“Do you make a habit of frequenting vacant lots, Miss Connolly?” he inquired.
“No,” Jennifer snapped angrily. “I live here,” she informed him. “I had been at a restaurant, meeting with a friend.”
“What friend?”
It seemed to Conar that she hesitated. Then she angrily supplied, “What difference does that make? I have the right to park near a restaurant and walk safely to and from that restaurant. And when I’ve been assaulted, I don’t have to answer a lot of foolish questions.”
“All right, all right.” The lieutenant fell silent. Conar saw that Liam had arrived, and was threading his way through the desks toward them.
“You again?” he said to Conar, just a trace of dry humor in his voce.
“Jennifer was attacked.”
“So I heard. I’ve seen him; I’m on my way to talk to him a little more in depth.”
“Think he might be the killer?” Conar asked skeptically.
“You never know. The psychologists tell us that a killer who fantasizes about a crime and thinks it out is usually a more ordinary-looking person. This guy doesn’t look … normal enough, ironically. Hey, Lieutenant Eaton, these folks have not had a great last few days. Think they could go home now?”
Eaton didn’t look happy, but he replied, “Yeah, sure, charges have been filed. We’re booking the guy.”
“Great. Then you’re free to go.”
“Thanks,” Conar told him.
“Sure thing.”
Conar set a hand on Jennifer’s back. She stiffened, her fingers curling more tightly around Lady’s leash. She was preparing for the argument they were sure to have, he thought. He still kept his hand on her and propelled her toward the exit.
“Conar?”
He paused, looking back as Liam called him. His friend remained leaning against the edge of the other cop’s desk. “Have you got any time tomorrow?” Liam asked.
“I can make some. In fact, I’m not on call until twelve. But I’ve been driving in with Jennifer, and she has a nine o’clock.”
“I’ll meet you at the studio around ten.”
“Good.” He paused. “Hey, you all have been asking a lot of questions, so it’s my turn. Any leads on the woman we found last night?”
“Not really,” Liam said. Not really, or nothing he was going to share with them at the moment?
“See you in the morning, then.”
They left the police station. Jennifer hurried ahead of him, walking toward the car.
“Well, I guess I’ll just go on home,” Doug said pointedly. “No, no, don’t thank me for being there in the midst of a bunch of trouble, don’t say goodbye, good night, or anything. I’ll just be on my way.”
Grinning a bit grimly, Conar turned back to Doug. Jennifer wasn’t going anywhere. He had the keys.
“Thank you, Doug. Thanks for the ride to find Jen, and thanks for being so patient at the police station.”
From up ahead, Jennifer said coolly, “Yes, thank you, Doug.”
“Much better,” Doug said. “See you tomorrow.”
He got in his car and left. Jennifer, standing by her driver’s door, had just remembered that Conar had her keys.
“I’ll drive,” he said.
“It’s my car.”
“I’ll drive.”
“Is that some kind of a macho thing?” she inquired.
“Yes. Move aside.”
She was angry, but she walked around to the passenger’s side. He opened the door. Lady obediently jumped into the rear seat—she seemed to take up most of it. Conar slid into the driver’s seat.
“You were kind of curt with Doug. Strange, because he did come to your rescue.”
“You bullied him into driving you to follow me,” she said, not looking at him.
“Yes, well, you know, don’t say thanks. Don’t say anything like, Gee, I really was an ass, thanks for kicking butt for me.”
Her neck snapped around and she glared at him with frosty blue eyes. “No one asked you to follow me.”
“Yes, actually, your mother did.”
“I was about to be mugged, that’s all.”
“How do you know? How do you know that bum wasn’t going to kill you?”
“He … he … just wasn’t. You could tell,” she insisted, but she didn’t sound that certain.
He stared straight ahead at the road.
“So who did you meet?” he asked her.
She was silent.
“Jennifer—”
“I met a friend. For coffee.”
“Why would you do that? Why would you just leave and not say anything to me?”
“Look, you’re not my damned keeper.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She swung on him. “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew the girl we found last night?” she demanded.
“What?” he asked, startled.
“You knew her!”
Yeah, he knew her. But he hadn’t known it.
“And you lied to me,” Jennifer said.
“I didn’t know I knew her last night. Her own mother wouldn’t have recognized her last night.”
“You auditioned with her.”
“Yes, I did. But I didn’t know who she was until the police let her name out late this morning. I had no idea it was Trish.”
She was staring at the road again. “You probably slept with her, too, right? Accidentally, or just once because she was there, or some such thing.”
Irritated, he didn’t answer her.
“You were a fool,” he said softly.
“I was not a fool because I met a friend for coffee.”
“Two young dead actresses, and a mother who thinks you’ve had death threats. Maybe your mother isn’t so crazy.”
She looked at him sharply again. “I never said my mother was crazy.”
At the house, she slammed her way out of the car. She started through the house with Lady, intent on taking her out to the kennel, but Edgar met them in the foyer.
“Miss Jennifer!” he exclaimed, horrified by her dirtied and torn appearance.
Jennifer had forgotten how she looked. “It’s okay, Edgar, I’m fine.”
