She’d left a light burning for him. Ed was glad Grace had gone home to bed because she would ask questions. And he would have to answer them. Still, it touched him, foolishly, that she’d left the light burning.
He was tired, dead tired, but too wound up to sleep. In the kitchen, he reached for the juice and drank straight from the pitcher. She’d put the wine away and washed the glasses. When a man had spent so many years doing for himself, such little things were overwhelming.
He was already in love with her. The first romantic fantasies he’d indulged in had cemented. The trouble was, he didn’t know quite what to do about it. He’d been infatuated before, and had never had a problem taking those feelings to their logical conclusion. But love was a different ball game.
He’d always been a traditional man. Women were to be treasured and appreciated and protected. The woman you loved was to be treated gently, respected, and above all, cherished. He wanted to put her on a pedestal, but he was already aware that Grace would squirm until she toppled off.
He could be patient. That was one of the best qualities in a cop and one he’d been lucky enough to be born with. So the logical step was to give her time and space until he could successfully maneuver her exactly where he wanted her to be. With him.
Ed left enough juice for breakfast, then started upstairs. On the top landing he began to strip out of his jacket. He’d meant to leave both that and his weapon in the closet downstairs but was too tired to go back. Rubbing the tension at the nape of his neck, he pushed open the bedroom door with his foot, then hit the lights.
“Oh God, is it morning already?”
His hand was on the butt of his weapon instantly, then his fingers went quietly numb. Grace was stretched out over his bed. Shifting, she shielded her eyes with one hand and yawned. It took him a minute to realize that she was wearing one of his shirts and nothing else.
“Hi.” She blinked and managed a smile as she squinted at him. “What time is it?”
“Late.”
“Yeah.” After pushing herself up, she stretched her shoulders. “I was just going to lie down a minute. This body isn’t used to manual labor. I had a shower. I hope that’s okay.”
“Sure.” He thought it might help if he looked at her face, just her face. But it didn’t. His mouth was bone-dry again.
“I closed up that gunk you put on the walls and cleaned off the tools. After that I twiddled my thumbs.” She was awake now, her eyes adjusted. Tilting her head, she studied him. He looked as though someone had just planted a sledgehammer in the region of his solar plexus. “You all right?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know you were still here.”
“I couldn’t go until you got back. Can you tell me what happened?”
After peeling off his shoulder holster, he hooked it over a rickety ladder-back chair he planned to refinish. “The lady was lucky. She fought him off, then her dog got to him.”
“I hope the dog hadn’t had his shots. Was it the same man, Ed? I need to know.”
“You want the official response or mine?”
“Yours.”
“It was the same guy. He’s pissed now, Grace.” Rubbing his hands over his face, Ed sat on the edge of the bed. “Tess thinks this is only going to make him more volatile, more unpredictable. He’s been threatened now, and his pattern destroyed. She thinks he’ll lick his wounds, and when he’s ready, he’s going to go hunting.”
She nodded. Now wasn’t the time to tell him the chance she was taking herself. “The woman—she saw him?”
“It was dark. Apparently she can’t see two feet in front of her face anyway.” He would have sworn if he’d thought it would do any good. A decent description and they’d have him, prince or pauper, off the streets and into a cage. “She got impressions. We’ll see what we can do with them.”
“More of your pieces?”
He moved his shoulders, but the tension stayed lodged. “We’ll do some cross-checking on Fantasy’s client list, talk to neighbors. Sometimes you get lucky.”
“You’re tied up about this,” she murmured. Because he seemed to need it, she shifted to rub his shoulders. “I didn’t realize that before. I guess I thought you just took it all as it came. Routine.”
He glanced over his shoulder. His eyes were cooler than she’d seen them before, and harder. “It’s never routine.”
No, it wouldn’t be, not with a man like this. He would care too much. Despite her effort to prevent it, her gaze drifted over to rest on his weapon. He didn’t change when he took it off. That was something she’d have to remember. “How do you get through it? How do you manage to see what you see and do what you do and get through the next day?”
