Killing Fear (40 page)

Then she took the other hand and did the exact same thing until he had to close his eyes. But the sensation of her mouth on his fingers alone was just as stimulating as watching her.

She pushed him down. With his jeans half off he couldn’t easily move, and she apparently liked that because she smiled at him. “Let’s see how you like it,” she murmured.

“I like it,” he answered and she laughed, then slid her mouth on his quivering dick.

Just like she did for each of his fingers, she did it again, only longer, deeper, with her hands on his ass, brushing against his balls until he couldn’t hold back.

“Robin,” he cried, his hands fisting in the blankets as he came.

She rose, a goddess in the soft light of her bedroom, her dark red hair wild around her face, her chest heaving, her body wet and sexy from exertion.

“Now,” she said, “we’re both ready to go slow.” She pulled off his jeans and laid on top of him. His arms wrapped around her and he kissed her. First slow and easy, then faster, more urgent.

Will rolled Robin over so he was on top, spread her legs, and slowly sank himself into her.

Robin sucked in her breath, her entire body on fire as Will filled her. They lay there without moving, wholly connected, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, thighs to thighs. Even their feet touched and she had never felt so completely wrapped in love, had never felt so desirable. He covered every inch of her body, she didn’t know where she ended and he began.

Slowly, he began to move within her. Patiently. As if they had all the time in the world.
This
was making love,
this
was intimacy. She looked into Will’s eyes, so dark smoky blue now in his passion that they looked black as night. He stared at her, his lips only inches from hers, his body rigid with forced restraint.

She moved her body to match his rhythm and quickly, too quickly, they both neared their peak. Her eyes drooped and Will kissed her. “Look at me, Robin.” She opened her eyes as her orgasm rushed toward the finish line.

“I love you,” he said, then fell on top of her as they rode each other over the edge.

Will pulled Robin to him and they lay spooned together in her disheveled bed.

“I had to see you,” Will whispered in her ear.

She squeezed his arm, which was draped over her bare stomach. “I’m glad.”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to. We talked about this earlier.”

His chin touched the top of her head. Something else was going on here.

“What’s wrong?” She tried to turn to face him, but he held her firm against him.

“I like holding you, Robin. You feel good here in my arms.”

“Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Where do I start?”

She ran her hand up and down his forearm. He’d looked so tired when he came in earlier. “Sleep. You can tell me later.”

“I arrested Diana Cresson tonight.”

“The criminalist?”

“She killed Jim.” Will’s voice cracked at the end.

“Oh God.” That meant…“Theodore Glenn didn’t kill Anna. You were right.” All these years she had blamed the wrong person. It didn’t make Glenn less guilty, it just meant he hadn’t killed her friend Anna. She didn’t know what to think, how to feel about this.

“I didn’t want to be right, Robin. Not about this. I wanted to believe Glenn killed Jim because it would have been easier. But Diana—she worked for Jim. She was his friend, his colleague.”

“She was
not
his friend,” Robin said. “The woman must be unbalanced to do something as awful as that.”

“She is as sane as you and I, Robin, only her idea of right and wrong are warped.”

Will swallowed, continued. “I’ve always been honest with you about my past relationships. I’ve dated a lot of women. I guess—hell, I don’t know. I screwed up somewhere. I never knew how to keep a relationship going. I was never in it for the long haul. My marriage fell apart because I was really married to my job. So after Wendy, I dated a lot, never got serious. Never, until you.”

“I don’t need to know about your past, Will,” she said. And she didn’t. As far as she was concerned, what was happening now was what was important, not the past. “I haven’t been a saint.”

“Hear me out. Please.” He swallowed again. “No relationship lasted more than a couple months with me. Not after Wendy. I dated Diana. And let the relationship fade away like everything else. The job always came first for me. I liked Diana, but it didn’t click.”

He squeezed her tight and his voice cracked. “It’s my fault, Robin. She planned on killing you. I don’t know what I would have done then.”

Robin absorbed the information. “Me? Why? I never did anything to her.”

