In a Heartbeat (14 page)

Lisa’s heart fluttered in shock. “What are you talking about?”

“She wanted us to be together,” he said, pacing now like a madman. “But I didn’t. I…I couldn’t be with her.”

“But…I thought…” She searched her brain for the exact words, then forged on when she couldn’t find them. “It does matter. You’re hurting for her now.”

“It’s my fault she was kidnapped, my fault she’s dead,” he said in an agonized voice. “Don’t you see? I didn’t protect her, just like I didn’t protect you.”

Lisa stumbled closer to him, his words wrenching her heart. Thunder rumbled again, the trees closing around her, but she couldn’t let Brad suffer alone. So she did the only thing she knew to do. She slid her arms around his body and hugged him.

His body went ramrod stiff, his hands dropped to his sides. Rejection stung her nerve endings, but then, as if his will faded completely, he suddenly lifted his arms and dragged her closer to him. She felt the fine sweat from his skin sear through her camisole, felt his muscles tighten and constrict as he clenched her harder, felt his breath on her neck as he lowered his head against her. She tried to pretend that they were simply two people who’d found one another in the loneliness of the night, to forget that the only reason he was holding her was because they’d both seen a dead woman tonight.

BRAD HAD ALWAYS THOUGHT he was a pillar of strength. He had survived abuse. Foster homes. The streets as a teen. And then after…

But when Lisa wrapped her arms around him, he completely lost the battle for control. Through the thin material of her satin camisole, he felt her soft curves pressed against him, felt the stiff peaks of her nipples jutting out, teasing his chest, and his body hardened with need and desire. He held her tightly, his body quaking from wanting to drag her inside his cabin, strip her naked and bury himself inside her.

Finally unable to grasp the ironclad will that had kept him from touching her before, he lifted his head. The pure, unselfish innocence and kindness in her eyes tore at his soul. The flicker of desire that flashed briefly took his breath away.

That slight flicker was all it took. He had wanted her for so long he couldn’t remember not wanting her.

“Lisa—”

“Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips. A finger that tasted like sweetness and taunted him with desire.

A growl erupted low in his throat, and he forgot how to fight. Instead, he lowered his head and pressed his lips gently against hers. One taste only whetted his appetite, stirred his hunger, and he deepened the kiss, tracing her lips with his tongue, nibbling at her mouth, urging her to open to him. And when she did, he moaned and ran his hands through her silky hair, pressed her closer, so close his erection strained inside his pants and pulsed between them. The need grew within him like a thirst that couldn’t be quenched, and he melded his lips over hers again, this time more bold, sucking on her lower lip and delving inside her mouth with his tongue. She returned the kiss with the fervor of a newfound lover ready to explore, and the sultriness of a woman who wanted more. He wanted to give her everything.

He wound one strand of hair around his fingers, then lifted her head back and trailed hot, wild kisses along her neck, nibbling at her sensitive flesh until a tiny moan floated from her lips. Then he dipped his head lower and flicked his tongue along the soft curve of her breasts. Hunger roared through him as she clutched his arms and offered him access. Emboldened by her throaty sounds, he closed his mouth over one nipple, lifting his fingers to caress the other one.

But suddenly he saw his bloody hand cupping her breasts, leaving traces of crimson, dirt and sweat on her white camisole, and he gasped in disgust and yanked himself away.

“Brad?” Her voice sounded small. Lost. Her breathing feathered out in small spurts that mocked the tormented rasp of his own.

“I’m sorry,” he growled. “That…was wrong.”

Knowing he was a bastard for muddying her beautiful body with his bloody hands, he forced himself to look up at her like a man. But what could he say? That he was sorry for wanting her?

He was…but only because he couldn’t be the man she deserved.

“Go inside, Lisa,” he mumbled. “Get some rest.”

Hurt and confusion flickered in her eyes for a brief second, but he told himself he’d imagined it. She’d only meant to comfort him.

He had taken more.

She turned and fled up the path to his cabin, dry leaves crunching beneath her feet as she ran, his bloody handprints a reminder that he’d dirtied her with his touch.

She didn’t belong in his world.

And he could never leave it.

“THANK YOU, MA’ AM. I’ll take really good care of the cabin.” Vernon tugged the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt down to hide the scratches on his arm as he handed the gray-haired lady cash for the rent.

“I hope you enjoy your stay here on Lake Lanier, Mr. Henderson,” she said. “It’s hot in the summer, but the lake’s a good cooling-off spot when it’s not too crowded.”

He nodded, anxious to get away from the old biddy. She’d asked too many questions, had been too inquisitive, as if she’d known he’d given her a fake name.

“I’m sure I’ll manage just fine.” He loped down the walkway, then climbed into his pickup truck, revved the engine and drove to the bungalow on Pine Nut Drive, adrenaline surging through him. He’d been lucky so far. Finding Booker’s cabin hadn’t been hard.

