I'm Watching You

  “I’m no good at this.”

  One dark brow lifted, giving him a rakish look. “At what?”

  Kristen rolled her eyes. “Do you want to come in for a cup of tea or not?”

  His eyes gleamed in the darkness and her heart thumped as she waited for his answer. “Yes, I do,” he said huskily, and she had the definite impression he was talking about more than tea. “I need to talk to your uniform down on the street. I’ll be right back.”

  He slammed the door, leaving her in the dark with her thoughts.

  He’s going to kiss you, Kristen. You stupid idiot. Now he’ll know.

  She wasn’t that naive. Yes, he’d try to kiss her. Nor was she a woman to deny the inevitable. Yes, he’d know. With a man like Reagan, all it would take would be one single kiss to expose her. So he’ll know. So what? Maybe he won’t care.

  Hah, she ridiculed herself. You really are stupid. All men care.

  She sighed. Even a nice man like Abe Reagan would want what she couldn’t deliver. After one kiss, he’d realize she was too cold…Too frigid to give him what he needed, wanted. He’d quickly conclude this wouldn’t work, and though he’d try to be kind about it, they’d quickly find themselves back in a purely professional relationship. Which was better. The sooner they caught this killer, the sooner Reagan would be gone and she’d have her life back to normal. Normal is lonely. Normal is all you’ll ever have. Get over it.

  He opened her car door, letting the cold air rush in, a fitting end to the lecture she’d given herself. She looked up at him bleakly. “Any action while I was gone today?”

  “No. Charlie Truman’s assigned to night shift. He’s a good cop, friend of my brother. You’ll be safe with him outside. And remember McIntyre, the guy who took your statement last night? He’s got day shift. You should see him tomorrow morning.” He frowned. “Kristen, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  In silence he helped her down, opened her kitchen door and flicked on the lights while she disabled the alarm. “I’ll take a rain check on the tea,” he said quietly. “You must be tired.”

  “No.” The word exploded from her lips, surprising them both. She drew a breath and unbuttoned her coat. Let’s just get this over with. “No, stay. Please.” She tossed off her coat and busied herself with the teapot, listening to the rustle of his coat hitting a chair, cursing the trembling of her hands when half a spoonful of tea ended up on the counter.

  “Kristen.” His voice came from behind her. Deep and rumbly and soothing. “It’s all right.”

  No, it’s not all right. She dropped her chin to her chest. “Maybe you were right. I am tired.” I am so not good at this.

  She flinched when his hands covered her shoulders, but his hands didn’t force, they soothed, massaging her shoulders in wide circles that made her want to sigh and beg him never to stop. He slipped her jacket from her shoulders before returning to his task and she could feel the heat of his hands through her blouse as her body slowly began to relax.

  You are so good at this, she thought.

  “Thank you,” he said and she realized she’d voiced her thoughts aloud. His voice had gone deeper, huskier, and a hard shiver racked her body, head to toe. For just a moment his hands tightened on her shoulders, then let go, moving up to the back of her neck. His thumbs pressed the taut cords on either side of her neck and her knees went weak. One strong arm came around, catching her just under her breasts and… she let him. Let him support her. Let him pull her against his body.

  His very hard body. Hard in all the wrong places. She jerked forward, putting distance between them, suddenly tense again. Without a word he released his hold, moving his hands to her shoulders, starting all over again. Gentling me, she thought.

  “Um-hm,” he murmured and again she knew she’d spoken aloud. “And me,” he added.

  “You?”

  “You’re not the only one who’s nervous here, Kristen.”

  She looked up at him over her shoulder. His face was stark, almost grim. “Why?” It came out a whisper and his hands stilled, and for a moment he said nothing.

  Then he whispered back, “Because you say you have no family when your father is still alive, and you say you studied art in Florence, but I don’t see anything in this house that you’ve painted. Because you said that victims never, ever forget. Because someone hurt you, and I’m terrified I’ll do something to make you think I’d hurt you, too. Because I won’t.”

  But he would. Her heart cracked as she acknowledged the fact inside. Outside, she nodded. “I know.” Because he wouldn’t mean to. And perhaps because some tiny part of her still wished with all her might that his words would be true.