“I always prided myself on being discreet in my relationships, but with you—God, Robin, I thought about you all the time. Frank knew about our relationship and he had a big mouth. Dillon Kincaid, a forensic psychiatrist we consulted in this case, believes Diana had a fixation on me, and when I left her to focus on the job in her mind that was acceptable. Then I started seeing you. She viewed all women as inferior. But us, together, seemed to set her off.”

“Did she—did she tell you this?”

“No, but her interview was convoluted. She was on the verge of confessing when she lawyered up. I have to tell you, Robin, they’re going to cut a deal with her. We have her on Jim’s murder—she used a gun she’d processed earlier this week in a gang shooting, and there’s trace evidence that the Sheriff’s Department will likely be able to tie to her. They are going to send some people to search her house in the morning—we felt it would be cleaner if they served the warrant.”

“What kind of deal?”

“They’re not going to try her for Anna’s murder.”

“I don’t understand,” Robin said slowly.

“The D.A. is going to offer her a deal—she confesses to Jim Gage’s murder, waives her right to trial, and she’ll be given life without parole in a federal penitentiary. Agent Vigo is working out the details on that right now. It’s tricky, but they think they can cut it.”

“Why is it tricky?”

“If we bring her to trial for Anna’s murder, every case she ever processed will be under scrutiny. Hundreds of violent predators will file an appeal, and many will win. She planted evidence. We don’t have the time or resources to fight all those cases. But if we can keep it in-house, have her plead out, seal the records, we won’t face such an onslaught.”

Robin didn’t know what to say. Intellectually, it made sense, but emotionally she wanted justice for Anna.

“There’re some huge political considerations…”

“Politics?” Robin slid away from Will, rolled over and faced him. “She’s getting away with Anna’s murder because of
politics
?”

“She’s not getting away with anything. Please try to understand. Don’t you see that every single one of her cases is going to be called into question? Hundreds of convicted criminals—murderers, child molesters—are going to claim they were framed or that the evidence was tainted because she handled it. We may already have that problem, but the D.A. is working an agreement with the Feds to review all case evidence that Diana Cresson handled. We need time. None of us believe that she contaminated any other crime scenes—Anna’s murder was personal. But try telling that to a jury.”

“It’s not fair.” Robin’s bottom lip trembled. Will touched it with his thumb.

“You’re right. None of this is fair. I wish I had a better answer for you. I wish that bastard Glenn was in prison. I wish I had seen Diana for what she was years ago. I wish I had figured it out before Jim ended up dead.”

She reached for him, rubbed his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve done everything you can.”

Robin wished Anna could be avenged, that her killer would go to prison for killing her. But she would be satisfied that Diana Cresson went to prison, period. At least she knew what really happened. That would have to do.

Will pulled her back to him, flesh against flesh. “When you walked out, I tried to replace you, but you are irreplaceable. I was miserable and didn’t know it until I saw you again, saw what I had so callously tossed aside. I didn’t know what we had until it was gone, Robin.”

“And we have it back.” She kissed him.

“God, yes.” He kissed her again, his hands fisting in her tangled hair. “Yes, Robin, we have it back, in spades.”

“I love you so much, Will Hooper. And we’ll get through this. I promise.”

“I should be saying that to you.”

“You have. In words and deeds.” She cuddled into his chest. “You need sleep.”

He rolled over on top of her. “I want you more.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

Will met with the Sheriff’s Department personnel at Diana Cresson’s house Saturday morning in Lemon Grove, a suburb of San Diego. He was observing only. Hans was supposed to meet him there, but he was a no-show and didn’t answer his phone.

Chief Causey, however, arrived along with the assistant sheriff. These two murders—Anna Clark’s and Jim Gage’s—had the potential to seriously damage the department. “If I can suggest, sir,” Will said, “use Trinity Lange to defuse the situation. Give her something good. Like a confession on the Gage homicide. We don’t have to discuss the Anna Clark murder—those are wild accusations by an escaped convict who killed a mother, a guard, and a retired cop.”