Finding one near it had been more of a challenge.

But the summer rental season was in full swing, and he’d hit pay dirt. In fact, he could see Booker’s cabin from the one he’d rented, could sit on the back porch and probably hear Booker and Lisa talking.

The idea that she’d left town with the federal agent irked him to no end. The possibility that she’d spend the night in his cabin troubled him more. But the thought of her sleeping in the man’s bed was driving him out of his ever-loving mind.

No…Lisa wouldn’t have jumped into this man’s bed. Not his sweet, innocent Lisa.

Still, if it weren’t for the agent and this new copycat case, he might not have found her at all. And he’d been searching for three-and-a-half long years.

He parked the truck, the engine rattling as he turned it off, then grabbed his Bible and his duffel bag and jogged inside. The rooms were sparse, cheap beach furniture filling the space, along with pictures of sailboats and seashores that covered the salmon-colored wall. The owners had even put little fish-shaped soaps in the bathroom. The stupid decorations made him want to barf.

He cradled the tiny soaps in his hand, ready to toss them out, then forced himself to stop. Lisa would probably like those silly fish soaps.

If they were going to be together, he had to please her, not just himself. Loving someone meant making sacrifices. Compromising. Then he’d teach her how to please him. Turn her into the kind of wife he wanted. One who’d obey him. Get on her hands and knees if he ordered.

He straightened the soaps back into place, imagining Lisa’s smile.

Seconds later, he slipped out the door to watch the house. Booker would have to leave sometime. And when he did, Vernon would get a glimpse of Lisa.

But he’d have to be patient. Not push her like White had.

Still, he felt so antsy he was almost randy. She was so close, had no idea he was right next door, that he was watching her every move, only biding his time until he could lay her down beside him and tell her how he felt. Place a ring on her finger. Bind her to him forever.

Then they’d make up for lost time….

He’d bathe her with his tongue. Make her beg for his touch.

He pictured her on her knees, licking and sucking him, and he groaned. She’d be humble, succumb to his wishes. Give him her body, mind and soul.

And no one would tear them apart.

If they tried, he’d kill them.

CHAPTER TEN

GUILT FOR TOUCHING Lisa gnawed at Brad—he couldn’t have her. He knew it now just as he’d known it four years ago. So why couldn’t he shake this burning need to do so?

Only he hadn’t just touched her, he’d pawed at her like a wild animal.

For God’s sake, he’d nearly taken her outside by the lake, with sweat and blood dripping from his body. The memory of his grimy red paw prints on her camisole made him sick to his stomach. He’d had to shower the minute he came in, scrub the vile anger from his skin.

Unable to sleep, he studied the files on the victims from the original Grave Digger investigation, then all the notes on Joann Worthy’s case, including family members and neighbors who’d been questioned, along with the notes they had gathered on Mindy. As he skimmed the information on Vernon Hanks, he plugged in the data and discovered that Hanks had a half sister. Apparently, Vernon’s mother had been married before she hooked up with Vernon’s father. The girl’s last name was Gunner. He searched further, and finally found an address. South Atlanta. Hmm, he’d question her, see if she knew where her half brother might be.

Something niggled at the back of his mind, some detail that he was sure was important, and he dialed Rosberg. If they all met and hashed everything out, maybe someone would stumble on something. “Let’s have a meeting of the task force this morning.”

Rosberg agreed. “I’ll call everyone, and we’ll meet at six.”

Brad hung up, then went to check on Lisa. He gently eased open the door and saw her lying on her side, her blond hair tangled around her face. Although the air-conditioning was working, the room still felt warm, and she’d obviously wrestled the sheet off in her sleep. She’d also changed from the bloody camisole and tap pants to a nightshirt that had ridden up her thighs, revealing beautiful slender legs that he imagined wrapped around him. A tiny mole at the top of her leg drew his eye, and he swallowed hard, itching to tuck the sheet back over her, to smooth the hair from her face and kiss the soft skin of her neck again.

She moaned, and he froze. Even in her sleep, it was obvious the old nightmares disturbed her. And they would continue to do so until he caught this latest killer.

Driven by determination, he closed the door and backed away, deciding not to wake her. No one, especially the killer, knew where she was, so she would be safe at his cabin while he met with the task force. He’d let her rest, and see if he could solve this case so she could go back to Ellijay to the fresh air, the mountains and apple trees, to the children she taught.

Then he could put her out of his mind forever.

IT WAS 6:00 A.M.

He rolled over and stared at the clock in confusion, then rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. But dirt stung his eyeballs and his eyes watered, streaking the dry, crusted earth into muddy rivers. Sweating and disoriented, his head rolling as if it had been jackhammered until he’d passed out, he dragged himself off the sofa and practically crawled to the bathroom. Bile rose in his belly at the sight of the blood and mud on his hands. He flipped on the light, then blinked at the blinding pain that knifed through his head. The stench of body odors clung to him. His own.

