“It’s okay, don’t worry. I do the drive often enough—what the hell, it’s only an hour and a half,” Michael teased.
“She’s always leaving things,” Brad said, shaking his head. “When they’re not attached to her, she just leaves them. Thanks, Mike, that was really nice.”
“Honest to God, no bother. And, please, don’t say anything. When the kids told me that you all were here, I told them I’d think of a story that wouldn’t get Tina into trouble. I remember being that age.”
“She should be grounded,” Brad said.
“Can’t ground her. You’ll turn Michael into a rat if you do,” Sean advised.
“But an hour and a half drive!” Jan protested.
“It’s okay, honest, as long as there’s pizza left,” Michael said happily.
“Tons!” Sue assured him. “And what’s your choice of coffee drink? The hot stuff, or an icy mocha, a mochaccino, a latte on ice—”
“Damn, I’m going to have to drive up more often,” Michael said, taking a seat at the counter.
“Can I have another of these mochaccino things?” Ted asked.
“Sure.”
“I’ll help you,” Lori said.
“I guess I’ll set feminine rights back about twenty years and get up and do the woman-pours-the-coffee thing, too,” Jan said with a yawn, rising.
“Oh, yeah, madam domesticity!” Brad groaned.
“Stuff it,” Jan protested.
“Oh, baby!” he said huskily.
Jan sighed with impatience.
Sue smiled, happy. All her friends were there. It was like high school—they were all grown-up, but that didn’t mean they were all mature! she thought affectionately. It was great. She’d been so scared. She’d felt so alone. And now, now… well, now she felt unbelievably warm and safe!
Asses.
They were all such asses!
The killer watched Sue flush, flip back her hair, gush all over. Little bird, foolish little bird.
She was just like the others, didn’t care what came out of her mouth, didn’t care what she did, what she said. She’d sleep with a damned orangutan now just to feel that someone was watching over her.
Safe!
She thought she was safe.
In the bosom of her friends…
Well, she would see. And that was half the thrill of it, of course, seeing their faces when they realized they weren’t safe at all.
12
It had been a long, full day.
After Sean had dropped her off and Jan had left with Tina, Lori had started out to take a long, luxurious shower, washing her hair, letting the hot water steam over her. But then, strangely enough, she had begun to feel uneasy in the shower—certain that someone was lurking just outside the bathroom door.
Logically, she convinced herself that it couldn’t be, but her mood was ruined, she was entirely spooked, and so she rinsed her hair and body quickly, turned off the deliciously steamy cascade of water, wrapped in her terry robe, and stepped out of the shower. She didn’t dry her hair at first; she was too anxious to get to Brendan’s room.
Brendan was sound asleep. It had been a great day for him. Sun, sea, and dozens of animals. Long, long hours. He was happily exhausted. She closed his door softly, leaving him sleeping.
She brushed and dried her hair, but the blow-dryer seemed to be making too much noise. She turned it off—listening.
She wasn’t sure what she was listening for.
“Stop this!” she told herself. In the mirror her eyes looked too big. Frightened.
She sighed. Okay, so she did need an alarm. She couldn’t borrow money from Sean. She could borrow money from her folks. Better yet, if she was going to be this panicky, she could just move in with her folks.
Well, maybe not. She loved them, but…
There was Gramps, of course. She was due to take him to the clinic in the morning, she reminded herself. She needed to get some sleep, to be wide awake and alert. She wanted to talk to his doctor, and with doctors these days she needed to be fast.
“I need to go to bed,” she told her reflection.
But she was wide awake.
“There is nothing, no one, in the house,” she told herself.
But just then she heard a thumping noise.
Coming from downstairs.
Coming from inside the house.
Two miles away, Sue Nichols remained awake as well. It had been great to have everyone at her shop. Just like homecoming. She hadn’t been nervous in the least.
But now, in her pretty little ranch house where she was usually so happy…
She was nervous.
She was alone.
Late-night television failed to entertain her. She sat with Miss Priss—her white Persian cat—on her lap. If only she could curl up with the total ease of her feline—and sleep. She’d made decaf everything that night, but she might as well have consumed a ton of caffeine. No-doze pills, or some kind of uppers. She was just frightened, she told herself.
She nearly jumped a mile high—practically throwing an irate and squealing Miss Priss to the ceiling—when she heard a soft tapping on the door.
Standing by the sofa, she thought quickly. Should she dial 911? And what? Tell the emergency operator that someone was knocking on her door?
She looked around her living room. Her glass doors were locked; the brocade drapes were in place. No one could peek in at her. She kept her house as immaculate as her shops, and just as organized. All of her windows locked. Her doors had several bolts. She was safe.
But the tapping came again.
She walked to the door. If she ignored the tapping, whoever it was might just go away.
“Sue?”
She breathed a sigh of relief, recognizing the voice. She opened the door, smiling.
He had come.
How nice. Her heart began to flutter, responding to the expression in his eyes.
“Hey!”
He looked at her sheepishly. “Hey. Sorry, I know it’s late, but… well, I just wanted to check in.”
“I’m okay.”
“I don’t mean to be keeping you awake.”