“Some drink. A lot of us drink.” He gave a half laugh. The tension was easing out of his shoulders and moving elsewhere. She had great hands. He wanted to tell her how much he wanted to put himself in them. “It’s escape. Everybody looks for their own.”
“What’s yours?”
“I work with my hands, I read books.” He shrugged. “I drink.”
Grace rested her chin on his shoulder. It was a strong one, a broad one. She felt at home there. “Ever since Kathleen was killed I’ve been feeling sorry for myself. I kept thinking it wasn’t fair, what did I do to deserve it? It’s been hard to get beyond losing my sister to look at the overall picture.” She shut her eyes a moment. He smelled good. Homey, secure, like a quiet fire in the evening. “For the last couple of days I’ve really been trying to do that. When I pull it off, I realize how much you’ve helped me. I don’t know if I’d have been able to get through the last two weeks or so without you. You’ve been a good friend, Ed.”
“Glad I could help.”
She smiled a little. “I’ve been wondering if you’ve given any thought to being more. I got the impression, correct me if I’m wrong, that before we were interrupted tonight we were about to move on to the next stage.”
He caught her hand in his. If she kept touching him, he wouldn’t be able to give her that time and space he was so sure she needed. “Why don’t you let me walk you home?”
She wasn’t a woman to give up easily. Nor was she one to keep banging her head against a stone wall. On a long breath, she sat back on her heels. “You know what, Jackson, if I didn’t know better I’d swear you were afraid of me.”
Surprise came first, then a slow, easy smile. “Really? Tell you what …” She began to unbutton his shirt. “I’ll be gentle.”
“Grace.” Still cautious, he covered her hands with his. “Once isn’t going to be enough.”
She curled her fingers into his. She didn’t make commitments easily, but when she did, she meant it. “Okay. Why don’t you let me finish seducing you?”
This time he smiled. He released her hands to brush his own up her arms. “You did that the day I looked up and saw you in the window.”
With his hand on her cheek he leaned to kiss her gently, softly. This was a taste he wanted to remember. It was richer, sweeter than he allowed himself. He felt her arms slip around his neck. He felt her give. Generosity. Wasn’t that really what every man wanted from a woman? Grace would never be miserly with her emotions and now, just now, he needed all she could spare. With care, he lowered her back against the mattress.
The light was bright and the room smelled of dust. He’d imagined it so much differently. Candles, music, the glint of wine in glasses. He’d wanted to give her all those pretty, romantic trappings. But she was exactly what he’d imagined. She was exactly what he’d wanted.
Her murmur against his mouth sent his pulse scrambling. As she unbuttoned his shirt he felt the cool brush of her fingers against his chest. Her lips curved against his, then parted. Her sigh filled his mouth with warmth.
He didn’t want to rush her. He was almost afraid to touch, knowing once he did his control might snap. But she moved against him and he was lost.
She’d never known any man to be so gentle, so sweet, so concerned. That in itself became an arousal. No one had ever treated her as if she were fragile—perhaps because she wasn’t. But now, with him taking such care, with him showing such tenderness, she felt fragile.
Her skin seemed softer. Her heart beat faster. Her hands, as she ran them over him, shook slightly. She’d known she’d wanted this, wanted him, but she hadn’t known it would be so important.
This wasn’t just the next stage, she realized, but something altogether different from anything she’d experienced. For a moment she thought she understood what he’d meant when he’d said he was terrified.
She lifted her mouth to his again and felt the need tangle with nerves, then nerves twine with an ache. Her fingers were trembling when she reached for the snap of his jeans. Again, his hand covered hers.
“I want you,” she murmured. “I didn’t know how much.”
He ran kisses over her face as emotion swelled in him. He never wanted to forget how she looked just now, with her eyes like smoke and her skin flushed with passion. “We have time. We have plenty of time.”
With his eyes on hers, he unbuttoned her shirt, then spread it open so he could look at her. “You’re so pretty.”
The ache faded a bit, so she smiled. “So are you.” Reaching up, she slipped his shirt from his shoulders. He was powerfully built, almost ferocious to look at, but she felt nothing like fear this time. She reached up again and brought him down to her.