  His eyes bored into hers. “Do you?” His hands smoothed over her hair and she felt him feel for, then tug a pin from her hair. It clattered to the counter and he pulled out another.

  “What are you doing?” her voice was low-pitched, raspy.

  “Taking down your hair. These pins have driven me crazy all day.” It was a low murmur and sent a new hard shiver racing through her body. His eyes flashed and he pulled out more pins. Her hair sprang free and his hands delved deep, his fingers scraping gently across her scalp. On a low moan her eyes slid shut and every bit of oxygen left her lungs. His hands felt so good, so absolutely necessary.

  She’d been driving him crazy. The thought was nearly enough to make her giddy.

  One hand slipped from her hair to bracket her jaw and his thumb swept across her cheek, much as it had her palm earlier. She opened her eyes with difficulty, feeling almost drowsy with pleasure. His face was closer now, much closer.

  His lips brushed her temple and she stopped, simply stopped breathing.

  “There’s one more reason I’m scared,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.

  “What?” She mouthed the word, but her voice never emerged.

  “I wanted you the first time I saw you. I want you now.” His whispered admission shook her, shocked her. She should be afraid, terrified.

  But I’m not. Instead she was tempted. Then his lips were on her cheek, scant inches from her mouth. So tempted. All she had to do was turn her head a little bit and his mouth would be on hers. And she wanted to. Wanted to feel the heat of his mouth, to know how it felt to be kissed by a man like him. “Abe.”

  He abruptly stilled. “Say it again,” he demanded. “Say my name again.”

  She swallowed hard and somehow found her voice. “Abe.”

  He shuddered and the vibration of his body found its way into hers. Sharp little tingles singed her skin, sinking deep, making her yearn for more. Then all thought fled when he moved his head, closing those scant few inches to her lips. His mouth covered hers, hard and soft at the same time, impossibly hot. And she wanted more. She turned her body toward his and in one hard beat of her heart his arms were around her, hands splayed against her back, burning her skin. He slanted his head, deepening the kiss and her arms lifted, her forearms resting on the solid rock of his chest. His hands gently grasped her wrists, urging her arms up and around his neck. Then his hands were on her back again, his fingers pressing hard into her flesh, urgent. Desperate.

  And the kiss went on and on and on.

  Abruptly he broke it off. Disappointment crashed over her in a wave until he took one of her hands and placed it over his heart. Feeling the wild thunder under her palm, she looked up and knew as long as she lived, whatever happened in the next day, in the next minute that she’d never forget the way he was looking at her. Like he can’t get enough of me.

  “I can’t.” His eyes blazed, blue as the core of a flame and she knew she’d once again voiced her thoughts, but embarrassment was the farthest emotion from her mind. “Feel what you do to me, Kristen. Please, don’t be afraid.”

  “I’m not.” I’m really not. To prove it to him, and perhaps to herself, she pulled his head down for another kiss, this one shorter, but hers. Then pulled back to find him smiling and her heart took a great leap,
then tumbled. There was such sweetness in his smile, such ease, such relief. She felt her own lips curve in response.

  “I’m glad,” he said.

  “So am I.”

  “I have to go.”

  Startled, Kristen widened her eyes. “Why?”

  His smile became rueful. “Because I want to do a hell of a lot more than kiss you.”

  Her breath caught in her throat at the image his words conveyed. It was more than she’d expected, more than she’d planned. “Abe, I—”

  He pressed his fingertips to her lips. “It’s okay, Kristen. I can wait.”

  She kissed his fingertips and his eyes heated. I can make this man … burn. And she had. She’d felt it in the brief brush of his body against hers as they’d kissed. He’d been aroused. But he hadn’t pressed. Hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t thrust himself on her… Hurting her… And dammit, she was back there, twenty years old and scared out of her mind. Be still. Don’t fight me. You damn tease, you wanted this. The ground was hard and the night was hot and the Ferris wheel went round and round, the lights bright and—

  No, no, no. She closed her eyes, drew a breath, and made the memory stop. When she looked up, she could see that he knew. He understood. And he wasn’t running away.

