Lethal Confessions (46 page)

Not that it had been an easy decision. As soon as she turned in the Harrison photo, she’d ducked into the nearest rest room and locked herself in a stall. It was the only place she could get a second of privacy in the bustling station. Every instinct had told her it would be nuts to agree to what Beckett wanted her to do, especially today. But her brain screamed
coward
at her. And if
she
thought she was a coward, what would
he
think?

Not that he’d acted like he thought she was gutless. When he’d looked into her eyes with all that understanding and warmth…well, no wonder she’d almost burst into tears.

After five minutes of self-inflicted mental torture, Amy had sucked it up and headed back out to the Floor. As she passed by Beckett’s cubicle, she’d choked out a few words and gestured him to follow to her car. When she motioned him inside, his smile had lit up her insides like a torch.

God help her, she had it bad.

Alicia’s sun-splashed fifth floor room might have been decorated by FAO Schwarz. The near-avalanche of stuffed animals would have made her nephew Cooper insane with jealousy. As Beckett knocked on the open door, Alicia looked up from a diary that lay open on her lap and gave him both a smile and a puzzled look.

“Hi, honey.” He went straight to her bed and gave her a little kiss on top of the head. “I know it’s kind of weird for me to be back again today, but I brought you a surprise. This is Detective Amélie Robitaille. She’s the Palm Beach Sheriff’s Office detective I told you about. Amélie, meet Alicia Trent.”

“Hi, Alicia. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Amy said cheerfully.

Not true. She was scared to death.

The little girl, so thin it broke Amy’s heart, regarded her solemnly. Her curly brown hair was tied back in a soft ponytail, tendrils curling around her pale, clever face. “You have a beautiful name, Detective Robitaille,” Alicia replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard either of those names before, but I really like the way they sound together. Very musical.”

Amy blinked, surprised by the girl’s almost adult manner of speech. “Ah, Alicia is a very pretty name, too. And you can call me Amélie. Or Amy.”

Beckett’s eyes laughed at her. “Alicia swears she’s only seven—almost eight—but I think she’s really about eighteen, don’t you, Detective Robitaille? She’s just a little small for her age.”

Alicia giggled as she hugged a big teddy bear. “This is my bear, Pudge.”

“Hi there, Pudge.” Amy said, shaking the bear’s arm. Then she gave Beckett her best cop frown. “If you think Alicia’s faking her age, I suppose I could arrange a lie detector test for her when she gets out of here.”

“Oh, now you two are just being silly,” Alicia huffed. But then she giggled again.

“You got us,” Beckett said. His big hand swallowed her little one in a gentle grip, and Amy’s heart flipped over.

Alicia’s gaze shifted to Amy’s hip. “That’s a really big gun.”

Amy’s hand went instinctively to rest on the Glock. “Yes, it is. Unfortunately, the bad guys have big ones, too.”

Alicia gave her an understanding nod. “Have you ever been shot?”

Beckett gestured to Amy to sit down in the chair beside the bed. She did, leaning forward to rest her forearms on her thighs.

“No, I haven’t been shot. But I’ve been shot
at
a few times. It can be really scary, but you kind of forget about it most of the time. Most police work is very routine and boring. It’s not like you see on TV.”

“Don’t let her fool you,” Beckett said. “Detective Robitaille is very brave. Right now, she’s hunting a really bad man, and she’s going to find him and arrest him very soon.”

His voice rang with confidence, bringing a glow of pleasure to Amy’s cheeks.

“Count on it,” Amy said. “But we can talk about police work as much as you want later, Alicia. I want to hear all about
you
. It must be awfully exciting that Luke’s going to try to adopt you.”

And how lame did that sound?

She glanced at Beckett. His smile told her that he didn’t think it was lame at all.

Alicia gazed up at Beckett with adoring eyes. “I’m so lucky,” she said, squeezing his hand.

Amy barely managed not to show her surprise. Lucky? Alicia might not live past the end of next week, but she could still call herself lucky?

“I’m the lucky one, sweetheart,” Beckett said as he bent to kiss her forehead. “A girl as smart and sweet as you are doesn’t come along every day.”

He looked happy, and he obviously meant every word.

Amy had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Luke’s right. He’s the lucky one. You, on the other hand, are going to have a job on your hands to train this character.”

