Dangerous Kisses (9 page)

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After an hour in her room staring at the ceiling, Sydney conceded that sleep was going to be elusive. The sandman didn’t seem to want to visit her tonight. Maybe it was the knowledge that Jake was in the living room, sleeping on her couch. Or maybe it was that chilling message the killer had sent. The man’s muffled words kept playing over and over in her head, and still she didn’t recognize it. If he’d watched her before without her knowing it, could he even now be watching her apartment? Did he know she had protection, and did that make him angry?

Sydney tossed and turned for another half-hour before she gave up trying to sleep. She shoved off the covers, then sat on the side of the bed for a few seconds. A frustrating anxiety prevented her from sitting still for long. She paced to the window. The parking lot was bathed in bright moonlight, making the night seem less sinister than it could have been in her current state of mind.

Maybe she just needed some fresh air. She cracked the window and listened to the midnight mixture of insects and traffic on I-40 nearby. When she’d been a little girl, she’d loved sleeping with the window open, listening to the night music of crickets and frogs. But since her mother’s murder, she’d not been able to do so. The fear that evil would crawl in and get her had invaded her little girl brain and still hadn’t let go. Even with a second floor apartment, the open window was confined mainly to daylight hours.

Anger welled up inside her. How many times had she slipped out at night during childhood to play beneath the moon’s light, to explore the shadows and the magic of the night? But whoever had killed her mother had robbed her of that type of innocence. After that horrible night, the darkness had held no more magic for her. And now, with her own evil stalking her, the night threatened to take on an entirely different level of fear. She hated them – the men who stole not only life but also so much more. Peace of mind. Dreams. A normal life.

The fat, hot tears surprised her. Why was she crying? It would accomplish absolutely nothing. Just as she sniffed, footsteps outside her bedroom door sent a shot of pure, undiluted fear to her heart until she remembered Jake was in the apartment.

"Sydney?"

She tried desperately to stop the tears. He couldn’t see her weak like this again. His protector act would only intensify, stifling her control even more. But why did part of her not care? Why did she have to fight the urge to walk into his arms and let him take care of everything? That impulse belonged to another woman, another time, not self-sufficient, in-control Sydney Blackburn.

Lonely, tired, scared Sydney Blackburn.

"Sydney?" Jake said with more insistence she respond.

"I’m okay." Her voice broke on the end of the "okay", prompting Jake to open the door and step into the room. It took him a second to detect her by the window.

She couldn’t control the jolt that shook her body when she saw him. Warmth flooded her face, her entire body, at the sight of his muscled chest lighted by the pale moonlight filtering through the blinds.

"What’s wrong?"

"I..." She was going to say "nothing" like she always did when someone suspected weakness on her part, but she couldn’t force the words past the lump in her throat. All that came out of her half-opened mouth was a strangled sob.

Without further questions, Jake crossed the room and pulled her into his arms, cradled her against his chest. She tried to pull away, to hide her embarrassment, but his gentle hold prevented her retreat. And so she gave in and cried. Despite having her feelings exposed to someone who was virtually a stranger, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. At least her tears flowed silently, and her deep shuddery breaths didn’t come out on great wracking sobs. At least she retained a little of her carefully crafted control.

Jake rubbed his hand over her braided hair, telling her without words that he wasn’t going anywhere, that she could cry as long as she needed. Refusing to question the sanity of doing so, she wrapped her arms around his waist and sank more fully against his powerful frame. It felt so good to have someone to lean on.

Perhaps what pried the crack in her heart a little wider was the fact that Jake didn’t say anything, simply stood there and gave her what he instinctively knew she needed — time and no delving questions. She closed her eyes against the tears and breathed deeply of Jake’s scent, a combination of soap and coffee and a tinge of her own detergent from the quilt he’d been using. It drugged her like no man-made substance ever could.

After a few minutes of standing in the moonlight soaking Jake’s skin, she pulled away, hating to leave his warmth and comfort. "I’m sorry I blubbered all over you."

"It’s okay."

"You’re probably cold now." She tried not to look at, not even think about, his bare chest.

He lifted his hand to the side of her face, skimmed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. A shiver that had nothing to do with the chilly fall night hurried along her skin.

"Right now, I’m warmer than I’ve been in a long time."

Her breath caught in her lungs, but he broke the moment by dropping his hand to hers and leading her to the couch. He must have sensed she wasn’t ready for the look that had been in his eyes. A look of desire, need. He pulled her down beside him and guided her head to his shoulder. For several moments, he remained silent.