Edgar didn’t believe her. He looked at Conar, who said, “She was mugged. She might have been killed.”
“But Wonder Boy appeared just in time,” she said sarcastically, then added in a rush, “I’m fine, Edgar. Conar stopped the man, the police came, and we’ve been at the station. Is Mother sleeping?”
“Like an angel.”
“Don’t tell her anything, please.”
“Jennifer, she’s going to have to know. It will appear in the papers, I’m certain.”
Jennifer shrugged, smiling ruefully at Edgar. “The mugger threatened to sue us.”
“How outrageous!” Edgar said indignantly. “Here, I’ll take Lady. I’m certain you’ll want to shower and change, Miss Jennifer. I’ll get some supper for you.”
“I’m not at all hungry, Edgar.”
“I’m starving,” Conar said.
“Thanks for taking Lady,” Jennifer said, and started up the steps.
“Will a sandwich be all right, Mr. Conar?” Edgar asked.
“It will be manna from heaven,” Conar told him.
Jennifer bolted up the stairs, but he caught her arm. She stared at his hand on her.
“Jennifer, why can’t you admit that you made a mistake and that you shouldn’t have run off without telling me?”
“I’m not welded to you, Conar.”
“I thought that we’d—well, come to some kind of an agreement.”
“An agreement?”
He inhaled deeply. “Look, I did save your ass. You don’t know what might have happened.”
“I might have had my purse stolen.”
“You might been in the hospital now getting your face stitched. Or worse. We don’t know.”
“I’m going in my own room, and I’m going to lock the door. I was fine befo
re you got here. In fact, you do realize, don’t you, that nothing happened until you got here. Think about that, Conar. Everything was just fine before you got here!”
He didn’t reply. His facial muscles were locked. “I’ll be outside your door despite the fact that you’re behaving like a fucking idiot.”
“Good for you.”
She entered her room and slammed the door in his face. He gritted his teeth, fists clenched at his side.
He was furious.
He’d been scared to death for her. He’d rescued her. And she was mad at him!
He was still standing at her door. At last he raised a hand. “Right. Okay. Fuck you, Miss Connolly.”
Long, angry strides brought him to his own room. A hot shower did nothing to ease his temper. A sandwich and a beer didn’t help either.
Because beneath the anger was a strange, gnawing uneasiness.
They were home, they were safe. She was in a house with an alarm, sleeping behind a locked door.
It didn’t matter. Too many strange things had happened lately. It was as if everything was coming to a head.
Jennifer showered for a long, long time. She kept remembering the look of the man who had attacked her. Ugly. Scarred. His eyes had been wild.
He would have slashed her with that wine bottle without blinking.
But was he the killer? Was there one killer? Had Brenda and Trish been victims of two different random killers?
Was it all associated with her in any way?
Why had she lashed out at Conar so furiously when he had saved her butt?
Because she was afraid, she realized. Really afraid.
At last she turned off the shower. She wrapped herself in a towel, stood before the mirror, and dried her hair. When she closed her eyes, she could see the bum’s face again. She shivered. But if he was just a bum then it was merely bad luck that he’d come upon her on the street the way that he had.
Her hair dried; she walked back into her bedroom. She felt so restless. She thought about her meeting with Lila, and all of the things Lila had said.
Had Conar really recognized the body of Trish Wildwood last night and refused to admit that he had known her?
Conar.
She was disturbed to realize that she really wanted to go to him. She wanted him to comfort her. It was more disturbing still to realize she wanted something else. His naked body next to hers. Whispers in her ear. His hands on her, his lips touching her …
She jerked open one of her dresser drawers and pulled out her comfortable Tweetie Bird nightshirt. Determinedly she curled into bed, by herself.
She considered watching the news, but she decided she’d never sleep if she saw any more about the recent killings in L.A. County.
She wanted the light on, but the light bothered her. She lay awake staring at the ceiling. She rose, turned on the bathroom light, and turned off the main overhead lamp.
She lay on the bed again, thinking.
Conar. The Wild Child turned Wonder Boy. Tall, lean, extraordinary, with his sharp gray eyes and rugged features, a man who drew women with a twist of his head, a glance, a look, the slightest nuance …
She tossed in the bed, wanting him, and wondering if other women had wanted him that way.
And if they had died for it.
Hours went by. At last she rose and took some p.m. pain medication. She hated to do it. She’d be groggy in the morning. But she had to have some sleep.
Forty-five minutes later, it began to kick in. She closed her eyes and dozed. She wondered where sleep really began and ended. She started dreaming again, and knew that she was dreaming.
Celia Marston was in the dream, beckoning her toward the cliffs. She followed, aware that she was being stalked as well.
No, Celia, no, wait…
Celia turned to her—and became Brenda.
Run, Jennifer, run, he’s behind you … don’t turn, run …
But she had to turn. The bum with the wine bottle and scarred face was behind her. “Your purse, lady, I only want your purse!”
But he started laughing, and his face started changing, and she knew that killer was indeed standing behind her …
She woke up. Her eyes flew open.
She screamed. There was a dark figure standing above her.