Beckett clutched at his chest dramatically. “Me? Really?” When Alicia giggled, he gave a long-suffering sigh. “But I guess she might have a point there. We’re going to have to learn stuff together, kiddo.”

“Amélie, will you come visit us sometime? After I go to live with Luke?”

Right now, more than anything, Amy hoped that this child would live a long and happy life. “Sure, I’d be happy to. If Luke invites me, of course.”

“I think that could be arranged.” Beckett gave Amy a smoky look and her throat went tight all over again.

“Good,” Alicia said firmly. “Now, Amélie, I think you should tell me why I should grow up to be a detective like you.”

Amy jerked awake, then felt the warmth of the man sleeping next to her. She settled back on the pillow with a contented sigh.

Seconds after they’d reached her car, Beckett had stretched over the console and taken her mouth with a passion that had curled her toes. Both of them were oblivious to the other people making their way through the hospital’s parking garage. When he suggested they head to his Palm Beach house, she’d made a weak protest that she should get back to HQ, but he’d silenced her with another scorching kiss.

Once at his place, they didn’t even make it upstairs to the bedroom. Beckett had undressed her with practiced efficiency as he covered her face and neck and breasts with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Then suddenly she was flat on her back on top of his big dining room table, amazed as he sheathed himself with a condom he’d pulled out of nowhere. Then, his strong hands had grasped her hips, and her need had been so powerful, so urgent that she’d climaxed on his first deep thrust. As her body shuddered uncontrollably, she’d cried out and he stopped and held her tight, trailing light caresses over her lips, eyes and ears.

Moments later, he drew himself up and began to thrust into her with a tightly-controlled power. She moaned as he lifted her legs onto his shoulders and penetrated deeper and deeper, driving her to another explosive orgasm before he finally arched his back and groaned out his own release. After that, he’d picked up her utterly limp, sated body and carried her to bed.

She rested quietly, his arm draped over her hip. Only a few remaining rays of sunlight slanted into the room as it was almost eight o’clock. They’d slept for three hours, and she’d she needed it badly.

Amy turned over and gazed at the man who wouldn’t stop storming his way past her defenses. It wasn’t hard to imagine waking up like that every day, with the hard warmth of Beckett’s powerful body beside her. He made her glow with satisfied languor and a host of new and strange sensations. No man had ever rocked her like Beckett. Not even close. And,
calice
, she figured she deserved to be rocked, at least for a little while. There would probably never be any kind of white picket fence in her future, but that didn’t mean she had to keep denying her needs. Denying him.

She briefly considered dressing quietly and letting herself out, but she hated to leave without touching him again.

“Beckett.” She shook him gently.

His eyes popped open. “Huh?”

“It’s getting late. I need to get back to HQ.”

“No, you don’t,” he growled, his sleepy, sexy voice making her insides tumble. “You need to stay right here and relax. Palm Beach County can get along without you for a few more hours.”

She dropped a light kiss on his lips. “Sorry. Duty calls.”

“Duty sucks.” He grimaced, then shut his eyes again.

Amy had barely put her feet to the plush carpet floor when her cell buzzed. She’d made sure she put it on the bedside table before she went to sleep.

Poushinsky
.

“What’s up?” She reached for her underwear. “I’m on my way in now.”

“Hey, partner, it’s not like you to go AWOL in the middle of the day.”

“Personal business, Poushinsky. You know my number, as you’ve just demonstrated. Now, I’m assuming you had a reason for the call, other than checking up on my whereabouts?”

He laughed. “Right. So far we’ve got nothing new on Gardner. There’s nobody matching his description at any of the hotels we’ve tried. Now the squad is starting to spread out to the neighboring counties. We’ve got nothing yet on the vehicle, either.”

“That suggests he’s taken off, or he’s dug himself some little rat-hole, like freaking Saddam Hussein. I’m just praying like hell he hasn’t run, because I want this guy’s ass so bad.”

“We all do.” Then there was a pause on the line. “But sometimes it’s not healthy to want something so much, Robitaille. You should think about that.”

Poushinsky knew exactly how much it meant to her to nail this serial killer. And his protective instincts were sharp. If Gardner got away, she didn’t even want to think about how it might mess with her head.

