He really did, he realized. He loved her.
Maybe that was best. Maybe he would do it, make it personal. Because he would do it gently; he would do it with love.
That made the power all the greater. He didn’t even begin to understand it—it just was.
He loved her, and he would kill her.
And it would be right. While he worked on it all between the dog and the alarm and the cops and the macho man who had pushed his way in on it all...
Go figure. He’d never imagined in a thousand years that killing could be such a rush. That he would love it so very much, as the orchestrator...as the man who went in and got his hands dirty.
It was better than anything else he’d ever done.
* * *
Bryan had gone out, taking George on another hike.
Angela and Jackson had gone next door; they were going to sleep in Bridget’s guest room.
Marnie had showered and donned one of her favorite nightshirts—nothing that hinted of seduction in the least.
And yet seduction was on her mind.
She didn’t understand herself; Bryan had certainly angered her. Then, he’d been incredible in many ways.
She didn’t remember ever feeling so on fire. So desperate to touch...and be touched.
Needy.
No, don’t say I need him, please!
It wasn’t neediness, she assured herself. Because no one had evoked such a feeling in her before. Ever. Not even when she had more or less believed she was happily dating. All the dozens of men she’d met, great, talented, beautiful people, and still...
It was him.
So much for the wariness and irritation she’d felt at first.
She was fascinated by the way he spoke, moved, looked. By his eyes, the striking length of his fingers, his height, breadth, scent.
She heard the key in the lock. The buzz of the new alarm. Bryan stepped inside with George and hit the keypad for the alarm. At first, she thought he hadn’t seen her there, standing just at the arch to the kitchen.
But it seemed he knew she was there.
He turned. Smiling. “You okay?”
She nodded, stooping to pet George, who had trotted over to her.
“I’m fine. Thank you. Your friends are over with Bridget. They’re very nice. I’m grateful they’re here. For their help. The police on the case are certainly fine people, too. Sophie went above and beyond. And Detective Vining seems as dedicated.” She straightened, looking at him. “Um, are you all right? You can have the guest room, of course, no need to sleep on a couch. I hope you do get some sleep. The room has a brand-new alarm. It should work, right?”
His smile deepened. His arms were crossed lightly over his chest. He was still in one of his suits, looking ridiculously good. Not ridiculously. Wrong word. Perfectly good. Wonderfully good.
“You are talking a lot. Do you think you’ve managed to say what you’re really trying to say?”
She hesitated.
Then she shrugged and murmured, “Um...do you want to sleep with me?”
“Sleep?”
“I thought... There’s no obligation. You’re here to look after me. Because your mother told you had to—”
“Ouch!” he exclaimed.
He was still across the room from her and still smiling.
And then he wasn’t.
He was in front of her, taking her into his arms, and the amusement was still in his eyes along with something else, something like the fire that seemed to burn in her own limbs.
“Only thing...” he murmured, his mouth close to hers.
“Yes?” she whispered.
“Obligations. I don’t just walk away. You have to be protected, yes, and God knows what the future will bring, but...”
“But?”
“I’ll be here come morning. You all right with that? This can’t just be a thank-you-for-guarding-me sex thing, huh?”
She stared at him, feeling as if there really weren’t enough air around her, as if strange little invisible fireworks were going off all around them.
She nodded.
“George, guard!” he told the dog.
He swept her off the floor and into his arms. There were no stairs, but it seemed incredibly romantic, the way he strode with her held to him to her room, the way that his eyes seemed to delve so deeply into hers. It was better than anything she’d ever fantasized.
When she lay on the bed, he slid his hands beneath the hem of the cotton T-shirt to draw it over her head.
“I should have gone with silk,” she murmured.
“You could have gone with burlap,” he told her.
She rose up on the bed, trying to help him undress. His jacket wound up in a corner, shirt and pants somewhere, socks and briefs somewhere else. There was a moment that might have been awkward, but somehow it wasn’t, then he was finally naked and she knelt on the bed in nothing but a pair of hip-hugger panties.
She was surprised to laugh and say softly, “At least the panties are silk.”
“Lovely,” he told her. His eyes meeting hers, he pressed her gently down to the bed. His fingers curled over her palms as they stretched above her head, and he lowered his face to hers.
There was no apology when they kissed.
Everything about his mouth was sensual. The play of his tongue upon her lips and in her mouth. She rose to meet the kiss, relishing the feel of their flesh coming together.
Then he moved his kiss.
Down over her breasts. Her belly.
He whispered softly, “I do love silk.”
Moments later she felt she had left sanity behind. She was rising into fields of exquisite ecstasy she had never come close to imagining. She writhed until she was in his arms, until he was thrust inside her and undulated all the more when they rolled and moved together wildly.
She was aware of rising to a climax, aware the fireworks seemed to be breaking everywhere again. Then intensely aware of the flesh-and-blood man next to her and reality.
