Chapter Four

“IT’S OKAY. I’M SURE it’s just Jake.” Michael let go of Tess’s hand to go answer the door. A moment later, Jake followed Michael into the kitchen.

“You look awful,” Tess stated with forced casualness.

“Thanks,” Jake replied. “You look like Sally Sunshine, too.”

Jake had dark hair that curled at his collar. Tess often thought he was a good-looking man with eyes darker than his hair and bronze skin, except for the fact that police work somehow gave him a beaten, worn-down appearance. She recalled he’d once mentioned having a wife. How could love survive the day in and day out, twenty-four hour on call exposure to murder and violence? Did Jake manage to leave his work at the office where it belonged? She certainly hoped so.

“Want something to drink?” Michael offered.

“I’d love a beer or even something stronger like a double Scotch on the rocks. But I’d better hold off until I get home. Do you have a soda?”

“Dark or light?”

“Whatever has the most caffeine.”

A moment later, Michael handed Jake a cola. Tess and Michael con­tin­ued to drink tea. Michael refilled Tess’s cup and added more sugar. For a long moment, none of them said anything. They merely drank their drinks and reflected in the silence that was broken only by the soft sounds of the muffled rain.

“So what happened?” Jake asked.

Tess told him all she could remember about feeling out of place in her house, then dreaming of the killer and his hostages, before moving on to the part where she awoke and felt his presence in her own home. She gave his address and confessed to going there and looking around.

When Jake glared at her, his pursed lips and narrowed brow told her he thought what she’d done was a stupid, dangerous move, but he didn’t say the words. Instead, he wrote the address in his notebook before he pulled out his cell phone and relayed the information to his team.

Then he looked squarely at Tess. “Markus Black from the FBI, is now working on this with me since we’ve been able to tie this killer to several other unsolved murders. He’ll head to that address as soon as he can get his hands on a warrant. Is there anything else you can tell me about this man? Where he might have taken his hostages, what he’s driving?”

Tess shook her head. “His garage was dark. I think I saw a van, but I can’t be sure. Whatever it was, it was dark, too, black or dark blue or maybe even dark gray or green.”

“Has anything like this ever happened to you before? This idea that you’re connected to the killer, and not through a dead person?” Jake asked before he took a long swallow of soda.

“No.”

“Did you get a better look at the killer so you can upgrade the sketch that was drawn this morning?”

“Not really. He’s nervous, antsy. He never looks directly at his vic­tims, and they don’t look at him. And his hair is long—it hangs in his face. Not to mention, I was busy trying to avoid him.”

Michael spoke for the first time. “Tess, is there a possibility you some­how connected to another victim, one who’s not dead yet or possibly the missing redhead, and not to the killer?”

Jake swallowed hard enough for Tess to see his Adam’s apple move as he shifted his gaze to Michael. “I wonder that, too, because we found a body matching the description of one of the women you said you saw tied to a chair.”

For a long moment, Tess thought she might throw up the tea she’d just swallowed. “You’re talking about the woman who was missing when I had my dream, aren’t you?”

“ARE YOU SURE you’re up to going back to the morgue?” Michael asked a short time later. He still held her hand. It seemed like a small action, and yet if it gave her a sense of safety, it was worth the effort. Besides, he loved the feel of her.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” Tess replied.

She sounded stronger to him, but he hated that she felt obligated to do this. “You have every choice,” Michael argued as he drove. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since we were there.”

“I know—since I was there taking the hand of murder victim. And honestly, no, I’m not ready to take another hand,” Tess replied.

He glanced at her only to find her looking over at him, and she said, “But if it will help Jake stop him, then I can do it. As long as you’re there with me.”

“I’ll be there to catch you if you faint, don’t worry,” he responded, of­fering her a small smile in an effort to lighten the mood.

“Do you really think it was necessary for me to put my car in your gar­age?” she asked.

Michael glanced into the rearview mirror and noticed he’d lost Jake a few blocks back. He didn’t wait to make the next turn. Jake knew his way to the morgue. “If this guy can somehow see you and sense you or even find you at your house, maybe he can find you anywhere, but we don’t need to make it easy for him.”

