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HE LOOKED OVER THE room. All was in order, waiting in sparkling and clean splendor, just for her.
His breathing was fast and shallow. His anticipation was tinged with excitement in a way he had not felt since his mission had first been unveiled to him, so long ago.
Tonight was almost here.
Tonight, she would be his.
He went to the long table and lifted the knife. The blade, six inches of fire-tempered and fine-honed steel, shimmered boldly as if it were itself alive and pulsing.
He held his breath while he stared at the blade. This would be the final lesson. When he had taught her everything. When she was humble before him, as she had always been destined, and when she accepted her rightful place in the world, then he would give her the final gift of understanding.
He laughed. The sound began low and raspy but built in intensity until it became a howling that first filled and was then ultimately absorbed into the six-inch-thick soundproofing that formed the womblike walls and ceiling in two of the apartment’s five rooms.
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The dinner had been simple, grilled trout and steamed vegetables. The wine was a light California Chardonnay, and the conversation was intimately distant.
An air of tension floating between them held the unspoken knowledge of what this night meant for each. Amy didn’t kid herself or justify her reasons for having Brice here.
During the past few weeks, her emotions had changed from caring and friendship into much more. And while the word love had not passed her lips, the feeling was growing stronger.
She had called him this morning because she did not want to leave this earth without sharing what she had inside of her, regardless of how he might feel.
“That was absolutely...magnificent,” Brice said, smiling warmly at her.
“Thank you.” Returning his smile, Amy stood, poured more wine into his glass, and said, “Go into the living room. I’ll be in in a few minutes.”
“I can help,” he offered.
She went around to him and offered him her hand. When he took it, she tugged gently. He came off the chair and rose to his full height.
She squeezed his hand, released it, and then raised her own to his face. She stroked his cheek, lifted onto the balls of her feet, and kissed him.
She traced her tongue across his lips before stepping back. “Take your wine, and go inside, please.”
His pale gray eyes blazed, momentarily. Then he took his wineglass and left without another word. She watched him until he was gone, and then let out her long-held breath.
Her senses were completely expanded. She could see and feel and smell everything with an intensity that amazed her while at the same time frightened her.
She gathered the dishes and carried them into the kitchen, wondering if she was so finely attuned to herself because of what she faced this night. Although she knew it was, she also hoped that when the night was over, and if she was able to return to her real life, her feelings for Brice would remain.
She deposited the dishes onto the kitchen counter and heard the stereo go on. She closed her eyes and listened to the soft sounds of the jazz album Brice had chosen, feeling the music as much as hearing it.
Opening her eyes, she looked at the clock. It was nine. The night was speeding by. She looked at the dishes, turned, and walked out of the kitchen. She went into the living room, and found Brice looking at the oil painting of her father.
She studied his broad back, trim waist, and then looked up at his strong neck. The low undercurrent of desire she had been holding down, within her, broke free. A heavy flaring of heat and need burst up within her, threatening to consume her even as she closed the distance between them.
She came up behind him, slipped her arms around him, and drew herself against him. Her breasts were crushed to his back while her palms pressed his chest.
She was all too aware of the hardness of his muscles, and the way the heat from his skin came through the thin cotton of his shirt. She lifted on her toes so she could press her lips to the base of his neck.
She tasted his skin, and drew into her mouth the heat from his body. His hands went over hers, pressing them even tighter against his chest.
And then, turning, he enfolded her in his arms and crushed his mouth upon hers with a passion that tore her breath from her lungs.
Her fingers arched, her nails dug into his back, ripping his shirt without knowing what the sound or the feel was. A moment later he lifted her from the floor and swung her into his arms without taking his mouth from hers.
He carried her into her bedroom and set her back on her feet. Only then did he pull back from her.
She cried out when their lips separated, and tightened her embrace. Her breasts burned wherever they pressed upon him, her belly was on fire. She lifted again, bringing her mouth to the soft skin just above his Adam’s apple. She kissed him, drawing his skin between her teeth for a moment and then releasing it to move and kiss and nip again.
She released her hold on his back and brought her hands between them. Her fingers went to the buttons of his shirt. Slowly, she undid it, accenting each released button with another nipping kiss.
His hands were in her hair, and then on her back as she lowered herself with each button she released until finally, his shirt was open.
She slid her hands beneath the material, parted it, and pushed it down from his shoulders. His skin was taut and warm. His muscles trembled beneath her fingertips. She traced downward, across his shoulders, sliding the shirt down his powerful arms.
