The Heart of a Killer

  Like now, when she slid her hand between them to rub his erection, hoping to distract him.

  "I'm ready, Dante. Let's get to it."

  That was part of her problem. Her body was all over his, hot and sexy and doing all the right things. God, was she doing all the right things. In fact, if she continued to do that he was either going to explode or throw her on the floor and shove inside her so he could come. And he'd make her come. And she'd be happy about that, too. They'd both be happy.

  But there was a disconnect in her eyes. Her body might want the sex and the release that went with it, but the rest of her hadn't shown up to the party.

  And he really wanted her focused on what they did together--what he did to her--not just her body, but her mind, her heart and her soul.

  Maybe it was too much to ask of her, given what she'd been through, but he was willing to give it a try.

  He wrapped his arm around her and flipped her over onto her back, looming over her, keeping watch as her eyes widened.

  "You're ready, huh?"

  She smiled. "Totally."

  "For anything?"

  He saw the glint of wariness, but she masked it by lifting her chin. "I can take whatever you've got. Bring it on."

  And then he knew for sure she looked on sex as a challenge to be won, not something to be shared.

  He was going to change that.

  When she reached between them to touch him again, he grabbed her wrist and held it pinned to her side. "No."

  She frowned. "Why not?"

  Instead of answering her, he kissed her, a deliberately gentle kiss with just his lips, meant to slow down the tempo. He knew she wanted him hot and bothered and eager for penetration. Which he was. He really--oh, hell, yes--was. But he was also a man used to denying himself what he wanted.

  He could wait.

  Anna had no idea what kind of game Dante was playing, but the rules had changed and she didn't have the upper hand anymore, which she didn't like one bit.

  But he was kissing her in this slow and deliberate way that made her head fuzzy, and all her limbs went lax until all she could think about were the delicious things he was doing with his mouth.

  So when he rolled to his side and slid his hand under her shirt to snake his fingers along her stomach, her guard was down and her concentration was focused on his hands and how very much she craved his touch. And when he cupped a breast, his thumb drawing lazy circles across her bra-covered nipple, she whimpered in protest, wishing she was already naked so she could feel the touch directly.

  She was a languid pool of nerve endings, a sensual puppet, and Dante pulled all her strings. Somewhere in her sex-fogged brain was the thought that this wasn't how it usually played out. She always had control. She was the one who set the pace, the scenario, and she never, ever handed the reins to a man.

  But when Dante hooked his leg over hers, his denim-clad thigh rubbing against her center, and he took her mouth at the same time he pulled the cup of her bra down and found her nipple, a million stars exploded behind her eyes. All coherent thought fled as he plucked the bud between his fingers and drove his thigh against her sex, his mouth devouring hers, his tongue exploring in a sensual dance she had no hope to resist. All she could do was clutch his shirt in a death grip and hope she could continue to draw breath through his assault.

  His fingers were on a march, sweeping over her breasts, her abdomen and lower, her breath catching as he slid his hand into her shorts.

  He pulled his lips from her mouth. She opened her eyes and found him watching her, something far too intimate to bear, especially considering where his hand was. She scrunched her eyes closed and buried her face in his neck.

  "Anna."

  His fingers danced along the top of her sex, dipping into her panties. She arched against him as wild sensation burst and she lost all hope of controlling this game.

  "Anna, look at me."

  He asked too much of her. She bit down on her lip when his fingers slid lower, but couldn't resist the moan of sheer pleasure as he found the tight bud and began to play with it.

  "Anna."

  She tilted her head back and opened her eyes, meeting his gaze at the same time he tucked two fingers inside her. Her lips parted and she gasped, lifting to take more, feeling every sensation as his thumb swirled around the tight knot until she thought she might explode.

  "Don't hold back," he whispered, pinning her with his gaze. "Release for me."

  She'd never known a man like this, who could take her from anger and frustration to sweet pleasure in mere minutes. But as she rode the crest of his finessing fingers, she knew without a doubt she couldn't hold back.