They reached the parking lot and Michael parked as close to the door as possible before killing the engine.

“The morgue looks creepy at night with the rain,” Tess observed.

Michael noticed she stared at the building and didn’t move to open her door. He climbed out and opened it for her just as a distant roll of thunder rumbled through the night. “I won’t leave you alone, Tess,” he promised. He reached out a hand to her.

Slowly, Tess placed her hand his. She could do this with him beside her. And yet, the rolling thunder still sounded like a monster trying to get in, Tess thought, as they hurried toward the building. As they moved together down the hall, Tess was almost positive the killer would sud­denly leap out in front of them. The thought caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end.

The morgue was well lit, but the light didn’t seem to shake off the murk. Dr. Riley Turner was now on duty. Dr. Turner was probably fifty, but she looked more like thirty-five to forty, with her trim, lean build and nearly wrinkle-free face. Her gray-white hair was covered with a cloth medical cap and small wisps had escaped around her ears. One of her death investigators, Ellen—Tess didn’t know Ellen’s last name—was in Dr. Turner’s office with her. Tess and Michael greeted them as they moved past.

“Get bored on your vacation already, Michael?” Riley asked.

Michael grinned. “On Detective Jake Williams’s authority, we’re just here to take a look at the latest victim.”

“He thinks this is the work of a serial killer, doesn’t he?”

“It looks as if it may be. And he thought that since I examined the last victim, it might be helpful if I take a look at this one, too. He should be here any minute.”

“That’s fine. Ellen and I were just taking a break. There was a triple homicide, and we spent the last two hours at the crime scene in the rain. And the mortuary showed up earlier claiming those kids, so the cooler’s emptying out and . . .”

Riley had a way of talking so much and so fast in a voice so high she ground on everyone’s nerves, so Tess blocked out the rest of what Riley spent the next several minutes saying. She also blocked out whatever Michael politely answered. She couldn’t deny it any longer—she couldn’t fight off the need to touch Michael. It was as if he called out for her touch. She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

The action sent a river of warmth right up her arm and into her body. When he leaned closer, brushing the entire length of his arm against hers, he very well could have touched her soul. She let him lead her away from Riley’s office and down the hall to the stairs that led to the cooler.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he noted. “Are you all right?”

“My shoes are still wet, and I’m cold again,” she admitted. “When this is over, I think I’ll take a vacation in the desert.”

He paused, turned and met her gaze. The compassion Tess saw in his eyes and his expression touched her as deeply as the strength she felt in his hand as he held hers.

“When we get done with this, I’ll take you back home and make you some soup,” he told her. Then he glanced down at her soaked feet. “And we’ll get you a dry pair of shoes on the way.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Tess lied. Right then, anything she ate probably wouldn’t stay down. But the thought of just being in his home with him warmed her. Being anywhere with Michael, besides here in the hall leading to the cooler, would be great, she thought. Why did the bricks of the wall have to be a cool blue color? Why did the lights have to be dim? She fought down a shiver as she tried not to look at them as they moved to the swinging doors.

To Tess, the cooler never changed—bright lights reflected off the sil­ver metal slabs and counters, the off-white walls, and the large silver refrigerator doors that took up the entire far wall. And the glare hurt her eyes after the hall’s dank lighting. Michael still held her hand while he glanced at the clipboard inside the door before he led her to a nearby slab. Tess did her best to breathe shallowly and lessen the pungent smell of formaldehyde.

As she stared down at the draped body on the slab, she suddenly felt a rush of fear that nearly buckled her knees. “Michael?”

“Yes?”

“You won’t leave me?”

“Not on your life.”

She slowly met his gaze. “If I faint again, please don’t let anyone up­stairs see me.”

“I won’t. I promise. Do you want to see her face?”

Tess took a heavy breath. It calmed her nerves, but the room’s pun­gent odor burned her nose. “Yes.”

Before he could pull back the sheet, Jake slipped through the door and into the room. “Did I miss anything?” he whispered.

“No, you didn’t, and you don’t have to whisper in here, Jake,” Michael pointed out.

Jake looked around. “Yes I do.”