Flesh warmed flesh, then heated. Though the gentleness remained in his hands, there was steel beneath it. Time spun out. He touched. She stroked. He tasted. She savored. There were degrees to intimacy. She’d thought she’d known them. Until now, she hadn’t fully comprehended how intense it could be. She shuddered when his beard brushed over her breasts. This was a primitive feeling, like the flash heat of a tree struck by lightning. As she took her hands over his back to test the muscles that bunched and flexed, she felt both the strength and the control.
His lips coursed down, hot against her dampening skin. Not lightning now, but a low, smoldering fire. She arched against him, trust absolute, desire overpowering. When he took her over the first peak, he groaned with her.
She struggled to fill her lungs with air. She wanted to say his name, to tell him—anything. But she could only shudder and reach for him.
Her pulse was galloping and the knot that had lodged in his chest was spreading. She was pulling at the rest of his clothes now, suddenly strong, desperately determined. She rolled on top of him, covering his flesh with frantic kisses, then laughing with delight as his clothes were finally peeled away.
He had a warrior’s body—and so he was. The strength, the discipline, and the scars were there. So there were true heroes, Grace thought as she touched him. They were flesh and blood and very, very rare.
He would have waited, or would have tried to. He would have pulled the strings of passion still tauter. But she was sliding down on him, taking him into her, filling herself with him. He could only grasp her hips and let her ride.
Grace threw her head back and peaked so fast she nearly crumpled forward. Then their hands clasped hard, fingers linking. The need built again, incredibly, until she was driving him as furiously as she drove herself.
She heard his long, desperate moan. Then her own body arched as pleasure arrowed into it. Her mind emptied as she slid bonelessly down to him.
He’d pulled the spread over them, but he hadn’t turned off the light. Grace was cuddled against his chest, dozing, he thought. Ed didn’t think he’d ever need to sleep again. He liked the way she tossed one leg over his, the way she’d wrapped herself around him as if she wanted to stay. He was stroking her hair because he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching her.
“You know what?” Her voice was throaty as she snuggled a little closer.
“What?”
“I feel like I’ve just climbed a mountain. Something on the scale of Everest. Then I parachuted down through all that cold, thin air. Nothing has ever felt so wonderful.” She turned her head so that she could smile up at him. “And you were right, once would never be enough.” She laughed and snuggled into his neck. “You smell so good. You know, when I put your shirt on before, I finally hit on it. Ed Jackson, tough cop, former linebacker—”
“Defensive tackle,” he corrected.
“Whatever. Detective Jackson uses baby powder. Johnson & Johnson. Right?”
“It works.”
“I can attest to that.” Like a puppy, she sniffed along his neck and shoulders. “The only trouble is, I have a feeling every time I smell a baby I’m going to get turned on.”
“I’m thinking about having that shirt bronzed.”
She nipped at his ear. “Is that what finally turned the trick?”
“No, but it didn’t hurt. I’ve always been a sucker for legs.”
“Oh yeah.” Smiling, she rubbed hers against his. “And what else?”
“You. Right from the start.” He caught her hair in his hand so that he could look at her. So much for timing and caution and well-laid plans. “Grace, I want you to marry me.”
She couldn’t stop her mouth from dropping open, or prevent the gasp that was one part surprise, one part alarm. She tried to speak, but her mind, for once, was completely blank. She could only stare, and as she did, she saw his words hadn’t been spoken on impulse; he’d thought them through very carefully.
“Wow.”
“I love you, Grace.” He saw her eyes change at that, soften. But they were still shadowed by something like fear. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I want to spend my life with you, take care of you. I know it’s not easy being married to a cop, but I can promise to do everything I can to make it work.”
She drew away slowly. “I’ll say this, once you get going, you move fast.”
“I didn’t know what I was waiting for, but I knew I’d recognize it. I recognized you, Grace.”
“God.” She pressed a hand to her heart. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to hyperventilate. “I’m not often taken so completely by surprise. Ed, we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, and …” She trailed off as he continued to look at her. “You’re serious.”
“I never asked anyone to marry me before, because I didn’t want to make a mistake. This isn’t a mistake.”
