Paula Graves - Forbidden Temptation

Melissa was dead, she remembered, her heart leaden.

The bed shifted. Her eyes flew open to find Daniel beside her, his gray eyes warm with concern. “You screamed.”

She covered her face, embarrassment warming her cheeks. “I had a nightmare.”

He stroked her arm. “Obviously.”

“I think I was imagining what Melissa must have seen.” The glitter of the knife blade was clear in her mind. She met Daniel’s gaze. “But I don’t think I got it right.”

He didn’t speak, giving her an opening to continue.

“I was alone on a highway. It was pitch-black and deserted. I remember thinking nobody was close enough to hear me scream.”

He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, his fingers sliding along the curve of her cheek. “Must’ve been scary.”

“There was a car. It stopped beside me, and a man got out. I couldn’t see his face, only the blade of his knife.”

Daniel pulled her to him, sliding his hand up and down her back in a gentle, soothing motion. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think that’s how it was for Melissa,” she murmured against his neck. “I think she saw him and was relieved.”

Daniel pulled back. “You think she knew him?”

“Do you think Melissa would go willingly with a stranger?”

“No,” he conceded.

“I don’t think Alice would have, either.”

“So you think it was someone they both knew.”

“Maybe it was Mark Phagan.”

Daniel threaded his fingers through hers. “Because she found out he was cheating? Wouldn’t his murder be the more likely outcome?”

“What if he’s Orion?”

Daniel’s eyebrows lifted. “Why would you think that?”

“We couldn’t get him on his cell phone most of last night.”

“He had a fiancée and a girlfriend both ready to kill him. He had a full plate.”

“He lied to Melissa about where he was the night Alice Donovan died. He told Melissa he was going to Tuscaloosa, but I overheard him setting up an alibi with his friends.”

Daniel glanced her way again. “Well, he was cheating on her. Maybe he lied to cover a tryst.”

“What if he’d lied about something else?”

Daniel frowned. “Could explain Alice and Melissa, but what about the other two?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe Alice and Melissa were copycat killings.”

“Melissa, maybe. But why Alice?”

She sighed, frustrated that she couldn’t make her theory fit. “You’re right. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Not if it’s a copycat.” He ran his thumb over the soft skin of her wrist. “But maybe he knew the other victims, too.”

“So he could be behind all four murders?”

“He’ll be investigated. Significant others always are,” Daniel assured her.

“What will that do to your theory about Orion?” Rose asked. “I can tell you right now, Mark has lived in Birmingham for the past six years, and he lived in Tuscaloosa before that. He wasn’t traveling from state to state killing women.”

Daniel frowned again. “So maybe I’m wrong about these killings. Maybe they’re not the work of Orion.”

“What happens if it’s not? Do you move on?” Rose tried not to sound anxious, but the thought of him walking out of her life now hurt more than she’d expected.

He tangled his fingers in her damp hair, pulling her closer. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “We’re a long way from this case being over. I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t add “for now,” but the unspoken words rang in her head. She pulled him closer, tabling her doubts. He was with her now. That would have to be enough.

Daniel’s fingers threaded through her hair, tugging her head up. He gazed into her eyes, as if searching for something just beyond his reach. “I’m sorry we didn’t reach her in time.”

The guilt in his voice pricked her eyes, eliciting tears. She blinked them back, afraid to give in to the grief hovering just beneath the surface of her emotions. No matter how her relationship with Melissa had ended, Rose had considered her a friend. Losing her, especially in such a violent way, was a wounding blow. But if she let herself cry, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop.

Daniel brushed his mouth against hers, the touch soft and undemanding. A hot ache settled in the middle of her chest.

She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and held him there, his lips still on hers. He tasted of mint toothpaste and smoky passion, sparking a hunger she’d never known before. She pulled back, gazing at his face as if she could will the true-love veil to appear. But she saw only his strong, masculine features, dark with a hint of curiosity.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head wordlessly. He hesitated briefly, then tangled his fingers in her hair and tugged her toward him. He kissed her again, his hands sliding down her back to settle against her hips. He lifted her onto his lap, his hardness pressing against her softness.

She didn’t care about the true-love veil, she realized. She just needed to forget. Forget death, fear or anything but the feel of heated flesh and whispered sighs.

Daniel groaned deep in his chest and laid her back against the pillows, his hips settling between her thighs. He kissed her throat, nipping the sensitive flesh. “Rose,” he murmured.

She arched her back, liquid heat pooling low in her belly. She tugged the tails of his shirt from his waistband. His belt buckle dug into the flesh of her belly, a reminder that he was still wearing entirely too many clothes.

A ringing sound buzzed on the edge of her receding consciousness, pesky as a fly. She tried to ignore it, reaching for Daniel’s belt, but he stilled her hands.

“Someone’s at the door.” He rolled away from her.

She tugged at his arm, trying to pull him back to her. “They’ll go away.”

“Not if it’s the police.” Daniel sat up, combing his fingers through his tousled hair. He stood and tucked his shirttail into his trousers again. “We’d better check.”

Rose released a frustrated growl and rolled off the bed. She grabbed the cotton bathrobe hanging on the back of her door.

She padded downstairs ahead of Daniel and peeked through the fish-eye lens in the front door. A distorted image of Detective Frank Carter looked back at her.

She patted her hair smooth and opened the door.

Frank stood in the doorway, a frown on his face. In his rubber-glove-encased right hand he held a small white envelope.

Rose’s heart skipped a beat.

“This was propped against the door when I arrived.” Frank looked past Rose at Daniel, one eyebrow inching upward. “I need a plastic bag.”

As Daniel disappeared into the house, Rose scanned the quiet neighborhood, the hair on her arms prickling. Traffic was light this early, a car or two passing while she watched. Three houses down, a neighbor dressed in a sweatsuit walked her poodle around her small front yard.

So ordinary, untouched by the violence that lurked nearby.

She could feel him nearby. He wanted to see her open the envelope, to see her expression when she read the message inside.

Daniel returned with a plastic sandwich bag. He held it open so Frank could drop the envelope into the bag.

Rose peered at the envelope. There was nothing on the envelope, not even her name.

“Same as last time,” Daniel murmured, his brow furrowing. He guided Rose back into the house, motioning for Frank to join them inside.

“Do you think he’s out there, watching?” Rose asked.

“Probably not. He wouldn’t want to risk being caught.”

And yet he’d risked walking up on her porch in broad daylight and leaving the envelope in front of her door.

Or had it been broad daylight? They’d come in through the back early this morning. The message could have been propped against the door since then. A warning of what he was about to do, or a gloat about what he’d already done?