With his free hand, Michael pulled back the sheet that covered the vic­tim, revealing the redhead from Tess’s dream. “The girl in the chair next to me,” Tess said.

“You’re sure?” Jake sounded startled.

“Yes.” She licked her lips but failed to bring any moisture to her mouth. And when she tried to swallow, she found it impossible. Then she reached out.

But Michael caught her hand, drawing her gaze to him as he said, “You know, you don’t have to do this.”

She smiled sadly. “I have to do it. If I don’t, it will be like only put­ting together half a puzzle.”

Before he could say more, she slipped her hand from his and reached out and took the woman’s cold one . . .

THE DIRTY AQUARIUM came into view. There were four gold fish swimming in it. She stared at them and tried to control her breathing. She also tried to control the burn of the bile that rose in her throat. Her heart pounded painfully and dark spots danced before her eyes.

He’d just killed Jill. Just like that.

She looked down at her own legs. Her bare flesh was covered with goose bumps.

And splattered with drops of Jill’s blood.

She was unable to stop the groan that moved through her vocal cords.

“Julie, shut up,” the girl next to her said in a rough, terror-filled whis­per.

Tess, now Julie, didn’t have to groan. The sounds of her own raspy breathing filled the room. Any moment, she thought she might be sick, despite the fact that she’d not eaten in more than a day. Slowly, she turned to her left and took in the girl next to her. She had short, blond spiked hair and fierce brown eyes.

“He just killed her, Anna.” Julie forced out, trying to keep her voice low and finding she had very little control left. Her throat was simply too tight. The terror was cold, like claws that dug through her. She tried not to cry, but couldn’t stop the tears that slid down her cheeks.

“Yeah, like we all didn’t just see him do it. Now shut up before he comes back and hears you. We can’t help her anymore, but we’ve got to do what we can to help each other.” Anna’s voice was a little louder, but still working to remain soft.

“I can’t. I can’t.” She couldn’t breathe, either. Nor could she stop shivering. The next thing she heard was screaming. It took several mo­ments to realize the screams came from her. They were piercing and shrill for several moments before they turned into words. “Help! Some­one help us! Help! Help us!”

Her chair was grasped from behind. The action startled her, and she screamed louder. He leaned right over her, his face mere inches from hers, his greasy, long hair hanging in his face. His breath was acidic, and she gasped at the sour smell that told her he needed a shower and to brush his teeth.

“We’re going to play a new game before we all go on a hike,” he said. “I know how much all of you love to hike. It will be a wonderful trip down memory lane.”

His knife loomed into her vision, and she screamed again. He brought it down, but she felt no pain. She saw, to her amazement, he used it to cut the plastic that bound her wrists to the chair. “The game’s called hide-and-seek. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how to play. I’ll give you to the count of ten.” He was quiet for a long moment.

In the silence, she thought she could hear her heart pounding.

“One. Two.”

She shot out of the chair and raced to the door. Her legs were weak from lack of use, as well as lack of food and water; and she nearly stum­bled. She leaned against the door to stay horizontal.

“Three.”

The door was locked with a deadbolt that required a key to unlock it.

“Four.”

There was a small table beside the sofa in the living room, and she grasped it and slung it with all her strength at the living room window. It merely bounced away, not even making a crack in the glass.

“It’s Plexiglas,” the man announced. “Five. Six.”

She raced through to the kitchen and opened drawers looking for a weapon, anything to use against him. Every drawer was empty.

“Seven, eight, lay them straight.” His voice happily rang through the house and sent more shivers up her spine. He clearly enjoyed this. The house was strangely empty and his words and laughter echoed around her.

She ran to the bathroom. There was no lock on the door. The win­dow was nailed shut and the pane was Plexiglas, too.

“Nine, ten. Here I come again.”

She pulled open the bathroom closet door. Expecting to find tow­els or toilet paper or bars of soap, she was taken aback by the black tape and bundles of plastic fasteners. Without wasting more time, she stepped into the closet and hid, her own rapid breathing filling the dark silence.

When he pulled open the door a moment later and yelled, “Olly, olly, oxen free,” she barreled into him with all her strength. She scratched and kicked and fought.

But it was just like trying to bash in the Plexiglas. In the end, she lost . . .

