Night Moves: Dream Man/After the Night (61 page)

“Don’t be scared,” he murmured, bending his head down to hers. His warm breath tickled her ear as he gently nuzzled the side of her neck. He licked the small hollow beneath her ear and the sensation, as tender as a mother’s kiss, made her begin to tremble. “I won’t let anything like that happen to you again. I know you’re skittish with men now, babe, but I’ll take care of you. I’m going to take
real
good care of you.”

She pulled her head back so she could look at him. Her eyes were huge, and edged with panic. “What are you talking about?” she cried thinly. She was afraid, scared by the way things had so suddenly gotten out of her control, afraid of the proximity of his big body. She didn’t want this,
didn’t want to have to deal with the memories and unpleasantness. For whatever reason, he had decided not to ignore the wildfire of attraction that they had both been fighting, and moved with bewildering speed to change their situation. There was nothing of the detective in him now; he was purely a man, his hazel eyes glittering with sexual intent.

He pressed his mouth to her temple. “In bed, babe. When we make love.”

She stiffened, pushing against his heavy shoulders as hard as she could. He didn’t budge at all. “No, I don’t want that. Let me go!”

“Hush,” he said firmly, gathering her even closer. “I’m just holding you, Marlie. That’s all. I’ve wanted to hold you since I first set eyes on you Monday morning.”

“There has to be some sort of rule against a detective making a pass at a suspect,” she blurted, searching for any weapon at all. “If you think I won’t report you—”

“You’re not a suspect,” he interrupted. His mouth quirked. “Maybe I should have told you sooner, but the officer who saw you Friday night gave you a pretty good alibi, since you couldn’t have been in two places at once.”

She went still, her attention focusing on what he had just said. Her gaze locked on his. Uncomfortably he realized that there was something oddly compelling about her eyes. “When did you talk to him?”

The even tone of her voice didn’t fool him. He winced inwardly. “Um . . . Tuesday night.” He should have lied. He shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place, at least not right now. He should have—

She bit him. He had been halfway expecting her to take a swing at him. He had to admit that he might deserve one, and he was willing to absorb a shot if it would make her feel better. Besides, the way he was holding her, he knew she wouldn’t be able to put much power behind it. Evidently she realized that, too, because she simply leaned forward and sank her teeth into his chest.

“Ouch!” he bellowed, startled by the sharp pain. She hung on like a bulldog, and the pain caused by his involuntary movement quickly convinced him to stand still. “Shit! Turn loose!”

She did, and regarded him with baleful satisfaction as he hastily stepped back and rubbed his chest. A wet spot on his shirt marked where she had bitten.

Gingerly he unbuttoned his shirt and took a look, expecting to see blood. It didn’t make him feel a lot better to discover that, though the indentations of her sharp little teeth were plain in his hide, there wasn’t even much bruising. “The professor said you were testy,” he muttered. “But he didn’t mention the cannibalism.”

“Serves you right,” she said. “You’ve been hounding me for two days when you
knew
I’d been telling you the truth.”

He looked a little sheepish, and continued to rub his chest. “I had to have some excuse.”

“To do what?”

“See you.”

“That’s supposed to endear you to me?” she asked caustically, turning away to pick up the canister of coffee and return it to the cabinet. “I’m not making coffee. You can leave now.”

“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“No.”

He folded his arms. “Then I’m not leaving.”

She slapped the countertop in frustration and whirled to face him. “Can’t you take a hint?
I don’t want this.
Whatever you’re offering, I don’t want it.”

“That’s a lie.”

Those hazel eyes were glittering again, this time with stubbornness. She had already noted that trait in him. It felt as if she had a bull in her kitchen, and couldn’t budge him.

“You feel it the same way I do,” he continued relentlessly. “You’re attracted to me, and it scares the hell out of you, because of Gleen.”

Her face closed up. “I don’t want to talk about Gleen.”

“That’s understandable, but I’m not going to let you hold him between us. The bastard’s dead; he can’t ever hurt you again. There’s too much pleasure in life to turn your back on it.”

“And you’re just the man who can show me what I’m missing, right?” she asked with heavy sarcasm.

