She Can Scream (27 page)

The apartment complex, comprised of three buildings surrounding a courtyard full of crabgrass, was large enough that residents surely did not know all their neighbors. Scraggly shrubs flanked the entrances. The parking lot made up the fourth side of the square. Each building had its own secure entry. Guests needed to be buzzed inside. But he knew all he had to do was wait.

Selena, the waitress in 12B, started her shift at 10:00 p.m. He checked the luminous dial of his Timex. She should be coming out any minute.

A young woman appeared in the glassed-in lobby. Right on time. He flipped up the hood of his jacket, reached for his door handle, and got out of his car. Rain pelted nylon as he sprinted for the building. His boots splashed in shallow puddles. He reached the door just as she was exiting.

“Here you are.” As polite and sweet as usual, the pretty brunette held the door open with one white waitress shoe while popping up an umbrella.

“Thanks.” He kept his face turned down and his shoulders hunched over as he stepped inside and shook the water from his jacket, dog-fashion. Huddled under her umbrella, the waitress jogged to her car. Lovely. He’d spent some time watching her before he’d selected Maddie as his prize this year. Perhaps that hadn’t been the best decision.

One he could rectify at some point. Not now, though. He already had his hands full tonight.

He waited until Selena drove off, then lingered a few more minutes. The rest was a bit tricky, but if he could pull it off…

Well, Brooke was going to get quite a shock.

He wished he could have seen her reaction when she found the mannequin. All this preparation was like tenderizing her, letting her marinate in her own terror until she was ready to be his main course.

All was dark and quiet. He shoved a large rock between the door and the jamb, holding it open. Then he returned to his car.

Sheets of rain poured down on him as he pulled the tarp-wrapped bundle out of the trunk. He staggered. The woman was much heavier than the mannequin he’d stashed in Brooke’s basement, but she was more pliant. He shifted his grip, and pain shot through his wrist. Normally, he’d be able to lift her deadweight without issue, but the earlier adventure at Brooke’s house had taken its toll. Too bad he hadn’t had time to kill the stupid dog that tripped him.

Rain dripped from the visor of his hood as he stumbled across twenty feet of concrete to the entrance. He toed the door open and scanned the stairwell. No one above or below. Using the handrail for balance, he took her down one flight.

He turned and nudged the basement door open with the back of his shoulder. In the dim light of an emergency-exit sign,
two pairs of washers and dryers were lined up on one side. The storage units on the right were cheap, chain-link jobs, more dog kennels than proper storage lockers. Tenants secured their bikes, skis, and other outdoor gear with combination locks. The cloying scent of fabric softener mixed with the smell of mildew.

He carried her toward the far corner, just beyond the laundry area, and stretched her out on the floor. Holding the loose end of the plastic with one boot, he gave the body a shove with his other. She rolled over twice, the tarp falling away, her arms slapping onto the cement with a fleshy sound. The neatly folded sheet he’d stashed inside the tarp with her fell loose. He dragged her by the armpits to the corner and propped her up. Then he shook out the sheet, covered her body, and folded the edge over her head. Her face, once so pretty, was too battered to interest him any longer, but he hardened at the memory of how it got that way. His fists alternately pummeling her face and encircling her throat while he pumped between her flailing legs. The whimpers rasping from her bloody lips had sounded just like the mewling of a dying kitten.

The whole time he’d pictured Brooke’s face and body in place of his victim.

What would it be like to render such a strong woman helpless? To invade her body in every way he could envision. He had quite an imagination and plenty of experience to call on.

His hand drifted to his crotch. He stopped himself. He needed to practice self-control before his time with Brooke came. Their night together couldn’t be a repeat of tonight’s premature finish. No. He had big plans for Brooke.

He adjusted the sheet over the bloody face. Now for the finishing touches. He threaded the earring through the hole in her ear. He struggled to hook the tiny backing with his latex-gloved
fingers. He jammed it onto the post. There. From his pocket, he drew a necklace. Sterling silver glimmered in the emergency-exit light. He fastened the chain around her neck and adjusted the pendant to the center of her naked chest, right over the name he’d carved in her skin.