“Yeah, whatever.” She juggled the phone as she poked her arms through the straps of her bra. “Before you go, you’ll make sure copies of all today’s reports are on my desk, right?”

“Already there.”

“Then good night, Poushinsky.” She hung up and tossed the phone onto a chair so she could finish getting dressed.

She had a delicious but fleeting thought about getting back into bed and climbing right onto Beckett. After all, right now there wasn’t much more she could do but wait, hoping for a sighting on Gardner, and the thought of Beckett inside her again sent some sweet tremors to her thighs. But that kind of thing would be the height of self-indulgence, and she’d already indulged herself enough today.

Back to work, Amy.

Beckett began to snore gently as she reluctantly eased out of his bedroom.

Saturday, August 7

12:50 a.m.

Sentry Force
.

The little sticker on the back door made him chuckle under his breath. No alarm company was going to help the bitch tonight. Like most homes in a high-end town like Jupiter, this one had alarm monitoring. It presented a small challenge, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

Detective Amy Fucking Robitaille
. Why did it have to be a bitch cop who’d tracked him down? It made him want blood and pain every time he thought about her and what she’d said on the TV. Yeah, she’d drive him out of here. For now. But she’d pay a price.

Oh, would she ever pay a price.

He shoved the torque tool in the lock, followed by the rake. It only took a few seconds to get the pins lined up before the lock opened with a soft click. He inhaled two deep breaths and shoved the door open.

The alarm sounded, but it wasn’t as loud as he’d expected. In the semi-darkness, he shot through the kitchen and spotted the stairs near the front door. Taking them three at a time, he reached the landing and looked up to see the bitch standing there. Her mouth open, she flicked on an overhead light.

Her little nightshirt barely covered her crotch, and did nothing to hide the sway of her big tits.

Whore.

Though she looked glassy-eyed, her piercing scream assailed his ears. The bitch turned and ran, trying to slam the door of a bedroom in his face, but he was too quick and too strong for her. Using his momentum, he shouldered the door open easily, knocking her flat on her ass in the process. But, grunting, she kicked up at him, driving her heel into the pit of his stomach and almost hammering the breath out of him. When she lurched for the bedside table and the phone, he barely managed to grab her ankle in mid-air. She landed hard on the carpet again, screaming as she hit the floor. Before she could get up again, he was on her, driving his knee into her back and pinning her arms to the floor. With his strength, the small woman didn’t have a chance.

“Let me go, you motherfucking son of a bitch!” She wriggled and bucked, trying to roll him off, but she wasn’t going anywhere.

He laughed. The bitch sure had a filthy mouth. Whipping a plastic tie from his pocket, he cinched her hands behind her back. Swiveling, he shifted his weight and used another tie to bind her ankles before lowering himself down hard on her, his mouth at her ear.

More shrieks, this time from behind him. God, he hated that screechy noise.

He whipped a glance over his shoulder and saw her little kid standing in the doorway, his face beet-red. His eyes were squeezed tight as he screamed his ass off.

“Cooper! Run!” his mother shrieked. “Run, Baby. Run out the front door!”

But the kid didn’t move—he just kept screaming his fucking lungs out.

He shot to his feet and lunged for the brat. “Shut up! Just shut the hell up!” He grabbed the kid and pushed him to the floor. “I’m not planning to hurt her, or you,” he said as he bound the kid’s wrists and ankles, leaving them a little looser than his mother’s. “But if you keep yelling, I
will
hurt her.”

He hauled the kid up and put him in a headlock, squeezing his neck until the yelling became a whimper.

The bitch had managed to roll over, and now she raised her head off the floor and glared at him, her eyes blazing with hate. “You son of a bitch. If you hurt my kid, I swear to God I’ll fucking kill you!”

Feisty one, that Marie-Louise Wilson
.

The phone beside the bed started to ring. He tightened his arm around the kid’s neck, but the boy started to choke so he eased up. Not enough so he could scream again, though.

“That will be the alarm company, Marie-Louise,” he said in a calm voice. “You’re going to take a couple of deep breaths, then you’re going to tell the agent that everything here is just fine. You had to go outside for something and forgot to disarm the system first. You make it up, but make it good. Otherwise...”