He pulled up the collar of his jacket against the sudden chill of the night. Or perhaps the chill came simply from the memory of that beautiful young woman tangled unceremoniously in a web of garbage. Thinking of young Jessica Beckwith reminded Tully of Emma. How could he ever make Emma understand he only wanted to protect her? That he wasn’t simply being mean. Not that she wanted any explanation. And of course, now she wasn’t even talking to him since he had prevented her from going to the prom with Josh Reynolds.
“We tried to get hold of the owner,” Manx interrupted Tully’s thoughts. “He’s out of town, won’t be able to get back until late tomorrow. His wife said Messinger was taking care of things.”
Tully reached for his eyeglasses and noticed the officer was making a mess of the door’s lock. Finally something clicked just as the door handle came loose and fell off.
Manx found a light switch and not only did the back storeroom brighten, but the entire shop lit up, aisle by aisle. It didn’t take much time to inspect the small shop and realize nothing seemed to be out of place. The cash register had been shut down and locked up. Even the Closed sign had been turned on. There was no indication of forced entrance.
“He may have grabbed her while she was walking to her car,” Manx said, scratching his head, reminding Tully of one of the Three Stooges.
An officer took off out the door to check the alley, while the other started rummaging through the storeroom.
“Rosen filled me in, told me about O’Dell.”
Tully stopped and glanced over at Manx from behind the counter. The detective’s bulldog features softened. He actually looked sympathetic, if that was possible. Tully decided the jacket was definitely orange. In the bright light of the store there was no doubt.
“Now maybe you’ll understand,” Tully said, “why she’s been overly anxious about your investigation of the McGowan woman’s disappearance.”
“Well, I figure there might be a reason to rethink the Endicott case, too.” Manx hesitated as though making a major concession. “I’ve got copies of the case file for you in my car.”
“Detective,” the officer from the storeroom called out. He appeared at the door, his face pale and his eyes wide. “There’s a wine cellar below the storeroom. I think you better take a look.”
Tully followed Manx. They started down the narrow steps, only a bare lightbulb above to guide the way. But Tully didn’t need to see anything to know they had found the murder site. No farther than the third or fourth step, he could smell the blood, and he knew his stomach was not ready for what was below.
CHAPTER 58
He couldn’t believe that she had escaped. How had she been able to unlock the door so easily? He should have felt disappointment rather than exhilaration. But even his fatigue would not deprive him of the thrill and challenge of a good hunt.
The night goggles seemed to make little difference. Sure they helped him see, but there was nothing to see. Where could that little cunt have wandered off to? He shouldn’t have left her unattended for so long, but he had been distracted with the cute brunette. She had been so thoughtful, just as she had been with Agent Maggie. She had taken her time, helping him pick out a nice bottle of wine, not minding that it was closing time. In fact, she had already shut off the Open sign and was locking the front door, when he hurried in. Yes, she had been most helpful, insisting he try the crisp, white Italian for his special occasion, all the while not realizing that she herself would be the denouement of his special occasion.
But his little detour had taken its toll on him. He should have simply taken his prize and left her body in the cellar of the liquor store. At least then his muscles wouldn’t be aching. His eyes were having problems focusing. The red lines were appearing more frequently, or were the night goggles malfunctioning? He hated to think that his eyesight had gotten worse in less than a week. He hated the idea of depending on someone else. But he would do whatever was necessary to accomplish his goal, to finish this game.
He wandered through the dark woods, annoyed that his feet kept tripping over tree roots and slipping on the mud. He had fallen once, but not again. He bet she hadn’t wandered far from the shed. They never did. Sometimes they even came back, afraid of the dark or wanting to get out of the cold or the rain. Stupid bitches, so gullible, so naive. Usually they followed the same path, hoping the worn trail would lead them to freedom. Never thinking it might lead them, instead, to another trap.