  “One day at a time, Kristen,” he murmured. “That’s what we’ll do.”

  We. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back. “Why do you care?”

  He smiled so gently it made her heart want to break. “Because I like you. Now I’m going to kiss you good night because I have to go.” He did, a hard stamp of possession. “Be ready tomorrow at four for dinner. Until then, don’t leave the house without Truman, McIntyre, Mia, or me.”

  Sunday, February 22, 9:00 A.M.

  It was too cold for many people to be out, but Abe could hear the rhythmic pounding of basketballs and knew someone in the neighborhood stirred. Hopefully they’d have more success finding the kid who’d dropped the Skinner box on Kristen’s doorstep today than they had yesterday. If anybody knew this kid, nobody was telling. They might have to wait until tomorrow when school was open and ask the faculty if they knew the kid in their picture.

  Mia was leaning up against her car, concentrating on tearing the tab off the plastic lid of her coffee cup. She gestured to a second steaming cup sitting on her hood. “Yours.”

  Abe took the coffee, grunting his thanks.

  Mia shot him a deadpan look. “My, aren’t we chipper this morning?”

  “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Why not?”

  Abe grimaced. Because every time I closed my eyes I dreamed of kissing Kristen until she couldn’t remember her own name, until whatever was done to hurt her was forced out of her mind, until she begged me for more. The dreams had left him hard and aching and lonely. “Just this case catching up with me, I guess. Let’s get started. I want to find this kid soon. I have dinner at my mother’s tonight.”

  Mia brightened. “Will you save me some leftovers?”

  Abe chuckled. “Let’s go, Mia.”

  They followed the sound of the bouncing balls to the court across the street from King High School, the name that was clearly seen on the jacket the kid wore in the picture. Five young boys were on the blacktop. All five stopped when they saw them coming.

  “Cops,” Abe heard one of them hiss.

  “Snoopin’ around here yesterday,” another muttered. Abe held out his badge. “I’m Detective Reagan and this is Detective Mitchell. We’re looking for a kid who goes to King High. Any of you kids go to King?”

  The five looked at one another. They all looked to be about sixteen. Not too much younger than the punk that shot Debra. “I asked you a question,” Abe said, his voice going harder. “Do you go to King?”

  They all nodded unwillingly.

  Mia drew the picture from her pocket. “We’re looking for this kid. If we don’t find him today, we’ll find him tomorrow when school’s open. If you say today you don’t know him and we find out later you did …” She let the thought trail off suggestively. “It’ll be better for you guys if you help us out.”

  As a group they scowled at each other, and more mutters filled the air. But they looked at the picture, then again at each other.

  “You know him,” Mia said.

  One of the boys nodded. “Yeah, we seen him around.”

  Abe looked down at the young boy who cradled a basketball under one arm. The young boy stared back, defiantly. “He didn’t do nothing wrong.”

  “We didn’t say he did,” Mia said quietly. “Now, where can we find him?”

  The boys looked down at their feet. “Don’t know.”

  Abe sighed. “Okay, boys, everybody against the fence. We’re going to call in a couple of cruisers to take you downtown.”

  The boy with the ball stomped. “We didn’t do nothin’. Why we gotta go downtown?”

  Mia shrugged, her cell phone in her hand. “You’re material witnesses in a murder investigation. Don’t you guys watch Cops?”

  “Damn,” one of the others whined. “My momma’s gonna kill me if I go downtown again.”

  Abe kept his voice stern. “Then tell us where to find this guy and we’ll go away.”

  The boy with the ball scowled. “His name’s Aaron Jenkins. Doesn’t even go to King anymore. Lives three blocks up.” He pointed a skinny finger. “That way.”

  “There’s a lot of buildings three blocks up ‘that way.’ ” Mia pointed in the same direction the boy had. “A little more information would be right friendly-like,” she added, her expression sarcastic and dry.

  The boy’s scowl deepened. “It’s the only building on that block with a green stoop. Old lady sits there all damn day, spyin’ on us.”