“Stanton is going to work the media,” Causey said, “but I know you owe that reporter a bone. I’ll talk to the D.A. about it.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

A sheriff’s criminalist came out of the house with a bag. He approached the three of them, speaking to his supervisor. “We found a box of case files that matches the description of the box missing from Dr. Gage’s house. We also found this.” He held up a plastic bag with a notepad in it.

Will recognized Jim’s small, block printing. At the top of the paper was written:
Dillon Kincaid 10:05 p.m.
Beneath were notes from the phone conversation Dillon told him about. Key phrases were underlined.
Robin McKenna intended victim. Why call Hooper? Did call come before or after murder?

There were several pages of notes.

“We also found shoes that tested positive for blood. We’ll expedite the test to verify a match to Dr. Gage.”

“Any journals?” Will asked. “Notes of any kind?”

“We’re still searching,” he responded. “We have a computer specialist working on a laptop. Files have been recently deleted, but he believes he can retrieve them.”

Will’s phone rang. It was Hans. “Any news on Glenn?” Will answered.

“My contact Nico tracked Glenn to a bar on the south end of Tijuana,” Hans replied. “The owner said a man matching Glenn’s description went home with his waitress last night. Nico broke into the apartment and Glenn was gone. The waitress was uncooperative, but Nico learned he’d missed Glenn by twenty minutes.”

“Shit,” Will muttered. “Did the owner tip him off?”

“Could be. Nico is getting close. We’ll get him. Are you at Cresson’s house?”

“Yes. We found the missing case files and other incriminating evidence.”

“I just spoke with Dillon Kincaid and he said she’ll probably have a journal or diary that will be a justification of all her actions.”

“There are deleted files on her computer they are retrieving right now. Are you going to meet me downtown later?”

“I wish I could stay for a couple more days, but I’m driving to the airport as we speak.”

“Heading back to D.C.?”

“Not yet. Three fugitives were spotted north of Salt Lake City, possibly heading to Idaho, Montana, or even crossing the border into Canada. I’m meeting up with another agent who specializes in fugitive apprehension and hopefully we’ll catch their trail.”

“I heard on the wire that there’s a major storm coming in.”

“That’s why I have to jump on the next flight. With Glenn out of the country and Cresson behind bars, I don’t know how much help I’ll be to you.”

“Who do I contact to find out how to extradite Glenn when your guy Nico finds him?”

Hans paused. “There won’t be any extradition issues. Nico will bring him back. I didn’t go through LEGAT on this. If I went through the bureaucracy, they’d still be negotiating with the local authorities and Glenn would be long gone. Trust me.”

Will understood exactly what Hans was doing, and he owed him a big one. “I appreciate it, Hans. But I’m worried about Robin. I can’t expect her to lock herself in her loft for the rest of her life.”

“I gave Nico your contact information. He’ll be in touch as soon as he has information on Glenn. The local FBI office is working with your D.A. regarding a plea agreement with Cresson.”

“It was good working with you, Hans.”

“Likewise, Detective. If you need anything, let me know.”

“Catch the other bastards.”

“You got it.”

Robin went to the art gallery Saturday after lunch to talk to Isabelle about the showing the following day. She was still running high after her night with Will. Finally, her personal and professional lives were going well. She had a man she loved—who she believed with her whole heart loved her right back—and her dream of being a professional artist was within her grasp. Her club was reopening tonight and she was offering half-price drinks to bring people in. If this night went well, the two nights she’d lost because of Theodore wouldn’t hurt her business at all.

Isabelle greeted her with a hug. She was a petite version of Snow White, Robin had always thought, with dark hair and milk white skin. Her brown eyes practically glowed, and she wore her designer clothes with flair and confidence.

“I am
so
excited about tomorrow! I have several serious buyers who have expressed interest in commissioning you for work, and a new high-end hotel wanting two murals for their dramatic beachside entry.”

“You’ve been busy,” Robin said, outwardly calm but inwardly jumping up and down.

Isabelle laughed. “Let me show you what we’ve done.”

For the next hour, Isabelle walked through the gallery and showed how they were highlighting Robin’s work with special lights and dramatic black backdrops that made the bold colors on white canvas really pop.