TESS OPENED HER eyes and sucked in a loud, heavy gasp. Her hand felt glued to the dead woman’s, and she had to pry it away.

“Tess?”

“Ooooohhh . . .” She fell into Michael’s arms. She clung to his shirt and pressed her face to his chest as she relished in the sound of his strong, steady heartbeat, the soft scent of fabric softener and the clean man smell she recognized as Michael. His blue aura, his warmth, and his scent touched her like the soothing water of a whirlpool.

“Take a few easy breaths.” Beneath her cheek, his chest vibrated with his words.

At first his voice sounded far away, but it grew closer with each breath she took. “I didn’t faint this time.”

“No, but another few seconds of not breathing, and you probably would have.”

Tess closed her eyes and still allowed him to hold her. “My dream wasn’t a vision, exactly. It was more like I was dreaming it as it was happening to her. He forced her to play hide-and-seek. He found her in the bathroom closet.”

From across the room came Jake’s voice. “I hope you got a better look at him this time.”

“I did, kind of, and a few other things, too.” Tess still didn’t let go of Michael. She hoped she never had to let go of Michael. Despite his warmth, she shivered uncontrollably.

SHE WAS STILL shivering an hour later. Michael sat with her at police headquarters. The place was busy and loud and bustling, as usual—at least outside the double doors Jake had ushered them through. Tess drank hot chocolate made with hot water and mix, and it tasted like cardboard and barely reached, much less warmed, her middle. She kicked off her wet shoes and flexed her sock-covered toes against the floor. She hadn’t taken off her coat. And she had never let go of Michael’s hand.

“You’re sure these women know each other?” Jake asked her, gestur­ing toward boards at the front of the room.

Their pictures were posted on the boards—the deceased victims on one side and the missing victims on the other. The women had been identified by matching missing persons’ reports with Tess’s information. On the middle board was a more detailed drawing of the suspect, also thanks to Tess’s information.

“Yes, they know each other,” she confirmed.

“And you think it’s more than just the fact that he introduces them when he brings them together?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be sure?”

At the sound of the voice from behind her, Tess’s heart raced nearly as fast as it had in her vision. She would know that voice anywhere. It still haunted her dreams and she had hoped to never hear it again. She swallowed down the panic that threatened her and forced herself to remain still. She wouldn’t even give him the satisfaction of turning and facing him. She wasn’t even aware she was squeezing Michael’s fingers until he attempted to turn and see the speaker, but her grip allowed him to move very little. She forced in a heavy breath and licked her lips as Markus Black strode to the front of the room.

To Tess, the man had changed very little. His hair, although cropped shorter than she remembered, was still sandy. His skin was tanned, as if he’d just strolled in off the beach, and the gold of his skin was heightened by the dark, perfect suit he wore. His confidence was like a billboard that stated: God’s gift to mankind is here.

“Hello, Tess,” he addressed her.

“Markus,” she let out, doing her best to keep the single word from sounding clipped. She would never let him or anyone else know how much he rattled her. It had been four years since she’d walked out on him. Inwardly, she smiled as she discovered it wasn’t her time with him that still bothered her. What bothered her—what rattled her most—was the idea of how he probably hadn’t changed much, that he still used women at every opportunity.

Markus looked at Michael as if he’d suddenly noticed Michael be­side her. “I’m FBI Special Agent Markus Black.”

“Michael Adams.”

Markus turned his attention back to Tess. “Please don’t be of­fended when I tell you that we have put every possible bit of information on these women into the computer. There is nothing linking them to­gether. There is nothing that even indicates they could be acquainted, much less know one another on a personal basis.”

“And I’m telling you they do.”

“Because you saw it in a vision, right?” He asked the question slowly, as though interrogating her.

The question grated on Tess’s last nerve. “Right.”

“And that makes you a psychic?”

“I don’t put a label on it, Agent Black. I simply help out the homi­cide detectives when I can.” Her throat was suddenly tight. She thought she might choke. She forced her hand to release the paper cup of hot chocolate before she squeezed the edges together and spilled it on the table.

“Agent Black? Tess told us about a vision where it appears that the last two victims and the hostages know one another’s names.” Jake put in.

