He shifted, trying to find a comfortable place on the concrete of the roof. He’d had to find a new rooftop. Who would have thought the police would use Skinner’s car to guide them to the old rooftop? He had to give them credit. Mitchell and Reagan were no fools. Especially that Reagan. He frowned a little, thinking of how Reagan arrived to rescue Kristen from those thugs that ran her car off the road. Kristen had walked into his arms like she’d known him all her life instead of only a few days.
He sincerely hoped that Reagan wasn’t the kind of man to push his advantage. If Reagan was foolish enough to try, he’d find Kristen had powerful allies in hidden places.
Aah, finally. He’d thought his target would never come. After his little detour with Conti, he’d gone back to the fishbowl and resumed his quest. Tonight’s mark had been easy enough to lure. He’d found Arthur Monroe in a bar, quickly made friends by buying the man a beer. Then he’d made Monroe practically drool by bragging about a stash of pure cocaine and offering him some if Monroe met him here tonight. The lure had worked well in the past, bringing him every mark except for Skinner who’d required a slightly different candy. Skinner’s lure had been the promise of discrediting information about a victim who was accusing one of Skinner’s clients with sexual harassment. His lips curled in distaste. Killing Skinner had been one of his greater contributions to humanity.
But tonight was about Arthur Monroe, a man who’d justified his gross sexual imposition of the young daughter of his girlfriend by saying the five-year-old had „led him on,“ that he „hadn’t been able to help himself,“ that it had been a „one time thing.“ Kristen pushed for a trial, but the mother refused to allow her child to testify. He gritted his teeth as he brought the mark into his sight Most of the time parents refused to allow their children to testify to protect them from media exposure and further trauma. This little girl’s mother didn’t want her boyfriend to go to jail. To Kristen’s shock, the judge in this case had sided with the boyfriend.
He’d known her by then and remembered that day well. She’d been devastated. She’d worked out a plea that she’d found repugnant enough, but the judge had unbelievably decided society in general had failed the pedophilic boyfriend and had rejected the plea, sentencing Monroe to probation and counseling.
Probation. For molesting a five-year-old. He smiled grimly as he tracked the man crossing the road. This time he’d get the boyfriend. Maybe next time he’d pull a judge’s name out of the fishbowl. Because there were judges in there, waiting with all the others.
He inched the sight down, bringing the man’s knees into view. He really wanted Monroe to pay, and with more than an easy death. But the vision of his own bloody hands after he’d killed Conti entered his mind, front and center. His bloody, gloveless hands. What a stupid mistake to make. He couldn’t risk losing control again. The police already knew the florist sign on the van was a sham, and they’d recovered a bullet. That the bullet was too damaged to identify was a short-term boon. Sooner or later they’d figure it out and find him. He needed to hurry. There were many more names in the fishbowl.
He brought the sight up to Monroe’s forehead and gently squeezed the trigger.
Nine down and still a million to go.
Chapter Fifteen
Monday, February 23,
5:00 A.M.
„Wake up.“
Kristen heard the fly buzzing and swatted it away. „Kristen, wake up.“
No, not a buzzing fly. A rumbling voice. Abe. She rolled to her back, her eyes flying open. Abe sat on the edge of her bed, looking worried. And incredibly handsome. His shirt hung open partway, giving her a glimpse of his chest. It was hard, she knew. She’d felt his solid strength each time he’d held her against him. Now she wondered how it would feel to touch him there, to slide her fingers through the thick dark hair that covered his chest. Would it be coarse or soft? Would he like it? Would she feel his groan rumble beneath her hands?
As she contemplated, his hand lifted to smooth the hair away from her face so tenderly she wanted to sigh. He had such gentle hands. Such very nice hands. She shifted her body, feeling a warm throbbing between her legs that she now knew could become more than just a frustrating distraction. Much more. So that’s why everyone is so hooked on orgasms, she thought. The feeling had been simply… indescribable. Exhilarating. Powerful. I did it. I finally, really did it. And she wanted to do it again.
How exactly did one go about making such a request? And if she did, when would he expect more? Eventually, he’d want… well, more. And despite his arguments to the contrary, he would be disappointed. Abruptly the warmth chilled. So much for that.
He bent his head a fraction closer. „Are you all right?“
„I’m fine.“
He narrowed those blue eyes. „You don’t look fine. You shouldn’t go into work.“
„I have to. I’ve got motion hour at nine.“ She struggled up onto her elbows and groaned at the resulting pain in her back. „It feels like I got hit with a truck.“
„You did. A big truck with a gun.“
Her stomach quivered and she glanced over at her bedroom window. She’d nearly forgotten about the attack. It should have been her first thought, waking up. But it hadn’t been. Her first thought was of Reagan and his hands.
„You’re safe now,“ Reagan said soothingly. „You don’t have to be afraid.“ But she wasn’t afraid. No man had ever made her feel truly safe. Not until this man.
She looked him straight in the eye. „I know. Thank you.“
His eyes changed in a flash, going from worried to heated and the warm throbbing in her own body returned, intensifying almost to the point of pain. She watched his throat work. His jaw clenched. But he made no move to touch her. And she wanted him to.
She was in bed. With a man. And she wasn’t afraid. Not taking her eyes from his, her lips curved. „Good morning.“
His nostrils flared and she heard the quick intake of his breath. „Good morning.“
He needed to shave, she thought The beginning of a dark beard covered his cheeks, his chin. That space between his nose and his upper lip. Tentatively she reached up and trailed her fingertips along that space, then across his lips. And he swallowed hard.
„What?“ she whispered, her fingertips resting on his lips. They were soft, but she knew they could be hard when they crushed against hers.
His eyes smoldered. „You’re beautiful,“ he whispered back.
She had to remember to breathe. „No, I’m not.“
He pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist and she wondered if he could feel her pulse quicken. He leaned closer until their eyes were just inches apart. This close she could see the blue was rimmed in black. „Yes, you are.“ Then he tilted his head and his lips were on hers and it started all over again. The rushing, the pounding, the throbbing. The wanting. She heard herself hum in pleasure and he apparently heard it too because he took the kiss deeper, pressing her back, back into the pillows. Her hands reached, found his shoulders and held on. There was a tension in his shoulders. He was holding back, she realized dimly. He touched her only with his mouth, the rest of his body carefully held apart from hers. No pushing, no forcing. Strong, but gentle. The disparity was arousing.
He ended the kiss without really ending it at all, teasing the corners of her mouth with the tip of his tongue, brushing kisses across her cheeks, her chin, her forehead. „You’re a beautiful woman, Kristen,“ he murmured into her ear and she shuddered hard, her hips arching upward, meeting nothing but blanket and air. Tensing, he pulled back until he was sitting in his original position. She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, his powerful chest rising and falling as he worked to catch his breath.