“I was wide awake. I don’t know why.”
“Then good. We can be awake together.”
The way that he looked at her… God, he was so damned good-looking. And yet, oh Lord, what a fool she’d make of herself if she jumped him!
“I’m glad you’re here,” she told him.
He smiled. Then suddenly, he reached out for her, drew her to him. He was smiling still as his face lowered to hers, questioning her with his eyes, with the curve of his lips.
She laughed nervously. It seemed like forever since she’d been with a man. Actually, it had been only about six months ago, but that had been bad, a one-night stand with a clod who had pumped for all of two seconds like a broken jack, then snored until she freaked out, shook him awake, and sent him out of her house forever.
And now…
She had this opportunity. This fabulous opportunity to have good sex with a fabulous guy without a two-foot beer belly or a penchant for farting.
Sad but true. As she had gotten older, her requirements had slipped. The guy didn’t usually have to be much—just clean and reasonably presentable, and capable of going a few hours without creating body emissions.
And now tonight… she felt very young, innocent. She felt like laughing.
“You horny, too?” he asked wistfully.
“Oh, you betcha!” she said. She threw her arms around him. They kissed and kissed. She touched him all over, relishing the feel of firm muscle and smooth, toned flesh. She thought she was going to die as he played with her breasts, slipped his hand between her legs…
“Oh, man, oh, baby… you’re wetter than a slip-’n’-slide,” he murmured huskily. “Where’s the bedroom?”
Dazed, she pointed.
It was something out of a dream. He swept her up into his arms and carried her. Laid her down, stripped off
her clothes, then manipulated her on the bed into a position he liked. He sighed, telling her how much she was turning him on. Then he paused, and she heard him ripping open a foil packet.
“It’s—it’s all right,” she offered, suddenly feeling shy. “I’m—protected.”
He lay down beside her, smoothing back her hair. “No, baby, I always use my own form of protection, for both of us, you know?”
She nodded, deliciously floating. She didn’t give a damn how he did it, as long as he did…
The killer was amused. Man, she’d do anything. Anything at all. How long had it been since she’d had any? A while, that was for sure.
But it was amusing. There were some functions a woman definitely performed better alive than dead. Still, what a damned cunt. Like the others. She’d probably strip naked and bend over for him in the middle of the street if he asked.
At one point his fingers curled around her throat.
It would be easy. So easy…
Just press down and watch her eyes.
Maybe, maybe…
Wait? Or kill her now. Wait?
Or kill her now?
Lori slowly moved downstairs, one of Brendan’s hockey sticks raised as a weapon as she tiptoed, praying the old steps and floorboards wouldn’t creak.
She regretted at that moment that the house was shaped around a courtyard. She could possibly move in a circle—or square—for hours, one step behind an intruder all the while.
Or perhaps she’d run into the intruder immediately, and he would kill her before she could take more than a few steps.
Paranoid! she accused herself. She had just heard a noise… in an empty house. Not empty, Brendan was here. But he was upstairs. Sleeping like the dead. Oh, God, what if he—no, no! She had to run back up, check to make sure that he was breathing.
She had no choice. She eased her way quickly back up the stairs to Brendan’s room. She bent over her son as he slept, set her hand on his chest.
Yes, he was breathing. Softly, deeply, his chest rising and falling.
She felt like an idiot, but she was still afraid. She had heard a thump.
Once again Lori tiptoed down the stairs. She started into the living room, dining room, kitchen, family room, office. She hesitated there, seeing that her sketchbook had fallen off the easel. That must have been the source of the noise.
But why had it fallen?
She stood dead still in the darkened office while the seconds and then minutes ticked by. She still couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was in—or had been in—the house. At long last she reached for the telephone, called Sean’s hotel, and asked for his room. To her dismay, his phone rang and rang, and then a voice message service picked up. “Sean!” she whispered. Then, “Never mind, sorry!” she added, and hung up.
What to do?
Stand in the office all night, afraid to move?
No, she was going upstairs. To sleep. There was no one here, and that was that.
She walked upstairs, went into Brendan’s room, and assured herself that her son was fine. She sat by his bed, in the darkness, afraid to leave him, not willing to wake him and possibly make a complete idiot of herself in front of her one and only precious child.
Long minutes passed. She began to relax a bit, leaning her head back. Her eyes closed. She began to drift.
Then she heard it again. A thumping downstairs, or was it outside?
She bolted from the floor, racing toward Brendan’s door, forced herself to pause, to breathe. She stood very still in his doorway, listening, trying to force her heart to stop beating so loudly that she couldn’t possibly hear.
She heard it again, softly. Thump, thump. Then, just when she was about to lose control and scream, she heard another sound. A tapping. Soft but insistent on her front door.
She flew down the stairs. The tapping continued. She heard her name.
“Lori? Lori, it’s me. Sean.”
She lunged at the door, twisted the bolts, and threw it open. Hair barely settled, eyes wide, she stared at him.
“Sean!” she whispered.
“Lori!” he whispered back.
“What—what—what are you doing here?” she demanded.
“You called,” he reminded her pointedly.