“Bet on it, babe.”

She crossed her arms and leaned back against the cabinet, holding herself away from him. “I’ve always hated being called babe or baby,” she observed.

“Fine. I’ll call you whatever you like.”

“I don’t want you to call me anything. Can’t you get it through your thick head, Detective? There can’t be anything between us, full stop, period.”

He grinned suddenly, and her heart gave a thump at the miracle it worked on his harsh features. “There already is something between us. Can you think of anyone else who makes you as angry as I do?”

“Not right offhand,” she admitted.

“See? I’ve been the same way. Since I saw you Monday morning, I’ve been in a hell of a mood, mad at you for being a suspect, mad at myself for being so attracted to you in spite of it.”

“Maybe we just intensely dislike each other,” she suggested.

“I don’t think so.” He glanced swiftly downward. “There’s evidence to the contrary.”

Marlie fiercely controlled the impulse to let her own gaze drift downward. After what she had felt yesterday morning on the porch, she was fairly certain what she would see. Despite herself, she was charmed by his air of slight bemusement at his body’s response, and it took all of her willpower not to let it show. It just wouldn’t do. He was going to be difficult enough to discourage as it was, without letting him see how very much she wished things could be different. She had always longed for a normal relationship,
but she had always been set apart, first by her own talents, then by Gleen.

“It won’t work,” she said aloud.

He looked downward again. “You think so? I dunno,” he said doubtfully, “it looks like it will work pretty well to me.”

Startled, she laughed aloud, and quickly clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. He grinned at her again, making her heart do acrobatics even as she tried to control herself. He was far more dangerous than she had feared; he could make her laugh.

“I can’t,” she said, sobering quickly. Her voice was soft, with an undertone of regret that she couldn’t hide. “Gleen—”

With two long steps he reached her, closing his hands on her waist. The humor fled his face as if it had never existed. “Gleen is dead. The only way he can hurt you anymore is if you let him.”

“Do you think it’s that easy?”

“Hell, no, I don’t think it’s easy. I’m a cop, remember. I’ve seen what rape victims go through.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Technically raped? I know. But he tried, and beat the hell out of you because he couldn’t. Your reaction probably isn’t any different than if he had been able to penetrate.”

She laughed again, but this time the sound was harsh, tearing. “It’s a little different. I wish he
had
raped me! I lie awake at night and know that if he’d been able to get an erection, maybe if I hadn’t fought him so hard, that little boy would still be alive! But he got more and more frenzied, and I kept struggling, and all of a sudden he left me and attacked the little boy.” She was silent for a minute. “His name was Dustin,” she said. “His parents called him Dusty.”

Dane’s hands tightened convulsively on her waist, then relaxed. “It wasn’t your fault; no one can predict what a madman will do. But that’s a bad thing to have to deal with,” he said quietly. His chest was tight with suppressed emotion. Gently he smoothed her hair, then slid his fingers
under the warm, silky weight to cup her head in his big hand. “Have you ever told anyone everything that happened that night?”

She shook her head. “Not everything. Not the details. It was too . . . ugly.”

“Have you ever told anyone else what you just told me?”

“No.” She looked up, confusion in her eyes. “I don’t know why I did.”

“Because there’s something between us, and you can’t deny it any more than I can. We aren’t comfortable with each other yet, but one day it will be okay. I can wait. And I can wait until you’re ready to make love, too.”

Frustrated at his stubbornness, at her inability to convince him, she shook her head. She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. “You’re so damn sure of yourself.”

“Trust me,” he murmured. His hard fingers massaged her skull, relieving tension she hadn’t even been aware of. “You’ll think about it now, and the more you think about it, the more used to the idea you’ll get. Then you’ll start getting curious, wondering about how we would be together. You’ve done a good job putting your life back together, but you’re too smart not to know that until you can trust a man in bed again, you’re still letting Gleen have a hold over you. The next step is obvious. And I can promise you one thing: If anyone gets in bed with you, it’s going to be me.”