When the shirt fell from his wrists, she trailed her fingers back to his chest, and then downward, flowing her fingertips over his ribs. He flinched at one point, and she paused.
She leaned close to him, and kissed the spot on his ribs where the skin was bruised.
He bent then, lifted her face to him, and kissed her deeply.
She moaned deep in her throat, then tore her mouth from his, moved it to his chest, and pushed through the soft blanket of hair until her lips met his skin, and pressed moistly to it.
His groan of pleasure floated above her as her lips captured his nipple and toyed with it. She held him close, enjoying the taste and feel of him, and then, slowly, she drew away.
She raised herself to her full height and gazed directly into his eyes. And then, slowly, she undressed herself.
She lifted her top, pulled it over her head, and then let it fall. Her eyes were locked on his. She saw his eyes roam over her, drink her in, and then return to stare at her. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, moistening them in open invitation as she unbuttoned the top of her jeans, and shrugged them down her hips.
She stepped forward and pressed herself upon him. The feel of her breasts against his chest was a delicious sensation that sucked her breath from her chest.
She cried out, and then pulled his head down to greedily devour his mouth. The pleasure from just touching him was so intense that her need turned painful.
She drew him with her, toward the bed, and as they moved, she unbuckled his belt. She tried to unbutton his pants but her fingers could not manage that simple task.
Thankfully, he took over for her and before she realized it, he was lifting her and then setting her on the bed. In the same movement, he hooked his fingers into the elastic waist of her panties and tugged them down and free.
He straightened, dropped the panties, and then joined her on the bed. Somehow, she realized that he was as naked as she, and the burning heat of his body was a fire that branded her from her shoulders to her feet.
She turned to him, welcoming his mouth and hands as he kissed and caressed her. His mouth was a furnace, burning a trail from her lips downward, scorching her neck and scalding her breasts.
When he took her nipple into his mouth, her back arched and her hand caught his head and pressed him harder to her. She groaned without hearing herself as his hands continued their exploration of her body.
Within seconds, she was lost in a whirl of desire and need, echoing his every movement with her own.
His hands were everywhere, as were hers. She learned about his body the way a blind person learned to read. She touched him, felt him grow hard and strong and then, as their bodies continued to blaze, they came together in a melding of passion and emotion that staggered her and ultimately lifted her to a place where they became one person in body and in mind.
They remained together while the minutes blurred into an eternity. She smelled him and felt him and experienced him in such a way she knew her emotions and her love had not been misplaced.
And afterward, as they lay together, temporarily satiated, but knowing that they could not stay this way without touching again, she kissed him softly and snuggled into the crook of his arm.
She didn’t speak, and knew he would not speak either. Something special had happened tonight. A bond had been formed between them. And the barriers she had always kept erected against her emotions had come down with an abandon she would never have believed possible.
Sighing, she shifted and laid her hand on his chest. She stroked him gently, caressing his chest and enjoying the feel of him against her fingers.
It had been a long time since she had shared her bed and her body with a man. And she was glad she had waited for Brice.
She kissed him again, slowly, lovingly. He turned to her, one of his hands went around her back, the other cupped her buttocks and drew her to him.
The kiss deepened with passion, and their minds gave up control to their bodies.
Amy listened to his gentle and even breathing. She was loath to leave the heat of his body, or the protection of his arm, but she had seen the clock, and the time was at hand.
She gazed at his profile, which was outlined with the glow from the clock. She had given emotions tonight that she had not been fully aware she possessed. The depth of her response to him surprised her. Again, she wondered if she was reacting to what she had yet to face.
She didn’t think so. She believed that the woman inside of her was reacting to Brice Walker, the man. And he was, she thought, a man’s man. He had been passionate, powerful, and gentle at the same time. He had taken from her everything she had offered, and had given her everything he possessed in return.
There had been no faked emotions, no empty words or hollow promises. There had been passion, love, and a bond that they shared.
Please, she prayed silently, Please let me come back in the morning. Please let me find him here—waiting.
Sliding from under his arm, she moved slowly and carefully so that he would not be aware of her actions. She got off the bed, scooped her panties and jeans from the floor, and went into the bathroom.
When she emerged shortly thereafter, she went to her dresser and took a bra and a top. Holding the clothing to her chest, she looked at Brice for several seconds, drinking in everything she could.
And then she left the room, closing the door behind her and going to her office. She finished dressing in the solitude of her father’s books and mementos, and then went to the gun cabinet.
She opened it, took out her old shoulder holster, and secured it around her shoulders and chest. But instead of taking out her service revolver, she returned to the desk, took a small key from the center drawer, and then went to the cabinet.