“Yes.” She nodded. “But you weren’t there.”
“I got your message and came right over.”
“Right.” She said, staring at him. Then she reached out, grabbing his shoulder. “Get in here!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“Please.”
“I’m in.”
He was in. She had him standing in the foyer.
“What’s the matter?” He still was whispering.
“A bumping.”
“What?”
“I keep hearing a bumping.”
“Well, let’s have a look.”
“I’ll get the hockey stick.”
“The hockey stick?”
“We need a weapon,” she insisted.
“Lori, how long have you heard this thumping sound?”
“The first time was a while ago. My sketch pad had fallen in the office—”
“Show me.”
“The hockey stick—”
“I don’t think that there’s anyone in here.”
“How do you know?”
“Listen, go back upstairs, okay? Wait in Brendan’s room.”
“Sean—”
“Lori—”
“I’ve seen too many slasher movies. If I leave you—”
“You’ll be with your son. Want to leave him alone?”
She wanted to kick him, but he was right. She turned around and headed for the stairs, racing silently up them on her bare feet. She hurried into Brendan’s room, checked him, and came back to his door. She stood just outside it, barely daring to breathe.
Soon, she saw the lights coming on downstairs. She moved to the wrought iron railing, looking over it to the foyer.
“Sean?”
He came below her, smiling up at her from the foyer. “You’ve got a visitor.”
“What?”
“A little kitten. Brendan must have put him in a box, but he wasn’t inclined to stay.”
“A kitten? I’ve nearly had heart failure over a kitten?”
“Come down. See for yourself.”
She hurried down the stairs. Half hidden behind some still unopened crates in the office area was a cardboard box. Air holes had been punched into it, and a saucer filled with milk had been set in it, along with an old T-shirt. The kitten, however, a little striped gray, was in Sean’s arms, squealing away.
“A kitten!” Lori said, shaking her head with disgust. “I’m going to tear his hair out! Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Maybe he meant to. He was probably just wiped out.”
“He was half asleep when he got back tonight, but still, I can’t believe he just picked up a stray and forgot to tell me!”
“Lori, don’t be too mad at him. There’re a lot worse trouble boys can get into at that age. Thirteen is tough.”
“Fourteen,” she said distractedly.
“Fourteen?”
“He just turned fourteen,” she said.
“He’s a great kid.”
She nodded. “I don’t mind a kitten. It’s just that—I’m already so jumpy.”
“You need an alarm.”
“All right, all right, I admit, I need an alarm. I’ll get one.”
“I told you—”
“I’m fine financially,” she lied. She smoothed back her hair. “Um… thanks for coming over.”
“Don’t mention it,” he told her. His voice was deep, husky. The lazy sound of it seemed to brush along the length of her spine. Leaning against the door that separated the office from the kitchen, he studied her with an amused half smile as he stroked the kitten. He wore worn jeans that hugged his figure nicely and a tailored denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the front buttons down, exposing his throat and a V o
f his chest. There was something so naturally masculine and sensual about the way he stood there that Lori felt an alarming wave of heat radiate through her limbs.
Desperate to get a grip, she nonchalantly stepped forward. “Here, let me put this little invader back in his box,” she said, scooping the kitten from his arms and nestling it in with the soft T-shirt. “You might have ruined my exclusive designs, do you realize?”
She straightened, turning to look at Sean. “I guess—” she began.
Her terry robe, tied only with a terry belt, chose that moment to untie. Sean remained against the door frame, casual, his gaze flickering slowly over the length of her before meeting hers once again. For long seconds he didn’t move. His eyes darkened. Somehow she missed the obvious. She retied the robe.
His eyes remained locked with hers, and still neither of them moved.
He waited.
Then, apparently, he’d waited long enough.
He left the doorway and came to her. Lifting her chin with his thumb and forefinger, he kissed her lips. Very lightly at first. And still she felt the explosive heat in his touch, in his body, so close to hers. She wanted to step quickly back in panic, and she wanted to leap on him, feel his length with her nakedness. But as his lips rose above hers she whispered, “We—can’t do this. We can’t do this. We can’t… honestly, we just can’t.”
He didn’t seem to be paying attention. His hands slid into the opening of the robe. He had long hands, with long, tapering fingers. Powerful hands, bronzed from the sun, they were dark against her breasts as they cradled and stroked her flesh. His palms were rough against her nipples, creating a shower of sparks that became a stream of liquid heat, cascading down to settle as a searing ache between her thighs. His lips touched hers again, found her throat, followed an erotic trail along the valley between her breasts. He came down upon a knee before her, hands on her hips, lips and tongue moving lower. Her hands fell on the top of his head, fingers digging into the richness of his dark hair. “We can’t… do this…” she repeated.
This… so different, yet the same. Some instinct remained within her that wanted him in the same way she had all those years ago. Wanted to touch him, feel his flesh sliding along her own, luxuriate in the heat of his body pressed against the warmth of her own. It was all the same, yet she’d been so inept then, not even really knowing what she’d wanted until she got it. And now, of course, she knew, but this was too fast, and she was so afraid of the lies of the past and…