“You—you don’t really know me. I’m not really a nice person. I’m cranky when things aren’t going my way. And God knows, I’m moody. I have a temper even my closest friends live in fear of, and—this isn’t getting through.”
“I love you.”
“Oh Ed.” She took both of his hands. “I don’t know what to say to you.”
She wasn’t going to say what he wanted to hear. He was already dealing with that. “Tell me how you feel.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t worked it out. Tonight—I can tell you truthfully that I’ve never felt closer to anyone. I’ve never felt stronger about anyone. But marriage. Ed, I’ve never even thought about marriage for myself in general, much less to a specific person. I don’t know how to be a wife.”
He brought her hand to his lips. “Are you telling me no?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I can’t seem to. I can’t say yes either. It’s a hell of a spot to be in.”
“Why don’t you just tell me you’ll think about it.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said quickly. “Christ, you made my head spin.”
“That’s a start.” He pulled her to him again. “Why don’t I finish the job?”
“Ed.” She put her hand to his cheek before he could kiss her. “Thanks for asking.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Ed.” She held him off a second time, but now her eyes were laughing. “Are you sure you don’t just want my body?”
“Could be. Why don’t I check it out again, to be sure?”
It would have been nice to spend Saturday lazing around, or helping Ed give the drywall a second coat. Still, Grace was grateful he had to spend most of his day off at the station. She had a lot to think about, and she did that best alone. It also gave her the opportunity to have the extra phone line hooked up without having to explain herself. That would have to happen soon enough.
She was setting herself up as bait. That meant going to work for Fantasy. For as long as it took, or until they caught her sister’s killer some other way, Grace was going to be spending her evenings on the phone talking to strangers. One of them, sooner or later, would put in a personal appearance.
Ed would work his puzzle his way, but she would go straight to the heart and make the pieces fit.
She hadn’t liked buying the gun. In Manhattan, she’d never felt the need for one. She knew the city was dangerous, but to others, to those who didn’t know where and when to walk. Somehow, she’d always felt safe there, in the crowds, on the streets that were so familiar. But now, living in this quiet suburban neighborhood, she felt the need.
It was a .32, small and snub-nosed. It looked like it meant business. She’d handled guns before. Research. She’d even spent time on the firing range so she would understand what it felt like when you pulled the trigger. She’d been told she had an excellent eye. Even when she bought it, Grace had serious doubts about whether she could fire one of those neat little bullets into a living thing.
She tucked it into her nightstand and tried to forget it.
The morning passed while she served the man from the phone company coffee and kept an eye on the window. She didn’t want Ed to get back before it was a fait accompli. He couldn’t do anything to stop her, of course. It helped to repeat that a few times. Still, Grace watched the window as she sipped coffee and listened to the installer talk about his son’s Little League prowess.
As she’d told Ed, people always talked to her. Usually within minutes of an acquaintance they were telling her things reserved for family or the closest of friends. It was something she’d always taken in stride, but now, just now, she thought it would be wise to analyze it.
Did she have that kind of face? Absently Grace ran a hand over her cheek. That might be part of it, she decided, but it probably had more to do with her being a good listener, as Ed had suggested. She often listened with half an ear while she worked out a plot complication or characterization. But because she listened well, half was apparently enough.
People trusted her. She was going to exploit that now. She was going to harden herself and make Kathleen’s killer trust her. When he trusted her enough, he’d come to her. She moistened her lips and smiled as the installer told her about his son’s phenomenal play at second in his last game. When he came to her, she was going to be ready. She wasn’t going to be taken by surprise like Kathleen and the others.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Hadn’t she spent most of her life structuring plots? This was the most vital story she’d ever manipulated. She wouldn’t make a mistake.
She and the installer were on a first-name basis by the time she led him downstairs and through the front door. She wished him luck on his son’s game that afternoon and said she expected to see Junior in the majors in a few years. Alone, she thought of the shiny new phone sitting on the little desk in the corner of her bedroom. In a matter of hours it would ring for the first time. She had a great deal to do before that.
