Dale burst in sixteen minutes later, scanning the crowd for her as he untangled his earbuds. He wore a backpack and looked like a college student taking a break from mad-crazy finals. He held up a finger to indicate she wait for a second while he ordered an espresso. From his rapid movements, she suspected he’d already had at least four. His hair was again in disarray, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold.
He dumped five packs of raw sugar into his cup, jabbed the stir stick in circles, and set the cup on the table before dropping down into the seat next to her. “What do you have for me?”
No wonder he had so much energy. He was hyped on caffeine and sugar.
“I can’t tell you everything, but I can say I think I know who Kiss and Kill Cupid might be.”
“No shit.” He pulled out a notepad, poised his pen, and looked at her expectantly.
“I don’t know for sure that it is this guy. I don’t want him to know I’m having him checked out.”
“Trust me, he won’t have a clue. What’s his name?”
“Owen Bushnell. He co-owns Get Out! magazine here in New York.”
He was writing furiously in a kind of shorthand. “Never heard of him or the mag. Is it a gay rag?”
“No, outdoor adventure.”
He nodded. “Okay, and why do you think he’s the killer?”
“That’s the part I can’t tell you. You have to trust me on that.”
“Fair enough.” He gave her a serious look. “I have a bad feeling about this. About you, in particular. Do you believe in that kind of thing?”
“Sort of.”
She tuned into his thoughts among the murmur of everyone else’s. What does she know? What is she holding back? If only she’d tell me everything.
She took a sip of her coffee. “I know serial killers have certain tendencies. Owen fits some. Socially uncomfortable. Broken home. Loner. Maybe you can find out if he fits the profile. I figured from your articles you know Kiss and Kill Cupid pretty well.”
“Unfortunately, that I do. What I really want to write is an article about how they caught the guy.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest. “And how I helped.” He tapped the notepad. “Has this guy been bothering you?”
“Not bothering, per se.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I can’t get into it.”
“Tell me this: has he just appeared in your life in the past few days? The police think that’s what Kiss and Kill Cupid does, targets his victim and gets to know her in the days leading up to Valentine’s Day.”
Well, that fit Adrian more than Owen. “His friend approached me about a business opportunity.”
“His friend.” Dale poised his pencil over his notepad. “What’s his name?”
“No, it’s not him.”
“Can you be sure about that?” He studied her. “What, you’re into him, aren’t you? Can’t imagine a nice guy could be a killer? Think again. Ted Bundy was the nicest guy around. He even helped at a suicide hotline. Can you believe that? He helped people to not take their lives, then went out and killed.” He shook his head, but his gaze narrowed in on her. “It’s not worth your life to trust anyone.”
She felt a tightness in her chest. “Just check out Owen.”
Dale whipped out his BlackBerry from his backpack. “Owen Bushnell,” he muttered as his thumbs danced over the tiny keys. Bart Simpson peered at her from the skin on the back, asking, Do I know you? Dale scanned the results. “A few articles connected to the mag. I’ll see what I can dig up about his past.”
“That would be great.”
He tapped his BlackBerry. “I’ve got your number. I’ll let you know if I find anything suspicious. In the meantime, do you have any protection? Gun, pepper spray?”
She patted her purse. “The standard pepper spray.” Which she could use to disable the guy so Adrian could whack him.
He shoved his BlackBerry into a pouch in his cargo backpack. “Be careful. And remember what I said: don’t trust anyone.”
Kristy had run errands the rest of the afternoon. Her cell phone rang with the latest Offspring song while she was checking out at the grocery mart. Her heart jumped. It was Adrian.
“Hey, there,” he said. “Where are you?”
“Don’t you want to know what I’m wearing?” She couldn’t help the grin breaking out on her face.
“I’ll find that out later. I’m sure it’ll be something bright enough to cheer up this dreary day.”
“Actually, I haven’t been home yet. I’m getting the fixings for dinner right now.”
“Are you close to my office?”
“Not very far.”
“Why don’t you come here? I’m running a little late. I’ve got a conference call in three minutes. You can park the perishables in the fridge here. I’ll call the travel agent we use to make your travel plans.”
“For after Valentine’s Day.”
“After Valentine’s Day,” he confirmed, a bit begrudgingly. “Later in the week, just in case this all goes down and we need to stay around and answer questions. After we get your flights hammered out, we can head to your place together.”
“Are you trying to protect me?” It was getting dark already.
“Maybe I want to spend more time with you. Then I can help you with dinner.”
“Deal. Be there in a few mins.”
She arrived at the office shortly after. The door was still unlocked, but it looked as though everyone had gone home. She peered in Adrian’s office. He was on the phone, but he gestured around the corner, and she found the break room. She put her bag in the fridge, content to wander the hallways, until she realized Owen might not be in his office.