“That doesn’t mean they’ve known each other more than the few days he’s held them hostage.”

Tess squeezed Michael’s hand and drew in a slow breath. She was im­mediately calmed by the way Michael squeezed her hand back. “What you say is true, Agent Black. The killer could have introduced them. He could have even served them tea and had a little party. But I heard the way they talked to one another. I heard the way they addressed one another. They didn’t stumble over names. They didn’t hold back from telling each other what to do. I’m telling you, the feeling I got from what I saw is that these women have known each other for a long time. And he’s known them. He talked about taking them all on a hike because, quote-unquote, they all like to hike. That wasn’t random.”

Markus Black looked at her as if she was sprouting purple horns out the top of her head.

Jake cleared his throat as he moved to the board filled with photo­graphs. “From all indications, Julie Olson grew up in Florida. She was abducted from a grocery store parking lot outside of Tallahassee a week ago. And Anna Carpelli grew up here in Illinois. She was reported miss­ing by her husband when her boss called looking for her because she failed to show up at the law firm where she worked. That was three days ago. Her briefcase was found next to her car in the parking lot outside the law firm. But if Tess thinks these women somehow know each other, then I think they do.”

“Thank you, Jake,” Tess murmured gratefully.

Markus shook his head. “Olivia Brannigan lives in Indiana. Shanna Brown lives in Missouri. Sue Harper, the first one to be reported miss­ing, lived here in Chicago. And the previous victim, Jill St. James lived in southern Illinois, nowhere near Anna Carpelli. There is nothing these women have in common. They never went to the same school. They don’t even attend the same church. Give me one example where they can be acquainted.”

“Perhaps they all belong to the same chat room,” Jake suggested.

“My team is checking their computers as we speak, at least the ones that haven’t been checked yet,” Agent Black said. “But that’s pretty unlikely, too, since according to her husband, Shanna Brown doesn’t even use a computer. She and her husband own a bakery and she deco­rates cakes. He does the bookkeeping.”

“Maybe they all belong to a hiking group,” Tess offered. “When the man said he and the other women were going on a hiking trip, he sounded sarcastic, but perhaps they all really do like to hike.” Tess knew that sounded just as farfetched as everything else, but right then she was grabbing at straws. What she really wanted to do was figure out a way to get Markus Black to listen to her. Her insides felt raw and her head ached, but she wanted to find a way to catch the killer before he killed again. The last thing she wanted was to have to grasp another one of his victims’ hands.

“We’re checking on that, too.” Jake said, still standing near the board as if there were answers in the photographs. “Tess, is there any­thing else you can remember, anything at all, that can lead us in some direction to find this guy?”

Tess shook her head. “Not right now. Maybe it will be like before, and as time goes on, I’ll remember more. But for now, I’ve told you everything I can recall. What about his house?”

“We should have the warrant within the hour, but that’s no concern of yours,” Agent Black replied.

Tess swallowed down a burning taste of bile. No concern? She wanted to scream. She’d been in that house, at least psychically. She’d seen the fish in the aquarium, and she would never forget the house’s locker room smell or the dusty, dirty feel of it. It would haunt her dreams, and Agent Black had the gall to tell her it was no concern of hers.

She was about to tell him he could take his opinions and go to hell, but Michael shifted and brushed his arm against hers as he said, “Tess, I don’t want you anywhere near that bastard’s house. I’m worried about your safety.” He let go of her hand just enough to lace his fingers through hers.

Tess closed her eyes briefly and allowed his tenderness and vitality, his goodness, and his true concern, surge through her as his heat moved through her.

“So am I,” Jake said, as he turned away from the board and looked at her. “That’s why I’m putting you under police protection.”

“I’m not staying here.” Tess gripped Michael’s hand as she would grip a life ring in the middle of raging ocean waves. “And I’m not staying in some hole-in-the-wall safe house or cheap hotel room, either.”

“You can stay with me.” There was no hesitation in Michael’s voice.

She met his gaze and couldn’t help smiling despite the seriousness of the situation.

“That would work,” Jake said. “And I’ll assign a patrol to guard you.”