Making the call to Tess helped. Perhaps the approval hadn’t been without reservations, but Grace had more ammunition now. Satisfied, she picked up her sister’s keys and held them tight in her hand. It was right; she was sure of it. All she had to do was convince everyone else.
She wasn’t shaking when she drove to the station this time. Her strength was back and with it a determination to finish what she’d started at Fantasy. Out of habit, she turned the radio up loud and let Madonna’s latest pouty number blast through her head. It felt good. She felt good. For the first time in weeks she could really appreciate the full-fledged spring that had burst on Washington.
The azaleas were in their glory. Yards had violet and scarlet and coral bushes bunched together. Daffodils were beginning to fade as tulips usurped them. Lawns were green and receiving their Saturday trim. She saw young boys in T-shirts and old men in baseball caps pushing mowers. Baby’s breath and Dogwood added fragile white.
Life renewed. It wasn’t really corny, she thought. She needed badly to hang on to that. Life had to do more than go on, it had to improve. It had to justify itself year after year. If weapons were being tested somewhere in a desert, here the birds were singing and people could worry about the important things: a Little League game, a family barbecue, a spring wedding; those were important things. If Kathleen’s death had brought her grief, it had also brought her the belief that the everyday was what really mattered. Once she had justice, she could accept the ordinary again.
Pretty suburbs gave way to concrete and testy traffic. Grace swerved around other cars with a natural competitiveness. It didn’t matter that she rarely found herself behind the wheel. Once she was there, she drove with a breezy kind of negligence that had other drivers gritting their teeth and swearing. She made two wrong turns because her mind was elsewhere, then pulled into the parking lot beside the station.
If she had any luck, Ed wouldn’t be in. Then she could explain herself to the stern-faced Captain Harris.
She saw Ed the moment she walked into Homicide. The little flutter in her stomach wasn’t anxiety, she discovered. It was pleasure. For a moment she simply watched him and absorbed. He was sitting behind a desk typing with a steady, two-finger style.
His hands were so big. Then she remembered how gently, how devastatingly he’d used them the night before. This was the man who loved her, she thought. This was the man who was willing to make promises to her. And this was a man who would keep them. Because the urge to go to him, to put her arms around him came so strong, she crossed the room and did just that.
He stopped typing to close his hand over hers on his shoulder. As soon as she’d touched him, he’d known. There was her scent, and her feel. Several cops smirked in his direction as she leaned over his shoulder to kiss him. If he’d noticed, he might have been embarrassed. But he only noticed her.
“Hi.” He kept her hand in his as he drew her around. “I didn’t expect to see you here today.”
“And I’m interrupting. I hate it when people interrupt me when I’m working.”
“I’m nearly finished.”
“Ed, I really need to see your captain.”
He caught it, the trace of apology in her voice. “Why?”
“I’d rather go through it all just once. Is he available?”
Thoughtful, he studied her. By this time he knew her well enough to understand she would say nothing until she was ready. “I don’t know if he’s still here. Take a seat and I’ll check.”
“Thanks.” She held his hand a moment longer. Around them phones rang steadily and typewriters clacked. “Ed, when I tell you what I have to say, be a cop. Please.”
He didn’t like the way she looked at him when she asked. As she did, something curled into his stomach and lodged there, but he nodded. “I’ll see if I can find Harris.”
Grace took his seat when he left. In his typewriter was the report on Mary Beth Morrison. Grace tried to read it with the same kind of detachment with which Ed had written it.
“Come on, Lowenstein, just let me look at it.”
At the sound of Ben’s voice, Grace turned and watched him troop into the room on the tail of a slim brunette.
“Go find something to do, Ben,” Lowenstein suggested. She carried a cardboard box tied with string. “I’ve only got fifteen minutes to get out of here and make that mother-daughter lunch.”
“Lowenstein, be a pal. Do you know the last time I had any homemade pie?” He leaned closer to the box until her forefinger jammed into his stomach. “It’s cherry, isn’t it? Just let me look at it.”
“You’ll only suffer more.” She set the box on her desk, then shielded it with her body. “It’s beautiful. Work of art.”
