Rising Heat (96 page)

I don’t know how long it took me to fall asleep. One minute I was staring up at the ceiling, wondering and worrying about what tomorrow might bring. The next thing I knew, I was fast asleep. Dreaming of Hawk, of making love to him, the feel of his lips on my skin, my fingers skimming over the surface of his.

I think I kind of woke myself up when I got stimulated by the dream. For a second, in my half-awakened state, I wasn’t quite sure where I was, and imagined myself in his office, on his floor, my naked body beneath his admiring gaze. He held my hands gently above my shoulders, my breasts exposed to his view. My legs were bent, spread and he was lowering himself between them, his cock bouncing gently against my lower abdomen. And then he was inside me, his hips pumping slowly, eliciting a myriad of sensations through my body. I felt electrified, on fire, while intense desire burgeoned deep within me.

It was as if I could feel the warmth of his breath, his lips, and his tongue on my nipples, bringing them to the height of awareness. His lips on mine, his tongue swirling slowly around mine, his fingers tracing a light trail from my erect nipples down along my abdomen, which clenched tightly beneath his touch, and further, down to my mound.

He cupped it, stroked a moment with his palm, and then with his finger, began to explore my burgeoning wetness. And then his finger dipped inside, slowly stroking in and out. My hips rose instinctively, wanting him to replace his finger with his engorged cock. I reached down for it, grasped it, marveling once again at its size and strength. And then I impatiently guided that cock toward my slit, unable to stand it anymore. I needed him inside me. I wanted him inside me. In the end, he was.

Something took over both of us. It was hot, passionate, and desperate. His hips pumped hard, his balls slapping against my ass as I lifted my hips with every one of his deep strokes, wanting to take him ever deeper inside me. It was as if his cock delved so deep that he reached the center of my being. My hands were cupped around his buttocks, my legs wrapped around his thighs, urging him closer, deeper.

“Harder,” I gasped.

And then I woke up, realized that my hand was stroking my pussy, my other hand tweaking my nipples. Hawk was nowhere, except in the depths of my mind. I closed my eyes in desperation, wanting so bad to have him here with me now. I delved once again into my fantasy, in that half-aware state between sleep and full wakefulness. My body hummed with desire, with passion, with fire. In the back of my mind, I was amazed that even dreaming of Hawk making love to me could be so powerful, so intense.

Intense. That was an understatement. I felt my orgasm wash over me, leaving me feeling relaxed and warmed from the inside out. My chest rose and fell with my accelerated breathing. Hawk. I wanted him so bad I hurt. I ached for him.

As the waves of pleasure eased, I rolled onto my side, staring at the curtains, my heart pounding. Hawk. And in that instant, I knew that I loved him. Maybe that’s why I was so angry, why I felt so betrayed and let down. It wasn’t just a matter of counting on him as my private investigator. After all, I had known from the beginning that he wasn’t my bodyguard. The truth hit me like a ton of bricks, another cliché, I know. I think I had been ignoring the signs, not wanting to believe it. But I did. I loved Hawk.

What I was going to do about it was another question entirely. And with those thoughts on my mind, I drifted off to sleep. Nothing woke me again until the dim light of day oozed through the drawn curtains. I was amazed. I had slept. I was so grateful I almost laughed.

I lay there for several minutes, thinking I would call Detective Cutter again, tell him to give Hawk my phone number. Or maybe I would get Hawk’s. I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that at some point today, I knew that I would reach out and talk to him. I knew that I had to give him a chance to explain what happened the other night, and explain why he’d gotten into a bar fight. Why he had been arrested.

I slowly pulled on my shoes and socks, went into the bathroom, peed, then washed my face and brushed my hair and my teeth. I felt human again. The night’s sleep, my sexual release, had apparently done me some good. Shoving my belongings back into my backpack, I prepared to leave the motel room. I had already paid and so a paper receipt had been shoved under the door at some point before dawn. I picked it up, checked the numbers, and then folded it up and put it in my backpack.

I felt a lot better this morning, thinking that perhaps I had left the serial killer behind. As I was reaching for the door, I glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. It was nearly eight o’clock. Maybe I would call Detective Cutter now. I wasn’t sure how reception would be on the road.