“Do you really think all that is necessary?” Tess asked.

Jake shrugged. “I’d rather not find out the hard way that it is.”

Tess nodded and concentrated on the distinct sensation of Michael’s hand. His skin was warm and leathery soft. In his fingers, she felt his energy. Like the heat and light of a bonfire, it drew her to him and sent small bursts of something like an electrical current into her hand and up her arm. Those currents were strong enough to cause her heart to skip a beat. She hated to let go, but she had no choice. She needed both hands to put on her wet shoes.

“Are you leaving, Tess?” Jake asked.

“Yes.”

“We aren’t finished,” Markus Black put in.

Tess met his gaze evenly and defiantly. “I’m wet, I’m cold and I’m hungry. And I think that no matter how long I stay here, I’m not going to convince you these women know one another. So I’m finished.” Tess tied her shoe. “Michael?”

“Yes?”

“Take me home, please.”

His warm hand was suddenly on the small of her back as he ushered her toward the door. The warmth of his touch slid easily to the middle of her belly and suddenly made breathing hard.

“Tess?” Markus Black attempted to stop her.

She held up a hand, surprised her action stopped him from saying more. “Jake, you have my cell number, and I’m sure you have Michael’s. Call me if you need anything urgent. Good night, gentlemen.”

Michael maintained his hold on her hand all the way to his car where Tess finally allowed herself to relax. Neither said a word. It was as if all they needed was to touch hands in order to remain connected, no conversation was needed.

Michael took her home.

To his home.

TESS LOVED MICHAEL’S bathroom, with its dark wood trim. It smelled like orange furniture polish, Michael’s aftershave, soap and the subtle scent that was Michael—soft, outdoorsy and enticing. The shower was huge, a walk-in room with gray walls and a small bench. The spray covered her completely coming from three bars that surrounded her and looked like small pipes with holes in them. The water was wonder­ful. Hot and steamy, it worked its warmth into her soul. Every now and then, a rumble of thunder from the storm outside managed to penetrate the even rush of the water spray. Tess finally stepped out into the steamy bathroom and wrapped herself in a plush towel. The rug beneath her feet was soft. She noticed the big tub across the room. She’d been so terrified and cold when Michael put her in the tub earlier in the day that she hadn’t even noticed the shower or the deep, rich yellow of the walls. Gosh, his bathroom was nearly as big as her kitchen.

A loud, close crack of thunder startled her just before the lights went out. The darkness swallowed her instantly. Tess let out a startled cry. She stood still gripping the towel tightly. She was startled a second time when Michael tapped on the door. Her gasp was enough to bring him in holding a glowing candle in one hand while he had clothes tucked up under his arm.

“It’s okay,” he told her as he held the clothes out to her. “The power’s just out from the storm. I found more clean sweats for you, and I put your wet shoes in the dryer. They were thumping away in there until the lights went out. I’ll take them out and set them in the laundry room so they can dry on their own.”

“Thank you.”

Michael peered at her through the darkness, his eyes reflecting the glow of the candle he held. He appeared just a bit menacing in dark jeans and a black sweater. And yet, at the same time, she was drawn to him as she’d never before been drawn to anyone. In fact, with her history of shying away from people, the desire—the very need—to step closer to him left her slightly dizzy with confusion.

He studied her, and Tess could only imagine what she must look like—a drowned rat?

“In the second drawer below the sink, you’ll find a new toothbrush and the toothpaste.”

“Were you expecting an overnight guest?” Tess asked, realizing she knew nothing about his personal life. Suddenly, she wanted to know. She also wanted to move closer, rest her head on his chest and listen to the steady beat of his heart.

“No, I just happened to get lucky with a two for one sale.” He stud­ied her for another moment. Then, before she could step closer and feel the softness of his sweater against her cheek, he set the candle on the nearby counter and left the room with a gruff, “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Tess took a deep breath, not knowing until then that she’d even been holding it. She looked into the mirror at her reflection, lit only by a single candle. She didn’t like the dark. She liked it even less when she was forced into it.

Could the killer find her in the dark? She ignored the disturbing ques­tion and dressed quickly.