  “Wears a poky-dotted cap, can’t miss her,” another added, rolling his eyes. “She’s got the evil eye, y’know?”

  Mia’s mouth quirked up. “Thanks,” she said, then held out her hand to the boy with the ball. “Can I?”

  Clearly he didn’t believe she could make it. He pushed her the ball and she caught it with one hand. Then from well into three-point range, she closed one eye and sent the ball sailing right through the hoop. The boys stood open-mouthed and Mia just grinned. “Stay outta trouble, boys, okay? I’d hate to take you downtown for real.”

  Abe could hear their exclamations as they walked away. “Where did you learn to play?”

  “My dad.” Mia shrugged. “He wanted sons and all he got was daughters.”

  Abe thought that was pretty sad, but let it go. They walked in the direction the boys had indicated, Abe remembering the cold look in Kristen’s eyes the night before when she’d revealed her father was still alive and thought the trouble between Kristen and her father was a lot more complicated than a father who really wanted a son.

  “Green stoop, old lady with the evil eye …” Mia muttered as they came up to the building, where sure enough an old lady with a polka-dotted cap sat eyeing them suspiciously. Even Mia’s best smile did nothing to sweeten the old lady’s grimace.

  “This looks like the place,” Abe agreed. “Let’s cross our fingers Aaron Jenkins is home.”

  They found the Jenkins apartment and knocked. A woman holding a toddler on one hip opened the door and her eyes widened at the sight of them. “What is it?”

  “We’re looking for a young man named Aaron Jenkins, ma’am,” Mia said politely.

  The woman shifted the baby on her hip. “He’s my son. Why? Is Aaron in trouble?”

  Mia shook her head. “We just want to talk to him.”

  She looked over her shoulder uncertainly. “My husband is at work.”

  “This will only take a few minutes,” Abe reassured her. “Then we’ll be on our way.”

  “Aaron!” she called and the young man in the photo appeared from one of the bedrooms. He took one look at them and started to move backward.

  “We only want to talk to you,” Mia said and he paused.

  “I didn’t do nothin?
??.”

  “Aaron,” his mother snapped. “Get over here.” Feet dragging, he complied.

  “You delivered a package Friday afternoon,” Abe said. Aaron frowned. “So what? I didn’t do nothin’ illegal.” “We didn’t say you did. Where’d you get the package, Aaron?” Mia asked.

  “From some white guy. He gave me a hundred bucks to deliver the box.”

  “What did he look like?” Abe asked.

  Aaron shrugged. “I don’ know. He had a jacket with a hood, so I couldn’t see his face.”

  “Was he old? Young?” Mia pressed.

  Aaron huffed impatiently. “I said he was wearin’ a hood. I couldn’t see his face.”

  “Was he in a car?” Abe asked.

  “Nope, a van. A white one. Had a sign on the side. Had a little plug on it.”

  Abe frowned. “A plug?”

  “Yeah, like you plug in the wall. Had a cute little happy face on it. The sign said… Banner Electronics.” Aaron nodded, pleased with himself. “That’s all I know.”

  Abe frowned harder. It wasn’t the same van. Mia looked up at Abe, troubled. Then she turned her attention back to Aaron. “How did you know where to deliver the box?”

  Aaron shrugged. “He gave me the address, then told me to tear it up, so I did. Listen, that’s all I know.” He looked at his mother. “Can I go now?”

  Mrs. Jenkins jiggled the baby on her hip. “Can he?”

  Mia nodded. “Yeah, sure.” She was quiet until they’d reached the street. “That equipment that sandblasts stone? It can also make rubber signs.”

  “Magnetized to stick on a van.” Abe blew a breath up his forehead. “Dammit.”

  Mia rolled her eyes. “I spent hours looking at florists. He’s no florist. That’s why Jack didn’t find any flowers or pollen in the van. He can be anything he wants to be. Shit.”

  Abe’s cell phone trilled. A look at the caller ID had the hairs rising on the back of his neck. “What’s wrong, Kristen?”

  Kristen’s voice was shaky. “I got another box, Abe. McIntyre’s caught the boy who dropped it off. He’s holding him until you get here.”