I put my backpack back on the bed and sat down, opened my phone, and once again, accessed my call log and dialed the number to the police station.

“Seneca Police Department. Can I help you?”

“Detective Cutter, please,” I said. This time the officer didn’t say anything. I didn’t recognize the voice. I heard a couple of clicks and then Cutter’s voice.

“Detective Cutter.”

“Detective Cutter, it’s Tracy—”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I just thought I would call you before I got back on the road.” I really wanted to ask about Hawk, but I didn’t. Cutter was the one who broached the topic.

“Hawk’s worried about you.”

I said nothing for several seconds, and then nodded as if he could see me. “I know.” I opened the drawer of the bedside table, saw the Gideon’s Bible in it, and a small notepad of paper and a pen left there for guests. I grabbed the small memo pad and a pen, clicking it open. “Can you give me his phone number? I’ll give him a call later.”

Cutter did so, and then tried again to convince me to come back to Seneca. I had to ask. “Have you gotten any sign of him? Anyone who left town unexpectantly? There hasn’t been any other murders, have there?”

“No, no, and no,” he said. “But how long do you think you can hide from him? We can’t protect you when you’re out there and we don’t know where you are. Come back. At least we can keep a better eye on you here.”

I wanted to believe that, really I did. But I couldn’t. Didn’t. “For now, I think I’m safer if I stay on the move. I’m not going terribly far, but I can’t just go back there and sit and wait for him to find me. At least out here, I feel like I can at least breathe a little. Does that make sense?”

He sighed. “Yes, Tracy, it does, but it still doesn’t make it one of the smartest moves.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. “I’ll keep you posted.” With that, I ended the call. I ripped off the top sheet of paper from the memo pad with Hawk’s number on it and stuffed it in my pocket. The telephone followed it. I didn’t know where I was going today, but at least I felt rested. Maybe I would go through the McDonald’s drive thru on the way out of town, get something to eat. I just hoped I would be able to keep it down.

Before stepping to the front door, I moved to the drawn curtains by the window. Moved them aside just enough so I could peek out. I didn’t see anything or anybody. No movement, no nothing.

I unlocked the deadbolt and then the door. I opened the door and stepped out, looking at my rental, my eyes still scanning the area. My foot brushed against something. It was a small parcel. My sense of peace and security immediately deserted me. The box was wrapped in plain brown packing paper. No writing on it, but I knew.

I immediately felt a surge of nausea roiling in my stomach. Oh my God.
How?
I had no doubt that my stalker had found me.

I quickly scanned the parking lot again, and then beyond. I didn’t see anybody. No figures sitting in cars, heard no vehicles rumbling nearby. I looked down at the parcel. I wanted to kick it away from me, over the side of the balcony. I didn’t want to look, didn’t want to open it, but I knew I had to.

My heart pounding, my ears buzzing, and my throat so dry I thought I would gag, I stooped down and picked up the brown box. I retreated back into my motel room, closed and locked it, and then dead-bolted the door.

I sat down on the bed, holding the box, about the size that would hold a DVD. My heart pounded in dread. I had trouble swallowing. No saliva. My hands trembled as I reached for the tape on the bottom of the box. My sense of satisfaction, of peace and security had evaporated.

I finally got the wrapping paper off, found myself looking at a plain, white, stationary box. I shook it. It sounded like something hard inside, something that bounced against the inside. I swallowed, once, twice, and then, one hand over my stomach, I placed the box on the bed. Hesitantly removed the lid.

My eyes widened in amazement when I saw at least a dozen photos.

I picked them up and looked at them one at a time. Me pulling my truck into the storage shed. Me filling out papers at the rental car office. Those could have been pulled off security camera video and the screen shots printed out onto photo paper.

I wanted to scream, to rage, to cry, all at the same time. I was stunned. Stunned frozen. I looked at the last photo of me parking the Focus near my room. It was a distance shot, maybe from a security camera across the street at the intersection. And then saw the note taped to the bottom of the box. It was a postcard, print side down, but I wasn’t about to turn the postcard around to see the picture on the front. Written in black marker were the words:

You can’t hide from me. I am everywhere.