Someone else’s.

What the hell had happened? Had he been attacked? Beaten and knocked unconscious?

He closed his eyes, the room rocking back and forth as if he was on a ship in the middle of a storm. Finally the rocking slowed, and he blinked the room into focus. He was still wearing his clothes, at least his pants, although his shirt lay on the floor, tattered and caked in more blood, dirt and leaves. And there were definitely fresh claw marks on his belly, arms and chest. He stared at them in abnegation.

He’d had scars before. Lived with them for years. First, the early childhood days where he hadn’t quite done things right. That locked closet.

Then the fights he’d had in school. The kids picking on him.

He’d sworn he’d grow up to be something better. Forceful. Maybe a cop.

Then the war wounds. Scars born from serving his country. From the malevolence of cheating death on a daily basis.

But he remembered how he’d gotten each and every one of those scars.

The bloody fingerprints and dirt smeared on his torso and face—those he didn’t recall receiving. But they stung like hell and carried the scent of a woman.

It had happened before. Once. A few days ago.

Like a bad dream, brief glimpses of moments traipsed through his mind, then receded as if they had happened in another lifetime. He turned on the shower, stripped off the remainder of his clothes, then forced himself into the spray.

He had to wash away the blood, the tears, the fingerprints… Then, just like his memory, they would disappear forever.

LIAM LANGLEY STUDIED the morning paper, his muscles knotting with tension as he read the story of the Grave Digger’s return. Last night he’d let his mind travel into the danger zone, and he’d questioned everything he’d done the past few months. Had wondered if it had all been worth it.

But White was dead. He’d seen his body himself, had examined it in the morgue. That dead body had given him pleasure.

The only time he’d actually been excited over a lost life.

He had no regrets. White had deserved to die for hurting Lisa. The taste of revenge lingered on Liam’s tongue as he remembered the long grueling days she’d been missing. He removed her childhood photo from his pocket and studied it. The frilly pink dress. The precious amethyst her mother had given her.

The blue blue eyes. The sweet innocence. He could still see her as that petite child, following behind her mother in the garden. Then as his pretty little princess, when she’d been crowned Miss Magnolia. She hadn’t wanted the attention. Had shied away from the crowds. But he’d known she was special. Had imagined her debutante party. Pictured her hosting events by his side.

But White had destroyed that future.

Liam folded his wallet and stuck it back in his pocket, inhaling to force his anger at bay as his assistant, Gioni Kerr, slipped into his office.

“Your coffee, Dr. Langley.”

She had been with him for the past twenty years and knew him inside and out.

“Anything else you need this morning before your appointments?”

God, yes, he needed this whole copycat killer thing to go away. Gioni of all people knew the reason why.

He gestured toward the photo of the grave. “Mindy Faulkner was found dead last night.”

Gioni’s soft face paled. “That’s…just awful. She was so young.”

He muttered agreement, and she eased behind him and began to massage his shoulders, working her nimble fingers deep into the knots at the base of his neck. “I know how difficult this has to be on you, Liam, but everything’s going to be all right.”

He dropped his head forward, grateful for her undying support. He hadn’t remarried since his wife’s death, had simply plunged into work as his lifeline. But Gioni had always been supportive. Her encouraging smile, her efficient manner, her attentiveness to his every need kept him sane. She was attractive, too, with wavy brown hair, clear green eyes and luscious breasts that filled a man’s hands and begged for his touch. Gioni would be a good wife if he wanted one. Hell, she’d been hinting at it for ten years. She would agree to marriage in a heartbeat.

Just as she would protect his alibi if he needed her to.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said, wishing he truly loved her the way she did him. But he’d never loved anyone but his wife and his job.

And Lisa.

Then she’d been abducted, and he’d changed.

Once, all he’d wanted was to save lives. But after White had taken Lisa, he’d suddenly wanted to take one. That thirst for revenge had driven him over the edge. Put unspeakable thoughts in his head. Thoughts that had caused him to cross the line.

“White deserved exactly what he got,” Gioni said in a low voice. “And Mindy…she must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

He hesitated, the air in his lungs tight. “You don’t think it has anything to do with…us? With what I did.”

She tilted her head sideways, sympathy in her eyes. “No. I understand why you…made the choices you did.” Her hands rubbed deeper, moved around to his chest. “One…decision can’t erase the countless miracles you’ve accomplished over the years, Liam.”

Her soothing words and touch calmed his worry. He
had
helped hundreds of people. Even more so since White had died. “Thank you, Gioni. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You never have to worry about my devotion, Liam. I’m here for you. Always.” She kissed his neck.