“Does it have that fancy braided crust?” When she only smiled, he looked over her shoulder. It could have been sympathy cravings, he told himself. Hadn’t he felt queasy this morning? If he was going to have Tess’s morning sickness, then at least he was entitled to her cravings. “Come on, just a peek.”
“I’ll send you a Polaroid.” She put a hand on his chest, then spotted Grace across the room. “Who’s the knockout sitting at Ed’s desk? I’d kill for a jacket like that.”
Ben glanced over and grinned at Grace. “Give me the pie. I’ll see if I can make a trade.”
“Knock it off, Paris. Is that Ed’s new lady?”
“You want gossip, you gotta pay for it.” When Lowenstein stared at him, he relented. “That’s her. Grace McCabe. Writes first-class murder mysteries.”
“Really?” Lowenstein’s bottom lip jutted out as she considered. “Looks more like a rock star. I can’t remember the last time I sat down with a book. I can’t remember when I had time to read a cereal box.” Her eyes narrowed as she took in the funky and very expensive sneakers. Funky and expensive. The two words seemed to suit the woman, but Lowenstein wondered how Ed fit in. “She’s not going to break Ed’s heart, is she?”
“I wish I knew. He’s nuts about her.”
“Seriously nuts?”
“Dead seriously nuts.”
Anticipating Ben, she laid a hand on top of the box. “Here he comes now. Christ, you can almost hear the violins.”
“Getting cynical, Lowenstein?”
“I threw rice at your wedding, didn’t I?” And the truth was she had a soft spot for romance. “I guess if you can talk a class act into marrying you, Ed can carve hearts with Greenwich Village.” She nodded toward Ed. “Looks like you’re being summoned.”
“Yeah. Lowenstein, five bucks for the pie.”
“Don’t insult me.”
“Ten.”
“It’s yours.” She held out her palm, then counted the singles Ben put into it. Already planning on eating half for lunch, Ben slipped the box into the bottom drawer of his desk before he followed Ed into Harris’s office.
“What’s up?”
“Miss McCabe requested a meeting,” Harris began. He was already half an hour behind schedule and anxious to be gone.
“I appreciate you giving me the time.” Grace smiled at Harris and almost managed to charm him. “I won’t waste any of it, so I’ll get right to the point. We’re all aware that Fantasy is the link between the three attacks that have already taken place. And I’m sure we’re all aware there’ll be others—”
“The investigation’s in full swing, Miss McCabe,” Harris interrupted. “I can assure you we have our best people working on it.”
“You don’t have to assure me of that.” She sent Ed a last look, hoping he’d understand. “I’ve thought about this a great deal, first because of my sister, and second because murder has always interested me. If I were plotting this out, there would be only one logical step to take at this time. I think it’s the right one.”
“We appreciate your interest, Miss McCabe.” When she smiled at him again, Harris felt almost fatherly. But she still didn’t know diddly about real police work. “But my people are much more experienced with the reality of investigation.”
“I understand that. Would you be interested if I told you I think I’ve found a way to trap this man? I’ve already taken the steps, Captain, I simply want to apprise you of them, then you can do whatever you think necessary.”
“Grace, this isn’t a book or a television show.” Ed interrupted her because he had a feeling, a very bad feeling, that he knew where she was heading.
The glance she gave him was apologetic and worried him even more. “I know that. You don’t know how much I wish it were.” She took a deep breath and faced Harris again. “I went to see Eileen Cawfield.”
“Miss McCabe—”
“Please, hear me out.” She lifted her hand a moment, not so much in a plea as in a gesture of determination. “I know that every lead you’ve had has been a dead end. Except Fantasy. Have you been able to shut down the company?”
Harris scowled and shuffled papers. “That sort of thing takes time. Without cooperation, a great deal of time.”
“And every one of the women who work for Fantasy is a potential victim. Do we agree?”
“In theory,” Harris answered.
“And in theory, is it possible for you to put guards on all of them? No,” she answered before Harris could. “It can’t be. But you could put guards on one person. On a person who understands what’s going on, on a person who’s willing to take the chance, and more, already has a link with the killer.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Ed said it quietly, too quietly. That more than anything warned Grace that he was ready to explode.
