“You’re beautiful,” he said and streaked his fingers through her hair, pushing it behind her ears. “Even with your hair still a bit brassy.”
“I’m not stupid with pleasure yet, Adam.”
“I’m not, either, but we’ve got to stop.” He was breathing hard, his hands flexing and unflexing against her back.
“Maybe we could kiss just a little bit more?”
“Listen, if we don’t stop right now, I’ll start crying because I know that sooner or later we’d have to stop. We’ll stop now before it kills me.”
“All right, then. You be strong and let me mess with you just a bit.” She kissed his chin once, then again. She touched her fingers to his cheeks, his nose, his brows, lightly traced over his mouth. She looked at his mouth as she said, “I haven’t told you this before, Adam. So much has happened. We haven’t known each other all that long, and nothing we’ve done together has been remotely normal or predictable. But here goes: You’re very, very sexy.”
He stared at her in the dim light as if he hadn’t understood her. “What did you say? You think I’m sexy?”
“Oh, yes, the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. And finally I’ve gotten to kiss you. I like it, very much. I kissed your chin because it’s sexy, too.”
He looked inordinately pleased with himself, and with her. “I guess being sexy is okay. Is that all you think of me, Becca? I’m just a sexy hunk? Isn’t there anything else, maybe, that you’d like to say to me?”
“What else should I say? Your ego is big enough without my saying more.” Then she looked up at him beneath her lashes, a provocative thing to do, and she knew it. For the first time in so very long, actually, longer than she could remember, she allowed herself to enjoy what was happening here.
He didn’t say anything, then suddenly he pulled her tightly against him again. He was rubbing his big hands up and down her back. His breathing was sharp, ragged. “I was scared to death when you were in that damned gym parking lot. When he shot that dart at you, Savich had to just about sit on me. I knew I shouldn’t move, shouldn’t yell like a banshee, but it was hard just staying still, watching you, damned hard. In fact, it was about the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my blessed life.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, holding her loosely now.
His warm breath feathered over her skin. “Oh, yeah, I was married once. It was a long time ago. Her name was Vivie. Everything was okay for a while, then it just wasn’t. She didn’t want kids and I did. But I’m not serious about anyone else. It’s just you, Becca. Just you.”
“That’s nice,” she said and yawned against his shoulder. Then she bit his neck, then kissed where she’d bitten him. “I wish you were naked.” To his immense credit, he didn’t do anything other than shake a bit. “This is very close, Becca. My fingers are actually itching they want to touch you so much. But this is your father’s house. We can’t. Hey, how would you like to go out in the backyard, maybe we could take a couple of blankets?”
“Out from under the parental roof?”
“That’s it. Oh yeah, for sure we could wave to the FBI agents that are scattered around.” He sighed deeply, kissed her ear, and sighed again. “My molecules are even horny.”
Becca sighed and rested her hand on his chest. His heart was pounding hard and fast beneath her palm. She arched up and kissed his throat, then eased back in the circle of his arms. “Not fair at all. I mean, the shirt you’re wearing is nice but I would love to kiss your chest, maybe even run my hands down over your belly.”
He shuddered, drew quickly away from her, and rose. “I’ve been feeling your breasts against me and it’s driving me nuts. Now, since we can’t be wicked the way I would like, I’ve got to get out of here. I just can’t take any more. I’d like to try but I know it wouldn’t work. Good night. I’ll see you in the morning. I might be a bit late. I’ve got to go home and do some stuff.” And he was gone. Her bedroom door closed very quietly behind him.
She sat there on her bed, hugging her knees. So suddenly her life had changed. And in all this nightmare, she’d found herself a man she hadn’t believed could even exist. His first wife, Vivie, had had peas for brains. She hoped that Vivie-silly name-lived as far away as Saint Petersburg, Russia. It was a good enough distance away.
Soon enough, of course, Krimakov intruded. She wanted to shoot him, just point a gun at his chest and fire. She wanted him gone, into oblivion, so he couldn’t ever hurt anyone again.
The next day, at precisely noon, when Governor Bledsoe of New York was walking his dog, Jabbers, in his protected garden, a sniper shooting from a distance of about five hundred feet nailed his dog right through the folds of his neck. Jabbers was rushed to the vet and it looked like he would survive, just like his master had.
Thomas turned slowly to his daughter, the two of them alone in the house. “This is over the top. It’s just too much. Damnation, he shot the dog in the neck. Unbelievable. At least the sick bastard isn’t here.”
“But why did he do it?” Becca said. “Why?”
“To laugh at us,” Thomas said. “To make this big joke. He wants us to know just how invincible he is, how he can do anything he wants to and get away with it. How he’s here and then he’s there, and we’ll never get him. Yes, he’s laughing his head off.”
28
Gaylan Woodhouse sat at an angle across from Thomas’s desk with his face in the shadows, as was his wont, and said, “I don’t want you to worry about your daughter, Thomas. Your whereabouts will not be leaked. As you know, the media is still in a frenzy over the shooting of poor Jabbers. The country is primarily amused at his audacity, titillated, glued to their TVs. Everyone wants to know about Krimakov, this man who swore to kill you twenty-some years ago. By shooting that damned dog, he’s turned up the heat. He wants the media to find you for him and then he’ll come after you.”
“No,” Thomas said slowly, shaking his head. “I don’t think that was his motive at all. You see, Gaylan, he had me in Riptide. He had to know I would never allow Becca to go up there alone. He could have easily shot me. He proved he was an excellent distance shooter when he shot the governor of New York. From that distance, he could have nailed me with little effort. But he didn’t force anything after he kidnapped Sam McBride, except to shoot Becca in the shoulder with a dart that had a piece of paper rolled around the shaft. No, Gaylan, he shot the governor’s dog because he wanted to give me the finger, show me again that it was his decision not to kill me and Becca in Riptide. He wants to show me that he doesn’t have to do anything until he decides he wants to do it. He wants to prove to me over and over that he’s superior to me, that he’s the one in control here, that he’s the one calling all the shots. It’s a cat-and-mouse game and he’s proving again and again that he’s the cat. Damnation, he is the cat. Adam’s right. During all of this, we’ve only been able to react to what he does.”
Gaylan said slowly, “One of my people pointed out that Krimakov certainly managed to get from one place to the next with no difficulty at all, suggested that maybe he has a private plane stashed somewhere. What do you think?”
Thomas said, “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Heaven knows you can’t have much faith in the commercial airlines. But you know, Gaylan, shooting that dog wasn’t on a set timetable. You can check it out, but I doubt it.”
Gaylan sighed. “We still don’t have any leads in New York. His disguise must have been something. The security tapes showed old folk, pregnant women, children-do we track all of them down to question? Still no witnesses. Damnation, four good agents dead because of that maniac.”