  It had been too long and, damn him, he was just too good.

  And as the pulses began deep inside her, she knew that he felt them, too, saw the smile of triumph on his face as she rocked against his hand and let go.

  She gripped his arm, lifted her hips, and his name spilled from her lips.

  "Dante."

  He took her mouth in a deep, searing kiss as she climaxed, absorbing her cries as waves of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her shaken and trembling against him.

  And still, he held on to her, his fingers continuing to coax every quake within her until he finally withdrew.

  She expected him to strip her and take her then, but he only held her, kissed her, took her down gently from the rollicking roller coaster of sensations and emotions of her orgasm until she couldn't help but ask him.

  "Dante."

  He looked down at her. "Yeah?"

  "We're not finished yet."

  He grinned. "No, Anna. We're not. Not by a long shot."

  "Shouldn't we..."

  "Get back to work? Yeah, we probably should."

  He shifted her upright.

  Was he serious?

  "But--"

  He cupped her chin with his fingers. "I think you need to trust me before we go any further. Let's take this slow."

  She glanced down at the ridge against his jeans that showed the pleasure had been all one-sided, and wondered how he could deny himself like that.

  "I'll survive. Let's get back to work. We have a killer to catch."

  She inhaled, let it out and watched him head into the other room.

  Trust him? She didn't know what to make of him.

  She stood and headed into the kitchen.

  Fifteen

  "You've got one hell of a smile on your face."

  Anna lifted her head, lost the smile and narrowed her gaze at Roman, who leaned a hip against her desk. "I do not."

  He frowned and crossed his arms. "What's going on?"

  "Nothing's going on. I'm working here."

  "You're working with a smile. That's not like you."

  Geez. She came into the office in a halfway decent mood and she got an interrogation. "Why are you being so nosy?"

  He slid into the chair next to her desk. "Why are you being so evasive?"

  Damn Dante, anyway. This was why she preferred being tense. Her being relaxed made people suspicious. "I'm not being evasive. I got a good night's sleep, that's all."

  Roman laughed. "Yeah, that is unusual for you. And strange considering everything going on. What brought on the sleep?"

  She adjusted the files on her desk. "I kind of had a bodyguard. Dante's staying with me."

  Roman arched a brow. "Is that right?"

  "He insisted."

  "And you're no pushover. So what gives?"

  She shoved the files away and gave Roman a pointed look. "You suddenly have a problem with Dante?"

  "I just wonder if he's really who he says he is."

  She looked around, though Dante wasn't there anyway. He'd gone with Ellen Clemons to help her make Jeff's funeral arrangements, something she admired him for doing and knew wasn't going to be easy for him.

  He told her he'd catch up with her later. After he'd followed her to the precinct, of course. And that had been after much arguing on her part that she c
ould drive herself to work without an escort. But he'd insisted. She'd told him he could shadow her if he wanted, but it was a waste of time.

  He had, and had pulled off when she'd entered the lot.

  Anna was grateful for the reprieve after last night's intimacy. She needed time to regroup and figure out just what they meant to each other.

  But now she had Roman in her face questioning Dante's motives, and she didn't need that today.

  "I don't understand, Roman. He's FBI. He has the credentials." Which he wasn't, but at least Anna knew who he was.

  "Is he? It just seems strange that all this shit starts going down the minute he steps into town."

  She nodded. "We've discussed that, figured our suspect started this chain of events as soon as Dante came back. You know, all of us who were there that night are now in the same place?"

  "Or it could be something else."

  "Like what?" He stared at her until she caught on to his thought process. "You think Dante is the killer? Why? That would make no sense, and he was with me..."

  But he hadn't been with her specifically at the times the murders had been committed, had he? She thought back to the two murders. After, when she got the calls, yes. But she couldn't pinpoint time of death to Dante being with her the whole time, could she?

  "Dante would have no reason to kill George or Jeff," she argued.