And of not being one bit sorry.
He lay beside her, holding her.
He rose up on an elbow.
“I will be here,” he said softly.
“Not just a Hollywood stud, huh? Arm candy?” she teased.
He winced. “Ouch again. They lie—you do have a mean streak!”
“But I don’t really. I can kind of prove it, if you like.”
“Oh?”
He eased back slightly.
She began to kiss him.
And tease and brush and caress him...
It was possible to forget everything, except for being with him.
Everything but him, the feel of him, being touched by him, being with him.
Much later, when they lay together, he said softly, “Hmm. Arm candy. Maybe not such a bad gig after all.”
They both laughed.
When she woke, she realized he had been up, that he had showered and shaved and dressed again.
But he had not left.
And he would not, she knew. Not until this was over.
Not unless they both decided they were over.
10
“You’re kidding me? Really? You think I should do it?”
Marnie stared at him incredulously. Bryan smiled.
“We’re still nowhere,” he told her. “Once the FBI came in on it, Jackson—through Adam Harrison—saw to it that every single person interviewed when it happened was interviewed again. Including every person who had been wearing a Blood-bone costume. They’ve done research on the major players. Their best analysts believe it has to be someone involved with one of the cast members or the show itself. Or a person close to you—someone the show or your individual lives might effect.”
“I’m confused. Why would
this person be at this monster show?”
“Same reason they’d be at a comic con,” Bryan told her.
They were sitting on the couch in her living room. George was on the floor at Marnie’s feet. Even curled up, the big dog took up a lot of space.
Bryan felt fairly relaxed. For one, Jackson and Angela were still on guard, just in the other section of the duplex.
The alarm was activated. Both back doors, both front doors and every window on either side of the property had been covered. Both women knew how to activate and deactivate it.
Everyone was safe.
He felt good.
Marnie was good.
No, Marnie was amazing, but that was something else entirely.
It was early, and the morning was beautiful. They were talking about the Horror-palooza that was next up on the horizon. Marnie seemed amazed he thought it was a good idea that they all went and did the show.
“You want to draw someone out?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re not worried?”
“I’m always worried, but we can be in control of the situation.”
“You—you’ve handled lots of situations like this?”
He smiled. “No, I have to say—this is unique.”
She leaned on an elbow, watching him, truly curious. “I have to admit. I don’t really get this. You’re good friends with Jackson. You admire him—you’re all about his group of people, his Krewe of Hunters. Why aren’t you just a part of it?”
“I’ve been invited to join.”
“Why are you hesitating? I mean, you kind of obviously know your way around self-defense and guns and—ghosts.”
“Two things, really.”
“And they are?”
“Bruce and Brodie.”
“Your brothers? You don’t strike me as the type who follows anyone else.”
He scratched George’s ears thoughtfully. “It’s not a matter of following anyone. It’s about being in it together. Life was probably a bit strange for us from the get-go. Our parents were so well-known and adored. They knew everyone, from politicians to other famous actors and actresses, multimillionaires. Heads of state—even kings and queens. And they were just good parents, really nice people. Anyway, as you’re learning, it really got weird when they died.” He grinned. “I wonder what would have happened if we had just kept pretending we didn’t see them. I swear, it is difficult sometimes, knowing Mom will torment you until she gets what she wants. Though, thankfully, like I said, they were really good people. She asks good favors. Okay, she tells us a whole lot more than she asks us.”
“I’m confused. If your brothers are the same as you, with the same...”
“We never really had a chance to talk about our plans after our service, especially with regards to the FBI. My parents knew Adam Harrison. He’s a great guy—always. Before the Krewe, he did a tremendous amount of good. He didn’t just give money. He gave kids a chance at art and music and drama—and history and sports and life. He formed his Krewe a few years back.” He quickly filled Marnie in on Adam and Josh’s story, and the formation of the special unit. “Jackson called me one day soon after I’d gotten out of the military, and I did a job with him. I’ve worked with him several times since. But Bruce and Brodie and I had talked about forming a PI agency. Might be pretty cool to work with my brothers, using our skill, huh? Although, as you’re learning, the dead do not perform on command. They help the best they can. That doesn’t mean they have all the answers. Anyway, I might join the Krewe. But I owe it to my brothers for us all to have a talk first.”
“I see,” Marnie told him. “It’s pretty great—that you could work with your brothers.”
“Yeah, we’re lucky. We have a lot in common.” He laughed softly. “Much to my mom’s dismay, that includes the fact we definitely don’t want to be actors.”
“And what is wrong with actors?”
“Not a thing. My father was a very fine man and a very fine actor.”
That caused her to smile.
He leaned closer to her. She didn’t pull away. She was angled toward him on the sofa, the side of her head rested on her hand as she looked at him.
“I’d have liked your dad.”
“Yeah, you would have.”