Before she could think of a response to that supremely self-confident statement, he took her by the hand and led her back into the living room. His palm was callused, his fingers hard and warm. His touch was consciously gentle, that of a man who was very aware of his own strength and was careful not to squeeze. There was something beguiling about his hand linked with hers, a subtle asking for, and reassurance of, trust. She felt oddly safe with him, though not safe
from
him.

“Let’s sit down,” he said, urging her toward the couch. Belatedly she tried to detour to a chair, but he tugged her to the couch and pulled her down beside him. He kept her
hand folded in his as he settled back with a sigh of relief, stretching his long, muscular legs out before him. “Airplane seats aren’t made for anyone over five and a half feet tall. I still feel cramped.”

“Why don’t you go home,” she said tiredly. “It’s late.”

“Because we still need to talk.”

She shook her head and tried to tug her hand free. It was a useless effort. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”

“I’ve got some more questions about what you saw Friday night.”

She stiffened. She couldn’t help it; every time she was reminded of that evil, something inside her froze. “I’ve already told you everything. Tomorrow’s a workday, and I’d like to get some sleep.”

“Just a few minutes,” he coaxed, smiling at her. That little crook of his mouth caused another disruption in her cardiac rhythm, and she quickly looked away. Whoever would have thought that such a roughhewn face could produce such a charming smile? He shouldn’t be allowed to do anything except frown, for her own protection.

“I kept thinking about it on the plane,” he said, taking her silence for acquiescence. “You aren’t a suspect, you’re a witness. In fact, you’re the only witness we have. We have no leads, no evidence, no idea who we’re looking for. Two earlier possibilities turned out to be dead ends. I’m not saying I buy into this paranormal stuff, but I’m willing to investigate any leads you can give me. For instance, can you give me a description of the guy?”

She shook her head, ignoring the dismissive way he said “this paranormal stuff.”

“Nothing at all? C’mon. You described the murder scene down to the smallest detail.”

“But I saw it from
his
eyes. I saw . . . everything else. Not him.”

“Did you see his hands?”

A memory swam into focus, that of a hand reaching for a knife, holding the knife, slashing—

“Yes.” The word was a whisper of sound.

“Good.” Her eyes had gone slightly unfocused. Dane made his voice as soothing as he could, not wanting to startle her. “What color was his skin? Light or dark?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think, Marlie.”

“I don’t know! He was wearing gloves. Surgical gloves. And he had long sleeves.” She paused, looking inward again. “His clothes were dark.”

“He didn’t pull off the gloves even when he raped her?”

“No.”

“Okay, then let’s work on his height. We know how tall Mrs. Vinick was; how tall was he in comparison?”

Marlie silently marveled at how his cop’s brain worked; she hadn’t thought of height at all. Her head tilted in concentration as she tried to focus the mental images.

“When he first grabs her, in the kitchen, he holds her close, with one hand over her mouth and the other holding the knife.” Marlie lifted her hands into the positions she described, pantomiming the action. “The hand over her mouth is . . . like this. Even with his shoulder.”

“So that’s the level of her mouth. That puts him around six feet. We can’t know how long his neck is—he may be an inch shorter or taller—but at least that’s something. What about his voice? Do you remember anything about it?”

She closed her eyes. “Nothing that stands out. It was just a man’s voice, not particularly deep or high.” His actual voice hadn’t mattered; it had been overwhelmed by the raging violence, the hatred, of his emotions.

“How about an accent? Can you distinguish an accent?”

“Not southern,” she said promptly, opening her eyes. “Big deal. This is Orlando; half the population, including me, is from somewhere else.”

“Can you narrow it down any more than that? There are a lot of distinctive accents: New York, Boston, Ohio, Chicago, Minnesota, the western accents.”

She was shaking her head even as he rattled them off.
“Nothing that I can pin down. He didn’t actually
say
that much, or maybe I didn’t pick it up.”

“Then let’s move on to something else. Did you get an impression of his body?”

Utter revulsion crossed her face.

“I mean his weight,” Dane said hastily. “Was he thin, average, or heavy?”

She gave him a dirty look. “Average, I think. And strong. Very strong. Maybe it was anger, or the adrenaline, but she was helpless against him. He gloated about it. He loved it.”