  "Not that you know of, but what do any of us really know about him anymore? He's been gone for twelve years, Anna. Do we really know where he's been and what he's been doing all that time?"

  "Why would you accuse him of this? Is there something you know about him that you're not telling me?"

  Roman shook his head. "I'm not accusing him of anything. Jesus, Anna, I'd hate if he was the one. And no, I don't know anything concrete. But I don't like how close he's gotten to you so fast after he came back, and how you've let him. Two people get killed in the same manner as Tony Maclin, in the same alley. They get hearts carved on their chests, and suddenly Dante's moving in with you. That's just a little convenient.

  "It's you I'm worried about. I don't want the way things were between the two of you in the past to cloud your judgment now."

  She lifted her chin. "My eyes are wide open."

  "Are they? I just want you to be careful."

  "I am careful. I know who he is." At least she thought she did.

  "You know, who we all were back then isn't who we are now. You can't accept him based on who he was twelve years ago. We're all different now."

  "I know that, Roman. That's part of why I'm trying to keep Dante close. I'm trying to find out who he is now. I'm doing my job."

  He looked at her as if he didn't really believe her, but finally he nodded. "As long as you do it with your eyes wide open."

  She wondered if she did know. Dammit, she hated that Roman had thought the same thing she'd thought. Only she'd discarded the idea, hadn't followed through.

  Was Roman the one thinking clearly and she was seeing only what she wanted to see?

  Was Dante sliding past her defenses, purposely ingratiating himself into her life, into her heart, so that she wouldn't see what was going on right under her nose?

  Roman was only looking out for her, making her see logic. Her judgment wasn't exactly clear where Dante was concerned. And Roman was always logical when working cases, never let his emotion cloud his judgment. That's what made him a good cop.

  Was she letting emotion get in the way of seeing what was right in front of her?

  She'd accepted everything Dante said at face value without any proof. How did she know for a fact he was who he said he was? He'd given her the perfect excuse not to be able to verify his background. Black ops, in the wind, unable to be tracked.

  Shit. She pushed back from her desk and stood, heading into the break room for a coffee.

  After pouring a coffee she moved over to the snack machine, searching for something to munch on, loading her quarters in and deciding on a package of nuts.

  Could Dante get legitimate FBI credentials if he did anything other than work for the government? Her captain had certainly bought his ID, and Pohanski was no dumbass. Surely he'd have had Dante checked out, verified by the FBI, but no way could she go to her captain and ask him if he'd verified Dante. That would only cast suspicion on Dante, and that's the last thing she would do.

  She leaned her forehead against the metal side of the snack machine, wishing every damn thing didn't have to be so complicated.

  "You taking a nap?"

  She jerked upright and turned around to find Dante leaning against the doorway of the break room. "How did you get in here?"

  He held up his badge. "Hall pass."

  She blew out a breath. "Right. Of course."

  He frowned and came into the room, stopping in front of her to run his hand down her arm. "You upset about something?"

  She took a step away. "No, just busy."

  "Bullshit. What's wrong?"

  "Nothing. Just have a lot on my mind."

  "The Maclin file?"

  "Yeah."

  "Find anything?"

  "No. I want to interview his family."

  Dante shifted his gaze to the doorway, then back to her. "That's risky, don't you think?"

  "Why?"

  A couple uniforms came into the break room, so Anna led Dante out the side exit. The brutal heat slammed into her and made her breath catch. At least they were alone out here.

  "Isn't it obvious?" he asked when they moved along the far wall on the side of the building, a place set up for smokers. None were outside right now, so they had privacy.

  "Isn't what obvious?"

  "Maclin's family. What are you hoping to find out?"

  "I don't know. Maybe I can get some information out of them. I want to meet them, talk to them, see what they have to say about their son and that night. The case is twelve years cold now."

  "Not to them it isn't. You know what he was to you. To them, he was their son, and he was murdered."