I jumped up from the bed and raced into the bathroom, retched over the toilet, every fiber in my body trembling with fear. I fought against the urge to fall apart, to fall to the floor crying. I immediately pulled the phone out of my pocket, along with the paper with Hawk’s phone number on it. With shaking fingers, I dialed.

“Hawk,” the voice on the other answered after two rings.

“It’s me, Tracy.”

“Tracy, I’m glad you called. I need to explain—”

“Hawk, he’s found me!” I nearly screamed though my voice was low, almost a hiss. “There was a box in front of my motel room, this morning. Filled with photos of me, leaving town, renting my car, hiding my truck, checking into the motel—”

“Where are you?”

“Defreestville,” I stammered. “Five miles east of Albany.”

“What’s the name of the motel?”

“Elkhorn… Elkhorn Motel.”

“Stay put. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The call disconnected. I pictured Hawk racing to his Jeep, climbing in, and speeding toward Albany. I had no idea how long it would take him to get here, but if I knew Hawk, he would be speeding the entire way. He could probably make it in a few hours.

While I waited, I paced the floor. Found myself gazing out the window every few minutes. I called the front office, told the woman that I’d decided to stay another day, to add it to my bill. I would come by later and pay with cash.

I don’t know how many times I went into the bathroom and tried to throw up, but there was nothing in my stomach. Nothing to throw up but sour tasting bile. My head pounded and I took one of my migraine pills, but that barely took the edge off.

Every minute passed like an hour. Noon came and went, then one o’clock. Then toward the middle of the afternoon, my nerves shredded, I heard footsteps on the balcony outside, sounding closer with every step. I didn’t dare look out the curtain, just in case it wasn’t Hawk, but some innocent traveler.

My heart nearly jumped into my throat when I heard the knock on the door, followed a second later by two more. I quickly stepped to the door, pressing my ear against it, my hands flat against its hard surface. For all I knew, it could be someone who worked at the motel who wanted me to come down to the office, renew my reservation or whatever they called it.

“Who is it?” I asked, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.

“It’s Hawk. Open the door.”

His voice was muffled, my ears ringing. My knees nearly buckled with relief as my shaking hands reached to unlock the deadbolt and then the door. I had just begun to open it when it slammed inward. Hard. The door hit my forehead and the bridge of my nose. I gasped in pain. My eyes watered, and my eyes closed instinctively. My hands reached for my nose. I felt blood. I lost my balance and fell back. Stunned.

“What the—?”

Something heavy was on top of me, holding me down against the floor. I panicked, began to fight like crazy, but then a rag or something was placed over my nose and mouth. It had a funny smell… a smell I couldn’t place. The smell was making me dizzy. “Please—”

I tried to hold my breath, but I couldn’t. A forearm was placed over my eyes, forcing my head into the floor. My nostrils were squeezed shut. I opened my mouth, gasped once, twice, and then…

MY HEART’S DESIRE

H
ELEN
G
REY

PART 5

BOOK DESCRIPTION

This is Part 5 of “My Heart’s Desire” – a five part Bad Boy Romantic Suspense Series by Helen Grey.

Tracy wakes to a nightmare. She’s been kidnapped and is all alone. No. Not alone. She’s with a mad man. And he’s tired of playing with her. He’s tired of watching. Tired of waiting. He’s ready to possess his heart’s desire.

Hawk arrives, but it’s not to rescue her. He can’t. He’s badly hurt.

They’re both helpless when the killer takes off his mask and reveals his identity. When he does, Tracy knows all hope is lost.

She’ll try to fight. She’ll try to save Hawk and save herself. Until her dying breath.

This book is intended for a mature audience, 18+ only.

C
onfusion. Groggy. Dry mouth. I tried to move, but my limbs felt like they were weighted down. My head, oh God, it hurt. It felt like someone was sitting on it. Why did I feel like this?

Nausea roiled in my stomach. I tried to move again, but nothing happened. Tried to open my eyes, but it was like the lids were glued shut. Focusing on just my eyes, I forced them to open, one tiny increment at a time.