Her Last Chance (13 page)

Desire still pulsed through him,
but it was tempered by patience. He wouldn’t rush her. Wouldn’t rush them.
Maybe she wasn’t ready for more—

An openmouthed bite to his neck
punctured his thoughts. She reared back, a beautiful angel, gloriously naked in
his lap. “You’re way too controlled here.”

“Making up for last time.” His
voice was gritty, hoarse. He took a strand of silken hair and teased it across
the top of her breast.

“You said last time was the best
sex you’ve ever had,” she reminded him.

Lightly, he ran a fingertip over
the sensitive skin at the junction of her thigh, watched her shiver. “Do you
doubt me?”

The sound that came from her lips
was a high-pitched intake of breath. “No, but my experience is limited.”

Marsh slid them both onto the
floor.

“What are you doing?” she asked.
There was enough curiosity in her voice that he didn’t stop.

“Giving you a crash course of the
highlights.” He slid down her body to taste her, the scent of woman exploding
into every space inside his mind. Thought fled, lust detonated through his
veins and tripped a fuse inside his head.

“Oh, god.” She arched up as his
tongue slipped through her folds. “I can’t believe how good that feels. I don’t
think I can take it.”

“Do you want me to stop?” His words
were muffled and grim.

“Not yet.” And she laughed. Thank
God. It was such an unusual sound he almost did stop. Cupping her backside, he
teased and stroked, nuzzled and nipped, wanting to be inside her, but also
wanting to make it last forever. To make it good for her. As long as he didn’t
have to think about anything else he was happy watching her control snap and
fray. She stiffened, mouth opening in a silent scream, body bowed like some
primal vision of femininity.

Beautiful
. Sex wasn’t tawdry
or dirty. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

He raised his head. She lay panting
on the floor. The dim light revealing pale skin and slender frame. Slender, but
not weak.

The sight of her lying there naked
drove him crazy, but he was also aware of a change in the atmosphere as she
started to think again. Warning bells rang, but he was also curious. Tight, throbbing,
insane, wound up like a clockwork missile, curious. The thin scars
crisscrossing her body were picked out in shadow. Suddenly visions of Lynn
Richards haunted his mind. He rubbed his hands over his face, sat up as reality
crashed over him.

She tapped her head, voice low in
the darkness. “Doesn’t matter how far away I go, he’s always right here when I
return.”

He wanted to tell her they’d catch
this bastard before he killed again, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. “I can help
you forget for one night.” He held out his hand. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

***

“What did you tell
him?” His voice was raspy. The light seeped from the surrounding neighborhood
through the uncovered loft windows. His skin tingled, his prick throbbed with
anticipation so primal it might burst through his flesh and consume the night.
The crop cracked down hard on her bare ass.

“Ow!” A thin dark line bisected her
pale white skin. Color leeched in the shadows. “Nothing. Please, please! I
didn’t tell him anything!” Pru Duvall sobbed against the pillow where he’d
shoved her face the moment she’d walked into the room. He’d pushed her tweed
skirt up and rammed himself into her until she’d begged.

Then he’d stopped.

A siren echoed around the high loft
space. Agitated noise, wailing and screeching. Desperate little people doing
desperate little deeds.

There was power
here
. It
strummed through the night like the wings of a bat, silent, invisible, as
tangible as the crop he flexed between his fingers.

Whack
.

“Jesus.” Pru sobbed. “I can’t take
any more.”

He touched her skin, absorbed a
flinch with his fingertip. Pru Duvall might be a future First Lady of the
United States of America, but in her heart, in her soul she was darkness and
dirt.

“Please…” Her voice cracked.

He’d thought about killing her, but
a little voice deep inside said killing Pru Duvall would be like taking his own
life—and he wasn’t ready to do it yet.

The worked leather at the base of
the crop felt soft and frayed against the sensitive tips of his fingers.

Drums beat in the darkness, but not
killing drums, just excitement and pleasure—if only that could be enough for
his all needs. He’d cuffed her hands behind her back. Not the velvet-lined
cuffs others used, but steel bands he’d stolen from a cop when he first moved to
the city. Dead cop now.

“I’m going to destroy him.” He ran
a gentle finger along the abused line of skin.
Power
. Lowered his lips
to blow gently against the skin and kiss the pain better.
Control
.