“And your mom.”
“Well, there’s always the possibility you’ll meet them somewhere along the line.”
“Is she—here?” Marnie asked.
What a bizarre new way to “meet the parents.”
He smiled. “No, but if you knew my mother...she just might find a way to get herself out to Los Angeles.”
“I don’t understand. She’s a ghost, right?”
“Yes, and as unique a character in life as she was in death. Very talented, even as a ghost. I’ll try to explain. Not that I—or anyone—can really understand everything. It seems ghosts move around a great deal like the living. Except they can appear and disappear. Young ghosts—meaning newly dead, no matter what their age at their demise—don’t stay in a solid form very well sometimes. Most have to learn, gain strength, when it comes to appearing to those who can see them—to create sound, and sometimes, to do things like knock on a door, push the buttons on a coffee machine, a cell phone, flicker lights, et cetera. You know, I wish it were easy. I think that humans naturally have a fear of the unknown, which includes a fear of ghosts. But if you think about it, it’s not so bad. It means there is something, an energy that does last forever, and the concept of each person’s unique essence—a soul—is real.”
“But...only some people stay behind?” she whispered.
“Only some.”
She was quiet. At her feet, George whined.
“You think George can see Cara?”
“Possibly.”
“Why?” Marnie murmured. “The thought plagues me constantly, goes in circles in my mind—and still there is no answer!”
“Why are you seeing Cara?”
“Why did someone want her—or me or someone in the cast of Dark Harbor—dead?”
“You still can’t think of anything? Any slight somewhere along the line? Someone hurt or snubbed?”
She laughed softly. “Someone is hurt or snubbed in this city just about every minute of the day. But no. I can’t come up with any reasons that to me would stand up as motive for murder. Cara could be tough to get along with on the set sometimes, but that usually had to do with the writers or the director of an episode. Roberta Alan is a doll, very easy to deal with. Jeremy and Grayson had their moments of stress, but again, they were easy to work with.”
“What about Cara’s life since?”
Marnie hesitated. “I think she was okay. I mean, Cara had loved it when we were on top. When Dark Harbor was one of the most popular shows on television. She was recognized everywhere. But the public is fickle. New stars were shining, so to say. But we were making money through residuals, and she was getting a guest starring role here or there and doing an occasional commercial.”
“What about her personal life?”
“She was married three times. All three husbands were actors older than her, and two have passed away. One has been working in Atlanta on one of the important series out there, for years now. It’s too bad he couldn’t make it to her funeral.”
“What about you? Enemies?”
“Sadly, one might say I’m the doormat—the girl next door. Seriously? I can’t begin to imagine I could have made any enemies.”
“But weren’t you the most powerful member of the family? And didn’t you become the most popular among fans?”
“Maybe. Who can say?”
“Marnie, humility is one thing. But if anyone resented you being popular, who would it have been?”
She sighed softly. “Cara.”
“Well, Cara is obviously not trying to ki
ll you. What about Jeremy or Roberta? Or Grayson?”
Marnie shook her head. “No way.” She shrugged. “They need me. Anything tied to Dark Harbor needs Madam Scarlet. Of course, there aren’t five of us anymore. No one knows how these things will go now. And I’m not at all sure if doing Horror-palooza is a good thing.”
“I’ll be with you. Jackson and Angela will be there.”
“I think I like Angela,” she murmured.
“Tough as nails and a crack shot,” he assured her, amused.
She smiled. “I guess her appearance is one of her strengths. No one would expect such a slim and attractive woman to be so kick-ass.”
“Sophie seems pretty kick-ass, too.”
“So she does,” Marnie agreed. “Do you think they give classes in being kick-ass?” she asked.
“They definitely have them in self-defense. Taking some of those might be a very good idea. Single women living alone should have some training and protection.”
“Beyond George?” she asked, half-teasing and halfway serious.
“Beyond George,” he said.
“There’s no instant kick-ass, right?”
“No, but maybe we’ll start at a shooting range. There’s little that’s more kick-ass than a bullet.”
* * *
Marnie was amazed that she was actually feeling good. It wasn’t that she had accepted the fact Cara was dead—or that her dead friend was visiting her.
It was Bryan. She didn’t really know or understand how that could be—she hadn’t known him long enough to really know him, and yet she felt she did. They’d spent only one night together, but that night had been amazing. She had always been careful and hesitant in relationships, and she had straight-up asked him to sleep with her.
He was staying with her. There was no time limit. He would be with her until this was all over. And then...
He was an East Coast man and she was West Coast, which didn’t matter to her so much except for the plans in place for her theater, something she had dreamed about for years now.
After she and Bryan had talked, Jackson, Angela and Bridget had come to her side of the duplex and they had discussed Horror-palooza, one of Bridget’s absolute favorite events to attend. Her cousin was happy to go but still a bit scared.