Perfect.

Luke stumbled down a smoke-filled stairwell. Pain blasted through his back. With every step, the unwieldy load of guilt he carried grew heavier. He staggered under its weight. His lungs screamed. His head reeled. The toe of a wing-tip caught on a tread. He tripped, grabbing the metal handrail to steady himself.

Pausing for two deep breaths of foul air, Luke swayed.

Can’t stop now.

He gathered his panic and harnessed it to propel him forward again. A concrete landing. A one-eighty. Another flight of steps. He turned again, his aching thighs rubbering out on him. Another group of people rushed past. An elbow brushed his ribs, the small jostle enough to throw his stride off again.

An older man coughed. He wiped soot from his face with the sleeve of a silk shirt and squinted at Luke through the haze. “Can I help you?” he asked in Spanish.

But Luke couldn’t let him. Couldn’t let go of the railing. If he stopped to think, he’d never get moving again. He shook his head and continued downward, spiraling into nothing.

Luke jerked awake, his body covered with a film of sweat. His breath came in pants and his heart hammered against his rib cage. His eyes darted around the strange room. The nightmare had been as vivid as usual, in full color and surround sound, and it was a few minutes before he oriented himself in his bedroom.
In bed. With a very naked Brooke. Her hand rested on his chest. The top of her breast swelled over the edge of the comforter.

Thank God he hadn’t fallen out of bed, and what a shame he needed to move.

But the adrenaline that rushed through his veins like class-five rapids demanded a physical outlet. Sleep would be impossible for the remainder of the night. As would lying still and trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. Folding back the warm down blanket, he eased his body away from Brooke and toward the edge of the bed.

“Luke?”

He glanced over at Brooke’s tousled head as she sat up behind him. The concern in her eyes sent a flood of humiliation through him. “Everything’s fine. Go back to sleep.”

“Everything is not fine. You look like you just ran the fifteen-hundred meter.” The slight edge of anger in her voice took Luke by surprise. “And I will certainly not go back to sleep.”

He paused, reluctant to share any of the gory details about his horrific experience. Brooke had enough of her own terrible memories to carry. Part of him wanted to unload some of his guilt and pain, but Brooke didn’t need more violent images in her head. Besides, talking about it didn’t really help. It just made him think about it more, and his epic failure was the last thing he wanted to reflect on.

Plus, he liked keeping her separate from his nightmares. She made him laugh, made him forget sometimes, just for a little while, what had happened over there. Well, maybe forget was too strong a word. He’d never forget. But when she was nearby, those memories weren’t always front and center in his mind.

Right now, Brooke waited, her eyes turned up expectantly toward him.

“Sometimes I have nightmares. I’m sorry that I woke you.” He explained. He crossed the room and rummaged for a pair of sweatpants.

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t go back to sleep. I usually go for a run.” He pulled the pants over his hips and went back to the dresser for socks.

“It’s the middle of the night.” Brooke shifted to dangle her legs off the edge of the bed, holding the covers up over her breasts against the chill in the room.

“I know.”

Brooke turned her head toward the window. “It’s also cold and pouring rain outside.”

“That’s OK.” He shivered and reached for a shirt. “I’m sorry, Brooke. A couple of miles ought to do it. I won’t be long.”

Luke pulled away, drawing back into that lonely, painful place like a wounded animal seeking its den. Last night he’d talked with her, laughed with her, made love to her, but as soon as his memories resurfaced, he slammed himself shut. He didn’t want to close himself off from the world; he couldn’t help it.

“Stop apologizing. And stop getting dressed. You can’t go running in the freezing rain. You’ll get pneumonia or hypothermia or something.” Her matter-of-fact tone left no room for argument. She rose, letting the quilt fall away from her body, and strode, naked, to stand in front of him. She was beautiful and wholesome, the exact opposite of all the visions swirling inside his head. “Besides, you promised you wouldn’t leave me alone.”

More guilt. He clenched his hands in his shirt to conceal the shaking. Not possible. No doubt Brooke noticed but was kind enough to pretend she didn’t. Denied his routine energy outlet, he was lost. His heart raced through his chest, as if looking for a place to hide.