“Can I use a computer?” she whispered.
He nodded and she took off, looking for an office that might be Owen’s. Ah, God bless the nameplate. She found it on the next door and slipped in. The lights were off, and only the watery, gray light outside washed in through the window. She settled into his leather chair and turned on the PC. He had no pictures of friends or family on his desk or credenza. Nothing much of a personal nature. A few seconds later she opened his Internet Explorer page and dropped down the History list for that day.
She scanned the list. Nothing about how to murder a woman, of course, but a couple of newspaper sites. She opened the sublist on one of those. Bingo. He’d been reading about Kiss and Kill Cupid. Other news items, too, but those could be a cover. She went to the other newspaper site and found the same thing. That one was Dale’s story. She’d made the right decision.
“What are you doing?”
She swiveled to find Adrian—thank goodness it wasn’t Owen—standing behind her looking at the screen. “He’s been reading up on Kiss and Kill Cupid.”
“Who hasn’t? It’s in the news. People are morbidly fascinated by it.”
He had a point. She closed down the computer. “I’m leaving the possibility open that he could be the one. And I respect that you don’t see it that way. Let’s just leave it at that, ‘kay? I don’t want this evening to be about all this, other than making our plan.”
“Deal,” he said, though his expression was a bit darker. “Ready to go?”
“Sure am.”
He was quiet as they waited for the car he’d called. She caught herself wanting to make it right, to make her case, anything to smooth things out. Damn, this was when she wished she could hear his thoughts.
No, scratch that.
Forty-five minutes later, they were making dinner together, the tension of earlier finally dissipating. She pulled the sauté pan off the flame and used tongs to set the strips of seasoned chicken on the platter. It sizzled, just like it did at her fave Mexican restaurant.
Adrian arranged the platter with tortillas, shredded cheddar, and salsa, then set it on the small dining table. “Most women wouldn’t dare eat something messy like this, much less make it.”
She set the chicken on the table. “It’s fun food.” She nodded to the platter of sautéed vegetables. “And colorful.”
“Like you.”
She arched one of her eyebrows. “Are you comparing me to fajitas?”
He laughed. “I guess I am.”
She plopped down on the chair. “I guess that’s better than being compared to, say, tofu or pickles.”
He laughed. “Definitely.”
They enjoyed the dinner, along with a Riesling he’d brought, and fun, light conversation that expressly avoided talk of Kiss and Kill Cupid or Owen.
Afterward, she began to take the dishes into the kitchen. To her delight, he helped. One guy she’d had over for dinner actually flopped down on the couch and turned on the television while she cleaned up. And asked her to bring him a beer! She’d nearly lobbed it at his head.
Her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number on the screen: Dale Soza. No way could she take that call.
“Unfortunately, I have to get this cleaned up before my roommate gets in, which will be late tonight. She has fits, even though I always clean up my messes. One time I left it until morning, and she’d put sticky notes on the stove and the table, everywhere where there was a dish.”
He ran the water and started rinsing the dishes. “She sounds like fun.”
She rolled her eyes. “Loads. She gets on my case about the pan handles sticking out over the edge of the stove. And yes, it makes sense because they can be bumped accidentally, but she’s freaky about it. She walks in, and screeches, ‘Pan handles!’ The only reason I’ve stayed is I hardly ever see her. I’m hoping to get my own place soon.”
Honest to Pete, there wasn’t anything much sexier than a man doing dishes. Through Adrian’s tight knit shirt, she could see his muscles working. He was wide at the shoulders, tapering to a narrow waist and hips, and in tailored dress pants, she could see one of the finest derrieres she’d ever laid eyes on. The song “I Like the Way You Move” from Outkast played in her mind.
What she wanted to do was slide up behind him. Calm yourself, girl. Don’t be slutty. You’re not there yet. She took a deep breath and walked up beside him, taking the soapy plate he was holding and rinsing it.
She tucked it in the dish rack. “And no dishwasher, can you believe it?”
He gave her a grin. “Well, you’ve got one tonight.”
“If this place came with you, I’d stay here forever.” She put a soapy hand to her mouth. “Did I actually say that aloud?”
“Unless I’m starting to hear your thoughts.” He gave her a playful smile.
She reached for the platter he was holding, and their fingers slid against each other’s. Even covered in soap suds, his hands were great, strong, with long fingers, and she imagined them sliding across her skin. The image of that made her face flush with heat. She set down the platter in the sink. He was looking at her, not the next dirty dish. She slid her fingers between his in slow strokes, her gaze never leaving his.