  She lifted her chin. "I know what he was to them. Still, it's a lead we need to follow."

  He leaned against the brick wall and shrugged. "Up to you."

  "Yes, it is. You want to come along?"

  "You know I do."

  "And it won't bother you."

  "To meet Maclin's family? No. Why should it?"

  He seemed so cold at that moment, she wished he hadn't shifted his sunglasses over his eyes so she could see them. She could read a lot in a person's eyes.

  Like whether or not they were lying to her.

  Dammit. Why had Roman planted the seed of doubt in her mind? Was Dante a killer? Could he be sweet and gentle and touch her body the way he had, and be a cold and ruthless killer, too?

  She knew he could. Lots of killers were like that, completely fooling the people closest to them into believing they were warm and loving, when in fact they were utter psychopaths.

  She didn't want to think about this. Not now.

  She went inside, grabbed her file and notepad and met Dante in the parking lot.

  "I'll drive," he said. "You give directions."

  She could argue the point that he had no legal right to commandeer a detective's vehicle, but decided to pick her battles with him. She slid into the passenger side and told him where to go.

  The Maclins still lived in the same house in Kirkwood where Tony had grown up. Anna directed Dante up Lindbergh, then off a side street.

  "Nice," he said. "Our lives would all have been a lot different if we could have lived in houses like these."

  There were large lots with some smaller homes, and then some bigger, all with perfectly manicured lawns, mature trees and beautiful landscaping.

  The Maclin home was one of the bigger ones, a two-story white frame house with dark green painted trim. Triangular gables spread across the top of the home, and a wide porch was set off at the side of the house. A couple expensive cars were parked in the driveway in front of the three-car garage
. Anna wondered what sat inside the garage.

  "Rich kid," Dante said, wrinkling his nose as he pulled up the circular driveway and parked. "What the hell was he doing in an alley in South City that night?"

  Anna met him around the front of her car. "That's something his parents could never tell us, according to his file."

  "Maybe they know something more now."

  "Doubt it," she said, ringing the bell, "or they would have let us know by now. They want their son's killer found."

  Dante didn't say anything, just kept a straight face as they waited for the door to be answered.

  "Bet they have a butler," Dante said, whispering in her ear.

  She nudged him with her elbow.

  The door was answered after Anna rang it a second time. A tall, slender woman with short blond hair answered. She was well dressed--country-club type, Anna would guess, based on the crisp capri pants and button-down silk short-sleeved shirt. Expensive sandals, too.

  "Susan Maclin?" Anna asked, revealing her badge.

  "Yes? Is something wrong?"

  Anna introduced herself and Dante. "We're here about your son's case."

  Susan's hand went to her throat, her eyes widening. "Is there new evidence? Did you find his killer?"

  Anna almost felt guilty getting the woman's hopes up. "No, ma'am, we're just looking into a few cold cases. Mind if we come in and ask you some questions?"

  She opened the glass and screen door. "Of course not."

  Susan Maclin led them inside, where it was icy cool, thankfully. The place was open and spacious as they followed her from the front to the back of the house.

  "I hope you don't mind the sunroom. It's where I spend a lot of time. It's air-conditioned, of course."

  Anna looked at Dante, who shrugged. "It's fine, ma'am," he said.

  "I'll bring us some iced tea."

  "Not necessary," Anna said. "We'll try not to take up too much of your time."

  "Oh, it's no bother at all. I'm so grateful you're reopening the case. I'll be back in a moment."

  She glided out of the room, her blouse seeming to flow like water. The woman was so elegant and graceful. Anna slunk into the chair, feeling the weight of guilt settle on top of her.

  Susan Maclin looked frail and vulnerable.

  And hopeful, her brown eyes widening with that look a parent got whenever a cop opened up an old, unsolved case. She'd seen that look before on the faces of loved ones whose child or parent or spouse had been a victim. All they craved was closure. Anna's and Dante's presence here represented the hope that it could come sometime in the near future.