Not always successfully.*

"But the important thing is that you didn't give in to it." He
didn't add,
Like your husband
, but that was what
he was
implying.

"Be that as it may, no one wants to be around a sad sack," she
said.

"I'm still here."

"You can't escape. We're stranded, remember?"

"I'm not complaining. In fact, I have a confession. I'm glad
you and
I are here alone, cut off from the rest of the world." His voice
dropped to a lower pitch. "This conversation began with a question."

"No, I won't sleep with you."

"Hear me out, Lilly. We could conserve heat, even generate it,
by
undressing and snuggling under a pile of blankets. Our combined body
heat would help keep us warm."

"Hmm, I see. You're suggesting it strictly out of necessity."

"Not strictly. About seventy-five percent."

"It's the other twenty-five that concerns me."

He reached out and claimed a strand of her hair, but unlike
when he
touched it in the car, he didn't immediately let it go. He rubbed it
between his fingers. "I've wanted you from day one. Why waste time on
subtlety when I'm absolutely sure you knew it from the start? I want
you under me.

"But—and this is important—nothing will
happen until I know you want
it, too. It stops at snuggling for warmth." He spread his fingers and
watched the strands of her hair sift through them, then met her eyes
again. "I swear."

Looking into his eyes, hearing the sincerity in his husky
voice, she
trusted him to keep his word. Well, sort of. That had been an awfully
arousing profession of desire.

What she didn't trust was the situation. She tried to imagine
herself and Tierney lying together, even partially unclothed, hugging
one another for warmth without any sexual exploration or
experimentation. Who did he think he was kidding? Himself, perhaps, but
not her.

Not that the sky would fall if they submitted to their
attraction.
Her sensual impulses were certainly green-lighting the idea. But she'd
known him for all of… what? Counting that day on the river,
she'd spent
a total of perhaps fifteen hours with him. Even in this age of sexual
permissiveness and self-gratification without regard for consequences,
that was a little too accelerated for her.

All she really knew about him was that he was a good listener
and
could write an entertaining and concise magazine article. Was she ready
to be physically intimate with a man about whom so little was known?
Women of the younger generation would call her old-fashioned, prudish,
and cowardly. She preferred thinking of herself as intelligently
cautious.

"No, Tierney. My answer remains no."

"All right." He gave her a crooked half smile. "Honestly, if
the
roles were reversed, I wouldn't trust me either." He stood up. "On to
plan B. We shut the vents in the bedroom and bath, close off those
rooms entirely, and confine ourselves in here, where we have a small
reserve of heat.

"I could bring the mattress off the bed and put it near the
fireplace for you. I'll sleep on one of the sofas, a safe yard and a
half away from you. But if you don't want even that much togetherness,
I'll certainly understand."

She came to her feet and dusted off the seat of her trousers.
"Plan
B makes perfect sense."

"Glad you agree. I'll get right on it." He headed for the
bedroom.

"Tierney?"

He stopped and turned back.

"Thank you for accepting my decision without further argument.
You're being awfully nice about it."

He looked at her for several beats, then closed the distance
between
them in two long strides. "I'm not that nice."

CHAPTER  13

EVER READ THE BOOK OF JEREMIAH, HOOT?"

"Jeremiah? No, sir. Not straight through. Selected verses
only."

SAC Begley closed his Bible. He'd been reading it for the last
ten
miles, which had taken Special Agent Wise almost two hours to navigate.
"The Lord had a good man in Jeremiah."

"Yes, sir."

"Commissioned by Jehovah God to tell people things they didn't
want
to hear and would just as soon not
have
known."

Hoot's knowledge of Old Testament prophets was hazy, so he
agreed
with Begley's assessment with a noncommittal grunt.

"He's killing them, you know."

Trying desperately to keep the car on the road and stay on
track
with Begley at the same time, Hoot wondered if the antecedent to the
pronoun "he" was the prophet, the Lord, or the unknown subject who was
preying on the community of Cleary. He figured the unsub.

"You're probably right, sir. Although, if he's confining his
activity to this area—and so far we haven't linked this case
to any in
other parts of the country—one would think some remains would
have been
discovered by now."

"Hell, but look at this 'area.' " Begley rubbed his sleeve
against
the frosted passenger window to improve his view of the frozen
landscape. "There are hundreds of square miles of solid forest out
there. It's rough, mountainous terrain. Rocky riverbeds. Caves. He's
even got wildlife on his side. For all we know he's feeding those girls
to bears."

That triggered Hoot's acid reflux. The last cup of coffee he'd
drunk
tasted sour in the back of his throat. "Let's hope not, sir."

"It's a sparsely populated region. The son of a bitch that
bombed
Atlanta's Olympic Park hid out here for years before they found him.
No, Hoot, if I was killing young women, I'd choose country like this
for my hunting grounds." Pointing up ahead, he asked, "That it?"