He kissed her, his soapy hand going to the back of her neck, cradling her. She blindly slapped her hand down on the faucet handle to turn off the water and slid her arms up around his neck. His soft hair brushed the backs of her hands. He kissed across her cheek to the sensitive skin beneath her ear. She tilted her head back, lost in the chills sweeping down her body. His arms went down to her waist, pulling her body against his. His arousal, pressing into her stomach, sent a pulsing heat through her. She slid her hands down his back, then over the tight butt she’d just been admiring. He moaned softly, pulling her closer.
He ran his hands over her shoulders, then up and down her sides. Knowing he was a gentleman, she decided to make it perfectly clear that it was okay to touch her. She moved into his touch, her breast filling his hand. He squeezed her gently, sending a cascade of pleasure through her. She let out a soft moan of her own. How long had it been since she’d been touched?
Way too long.
He pushed aside the dishes they hadn’t gotten to yet and hoisted her up to the counter. That put her at his level, face-to-face. She kissed him, almost breathless, and then he moved his way down her body.
He unbuttoned her blouse, kissing the center of her chest, the swell of her breasts, and after he removed her bra, her nipples. He touched her, caressed, his movements becoming more fevered, as though he couldn’t get enough of her. She’d never felt this way about a guy. This was hot, mindless, wild stuff.
She pulled his shirt up and over his head and kissed over the curves of his chest, her mouth and fingers drinking in the exquisite softness of his skin, the firmness of his body.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, and whispered next to his ear, “My bedroom’s the door on the left.”
Wearing a skirt, she could feel him pressing right up against her femininity, only the silk of her thong and the fabric of his pants between them.
That was going to change fast.
He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the counter. With his hands on her derriere, he held her as he walked to the bedroom. She pushed the door closed in case her roomie came home unexpectedly. He leaned down on the bed, and she let go of him long enough to push her skirt and panties down.
He hungrily took her in, his hand skimming her body and over her pubic hair. His thumb nudged between her folds, and her breath hitched audibly. She reached down to his belt and unhooked it, then unzipped his pants. He stood to get out of them, and her breath hitched again at the beauty of his body.
She wanted him, and not because he was gorgeous or even because she couldn’t hear his thoughts. She was sprawled back on the bed, feeling hunger sweeping through her, physical and emotional.
“I want you,” she said, her voice husky.
He stroked her inner thigh. “I was going to—”
“I want you now.”
He merely arched an eyebrow, but his smile told her he had no problem with her demand. He reached down and pulled out his wallet, extracting a condom. That did it. She really did love him, or was in love with him, because she was so wild with all of her emotions she hadn’t thought about that.
She took the foil pack and tore it open. Coming to her knees, she took the length of him in her hand, making him suck in a breath. Damn, she’d never been with a man so big before. She slid the condom down over him, trying not to rush even though she wanted him inside her now.
She wrapped her hands over his shoulders and pulled him down. She loved missionary style. It left them face-to-face and body to body. He slid into her slowly, though she could see the urgency in his face, too. He was trying to ease in so he didn’t hurt her.
To hell with that. She pulled him down, and when he filled her, the sensation swept through her entire body. He filled her, body and soul. She wrapped her legs around his waist again, pulling her hips even closer to his. They moved together, in perfect rhythm, hitting both her internal and external hot buttons.
He stroked her cheek with his thumb, looking into her eyes as though she were the most precious thing on earth. Making love with Adrian felt like making love for the first time. She couldn’t remember being with anyone else, only this man.
Their bodies became slick with sweat, even in the cool room.
“You are hot-blooded,” he said.
She nodded, giving him a coy smile, then she lost herself in the sensations building inside her. If he could hold on for a few more strokes…
She felt the explosion send sparks through her. And still he moved, bringing her to another orgasm.
“Oh…my…gosh,” she uttered on a breathless whisper, her body going completely limp.
She squeezed her vaginal muscles as she moved, and his breath hitched. He came with a long groan, pulsing inside her. He kissed her with the fierceness of his orgasm, fast and deep, plunging in and running his tongue along her teeth, then her lips. He was breathless, too, his blue eyes hazy with senselessness, his face flushed. His body heat enveloped her.
He rolled over so she was on top, their bodies still connected. “That was amazing.” He pulled her close and kissed her again. “You were amazing.”
“Ditto.” And he was still hard.
He didn’t get up right away. He stroked her backside with his fingertips, so soft it almost tickled. She laid her cheek on his chest, running her finger lazily around his nipple.
“Stay the night with me.” She lifted her face to look at him. “Not because I’m scared of Kiss and Kill Cupid. He won’t be a threat until day after tomorrow.”
“I’d love to.”
“I’ll get the wine. We can finish the bottle in bed.” She got up. “The bathroom’s around the corner. My roommate usually stays with her boyfriend on the weekends, but I’ll make sure the coast is clear first.”