“What you need is a hot shower. Come on.” She grabbed a condom off the nightstand, took him by the hand, and pulled him into the bathroom with her. He followed with no resistance.

He eyed the condom she set on the shower ledge. “Brooke, I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“Sh. Just relax. That’s just in case. I know you’re probably not in the mood.” After leaning in to turn on the spray, Brooke turned and tugged his sweatpants down his legs.

She pulled him under the warm water with her. Her hands slid up and around his ribs. Moving up his back, her fingers passed over a burn scar. Luke flinched.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Is the water too hot?”

Unsettled and speechless, he simply shook his head, trying to concentrate on Brooke instead of his still-weak knees.

The warm water sluiced over their bodies, and a few moments was all it took for Luke’s lagging brain to figure out that it had a wet, naked woman at its disposal. His hand drifted toward her breast, then stopped.

“You can touch me if you want.” Her voice was husky with desire.

“I’m too sweaty.” His voice strained in his throat as he reached for the soap.

“Hey, one of the rules for showering with another person is you’re not allowed to wash yourself. It takes all the fun out of the experience.” She took the soap from him and lathered his chest and arms, massaging the muscles firmly as she moved across his skin. As Brooke’s hands slid over his torso, his empty ones sought her body automatically, running on pure primal instinct.

Something shifted inside him, from helpless confusion to arousal. His hands stopped trembling and squeezed her flesh with purpose. They kneaded her breasts and slid down to her
hips. For a brief second he slid one hand between her legs, stroking, testing. Then, his control shattered. He dropped to his knees and pressed his mouth against her center. His mouth suckled and his tongue lapped with a desperate need to replace every sense—every memory—with Brooke. The scent and taste of her flooded his nose and mouth. Her soft moans filled his ears. His hands held her smooth skin. He looked up. Her head was tilted back, her eyes closed. Her body bowed back against the tiles as he devoured her, drove her. Her back arched and her hips jerked uncontrollably against his relentless mouth.

Luke lurched to his feet. His slippery fingers fumbled with the condom. Finally, he curled his hands around the backs of her thighs and lifted her up, pinning her to the cool tile, burying himself deeply with one desperate thrust.

Need made him huge and hard. Fresh, deeper pleasure speared through Luke from his toes to the base of his spine. He’d never wanted a woman with this intensity, needed her for his very survival.

“Shit. Brooke.” Still for a moment, he panted in her ear. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

His heart galloped toward the finish line, and fresh sweat broke out across his back as he fought for command of his body. His control slipped through his grasp like water.

“You’re not. Please, Luke. Harder.” Brooke gasped, holding on to his shoulders as his pace quickened, arching her back and wrapping her legs around him to take him deeper into her body. “God, yes. That’s it. Just like that.”

He responded to her encouragement with the force of the tide, driving harder and deeper with each thrust. Her back slapped against the wet tile. She clung to his shoulders and rode out the storm. Her body tightened around him, the pressure
bringing him to the precipice. The tension deep in his spine coiled tighter until he couldn’t hold it back any longer. It burst forth with lightning speed. His muscles gathered and heaved. He shuddered and jerked, surging against her and shuddering again before quieting.

His depleted body pressed against her, his forehead resting on the smooth skin of her shoulder. Air bellowed in and out of his lungs. Drained, Luke shivered violently. The water pounding on his back had grown ice cold.

She pushed lightly against his chest and he released her, letting her slide slowly to the floor. His thighs Jell-Oed as he reached behind him and turned off the spray. No wonder. After what had just happened between them it was a miracle his legs would hold him upright.

He’d never experienced anything like that ever before in his life.

Luke shivered again. He brushed a hand across Brooke’s wet shoulder. Goose bumps had broken out all over her arms. Leaning out of the door, he grabbed two thick towels, wrapped one around her body and rubbed her from head to foot. When they were both dry enough, she took the lead once again, leading him back into the bedroom and pulling him down to the bed. She tossed the heavy comforter up over their chilled, damp bodies.