"You want to tell me what’s bothering you?" he finally asked.

"You mean other than a killer seems to want me dead?"

"Yeah. I don’t think that’s why you were crying. You’re too tough for that."

He thought she was tough. Her heart swelled. He couldn’t know how much the compliment meant to her. She almost made an excuse about being tired, overworked, but for some reason she wanted to tell him the truth.

"I miss my mother. Sometimes I forget she’s gone. I keep expecting to hear her voice or smell one of her apple pies."

"How long ago did she die?"

"Twenty-one years. I know it seems crazy, but it seems like it was only yesterday. I mean, my dad died only a couple of years ago and I miss him, but I’ve lived so long with missing Mom."

"You must have been young when she died." Jake offered comfort by rubbing her upper arm.

"Eleven."

He was a cop through and through, so she expected him to continue his line of questioning until he knew every detail about her childhood. But he surprised her again by remaining quiet, letting her decide how much to share. She took a deep breath that reached to her soul, to the depth of where she buried the feelings she didn’t want to examine too closely.

"She was murdered."

Jake’s body stiffened, and for a moment it was as if he’d stopped breathing. Had she said the wrong thing? Had he not bargained on having her dump her life story in his lap?

Her mind raced back over her words, and suddenly she felt like biting off her tongue.

His father had been murdered, too. And from what his mother had shared with Sydney, Jake hadn’t dealt well with his father’s death, perhaps hadn’t dealt with it at all.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could take back her words. It figured that when she finally confided in someone, all it accomplished was hurting her confidant as well. As if she’d needed any more proof, Jake’s reaction added to her belief that opening up was way overrated.

Long seconds ticked by, and still Jake said nothing. The silence hung heavier with each passing moment until Sydney had to cut into it.

"What’s wrong?"

"Nothing." Jake stood and walked into the kitchen. She watched as he retrieved a Coke from the refrigerator, then took a long swallow. He stared at the can as if seeing that night long ago when he’d lost his father.

Sydney rose and moved next to him but didn’t push him to confess all.

"I know what it’s like," she said, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "How hard it is to open up to anyone. Everyone and their dog wants you to ‘let it go’ but you’ve held it in so long, it’s easier to keep doing so."

"It’s no big deal. Lots of kids lose their fathers."

"Yes, but they lose them to car wrecks, cancer, heart attacks. They meet other kids who’ve been through the same thing. But when your parent is murdered, it’s hard to find someone who knows how that feels, how it knocks a hole in your heart and keeps eating at you no matter how much time passes."

Jake turned toward her and leaned against the countertop. "What happened to your mother?"

The old pain scorched her heart, but if she expected Jake to open up, she had to do the same.

"Mom was a nurse. She’d always worked the morning shift, but she switched to a later shift because it paid more. Her shift ended about midnight. Before she got out of the parking lot, she was carjacked." A chill sliced through Sydney accompanied by a shudder. "Someone shot her and left her lying there. She was seconds away from the emergency room, but she didn’t have a chance."

"You said someone. They didn’t identify the carjacker?"

Sydney shook her head and felt again like the little girl she’d been that morning when her father had awakened her with red-rimmed, teary eyes to tell her that her mother was gone.

"No. They never arrested anyone. I don’t think they had any idea who killed her. Sometimes I wondered whether they cared."

"I’m sorry."

The old anger that was as much a part of her as her heart or lungs threatened to take over, to color the world as it had for so many years before she safely tucked it away. Jake didn’t need to know how there’d been a carjacking prior to her mother’s, how the police had known a predator was prowling through the dark streets of Kimmerville and hadn’t warned the public. Jake was a cop, yes, but he wasn’t one of those cops. He might have some of the same tendencies, as all cops seemed to, but she couldn’t hold that long-ago wrong against him.

She glanced over at him and offered a faint smile. For a few moments, they stood silently side by side, each wrapped in their own memories.

"What about the man who shot your father?"

"They killed the bastard," he said, his voice hard and sharp. "As soon as they pulled those little girls and my dad out of the way, they stormed the house. The guy started firing at them, too, so they filled him full of bullet holes."

Sydney cringed at the mental image, like something straight out of an action movie. If Jake had seen any of it replayed on the news, how it must have scarred his young mind. Would he ever be able to leave it behind, to forget those images?

"Your mom said you really looked up to your dad." She wanted to offer what comfort she could while learning more about this man who intrigued and attracted her like no other ever had.

"He was a great cop. I remember seeing those girls on the news, their mother hugging them and crying. For a long time, I hated them. If it hadn’t been for them, my dad wouldn’t be dead."