A short time later, she stepped out of the bath and through Michael’s bedroom, led into the kitchen by the enticing aroma of chicken noodle soup. Her stomach grumbled. Three candles on the table, two more on the counter and one near the stove lit the kitchen and cast a warm, inviting glow that sent flickering shadows across the walls.

“How’d you heat the soup?” she asked.

Michael turned from where he stood at the counter and poured soup from a pan into two bowls. “The stove’s gas.”

“Oh. It smells wonderful.” She looked out his back door. Darkness had settled over the neighborhood like a cold mantle, and rain still show­ered against the roof. Lightning lit up the sky, and thunder rumbled in reply as the storm grew in intensity and threatened to swallow the city. A few small sticks, an empty bag, and several leaves blew across the back­yard.

Tess stood looking out his window and worked to calm her nerves. The energy of the growing storm merely added to her tension and left her feeling frazzled. The charge felt so strong, she thought that if her hair wasn’t still wet, it might stand on end.

Michael came up behind her and grasped her arms. “Are you all right?”

“Yes—no,” she admitted. “I feel cold, but hot. I feel antsy as hell, like I did at my house earlier. At the same time, I’m tired. I keep telling myself I’m safe, that there’s no way the killer could ever know I’m here, and even if he did, there are cops parked right out front. Then I feel like there’re bugs crawling all over me, and all of a sudden I think that he’s going to come walking down your hallway and I start to panic.”

Michael put his arms around her gently, and Tess let him. In fact, she nearly fell into his embrace. Like a moth drawn to flame, she was simply drawn to his heat and the steady beat of his heart. Why should he feel so good? Why should she need or even want to be close to him?

Tess didn’t have to wonder at that question. He was good, and with her world suddenly nothing but chaos, she was drawn to his goodness like a cat drawn to a warm spot of sunshine.

“He can’t get in,” he assured her. “He can’t get past the cops out front. Come eat your soup. You’ll feel better.”

After several bites, Tess did feel better.

Across the table from her, in the soft glow of the candles, Michael grinned. “It’s not exactly the picnic we planned, is it?”

Tess couldn’t help chuckling. “No.” She met his gaze over the small flames. To Tess, the candles represented more positive energy. In fact, everything around Michael seemed to overflow with positive energy. “But it’s nice.”

And while eating her soup in his warm kitchen with his positive en­ergy surrounding her, she didn’t feel the dirty bugs of the killer crawl­ing on her skin.

AFTER THEY ATE, they moved to Michael’s living room. Tess stood at his front window and looked out at the dark street. The police cruiser was hardly more than a silhouette lost in the shadows. After Michael lit candles on the fireplace mantle, he drew her close again and held her to him. As Tess leaned against him, she concentrated on the sound of his heart beating. It sounded as strong and sure as the man. She might have spent a life of being shunned, of never being able to trust, but accepting Michael and being close to him was easy.

“Come sit down.”

She let him lead her to the couch and she sat with him, relishing in his closeness.

“I checked all the doors and windows. Everything’s locked up,” he said. “So don’t worry.”

“Easy for you to say.”

He pressed up against the entire length of her side, and Tess felt as if she could melt into him. Everything about him was growing more familiar with each touch.

“We could play cards or something.” Michael said softly. Then he chuckled. “That sounded pretty lame, didn’t it?”

“Only a little.” She smiled at him.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Yes, the soup did the trick. Thanks.”

“You look tired.”

She gave him a small smile. “I feel like I ran a marathon all day.” She didn’t point out that she really felt as if the killer had chased her the distance of a marathon.

Michael was so close she felt the warmth of his breath on her neck, just below her ear. She felt a tingle move up her back. A moment later, she felt the gentle touch of his fingers as he absently brushed her hair away from her face.

Before she could draw in a breath, he tilted her chin up and touched his lips to hers. His kiss sent her heart pounding and her chest grew tight. For a long moment, he simply pressed his lips to hers, unmoving, as if he knew she needed time to adjust and grow accustomed to the wild surge of energy that suddenly rolled through her like a great ball of fire.

Need filled her. Longing, like she’d never known before, touched her and brought goose bumps to her arms and legs. She nearly shivered. At the same time, she was suddenly so hot she thought might burst into flame.