Pru shivered, the whites of her
eyes shining.

“Good,” she hissed.

He scraped his teeth over her
perfect skin. Bit gently at the base of her spine and rubbed between her legs
with the length of the riding crop.

“Please?” Her little girl’s voice
fractured as she sank back on her haunches.

Whack
.

“Damn you—”

He whipped her harder, breaking the
skin.

Thwhack
.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please,
please, don’t kill me. I can help you. I’ll do anything you want.” She always
did. It’s what made them so compatible.

Chapter
Eleven

_________________

A
slash of light cut
across the ceiling as a car moved slowly along the street. Josephine lay curled
against him like a cat, her head nestled beneath his shoulder and he didn’t
know what he was going to do about her. Some primitive yearning had driven him
to make love to her as often as possible during the night like some wild bull
staking his biological claim.

And if he were honest, the thought
of Josephine pregnant with his child sent a feeling of contentment deep into
his marrow. Which was
insane
.

From an early age he’d had plenty
of girlfriends. Being rich didn’t usually hinder his chances, but it did this
time. This time having money worked against him. Having money would make
Josephine, who snored gently against his chest, bolt like a rabbit for a safe
place.

And he didn’t want her to bolt.
They’d made love for hours and even now the scent of her skin, her hair, her
essence, stirred desire in him. He didn’t want to lose her but he didn’t know
how to keep her. She was too unsure, too defensive, too feral.

There was a clank in the street,
metal on concrete, like a can rolling along the sidewalk. Gently, Marsh eased
away from her warmth and moved to the window. Looked out into the street.

Dawn hovered out of reach. A man
hunched against the chill of the wind, walking a Dalmatian whose tail lashed
back and forth like a whip. Leaves skittered in his wake as the dog marked his
scent on the metal scrollwork that lined the base of every tree.

Marsh felt eyes on him.

Who else was out there in the
night?
Was the Blade Hunter watching right now?

Why had the sonofabitch made this
personal?

Covers rustled in the bed.

“What are you looking at?”
Josephine asked. Fear threaded her voice, made his nerves tighten at the
insidious threat.

“Some guy walking his dog.” He
looked back at her.

Groaning, she fell back against the
covers. “I
hate
this.”

He moved away from the window and
sat on the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. “I hate it too.”

Words didn’t help. Promising to
catch the bastard didn’t help. The only thing that might help was locking this
animal behind bars. Marsh moved around the bed and picked up his pants—rifled
through his pockets for his cell phone.

Checking the screen, he saw he’d
missed several calls, but not the ones he’d been expecting.

“I don’t understand why Agent
Walker hasn’t brought me in for questioning.”

“Ugh.”

“What do you mean
ugh
?”
Alerted by her tone he glanced up. Moving back to the side of the bed he
dropped his cell next to his weapon.

“I hmm…” Josephine’s voice was
muffled by the sheet.

“Did Walker tell you something?”

Josephine sat up in bed, gathered
the sheet across her breasts and looked sexier than ever with her mussed hair
and lush lower lip.

“More like I told him something.”
She pressed her lips together and met his gaze. The moon had set, but there was
enough ambient light to make out the way her eyes skittered away from his.

“What exactly did you tell him?” he
asked.

Raising her chin, she swept her
hair out of her eyes with an impatient gesture. Marsh recognized the pugnacious
tilt of her jaw.

“He was going to pin it on you.”

Her words stirred his suspicion.
“He wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t consider me a suspect.” And that
fact pissed him off. All the years of service to his country counted for
nothing. And that’s exactly how it should be, he reminded himself.

“Well I know you didn’t do it.” She
glared at him like he was a moron.

Uh oh
. “What did you tell
him?”

“I told him you were here with me.”
Defiance and certainty radiated from her.

“But for all you or Agent Walker
know, I could have crept out of here in the middle of the night and murdered
Lynn.” He nodded his head toward the locked door that had separated them last
night.

She shook her head. “I
know
you aren’t that monster.”

Did Walker feel the same way? He
doubted it.

Again he was getting
the look
like he was too stupid to live.

“I told Walker you were
with
me, all night long,” she said.