“It makes sense.” To calm herself, she dug in her bag for a cigarette. “It was Kathleen’s voice that first drew him. When we were growing up, we were always mistaken for each other over the phone. If I’m Desiree, he’ll want to find me again. We know he can.”
“It’s too loose, too risky, and it’s just plain stupid.” Ed bit off the last words as he looked to his partner for support.
“I don’t like it either.” Ben said it, but he saw the merit of Grace’s plan. “Solid police work is always better than the big play. You’ve got no guarantee he’ll fall for it, less that you can anticipate his actions if he does. In any case, Mrs. Morrison’s on her way in to work with the police artist. Any luck and we’ll have a composite by the end of the day.”
“Fine. Then maybe you’ll pick him up before any of this becomes necessary.” Grace lifted her hands, palms out, then dropped them. “I’m not going to bank on it when we’re talking about a nearsighted, terrified woman in a dark room.” She blew out a stream of smoke and prepared to drop the next bomb. “I spoke with Tess this morning, and I asked her what she thought about the chances of this man being pulled in by the same voice, the same name, even the same address.” She looked at Ben because it was easier than looking at Ed. “She told me he’d find it next to impossible to resist. It was Desiree who started him. It’s going to be Desiree who finishes him.”
“I trust Dr. Court’s opinion,” Harris put in, holding up a hand to block Ed’s protest. “I also believe, after three attacks, it’s time we tried something more aggressive.”
“The task force,” Ed began.
“Will still go into operation.” Harris tapped the top folder on a pile. “The press conference Monday morning will go as scheduled. The bottom line is we don’t want another fatality. I’m willing to give this a shot.” He turned back to Grace. “If we move on this theory, we’ll need your cooperation at every step, Miss McCabe. We’ll assign a policewoman to take the calls from your house. You can be put up at a hotel until and if it works.”
“It’s my voice,” Grace said flatly. And her sister. She wasn’t about to forget it had been her sister. “You can set up all the policewomen you like, but I’ve already made arrangements. I’m working for Fantasy, and I start tonight.”
“The hell you do.” Ed rose and, grabbing her arm, pulled her from the room.
“Wait a minute.”
“Shut up.” Lowenstein, on her way to the coffee machine, backed up and let Ed pass. “I thought you had a head on your shoulders, then you come up with this.”
“I’ve got a head, but I won’t have an arm if you yank it out of its socket.” He was through the door and into the parking lot with Grace scrambling and puffing behind him. She began to wonder if it was time to give up smoking.
“Get in your car and go home. I’ll tell Cawfield you’ve changed your mind.”
“I’ve told you about orders before, Ed.” It wasn’t easy to catch her breath and hold on to her temper, but she did her best. “I’m sorry you’re upset.”
“Upset?” He took her by the forearms. He was very close to lifting her up and tossing her bodily into the car. “Is that what you call this?”
“All right, I’m sorry you’re a madman. Why don’t you count to ten and listen to me?”
“There’s nothing you can say that’ll convince me you haven’t gone crazy. If you’ve got any sense left, if what I feel means anything to you, you’ll get in your car, go home, and wait.”
“Do you think that’s fair? Do you think it’s right for you to put this on that level?” Her voice had risen. She lifted a fist and thumped it against his chest. “I know people think I’m eccentric, I know they think I haven’t got everything screwed on too tight, but I didn’t expect that attitude from you. Yes, I care how you feel. I’m crazy about you. Hell, let’s take the big leap. I’m in love with you. Now leave me alone.”
Instead, he caught her face in his hands. His lips weren’t so gentle now and they weren’t so patient either. As if he sensed she would have pulled away, he tightened his hold until they both relaxed. “Go home, Gracie,” he murmured.
She closed her eyes a moment, then turned away until she thought herself strong enough to refuse him. “All right. Then I have something to ask of you.” When she turned back, her eyes were very dark and very determined. “I want you to go back in and give your shield and your gun to your captain. I want you to join your uncle’s firm.”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s something I want you to do, something I need you to do so I won’t worry about you anymore.” She watched his face, the struggle, the answer. “You’d do it, wouldn’t you?” she said quietly. “Because I said I needed you to. You’d do it for me, and you’d be miserable. You’d do it, but you’d never completely forgive me for asking. Sooner or later, you’d hate me for making you give up something that important. If I do this for you, I’ll wonder my whole life if I could have done this one last thing for my sister.”