He had to hand it to Tess McGowan. She had managed to hide herself quite nicely. But it wouldn’t last. He knew these woods like the back of his hand. There was no way for her to escape unless she was willing to swim. Funny, he thought as he adjusted the goggles to a different setting, none of them ever attempted that. But then, not many of them had had the opportunity. Tess was lucky he had been held up—even luckier that she had found a way to escape from the shack. He should have been angry with her, but her talents excited him. He did so love a challenge. It would make it all the sweeter to finally take her down, to possess her—mind, body and soul.
As he climbed the ridge he hoped he wouldn’t find her with a broken neck at the bottom of some ravine. That would be a total waste. He was hoping she would make up for his disappointment in Rachel. She hadn’t lived up to his expectations at all. She had been such a flirt as long as she thought he was a lowly utility worker she could tease and control. She seemed to have so much energy and vibrancy, yet she had whimpered like a helpless child when he was fucking her, the fight driven out of her so easily it was pathetic. To make matters worse, she lasted less than a half hour when he released her into the woods. What a shame.
He grabbed onto the vines and pulled himself up to the top of the ridge. Here he’d be able to look down and see for quite a distance. Nothing registered. There was no mass of heat that lit up his goggles. Where the hell had she gone?
He reached under the contraption to rub his eyes. Maybe he needed sleep more than he needed to punish Tess McGowan with a good fuck. With the familiar lethargy taking over his body, he didn’t need the added disappointment if he did find her and wasn’t able to…fuck her. He didn’t even want to think about that. No, he’d start again in the morning, when he had the energy and could enjoy a good hunt. Yes, he’d start bright and early. He looped the rope over his shoulder, picked up the crossbow and headed back. Maybe he’d open that nice bottle of Italian wine that Hannah had promised would delight him.
CHAPTER 59
Maggie felt numb. It took all her effort to keep her eyes open. She didn’t realize until she pulled into her driveway that she had been functioning on autopilot. She couldn’t remember leaving the interstate nor winding along Highway 6 with its sharp curves and steep ditches. It was a wonder she had found her way in the dark of night and through the fog of her mind.
Nick had left the light on in the portico for her. His Jeep remained where he had parked it earlier. She pulled up next to it, surprised to find the sight of its dusty sides and huge rugged tires supplied her with a wave of comfort. Now she was glad Detective Rosen had convinced her to wait until morning. How could she have thought to go hunting for Stucky in strange, dark woods in the middle of the night? Yet it had made plenty of sense only an hour ago. She had been prepared to stage a sneak attack, forgetting so quickly that she had lost the last one to Stucky. Why was it so easy for Albert Stucky to destroy all her common sense with a sweep of a hand, or rather a cut of his knife?
She knew Dr. Holmes was right, despite the probability that they would never be able to confirm it. She knew the liquor store clerk must have pleaded with Stucky. Maggie could hear it in her head—it came without warning and she couldn’t seem to turn it off.
She could hear Hannah pleading, and when she realized Stucky didn’t care, she must have begged for her unborn baby’s life. He would have laughed at her. It would not have made any difference to him. But she would have continued to beg and cry. Was that why he started cutting while she was still alive? Had he attempted to show
her the unborn fetus? It would have been a new challenge to add to his repertoire of horror. It seemed grotesquely inconceivable, but, for Stucky, she knew it was not.
Maggie tried to shut out the images. She unlocked the door, and she tried to be as quiet as possible. It had been a long time since she had come home to anyone or anything other than a dark, empty house. Even before she and Greg had begun avoiding each other, their schedules conflicted more often than not. In the last several years they had become nothing more than roommates who left behind notes for each other. Or at least there had been notes in the beginning. Gradually, the only signs of double occupancy had been the empty milk cartons in the frig and unrecognizable socks and underwear in the laundry room.
The alarm system beeped only once before Maggie punched in the correct code. Immediately, she felt Harvey’s cold nose sniffing her from behind. She reached out a hand in the dark, and his tongue found it.