Shit. A rapier of anger speared
through him. Sharp. Deadly. He looked away, suddenly afraid of his feelings.
“You lied to an FBI agent during a critical investigation?”

“Yep.” She tossed out the word the
same way she tossed her hair.

“That doesn’t bother you?” His jaw
clenched so tightly he could barely speak.

“It isn’t exactly the first time.”
Raised brows challenged him.

Christ
—he knew that, but
this was a serial killer investigation. A short breath escaped his nostrils in
a burst of frustration. He was trapped. If he confessed the truth he branded
Josephine with the label “liar” that might put into question every testimony
she ever gave. But if he didn’t tell Walker the truth, he demeaned himself and
his ethics. He’d compromised himself once before and damned if Josephine hadn’t
been involved that time too.

“What exactly is the problem,
Marsh?” She got out of bed, naked and distracting as hell, which knowing
Josephine was her intention. “Because I thought the whole point was to catch
the bad guy? Getting caught in his tricks won’t do that.” She crossed her arms
over her breasts. His eyes lingered involuntarily. This woman was his Achilles’
heel and he resented his weakness.

She hesitated, worried her bottom
lip. “What would I do if you were arrested for a murder I know you didn’t
commit? The real killer is trying to get me alone and unprotected, you know
that.” A tremor ran through her frame, cold or fear he didn’t know. He moved
closer, put his hands on her shoulders, the slender bones unyielding beneath
the surface of her skin.

This serial killer
was
playing games with the cops. “Vince will be here for as long as it takes. We
can hire additional security if we need to—I told you this already.”

“I don’t want ‘additional security’
I want you.” She raised herself on tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck
and kissed him. He was so surprised by that unsolicited act of affection he
stood there stupidly, only one part of his body reacting. When she released him
his brain was blank from lack of blood.

“The Blade Hunter is trying to get
you caught up in this investigation, to confuse the police and divert attention
away from himself and leave me exposed.” She nipped his bottom lip hard enough
to make him blink. Ouch. “That means he’s watching me—watching
us
and
I’m not going to let him manipulate everything the way he wants to.”

He knew she was right and he knew
she was also very wrong. But with one hand stroking his erection, the other
curled around his neck, Josephine dragged him down to the bed and God help him,
he didn’t exactly put up much of a struggle.

***

Marsh poured coffee
from the state-of-the-art coffeemaker in Josephine’s kitchen.

“Want one?” He spoke over his
shoulder to Vince who’d walked in.

Vince nodded and took the second
chair in the galley-size kitchen.

Pouring four cups of the thick
brew, Marsh left one on the counter for Josephine who was tucked safely in the
shower. Steve Dancer slouched in another chair, his shirt wrinkled, his socks
mismatched.

Marsh had been raised in an
atmosphere that demanded physical perfection; home, school, the Navy and
finally the Bureau, but Dancer had managed to slip through the cracks and under
the wire. It should have appalled Marsh’s senses that Dancer wore brown shoes
with black pants and a navy sports coat, but he didn’t give a shit. Steve
Dancer was one of the brightest people he’d ever met. The only child of a
single mother, Dancer had put himself through MIT by working three jobs. Men
underestimated the guy because of his freckles and unkempt appearance. Women
wanted to mother him. Marsh didn’t know why the guy had signed up for the FBI,
but he was smart enough to be grateful he’d been able to wrangle him onto his
team.

“Why did you let her lie to Walker,
Vince?” Marsh was still pissed he’d been caught in a web of deceit. He didn’t
like being manipulated by anyone.

“She didn’t exactly lie.” Vince’s
white teeth gleamed against burgundy lips. “She implied.” He shrugged one
massive shoulder. “Walker bought it, but man, he was pissed.”

“All he has to do is go back and
check the dates of the other murders, which I thought he’d done.” Marsh drew in
a tight, breath, released it through his nose. “Why would he think I was
involved?”

Vince rubbed hands the size of
dinner plates over his close-cropped hair, ear stud blinking. He gave him a dry
look. “You know why.”

Josephine
.

Jealousy was a bitch. But having a
relationship with Josephine shouldn’t interfere with catching the killer. No
matter who she was, what she looked like or what she said.

