“Oh, Lord,” Jake sighed under his breath. But his mind retained the image of her lower lip, and he felt a sensation at the back of his jaws like the feeling he got walking past a bakery on a cool early morning.
A sharp hiccup and some exasperated swearing brought him back to the here and now.
“I can’t… stop hiccuping,” she said in a disgruntled voice. “An’ you know why? I can’t… get a deep breath. This dress is… too tight, that’s why. I really, really wish I could get out of this…stoo-oopid dress. Hey!” Jake felt a tug on his arm and glanced down at fingers tipped with virginal pink nail polish, several of the nails chipped and broken now. “How’m I gonna get out of this… dress, hmm? It has a million little buttons down the back. Who’s gonna help me unbutton ’em-you?”
“If necessary,” he grunted, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Ha,” she said, and then was silent for a moment. Thinking about it? he wondered. That mouth-watering feeling was back-with a vengeance.
But when her voice came again it was low and whispery with regret, and it appeared she’d stopped hiccuping. “Boy, I sure messed up, didn’t I? Messed up my dress, too. Damn thing cost a fortune. And you know what? It’s all wasted. Whssht-down the drain. But-” she heaved a little sigh “-I guess it’s a good thing I found out… when I did. Otherwise, I’d be married to a mobster right now…”
A shiver rippled down Jake’s spine. The stirring of excitement he’d felt before became a stiff breeze. “And what was it you found out?” he asked softly.
But the only answer he got was a murmur and some rustling sounds. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, he discovered that the battered bride had curled herself down in the nest of her skirts and was softly snoring-passed out with her head uncomfortably pillowed on her pearl-encrusted arms.
Patience, he told himself, willing his heart to resume its normal rhythm. Patience… She’s here, she’s safe and she’s yours. Whatever it is, you’ll find out in due time.
But it was hard-damned hard. How many months had it been since he’d allowed himself to believe that victory might actually be within his grasp? How many nights since he’d slept without having nightmares about the goal that had already cost him five years out of his life, a good bit of his professional reputation and the wife he’d adored?
Not since last summer when he’d watched Hal Robey’s body being pulled from that hurricane-swollen river near Charleston had he felt this close to the end. So close. But now…now.
He had that sensation at the back of his jaws again, but it wasn’t craving for food or hunger for a beautiful woman that made his mouth water. It was the blood lust of the hunter, closing in for the kill…
Once he’d made sure he wasn’t being followed, Jake headed straight out to Abercorn. The traffic near the mall on a Saturday afternoon was brutal, but once past that he could turn off onto the back road that skirted the outer boundaries of the hospital parking lots, and from there it was a matter of minutes before he was pulling into his own driveway.
The town house apartment he’d rented when he’d transferred-temporarily, he devoutly hoped-to Savannah was in a neighborhood of brick Colonial-style apartment buildings arranged along wooded, curving dead-end streets. On weekdays it was peaceful enough, with the children in school and most of their parents at work, but at that hour on a beautiful October Saturday it was a hive of suburban activity. Children slalomed through the streets on skateboards, in-line skates and bicycles; minivans zipped in and out, disgorging noisy teenagers, pizza deliverers, housewives bearing armloads of grocery bags and armies of children wearing soccer uniforms. Stereo speakers thumped, dogs barked and engines revved at the whim of men happily up to their elbows in car parts and motor oil.
And how, Jake wondered, was he going to sneak an unconscious bride past all that?
It was, in fact, easier than he’d expected. The fact that the van he was driving bore the insignia of a utility company helped; no one would think twice about such a van backing in between the buildings, so as to have easy access to the rear of the apartment. And Jake’s was on the end, so he was able to park close to the door.
After glancing at his still-unconscious passenger, he felt reasonably safe in leaving the van unlocked while he let himself into the apartment. There he gave the ground floor a habitual and cursory once-over, then went upstairs and into the only one of the two bedrooms that had furniture in it. He was trying to decide which would be the least conspicuous method of transporting a body: rolling it into a rug, zipping it into a garment bag or just draping a sheet over it, when he heard something that made alarm impulses go whistling through his nerves, lifting the fine hairs on his arms and the back of his neck.
Stealthy movements… swishing noises.
One hand on his weapon, he crept down the carpeted stairs, bending nearly double in order to peek around the corner into the living room while still out of the intruder’s range of vision. An instant later he hissed out an exasperated breath and proceeded down the remaining steps at a more sedate pace while his heart banged without apology against his ribs.
The “intruder” was standing in the middle of the room, looking around her with a small, confused frown on her face, the champagne bottle clasped to her bosom.
When she saw Jake, she said, “Oh, hi…” in a vague, breathy voice. Then, as the frown deepened into distress, “Would you mind if I used your rest room?”
Jake muttered, “Upstairs,” as he dodged past her to the door she’d left standing wide open.
After satisfying himself with a quick look around that his mystery guest’s arrival had gone unnoticed in the neighborhood in spite of his dangerous lapse, he went out to the van to button down and lock up. Though that only took him a few minutes, by the time he got back inside, the bride had vanished. The apartment seemed empty and silent. Way too silent. There wasn’t a sound-no footsteps, no running water… nothing.
Jake took the stairs two at a time, swearing under his breath. Too late. As he’d feared, the bride in all her bloodstained finery, still reeking of garbage, still cradling the champagne bottle, lay sprawled facedown across his bed, the black-grimed soles of her lace-stockinged feet peeking out of the froth of her skirts like the tar baby’s footprints.
Muttering a disgusted “Aw, man…” he went over to her and gingerly touched her shoulder. He really had hoped to get the woman cleaned up a little bit before she conked out in his bed. “Hey-Miss Waskowitz…Eve…ma‘am?” But the only answer he got was a determined snore. “Come on now, ma’am,” he said firmly, “at least let’s get you out of those clothes. Upsy-daisy…”
No dice.
With an exhalation that was more groan than sigh, he sat down on the bed beside her. Damn… All those buttons. She was right; they went all the way down her back. All the way.
Given a choice between peeling an unconscious women out of her wedding dress and having that smell all over his bed, plus the remains of whatever it was she’d been wallowing in, Jake had no trouble coming up with the answer to that question.
“O-kay,” he muttered, “if that’s the way it’s gonna be…” He leaned across her and gently eased the champagne bottle out from under her arm. When he got a good look at the label he did a double take, then whistled softly. No wonder she’d been cradling the thing like it was the crown jewels. Probably cost almost as much. He set the bottle carefully on the floor and went back to the problem of the buttons. No sweat, he thought. Just start at the top and work your way down…