Though the foyer was dark, the living room was bathed in moonlight. Nick hadn’t closed any of the blinds, and she was glad he hadn’t. She liked the blue glow that made the room seem magical. She saw him stretched out on the floor, his long body only halfway encased in the sleeping bag. He was bare-chested and the sight of his skin, his knotted arms, his tight stomach brought a flutter to her stomach. And just when she thought she was too tired to feel anything more.
She set down her forensic kit, took off her jacket and began peeling off her shoulder holster, when she heard the sleeping bag rustle. Harvey had returned to Nick’s side, laying his head on the bundle of legs.
“Don’t get too comfortable here,” she told Harvey.
“Too late,” Nick said, rubbing a hand over his face and lifting himself up onto one elbow.
“I meant Harvey.” She smiled.
“Ah. Good.”
He ran his fingers through his short hair, causing it to stick up in places. Suddenly Maggie had an incredible urge to smooth it down for him, to run her own fingers through his hair and along that strong, square jawline.
“How are you holding up?” Even in the blue light, she could see the concern in his eyes.
“I honestly don’t know, Nick. Maybe not so good.” She leaned against the wall and rubbed her eyes. She didn’t want to remember the dead clerk’s eyes. She didn’t want to see the shriveled-up fetus still clinging to the wall of its mother’s uterus.
“Hey,” Nick said quietly, “why don’t you join Harvey and me.” He pulled back the top of the sleeping bag, inviting her inside. In doing so, he also revealed tight jockey shorts and muscular thighs.
Again, the stirrings of arousal surprised her. Her face felt hot, and she was a bit embarrassed by her reaction, because she knew Nick didn’t mean the invitation as anything more than to curl up next to him. But now, however, he seemed to be reading her thoughts.
“I promise I’ll let you have as much control as you want.” His eyes were serious, and she knew he had managed to zoom in on her feelings. Was she that transparent?
All she wanted was to feel something other than the frayed nerves, the exhaustion, the emotions that had rubbed her mentally raw. She could no longer remember what it felt like to feel warm and safe. Earlier, in her kitchen, Nick’s presence had reminded her just how few times in the past several years she had felt any stirrings of passion and desire. Ironically, the only times she could remember were when she and Nick had been together back in Nebraska.
Without a word, she slipped off her shoes and started undoing her jeans. She met his eyes and saw a bit of surprise mixed with anticipation. He looked as though he wasn’t sure what to expect. She had no idea herself.
She left on her chambray shirt. Her underpants were already damp before she climbed in next to him. Harvey stood up, turned around three times and flopped down with his back up against Nick. They both laughed, and Maggie was grateful for the release of tension.
They lay facing each other, each braced up on an elbow. His eyes held her, but he kept his hands away. She realized he was serious about letting her have control. He looked anxious to see what she might do with him. She touched his face with her fingertips, stroking his cheek, his bristled jaw and lingering at his lips. He kissed the tips of her fingers, his mouth warm and wet and inviting.
She moved down to the scar, the slight pucker of white on his chin. Then, to his throat, watching him swallow hard as though trying to contain his emotions. Her eyes stayed with his as her fingers caressed the muscles of his chest and traced a path over his hard, flat stomach. His breathing was already uneven by the time her fingers made it to the bulge in his jockey shorts. As soon as she touched him, he sucked in air like a man no longer able to stifle himself.
“Jesus, Maggie,” he managed breathlessly. “If I’d known this was what it would be like to give you control—”
She didn’t let him finish. She kissed him lightly on the lips while her hand slipped into his waistband. His entire body quivered. Then his mouth urged her on. Each of her nerve endings seemed to come alive, though he still touched her nowhere except her lips. She knew she had him close to the edge, but he was holding back. She brought the length of her body against his. The kisses had become deep and urgent, but she left his mouth and moved her lips to his ear. She let her tongue run along his outer ear and then slip inside, rewarded immediately by a groan. She whispered, “Don’t hold back, Nick.”