"When did you stop hating them?" Sydney’s heart nearly broke for the boy he’d been.

"When the older one wrote me a letter telling me how sorry she was my dad had died. I was still angry at the world for a long time, but I couldn’t be mad at her. My dad wouldn’t have wanted that." He uttered a mirthless laugh. "I could just hear him saying, ‘Don’t be stupid, Jake. It was my job. We Radley men always do our job.’"

She couldn’t escape the question that had plagued her since Jake had kissed her. Was there some type of tender feeling behind that kiss and the looks he sometimes sent her direction, the protection he insisted on showering on her, or was he simply a Radley man doing his job?

Before she could question the wisdom of her actions, Sydney moved toward Jake and covered his hand with hers. She wanted to entwine her fingers with his, to feel the strength and texture of his hand, but she feared pushing him away with more than the slightest touch.

What a strange pair they made, two detached souls who’d both been through the same type of grief. For a moment, she indulged the fanciful notion that fate had brought them together.

But she knew fate also had an ugly side that could appear at any moment without warning.

Jake looked down at her hand atop his like he couldn’t imagine why it was there or perhaps even what it was. Had he ever allowed anyone to care about him, or did he always push them away like she did? When he tried to slip his hand from under hers, she tightened her fingers, not allowing him to withdraw from her offered comfort, from her.

She looked up to find him watching her, a quizzical expression on his face like she was some creature he’d never before encountered. When he turned his body toward her and took a step closer, her heart stepped up its frantic beat. When he slipped his hand out of hers, she allowed his withdrawal. Somehow she knew he wasn’t truly pulling away. He lifted both hands to her face, pushing wisps of wayward hair back behind her ears. When his thumbs skimmed her cheeks, the pounding of her heart nearly deafened her. She hadn’t sorted out her deeper feelings for Jake, but she wanted to touch him, know the planes and ridges of his body.

And a woman instinctively knew desire when she saw it staring back at her. They gazed into each other’s eyes for what seemed like the longest summer day before his mouth descended toward hers. At that moment, she’d never wanted anything more intensely than to feel those lips on hers, his strong arms encircling her body, his hard chest pressed against her booming heart.

When his lips touched hers, sparks ignited and flushed her body with delicious warmth. Though his lips tugged and pulled in a way that made her body melt, he held back. She wanted more but couldn’t risk scaring him away. Instead, she let him set the pace, hoping with each moment that he’d let go of that damned restraint. Then she stopped thinking and gave herself over to pure sensation, delighting in the taste of him, the warmth of his fingers grazing her face.

His hands slid from her cheeks into her hair, somehow loosening the braid. She moaned in pleasure when he combed her hair with those wonderful fingers, making her scalp tingle. Her reaction must have fueled a banked fire within him for his kiss intensified, his tongue slipping into her mouth to dance with her own. His hands dropped from her hair to her waist, pulling her closer, so close there was no mistaking the effect their encounter was having on him. Her own desire blazed stronger as a result.

Sydney’s hands slid up his back, and she gasped into his mouth at the restrained power she found in his muscular frame. She wanted more of him, so much more.

Jake broke the kiss and sucked in air. His eyes reflected confusion as well as unquenched desire. She ached to recapture his lips, but she waited with pounding heart to see if he’d pull away. He leaned his forehead against hers and sighed deeply. The quiet added to her confusion. Did Jake simply desire her, feel a sense of duty to protect her, or did he somehow care more intimately despite their short acquaintance?

The longer he remained silent, the more confused she became. What was she doing? There was no way she and Jake could be feeling anything other than desire. They hadn’t known each other long enough to harbor a deeper attachment. Somehow the fanciful notion that love at first sight was possible had entered her head. It had pushed aside all her years of determination not to ever get too close to someone only to have to deal with the wound when they left.

But what about the desire arcing between them? Could they feed that desire without endangering their hearts?

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice so close she felt the caress of his breath.

"Yes."

"I didn’t mean to do that."

"Oh," she said, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice.

Jake raised her chin so he could look into her eyes. "Don’t think whatever you’re thinking, because I’d bet you’re wrong."

"Why do you say that?"

"The way you said ‘Oh’, full of disappointment."

She glanced down, frustrated by her transparence, only to have him capture her mouth in another spine-melting kiss. When he released her mouth, his lips skimmed across her cheeks and forehead before he pulled her more fully against him, cradling her against his chest. She listened to his heart thundering beneath her ear and smiled. His heart drummed at the same breathless rate as hers.