He held her closer to him, deepened his kiss. The tickle of his tongue against hers sent another shiver through her. It was as if she were an instrument, and he knew how to play it—very well.

With all the strength Tess could gather, she forced herself away from him. He still held her in his arms. Her breathing sounded loud in the room, nearly as loud as the beating rain drumming a rhythm on the roof. She worked to bring her breathing under control.

“I’m sorry.” Michael’s words sounded breathy, too.

She shook her head, unable to speak for a moment. She was unable to meet his gaze, not wanting him to see her vulnerability. “Don’t be. It’s just me. You don’t understand what your touch does to me.”

“Why don’t you explain it to me, then? And you can start by explain­ing Markus Black.”

Tess met his gaze in a snap and stared at him for a long moment. As casually as possible, she asked, “What makes you think there’s anything to explain about Markus Black?”

Michael wondered if he should let the subject drop as she looked at him through wary eyes, but he sensed this was something important, something he needed to pursue. “I saw the way you reacted to him when he came into the room at police headquarters. More importantly, I was holding your hand, and I felt the way you reacted.”

She looked away, and he cupped her cheek gently in the palm of his hand. “No, don’t turn away from me. Don’t you know your actions speak so much louder than any words could have?”

It tore at his gut that he couldn’t get through to her. It tore at him more to know he might be scaring her away. His lips still sizzled from her kiss. His entire body felt alive as if he’d just been plugged into a wall socket and two hundred and twenty volts now rushed through him. He wanted her, pure, simple and primitively—very primitively. He could make a fire in the fireplace, and the two them could lay before it while he undressed her—slowly. While he kissed every inch of her and tasted all there was to taste. While he touched and explored until the two of them were skin to skin as he’d dreamed they would be. While he made love to her.

He gripped the arm of the sofa to keep from kissing her again. “Are you in love with him?”

The expression on her face was nothing short of shock. That should have eased his mind, but he needed more.

“In love with him? Special Agent Markus Black? Absolutely not!”

“Then what?”

“I went on a date with him four years ago.”

“A date?”

“Yes. And I had coffee with him. That’s when I discovered how much I hate coffee.”

“Just one date?”

“One was one too many.”

Michael opened his mouth to ask her to explain. He wanted to know every detail about the date. What could possibly have happened that had caused her to not only grow so tense she’d nearly broken his hand, but to stop breathing when she saw the FBI agent?

Even now, as she talked about him, Michael felt her stiffen with ten­sion.

“Do you know what the most aggravating thing is?” Tess asked.

“No, what?”

“I used to think it was knowing that I was just another number in his scrapbook. But now I know that what really bothers me is knowing that he thinks of every woman as a possible number.”

“You’re certain you’re a number?”

“I’m certain I was a number—fifty-two. And all he ever remembers is numbers. He never remembers the women.”

Michael shrugged lightly. “I’m not sure I remember every date I went on.” Then he grinned wryly. “And I’m sure there are girls out there who went out with me and forgot my name by the next night.”

“I’m not one of those girls,” Tess said softly. She looked up at him. “Can we stop talking about this? I already feel as I’ve been wrung through the wringer today.”

Talking about it was exactly what Michael wanted to do. What could Markus Black have done on a single date that caused her to react so adversely to him? He wanted to ask but said, “Sure.”

She let out a long sigh and dropped her head against his shoulder. “I’m so tired.”

He held her closer and liked the way she fit against him. She smelled good, too—clean, fresh and so womanly. “Then just relax, get some rest.”

She looked up at him. “You won’t leave?”

“I’ll stay right here,” he promised.

“I’m afraid to go to sleep.” She closed her eyes anyway.

“I’ll watch over you.”

A few moments later, she relaxed in his arms and her breathing grew even. Shadows danced in the candlelight, and Michael held her close. He wanted to shut out the rest of the world and pretend it was just the two of them, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that a brutal killer was somewhere out there, perhaps stalking the woman in his arms. He kept telling himself that she was safe here, that the police were outside and he was inside, and the killer couldn’t get to her if he wanted to. So why did terror eat at him with cold, unforgiving teeth?