She unlocked the second drawer and opened it slowly. There were two pistols inside. One was a snub nose thirty-eight detective special. The other was a classic weapon. Both had been her father’s. The thirty-eight was his police service revolver. The classic was a forty-five-caliber automatic Colt army issue. It had been her father’s sidearm when he had served in the army.
Her father had used it, over the years, as a target pistol. He had taught Amy to fire it, and to fire it with absolute perfection. The weapon was one of the most powerful ever made. And tonight, she wanted power, for she intended to return home in the morning.
She loaded the clip of the forty-five, and then loaded a spare clip as well. She slipped the well-maintained weapon into the shoulder harness, and then picked up her father’s snub nose. She checked it, loaded it, and made sure the safety was on before tucking it into the waistband of her jeans.
She looked around the office and breathed in the scents of the room: leather, wood, lemon oil polish, and the special scent of memories.
“Watch over me tonight, Daddy. Bring me home in the morning.”
She left the office, picked a hip-length leather jacket from the closet and stepped outside and into the Phantom’s shadowy night.
A gust of cold wind whipped across her face. She braced herself against it as she continued toward the corner.
She’d been on the move for over an hour. And while she hadn’t yet felt the cold and familiar sensation of being watched, she knew he was out here, waiting for her.
The night was cold; the streets were mostly empty. She’d chosen this neighborhood because it was primarily residential, and there would be less people around should she get to face him on the street.
But so far, the night was just cold. And what made it even colder was knowing Brice slept in her bed.
Stop! she warned herself as she reached the corner and turned onto the next block.
She paused when the street turned bright. Looking up, she saw the clouds had parted and the moon, full, bold, and yellow-white shone down on the city.
The illumination created by the light of this powerful full moon had a strange effect, for it cast shadows down from the tall buildings lining each side of the street, making it appear as if she were walking into an ancient valley bordered by tall mountains.
An eerie sensation settled upon her as she entered into this city valley. The street was as empty as most she’d been on this night. No cars drove along the street’s moon-polished blacktop. No life seemed to be around her at all.
She moved slowly forward, trying to sense what lay ahead as well as what might be lurking behind. She passed three apartment buildings, each with softly lit lobbies. Two of them had doormen, and one was just a locked vestibule entryway.
But when she cleared the third building, the tingle started at the nape of her neck. She took a half step, pretended to stumble, and caught herself against the side of the building.
Without being obvious, she glanced behind her. There was nothing. She straightened and started off again. This time she walked at a faster pace.
Near the corner, she came abreast of a small pub. The smell of beer and tobacco drifted out to the sidewalk. She walked through the scent, reached the corner, and turned.
The feeling of being watched was still strong. The instant she turned the corner, she stopped and drew back against the building.
She waited, her breathing low and slow. But when thirty seconds had passed and no one had turned the corner, Amy doubled back.
She turned back onto the street. There was nothing.
She stood on the corner for a moment, and then looked at the bar. Perhaps her hunter had gone to ground in there, to avoid being seen.
She stared at the entrance to the pub for several seconds before deciding to check it out. Then she went to the door, opened it, and stepped inside.
There were a half a dozen men at the bar. Each one turned to look at her. When she openly met their stares, one by one, each returned his attention to his drink.
“Hi, there.”
The somewhat slurred words came from her right. Her head snapped around as adrenaline charged into her bloodstream. The man smiled at her. There were several dark spaces where teeth used to be.
He appeared to be in his late fifties. His clothing was shabby and dirty, and she could smell him from the five feet that separated them.
Amy looked around one more time and then left as silently as she’d entered. Out on the street again, and breathing in the sweeter-smelling night air, she allowed herself a shudder of frustration.
She wanted to shout, to tell him where she was, but somehow, she knew that he knew. Come on! she called mentally, come and get me!
And as soon as the thought was out, there was a movement to her right. Reaching for the Colt, she turned to face the sound, and saw the disheveled man from the pub emerge on the street.
He spotted her and reached out one hand to her. “Wait,” he cried, lunging forward. But he stopped suddenly, clutched his chest, and fell to the ground.
Without thinking, Amy released the butt of the pistol. Her first thought was that he was having a heart attack. She went to him and, kneeling, bent to check his pulse.
She put two fingers over his carotid artery. At the same instant she felt the blood pumping beneath her fingers, the man exploded into life.
He grabbed her arm and yanked down. Then he reached up with his other hand and caught her shoulder. Before she could react, he had pulled her down, twisted from beneath her, and rolled on top of her, pinning her hands to the sidewalk with his own.