“Grace, this isn’t something you have to prove.”
“I want to explain something to you. Maybe it’ll help.” She dragged both hands through her hair before she pushed herself up on the hood of the car. Now that the shouting was over, a pigeon settled back on the asphalt to peck hopefully at a discarded wrapper. “It isn’t easy to say all of this out loud. I’ve told you Kathy and I weren’t close. What it really comes down to is she was never the person I wanted her to be. I pretended, and I covered for her when I could. The truth is she resented me, even hated me from time to time. She didn’t want to, she couldn’t help it.”
“Grace, don’t drag all this up.”
“I have to. If I don’t I’ll never be able to bury it, or her. I detested Jonathan. It hurt so much less to blame everything on him. I don’t like problems, you know.” In a gesture she used only when she was very tired or very tense, she began to knead her brow. “I avoid them or ignore them. I decided I’d make it his fault that Kathleen didn’t bother to answer my letters, or that she was never warm whenever I convinced her to let me visit. I told myself he’d turned her into a snob, that if she was busy climbing the social ladder, it was for him. When they divorced I blamed that on him, totally. I’m not good with middle ground.”
She stopped here because the rest was harder. After folding her hands in her lap, she continued. “I blamed her drug problem on him, even her death. Ed, I can’t tell you how much I wanted to believe he’d killed her.” When she looked at him again her eyes were dry, but vulnerable, so achingly vulnerable. “At the funeral, he let me have it. He told me things I already knew in my heart but had never been able to accept about Kathleen. I hated him for it. I hated him for stripping away the illusion I’d allowed myself. In the past few weeks I’ve had to accept who Kathleen was, what she was, and even why.”
He touched her cheek. “You couldn’t have been another person, Grace.”
So he understood, so easily. If it already hadn’t happened, she’d have fallen in love with him then. “No, I couldn’t. I can’t. The guilt’s eased considerably. But you see, she was still my sister. I can still love her. And I know if I can do this one last thing, I can let go. If I took the easy road now, I don’t think I could live with it.”
“Grace, there are other ways.”
“Not for me. Not this time.” She took his hand and cupped it between the two of hers. “You don’t know me as well as you think. For years I’ve turned over all the dirty work to someone else, for ten percent. If there was something unpleasant to be dealt with, I’d toss it to my agent, or my business manager, or my lawyer. That way I could just go along without too many distractions and write. If it was something I had to handle myself, I’d pick the easiest route or ignore it completely. Don’t ask me, please don’t ask me to turn this over to you and do nothing. Because I might.”
He pushed a hand through his hair. “What the hell do you want me to do?”
“Understand,” she murmured. “It’s important to me for you to understand. I’ll have to do it even if you don’t, but I’d be happier if you could. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not that I don’t understand, it’s that I think it’s a mistake. Call it instinct.”
“If it’s a mistake, it’s one I have to make. I can’t pick up my life, not really pick it up again, until I do this.”
There were a dozen valid, sensible arguments he could make. But there was only one that mattered. “I couldn’t take it if anything happened to you.”
She managed to smile. “Me either. Look, I’m not really stupid. I can swear to you I won’t do something idiotic like the heroine in a B movie. You know, the kind who knows there’s a homicidal maniac on the loose and hears a noise?”
“Instead of locking the doors, she goes outside to see what it is.”
“Yeah.” Now she grinned at him. “It drives me crazy. I hate a contrived plot device.”
“You can’t forget this isn’t a plot. You don’t have a screenplay, Grace.”
“I intend to be very careful. And I’m counting on the department’s finest.”
“If we agree, you’ll do exactly as you’re told?”
“Absolutely.”
“Even if you don’t like it.”
“I hate blanket promises, but okay.”
He lifted her down from the car. “We’ll talk about it.”