He walked into the bathroom and a minute later came out to the kitchen, where she was trying to get her hands around two half-full glasses and the bottle. Damn, he was still hard. What was he, miracle man or something?
“Here, let me help.” He took the glasses and scanned the dirty dishes. “What about the kitchen? We got a bit distracted.”
She waved it away. “I’m not in the mood. Let her write her sticky notes in all caps if she comes home early.” The phone rang. “Maybe that’s her now, and somehow she knows I’m leaving the kitchen in a mess.” She laughed. “I’m not getting it.”
They were walking back to her bedroom when her roommate’s deadpan voice announced, “We’re not here, leave a message.”
“Kristy, it’s Dale Soza. You must have a reporter’s instincts; you’re onto something with this Owen guy. He’s a murderer! Call me right away.”
She met Adrian’s gaze, now filled with disbelief. “Who’s Dale Soza?”
“He’s a reporter. I asked him to poke around a bit.”
“You had a reporter check into Owen’s background?”
She set the wine bottle on the table next to the answering machine. “Just to make sure. And I made Dale promise he wouldn’t publish anything about Owen.” She was wilting under his cold stare.
“You don’t think a reporter is going to keep a secret about someone who’s had media attention before?”
“I do. Look, I had to find out about Owen’s past. You weren’t going to tell me. I figured, Dale’s a reporter, so he has to be good at finding out stuff. But they protect their sources, too. There was a reporter who went to jail because he wouldn’t reveal his sources.”
His voice was dangerously low when he said, “Did you tell him about my visions?”
“No, God, no. Nor about my hearing the killer’s thoughts.”
Then it hit her, what Dale had said. “Adrian, he said Owen killed someone. Is that true?”
He walked into the bedroom and started putting on his pants. She ran in after him, snatching up her pink silk robe. The room felt cold now, stippling her skin. “Adrian, don’t go. My feelings were right about him. He did kill someone.”
He looked at her as he pulled on his shirt. “You don’t know what you’ve done. You’ve probably ruined him, both professionally and personally. And maybe the magazine, too. Who knows the fallout once this goes public?”
She followed him to the door, touching his shoulder. “Tell me what he did.”
He brushed off her touch. “Yes, he did kill someone. When he was seven, his stepfather beat the heck out of his mother again. Once he was done with her, he usually turned on Owen. That time was the worst. The man had a knife and threatened to cut off her finger. Owen grabbed the man’s gun, the one he would probably have used on them eventually. It was the only way he could think of to stop him. He’d tried to do it once before, but the guy threw him against the wall and broke two of his ribs. His mother was too scared to get them out of there. So Owen fixed it, as a kid thinks he can, because that’s how it works on television and in video games. He shot the man.”
Her hand went to her mouth. “That’s terrible.”
“There was an investigation, but he was never charged with murder. How that jerk found out about it I’ll never know. I’ve got to warn Owen. I don’t want him finding out by surprise. Or worse, having someone else tell him.”
He left, slamming the door shut. “Lock it,” he barked.
Even mad at her, he was concerned about her safety. That made it even worse. She might have destroyed his friend’s life if he wasn’t Kiss and Kill Cupid. Now she was going to pay the price by losing the best man she’d ever found.
Kristy called Dale once the shock had worn off. “What did you find out?”
He told her basically what Adrian had told her. “So if he’s killed once, he could kill again.”
“Dale, you promised you’d keep his name out of the paper.”
“Unless he’s Kiss and Kill Cupid.”
“Right, unless. But otherwise—”
“It’s hot news, Kristy. But I did tell you reporters had to have integrity.”
She wasn’t exactly comfortable with that answer. “Yes, you did.” But had he actually promised not to print anything about Owen, in those exact words?
“I think we’re onto something here. The tool I saw you with today, is that Adrian Kruger? Owen Bushnell’s business partner?”
“Tool?” Before she could get annoyed about his calling Adrian that, she frowned. “When did you see us together?”
“I saw you coming out of his office building. You two look pretty cozy.”
Well, they used to. “Never mind him. What do we do about Owen?”
“I’ll follow him on Valentine’s Day. I’ve got his home address. But…what if he’s not the killer? What about you? Are you going to be with the tool?”
“I’ll be fine.” Would she? No, she knew Adrian well enough to know he wouldn’t abandon her. “I’ll talk to you later. Oh, and he’s not a tool!”
As she hung up, her roommate came in. Her gaze went right to the kitchen. “Oh, great. A mess. And pot handles sticking out!” She trudged to her room and shut the door with a bit too much force.
Kristy turned around and did the same thing. Let her get a good look at the mess in the morning. Kristy just didn’t care.