Karen Rose - Count to Ten

You do not want marriage or any semblance of formal commitment. I think the term for this is 'no-strings affair." Is this correct?"

He drew a breath, exhaled on his answer. "Yes. And my daughter doesn't find out."

Mia found herself wincing again. "We certainly wouldn't want to set a bad example."

"She's too young to understand. I don't want her thinking that it's okay to have indiscriminate sex. Because that's not what this would be."

Mia sat at the little table and raked her hand through her hair. "So this is a mutually beneficial, physical relationship with some pillow talk and no strings."

He stood where he was. "If you're willing."

She lifted her chin. "And if I'm not?"

"I go home and sleep alone." His eyes flickered. "I really don't want to sleep alone."

"Hmm. And you've had these 'no-strings' relationships before?"

"Not often," he admitted.

His long abstinence now made sense. "Which is why it'd been six years."

"Essentially. Did you want strings, Mia?"

There it was. The offer. It was filet mignon on a hamburger bun. All the taste, without the fuss of silver and fine china and waiters to tip. Twenty-four hours ago, in Dana's kitchen, it was what she'd insisted she'd wanted. Now, in Lauren's kitchen, she recognized this was what she was destined to accept. There would be no hearts to break, no children to ruin. It would be for the best. "No. I don't want strings, either."

He was silent as he stared down at her. He didn't believe her, she thought. She wasn't sure she believed herself.

Then he stretched out his hand. She put her hand in his and he pulled her from the chair. Slowly at first, he yanked her the rest of the way, banding his arms around her. Then he was kissing her, his mouth warm and hard and… necessary. The need unleashed within her was instantaneous, too powerful to deny.

She slid her arms around his neck, her fingers into his hair and took what she needed. His hands cupped her butt, lifted her into him, rubbed her against the hard ridge in his worn jeans. He sent uncontrollable shivers through her body and she arched against him. More. Please . The words echoed in her mind, never passing her lips, but she told him what she wanted with her body. With the way she kissed him back.

He tore his mouth away, kissed down her neck, hungry. Ravenous. "I want you." It was a growl, deep in his throat. "Let me have you." His mouth closed over her breast, wringing a desperate cry from her lips. "Say yes. Now."

She arched her back, abandoning herself to the feel of him. "Yes. Now."

He shuddered, hard, as if he hadn't been sure of her answer. Then he carried her through the kitchen and up the stairs to where the big bed waited. "Now."

Friday, December 1, 2:30 A.M.

The car at which he'd been scowling for the better part of two hours pulled away from the curb. Finally. He didn't think those teenagers would ever stop making out in the back of that Chevy. And once they did, the boy walked the girl to the door at 995 Harmony Avenue, just one house away from the one he wanted, only to spend the next half hour with his tongue down her throat at the front door. But now the girl was inside and the boy gone.

He slipped around the back of 993 Harmony Avenue, the ski mask once again in place. The homeowner had added on a suite with its own kitchen and separate entrance. He didn't know why Joe and Laura Dougherty were there. He didn't care. He just wanted to kill them so he could get on with things. He jimmied the lock on the back door with ease and slipped inside.

And a patch of white caught his eye. It was the same cat he'd put outside the night he'd killed Caitlin Burnette. Quickly he scooped up the cat, gave it one stroke head to tail, then put him outside again. He turned to study the kitchen, frowning at the electric coils on the stove. No gas again. No explosion again. He huffed a frustrated breath.

It couldn't matter anymore. He'd have to take comfort in making Laura Dougherty writhe in enough agony while she lived. Then he'd set her on fire, just like he'd done to the others. Quietly he crept to the bedroom. Good. Two people slept in the bed this time. He had them. They wouldn't get away again.

He tapped his back, made sure the gun was secure there, which it was. He didn't plan to use it, but he'd be prepared in case of the unexpected. He should have used it on the fire marshal tonight, he thought darkly. That he hadn't was as much an embarrassment as almost getting caught to begin with.

Solliday had rattled him. He hadn't expected so much speed from such a big guy. But for the minutes he'd run for his life, he hadn't thought about his gun. He liked knives much better anyway.

He approached the bed. Joe Dougherty lay on his stomach and Laura lay curled on her side. Her hair was darker than it had been all those years ago.

It annoyed him when women tried to stay young when they weren't. But he'd get to her later. First he had to deal with Joe. And he did, thrusting his knife into the man's back with stealthy skill, in just the right place that he died instantly. Just a little gurgle of air escaped his lungs. Old lady Dougherty was probably too deaf by now to hear it.

But she stirred. "Joe?" she murmured. He was on her before she could roll over, pushing her face into the pillow, pushing his knee into her kidneys. She thrashed with surprising strength. He pulled the rag from his pocket and shoved it in her mouth, grabbed her hands and secured them behind her back with thin twine.

Then he flipped her over and sliced the flannel nightgown from her body before lifting his eyes to her face. His heart skipped a beat. It wasn't her .

Goddammit to hell, this wasn't her. Teeth clenched he put the tip of the knife to her throat. "If you scream, I'll butcher you like a pig. Got it?" Eyes wide with terror, her head moved in a little nod so he pulled the rag from her mouth. "Who are you?"

"Donna Dougherty."

He was breathing hard. Control . "Donna Dougherty. Where is Laura?"

Her eyes widened further. "Dead," she croaked. "Dead."

He grabbed her hair and yanked. "Don't lie to me, woman."

"I'm not," she sobbed. "I'm not. She's dead. I swear it."

He felt an animal roar fight to escape his chest. "When?"

"Two years ago. H-heart attack."

The rage nearly overwhelmed him. He turned over the man lying next to her. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth and Donna moaned.

"Joe. Oh no."

"Fuck." The man was too young. This had to be Joe's son . Joe Junior . The woman had to go. She'd seen him. Viciously angry he'd been cheated yet again , he flipped her over to her stomach and holding her by her hair, slit her throat in one hard slice.

He laid the egg on their bed, his hands shaking. He should have taken the hint the first time they weren't home. Should have accepted this as fate. She wasn't as important as the others, but she'd been a missing piece in a finished puzzle, bothering him as long as she was alive. But Laura was dead. Long dead. And out of his grasp.

He lit the fuse, this time not to punish or to celebrate, but to hide.

Friday, December 1, 3:15 A.M

Reed knew the moment she woke up. Spooned against him, her tight body stretched and arched back into him. "Hey," she mumbled.

His face was buried in the graceful curve of her shoulder, his hand busy in the warm, moist heat between her legs. "Did I wake you?" he asked.

She sucked in a breath when his thumb found her most vulnerable spot. "I wondered how you'd manage this," she said. "I mean, given the whole…" She jerked back against him with a hard shudder. "Dexterity thing. Damn."

"I manage just fine," he said, stroking her, enjoying the way her body felt as she undulated. "I woke up wanting you again." He'd woken reaching for her, his heart easing when his hands grasped her flesh instead of empty air.