"Jake?"

"Hmm?"

"What does this mean?"

"I don’t know."

At least he hadn’t said, "Nothing."

Sydney wondered if her mother could see her now, could read her heart and the million questions Jake Radley’s appearance in her life had created. What would her mother think of Jake? Would she encourage her only daughter to live life to its fullest or to guard her heart at all costs?

The ringing of the phone broke the silence, startling both her and Jake. She glanced at the clock. Barely 1 a.m. Calls at this time of night were never good news.

She picked up the bedroom extension. "Hello."

"Open that window a little more and I can come up and join you."

Sydney gasped and dropped the phone. It made a dull thud as it hit the carpet. She slammed the window closed, slid the lock into place and backed against the wall.

"What is it?"

She swallowed past the fear. "It’s him. He’s outside."

Jake picked up the phone receiver and peeked through the blinds. Then he placed the phone back in its base. "He hung up." He guided her to the edge of the bed. "What did he say?"

She repeated the caller’s words. "It was the same voice as before, said he could come up and join us."

Jake went to work, calling for backup, directing a search of the surrounding area and requesting the call be traced if possible. He paced liked a caged lion. "Did he say anything else?"

"If so, I didn’t hear it."

Jake paced some more, looked out the window. He retrieved his Glock from underneath the couch.

"What are you doing?"

"Going to check out what they found, if anything."

"He’s probably long gone." She prayed her words proved true. The thought of the killer lurking in the shadows sent shivers through her as well as a blinding anger. How dare he make her feel so afraid?

"Maybe," Jake said as he stalked toward the door. He turned abruptly, almost causing her to bump into him. "Stay here. No matter what, stay inside. Lock the deadbolt and don’t open it for anyone but me."

"Don’t go." Fear nearly robbed her of the ability to speak. She wanted to latch on to him and prevent him from leaving the apartment. This wasn’t his fight. He wouldn’t be in danger if it weren’t for her. She’d made herself a target with her articles, though she wouldn’t do anything differently if given the opportunity.

Of course, he would go, no matter what she said. That was who he was — Jake Radley, Super Cop.

Though the possibility of meeting her stalker face to face turned her stomach to ice, she couldn’t stand by while he risked his life for her, cop or no cop.

"Let me go with you."

"No." He left no room for argument.

"Why don’t you wait for one of the guys to bring you the report?"

He stepped close to her and placed his palm against her cheek. "I’ll be back in a few minutes."

"Jake, I—"

He surprised her by capturing her in a deep, passionate kiss that sent her head reeling. But as quickly as he’d captured her lips, he released them. He moved toward the door again, his grip tightening around the gun.

"I mean it. Stay here and out of sight."

Sydney opened her mouth to protest again, but he slipped out the door. She bit her lower lip to try to keep it from trembling. Despite his order to stay out of sight, she watched him descend the stairs and cross the parking lot to one of the police cruisers. He talked to a couple of patrolmen and a plainclothes cop. When she lost sight of him as he rounded the corner of the building, her heart squeezed. They might not have a future beyond a couple of kisses, but it was all she could do not to rush out and stand by his side as he potentially put his life in danger for her.

How had Jake carved a space for himself in her heart in such a short time?

She strained her ears for any hint of Jake’s location or what he might have encountered.

She hated this feeling of helplessness, of not being able to do something. She paced across her apartment like Jake had earlier, peeking out every window to see what the officers were doing and if she could spot anything unusual – faces she didn’t recognize, suspicious vehicles, anything she could contribute to catching this guy. All she saw were cops and curious neighbors in their PJs.

Sydney stopped in the middle of her living room. This guy knew he scared her, probably thrived on it, and that ticked her off. What if she did something he totally didn’t expect?

She sank onto the couch, opened her laptop and began to type. "It’s 1:34 a.m. Instead of sleeping, I am following the progress of the dozen Metro police officers examining my apartment complex. There has been no shooting, no fights, no stolen property. A mere phone call prompted this search, a phone call from the killer who has taken the lives of two young Nashville women. He apparently has chosen his next target – me."

After writing several column inches of type, she glanced at the clock. 2:03 a.m. What was taking Jake so long? After another check at the windows revealed no further information, she returned to her computer, thankful for something to occupy her mind.

The knock on the door made her jump, belying the calm, in-control version of herself she was portraying in the article. The first-person piece would either cause the killer to lose interest or enrage him so much that he made a stupid move, ensuring his capture and the end to his deadly spree.