“Did the killer strike again?
Anybody hear anything?” Marsh asked, stirring his coffee. Dancer and Vince
shook their heads.

“Maybe he took the night off.”
Dancer sipped his coffee and winced. Not a morning person.

Or maybe they just hadn’t found
the body yet.

“Where are we at with the De
Hooch/Vermeer investigation?” asked Marsh.

Dancer blew the top of his coffee.
“I took a look at the internet records. Sale looks legit.”

“With or without a warrant?”
Vince’s eyes sharpened with interest.

Dancer’s freckles danced on his
cheeks. “No comment.”

Vince grunted and went back to his
coffee. Picked up a muffin from a box in the middle of the table that Dancer
had brought from a bakery around the corner.

“According to Thomas Brown the
picture was in the family mansion for years. But according to Admiral Chambers
it was stolen from him in nineteen-ninety.”

Marsh looked up at the ceiling.
Given the prominence of both families he was facing at a royal screw up.

“We need to talk to Chambers again.
Verify his account of the theft.”

“He’s back,” Dancer ran his hand
through his hair, which flopped awkwardly back in his eyes. “Got a flight out
of Anchorage last night.”

Anxiety bit along the edge of
Marsh’s nerves. He had a job to do and a position to uphold. Neither melded
with protecting Josephine from a killer 24/7.

“I guess we’re going to Boston.” He
grimaced.

“What about…” Vince glanced over
his shoulder and jerked his chin toward the open door.

Marsh rested the base of his spine
against the kitchen counter. Leaving Josephine in NYC meant leaving her
vulnerable. Vince could protect her, but Marsh needed to
know
she was
safe.

“She’s coming too.”

“She won’t like it,” Vince stated
with a shake of his head.

There was a creak of a hinge and
the soft tread of bare feet across floorboards. Josephine padded to the
doorway, looked at the three men in her kitchen and silently held her hand out
for coffee. He picked up the mug and handed it across, their fingers brushing
and the spark of contact making her blush. Dancer caught Marsh’s eye. Raised a
knowing brow.

Ignoring the other agent, Marsh
stared into Josephine’s eyes. “You need to come to Boston with us.”

A soft breath escaped her lips,
“Has he killed again?”

He cleared his throat.
It was a
sensible plan
. Josephine would buy it. “No, this isn’t to do with the Blade
Hunter case. I have to go to Boston as part of the investigation I’m leading.”
He stared into cobalt eyes that were slowly freezing over. “This way we can
keep an eye on you rather than leaving you exposed and threatened in NYC.” He
tried to hold her gaze, but it was like she was disappearing before his eyes.

“I won’t run away from this
asshole. Not this time—”

“It isn’t running away, it’s being
smart.” Marsh plowed right on over her concerns. “Bring everything you need to
paint and we’ll set you up somewhere—”

“My canvas is twenty-foot high.”
Remoteness echoed through her voice like she’d turned herself off.

“Work on something else for a few days.”
His voice got louder, unconsciously trying to penetrate the armor she was
building around herself.

Her eyes turned to his, empty—none
of the passion, none of her usual spirit.

“I have a commission to finish.”
She bit her lip. “It might not be important or worthy—but it’s mine and I’m not
giving it up for that sonofabitch.” She was looking right through him, but not
seeing him. She was seeing that knife-wielding bastard. “Vince can look after
me.” Backing out of the room she smiled vaguely at them all, her pale skin
turning even whiter in the morning sun.

“Josephine.” Panic crept in to his
tone. She said she wasn’t running away but she was lying. He’d expected
fireworks, but he had expected to get his way. This distance was beyond him and
he’d never seen her retreat into herself before. “Pack your stuff because we’re
leaving at noon.”

There was no reply, just the click
of the lock on the bedroom door and the expectant weight of silence.

“Well, that went well.” Dancer
slugged down the last of his coffee, licked frosted sugar off his fingers.
“Want me to get the tranquilizers or can you manage?”

***

The light was
perfect. If she could concentrate on color, on how to make the folds of the
Statue of Liberty’s toga look both fluid and solid at the same time, everything
would be fine. Squeezing out permanent green, some phthalo green and a blob of
cobalt green deep acrylic, she stared stupidly at her palette. Her hands shook
as feeling slowly crept back into her senses.