She leapt up from the bed, blinking furiously. Dear God, am I still sleeping?
The figure was gone. Just like that. Disappeared.
There was a pounding at her door. Conar.
She ran to the door, then hesitated. Had he somehow gotten into her bedroom? Had he been trying to terrify her in the night?
“Jennifer!”
She threw open the door, shaking. He stood there in his long pajama bottoms, hair mussed, eyes wild, features tense.
“What the hell happened?”
Caution be damned. She threw herself into his arms. “I don’t know … there was someone there …”
He set her aside, stepping into the room. He walked across it, checked the closet, checked the bath, looked under the bed.
“There’s no one here,” he told her.
“I could have sworn … ,” she murmured.
“Were you dreaming? A nightmare?” he asked softly.
“Maybe. But it was so real …”
He stood still, watching her. She moistened her lips. “Thanks for saving my butt tonight.”
“My pleasure,” he said after a moment. “I have a vested interest.”
She walked over to him. “Stay with me,” she invited softly.
He shook his head. Gentle fingers touched her hair. “I’m not sure that I should. Not the way that you mean. You’re just frightened.”
She smiled, shaking her head. “I don’t want to analyze the situation. I just want you to stay.”
With that, she pulled the nightshirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. He stared at her for a moment. She parted her lips and closed her eyes, anticipating.
His kiss never touched her lips.
He slid to his knees. The warm moisture of his breath fanned her intimately at the silky V of her panties. His tongue touched her through the silk. Her knees trembled; she nearly fell.
She forgot all else except for the feel of him … God help her, no.
She didn’t want to analyze anymore. She just wanted … Sex.
Later, when they lay exhausted, half-dozing and entwined, she realized she wanted more. Him.
Chapter 15
IN THE MORNING, JENNIFER rolled, stretching, reaching out, certain by the way the sun was pouring in that it was still quite early. But Conar was up, and gone.
Her room was light, the walls a soft yellow in the areas where they were not covered with 1920s paneling. Her bed set and draperies were in a traditional flower pattern by Ralph Lauren, and a handsome Persian rug covered the polished hardwood beneath her bed, and she loved the room very much. With the sun shining in, she wondered how she could have dreamed any strange night visitors in this room.
She glanced at her watch. It was only six-thirty. She took a leisurely shower, dressed, and came downstairs. Coffee, tea, juice, muffins, bagels, and toast were on the buffet in the dining room. Jennifer poured herself coffee, wondering why the house seemed so quiet. Had Conar already left this morning?
She wandered into the den and saw her mother in the rear of the room. The doors were open out to the pool. Abby wasn’t alone. She was seated in one of the large wing-back chairs, and Conar was kneeling on one knee before her. Both of them had their heads lowered.
“You see, I swore that I would do it. For myself, and for him.”
“Hello,” Jennifer said, walking into the den with her coffee. “May I join in on this conversation?” She eyed Conar determinedly. He had certainly swept into their lives; she had invited him right in. But she didn’t like him having secrets with her mother.
Conar didn’t speak. He rose, returning Jennifer’s stare.
“Young lady, you lied to me yesterday,” her mother said. br />
“What?”
“You told me you were going to have coffee with your friends.”
“I did. Mother, it just happened to be the day that an opportunistic bum was lying in wait.”
“An opportunistic bum who tried to kill you.”
“I think he wanted my purse.”
“And you took the dog and locked her in the car.”
“I meant to eat at an outside table, but there weren’t any.”
“You were hurt; you could have been killed. And you lied to me.”
“Mother! I—”
“You said that you were meeting the girls. Implying that you were going with Kelly and Serena. But you weren’t meeting them.”
“Mom, how could you think that—”
“Kelly and Serena were still on the set, filming even after Conar.”
Jennifer stared at Conar again, anger and resentment taking firm root. “I don’t remember telling you that I was meeting those two in particular.”
“So who did you meet?” her mother inquired.
“A different friend.”
She glanced at Conar, then wondered what difference it would make if she divulged the name. “A woman named Lila Gonzalez, Mother.” That was the truth. “I hadn’t seen her in a long time.”
“So you decided to go off alone in the midst of all that is going on?”
“Mom, please! I’m careful, honestly, but I’ve got to live a normal life as well. Please, don’t be upset about last night. I’m all right.”
She stared at her mother anxiously, wanting Abby not to worry so much. Abby kept her eyes on her daughter’s. “I’m going into the hospital for some tests later this afternoon,” she said, changing the subject. “I’ll be staying through the weekend. You don’t need to worry about your schedule. Edgar will take me, and you can visit at your leisure.”
“Tests?” Jennifer said, alarmed. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me, Mother?”
“I told you yesterday, before you ran out so pig-headedly, that I needed to speak with you,” Abby said. “You remember my friend Vic, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course, Mother. Your friend from all the trips to the doctor’s office.”
“He died yesterday morning.”
“Oh, Mother, I’m so sorry. He was such a fine man.” She squeezed Abby’s hands in sympathy, then frowned and asked softly, “How? Were his symptoms so severe? Did his heart give out? Was it respiratory?”