He smiled, hearing her silent declaration—that she would keep his secret until the day she died. What had he done to garner such loyalty?

She circled around the desk, knelt in front of him, unfastened the buttons on his shirt and parted the fabric. Cool air from the air conditioner brushed his chest. A spark of hunger flashed in her eyes, and his body reacted, semen already beading on the tip of his penis. She sank her hands into his chest hair and rubbed deliberately slow circles around his nipples. He threw his head back and moaned, but she caught the sound with her mouth and kissed him. His erection strained toward her. Seconds later, she trailed more kisses down his belly, then lower, swirling her tongue up and down and around his navel until he thought he’d go out of his mind.

The sound of his zipper rasped in the quiet, along with his own labored breathing as her fingers worked magic over his body, and her mouth dipped lower. He dug his hands into her hair and pulled her toward him, then her lips found his hard length and closed around him. His sex surged with pleasure, pulsing and throbbing as she sucked him.

Sensations ripped through him, and within seconds his release was imminent. But just before she could bring him to a fiery climax, he jerked her up, flipped her around, tore down her panties and rammed himself inside her.

She groaned and grabbed the desk edge, leaning over to offer him deeper access, her plump breasts swaying. Low moans erupted from her throat as he gripped her hips and pumped inside her. Seconds later, she cried out his name, her body spasming and quivering as he thrust inside her again and again. As her wet juices flowed around him, and her muscles clenched his cock tighter, he allowed his own release to spill into her.

The phone trilled before he could straighten her clothes, the apology ready on his lips as she turned to him. But the smile in her eyes suggested he needn’t bother, that he could have her anytime, anywhere, any way he wanted.

“I’ll get the phone.” Quickly discarding her panties in his trash can, she smoothed down her skirt, the smile she gave him as she left his office as sultry as when she’d entered. All he had to do was ask for sex with her. Hell, he didn’t even have to ask.

He reached inside his pocket for his handkerchief, still shaking inside from the physical release, but already wanting more. Hell, he probably wouldn’t make it to lunch, not with Gioni strutting around pantyless.

But his gaze fell back on the photo of White, and Gioni’s words rang in his head: “White deserved exactly what he got.”

No, Liam had wanted to retaliate. White had deserved a much harsher fate.

He should have had to suffer longer, should have been denied medical treatment, as he’d denied Lisa and those other women. He should have been left to rot in a thin wooden box below the ground, should have felt the maggots nibbling at his skin, the air growing thicker, more stale, the metallic odor of his own fear and blood his companion as he slid into the bowels of a hellish death.

Controlling his rage, Liam removed the newspaper clipping he’d kept of White’s funeral and stared at it, determined not to let one ounce of remorse intrude on the satisfaction he’d gleaned from the man’s death.

Or his interlude with Gioni.

But now another photo plagued his mind. Mindy Faulkner’s.

In the dark hours before dawn, she had been pulled from a brown box in the ground just as Lisa had been.

Mindy was dead.

It would be only a matter of time before the questions turned back to him. And if his secrets were revealed…

He shuddered, unable to contemplate that possibility.

IT WAS THE TWELFTH DAY of the drought. Heat infused the building where the task force met, making everyone cranky. There was no relief in sight for the water shortage, just as there was none for the detectives and agents.

Brad braced himself for the meeting, battling helpless rage at the sight of the crime scene photos spread across the table. The harsh light of morning only accentuated the brutality of the beating Mindy had taken, the purple-and-blue bruises on her body darker, more prominent beneath the fluorescent lighting.

Ethan approached him first. “Man, I’m sorry about Mindy.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Brad mumbled. “I keep wondering if the Grave Digger chose her because of me.”

Ethan’s hollow, cold mask remained tacked in place, but a muscle in his jaw twitched, and Brad knew his comment had hit home. He opened his mouth to say more, but Ethan’s clipped shake of his head warned him not to tread on the past. Rosberg and the others lumbered in, all grabbing coffee and doughnuts as they found places around the table. The young rookie was missing, making Brad wonder if he’d already been fired.

A woman entered next, petite with blondish-auburn hair and big brown eyes, sort of a blond Diane Keaton. The dark blue suit she wore molded over curves that otherwise would have been seductive, but the tight bun and aloof air surrounding her spoke FBI.

“Gentlemen, this is Karen Slater,” Rosberg said. “She’s a criminal profiler for the Bureau. I’ve asked her here to consult with us.”

The detectives nodded and muttered greetings. Gunther gave her a look of pure male adoration, while Ethan’s sarcastic snarl indicated he didn’t think they needed help from a woman, no matter how impressive her credentials.

Brad kept his mind open. Pride forgotten, he’d take help from anywhere possible if they could stop this maniac.

Brad rapped on the table. “All right. Let’s do a short recap on what we have to date.”