It didn’t take long and his breathing came in gasps through clenched teeth. Moments later, her hand was wet and sticky. Nick collapsed onto his back, his eyes closed, waiting to gain control over his body again. Maggie’s own body was still a live wire, tingling without any stimulation other than in reaction to Nick. How was it possible for this man to make her feel so alive, so whole and full of electricity without even touching her? As she watched him, she realized she had never before felt so sensual or so completely satisfied.
He put his hands behind his neck. Sweat glistened on his forehead. His breathing had almost returned to normal. He was looking up at her now, as if trying to read her thoughts, maybe even wondering what was next. He glanced over at Harvey who had moved to the sunroom.
“Is he giving us some privacy, or is he tired of us waking him up?”
She smiled but didn’t answer. She braced herself up on her elbow again, lying on her side and watching him. Why was she suddenly not exhausted anymore?
Nick reached up and touched her hair, pushing back a strand and letting his fingers caress her cheek. She closed her eyes and absorbed the lovely sensation being sent through her body. When she opened her eyes again, he was on his side, leaning so close she could feel his breath. Yet he kept their bodies from touching while his hand gently made its way down her neck and into the collar of her shirt. He unbuttoned her shirt, hesitating at each button to give her time to protest. Instead, she lay back, inviting his touch. He was going slowly, cautiously, as if that would give her control. As if that would reduce the intensity. It only made her ache.
He sensed her urgency and let his mouth replace his fingers, gently kissing her. He tugged open the rest of her shirt and his mouth wandered, taking his time moving down her body. Suddenly he stopped. She was breathing too hard to notice at first. Then she felt his fingertips on her stomach, lightly tracing the scar that ran across her abdomen. The hideous scar that Albert Stucky had left. How could she have forgotten it?
She sat up abruptly and disentangled herself from the sleeping bag, escaping before Nick could react. In her rush, she almost tripped over poor Harvey. Now, she stood looking out over the backyard, the front of her shirt gathered into a fist. She heard him come up behind her. She realized she was shivering though she wasn’t cold. Nick wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned into his warm body, resting her head back against his chest.
“You gotta know by now, Maggie,” he whispered into her hair, “there isn’t anything you can say or show me that’s gonna scare me away.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“
It’s just that he’s with me all the time, Nick.” Her voice was hushed, and there was an annoying catch in it. “I can’t seem to get away from him. I should have known that there would be some way for him to ruin even this.”
He tightened his hug and nuzzled her neck. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to persuade her that she was wrong. He didn’t try to contradict her just to make her feel better. Instead, he just held her.
CHAPTER 60
Maggie got up before dawn. She left Nick a scrawled note, apologizing for last night and giving him brief instructions for setting the alarm. He had said that he needed to get back to Boston to prepare for a trial, but she knew as he was telling her that he was trying to figure a way out of it. She told him she didn’t want him to jeopardize his new job. What she left out was that she didn’t want him close by for Albert Stucky to hurt.
She called Agent Tully from the road, but when he answered his door he didn’t look as if he expected her. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt and was barefoot. He hadn’t shaved yet, and his short hair stuck up. He let her in without much of a greeting and gathered up a scattered edition of the Washington Post. He grabbed a coffee mug from the top of the TV.
“I’m brewing coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“No, thanks.” She wanted to tell him there was no time for coffee. Why did he not feel the same urgency she was feeling?
He disappeared into what she thought must be the kitchen. Instead of following, she sat down on a stiff sofa that looked and smelled brand-new. The house was small with very little furniture, and most of it looked like hand-me-downs. It reminded her of the apartment she and Greg had right out of college—with milk crates for a TV stand, and concrete blocks and stained two-by-sixes for bookshelves. The only thing missing was a lime green beanbag chair. The sofa and a black halogen floor lamp were the only two new pieces.