“Now I’ve got you,” he said.
Amy reeled from the rotting and putrid stench of his breath. She gagged, then thrust up with her knee trying to dislodge him as quickly as possible.
But he was straddling her in an off-center position that did not leave him vulnerable.
She had to get free. She had to! Her anger gave her strength. She knew it couldn’t end now. He had taken her too easily.
“No!” she shouted, bucking beneath him. “No! Damn you!”
He shifted above her, leaning forward to change his grip. His weight was on her belly. The pressure intensified as the backs of her hands were ground into the cement sidewalk while he tried to get both of her wrists together so he could free one of his hands.
She struggled, twisting and wriggling beneath his bloated bulk, but she was getting nowhere. “Easy,” he growled. “You take it easy. We’re going to have fun! You can enjoy it, or you can get hurt, real bad,” he said, leaning his face closer to hers.
She turned from him and at the same time, bucked up once. His hands slipped on her wrists and she closed her eyes and snapped her head sharply up.
She was rewarded by a yelp of pain as her forehead smashed into his nose. “You—”
But his word was cut off, and his weight disappeared an instant later. Unbelievably, she saw him arc through the air and smash into the joining of the building and the sidewalk.
There was a dull thud, and he laid still.
Then a shadow fell over her. Rolling quickly, Amy twisted her body, got her knees under her, and jumped to her feet.
Before she could reach for her weapon, her hair was caught and she was pulled backward. An instant later the cold hard metal of a pistol was pressed to her forehead.
“Damn you for being such a stupid bitch!” A chill ripped through her with the sound of his voice. “You always had to be the one who had to do things the hard way. You had to prove that you were the better man, didn’t you!”
A second later he released her hair and spun her to face him. Amy stared past the pistol barrel and into the eyes of her ex-husband, Ron Somers.
Her world wavered and almost shattered. But somehow she managed to make her legs keep her upright. She shook her head, the horror and disgust at the revelation of who had been hunting her all these years tore at her painfully.
“How...how could you—” she began, her voice so choked with emotion the words were barely audible.
He cut her off before she could say more. “—How could I feel this way? How could I resent what you’ve done? How could I have loved you so damned much when all you wanted was a career?” he challenged, his eyes wide and wild as he leaned toward her. She saw a jagged vein pounding at his temple.
“Ron, you’re wrong...” She stopped when his eyes went out of focus and the pistol in his right hand began to shake.
She remembered what Carolyn had told her: whoever the Phantom was, was out of control, and might not even be aware of whom he really was.
She tried not to let her feelings of rage at learning the Phantom’s identity control her actions, but it was hard. And the darkness that was blotting out her soul was growing heavier.
He blamed her for what he had not achieved, and he had taken it out on all those other women. She closed her eyes for a second as the overwhelming knowledge that it was him again assaulted her senses.
“Don’t close your eyes. Don’t look away from me!” he shouted.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Ron, why—”
“Oh, no, you aren’t going to play the innocent with me. You damn well know why I’m doing this. I had hoped, no, I had prayed that you wouldn’t go out on the street again. And when they set you down, and put you at the academy, I thought it was over and you had learned your lessons and would accept your life.
“But no!” he shouted, waving his pistol wildly in the air between them. “No! You had to get on the streets again, didn’t you? You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? And I knew you were out on the street again, looking for him!”
She listened to him, holding herself up to his screaming tirade. When he fell momentarily silent, she said, “Ron, I want to help you. I don’t want any more women to die because of me. No more. Just take me.”
“Take you w—” his word was cut off and his eyes widened further. He stepped back from her, traced his pistol toward her, and raised his arm.
Realizing he was going to shoot her, Amy lunged forward and grabbed his wrist. She twisted, trying to dislodge his grip on the pistol.
“No! No!” he shouted. He twisted in the opposite direction, and brought his free arm around. Using his elbow, he hit her on the cheek.
Pain spread wildly over her face. She released his wrist reflexively and drew back. At the same instant a gunshot sounded.
She saw Ron’s face show shock and surprise, and then his entire body stiffened.
Things blurred with the realization someone was behind her. The drunk, she remembered. Just as Ron began to fall to the sidewalk, she turned.
Before she could complete her movement, the world came to a halt. An explosion of pain erupted at the back of her head and sent waves of blackness through her mind.
She fought to hold herself up, battling the pain and darkness that were trying to take her away, but she could not.
An instant later Amy crashed heavily onto the pavement.
