Lisa Gardner - The killing hour

She opened the door. Mac had obviously used the past thirty minutes to shower and shave.

“Hey,” he said softly, and strode into her room.

“Mac, I’m too tired-”

“I know. I am, too.” He took her arm and led her over to the bed. She followed only grudgingly. Maybe she did like the smell of his soap, but she also wished desperately to just be alone.

“Have I mentioned yet that I don’t sleep well in strange motel rooms?” he asked.

“No.”

“Have I mentioned that I think you look really good wearing just a T-shirt?”

“No.”

“Have I mentioned how good I look wearing nothing at all?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s a shame, because it’s all true. But you’re tired and I’m tired, so this is all we’re gonna do tonight.” He sat on the bed and tried to pull her down with him. She, however, dug in her heels.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered.

He didn’t force the issue. Instead, he reached up a large hand, and cradled her cheek. His blue eyes weren’t laughing anymore. Instead, he studied her intently, his eyes dark, his expression somber. When he looked at her like this, she could barely breathe.

“You scared me tonight,” he told her quietly. “When you were up on those rocks, surrounded by all those snakes, you scared me.”

“I scared me, too.”

“Do you think I’m toying with you, Kimberly?”

“I don’t know.”

“It bothers you, that I can flirt, that I can smile.”

“Sometimes.”

“Earnest Kimberly.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “You are honestly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and I don’t know how to tell you that without you thinking it’s just some kind of line.”

She closed her eyes. “Don’t.”

“Would you like to hit me?” he murmured. “Would you like to yell and scream at the world, or maybe hurl your knife? I don’t mind it when you’re angry, honey. Anything’s better than seeing you sad.”

That did it. She sank down on the bed beside him, feeling something big and brittle give way in the middle of her chest. Was this weakening? Was this succumbing? She didn’t know anymore. She didn’t care. Suddenly, she wanted to press her head against the broad expanse of his chest. She wanted to wrap her arms tightly around his lean waist. She wanted his warmth all around her, his arms holding her close. She wanted his body above her body, demanding and taking and conquering. She wanted something fierce and fast, where she didn’t have to think and didn’t have to feel. She could simply be.

She would blame him for it all in the morning.

Her head came up. She brushed her lips over his, feeling his breath tickle her cheek and, being rewarded, his tremor. She kissed his jaw. Smooth. Square. She followed its line to his throat, where she could see his pulse pounding. His hands were on her waist, not moving. But she could feel his tension now, his body hard and tightly leashed with his effort at control.

She caught the fragrance of his soap again. Then the trace of the mint on his breath. The spicy tones of his aftershave on his freshly razored cheek. She faltered again. The elements were personal, powerful. Things he had done just for her that had no place in raw, meaningless sex.

She was going to cry again. Oh God, she hated this hard lump in her chest. She didn’t want to be this creature anymore. She wanted to return to cold, logical Kimberly. Anything had to be better than to be this weepy all the time. Anything had to be better than to feel this much pain.

Mac’s hands had moved. Now, they found her hair, gently feathering it back. Now his fingers ran from her temples all the way down to the taut lines of her neck.

“Shhh,” he murmured. “Shhh,” though she wasn’t aware she’d ever made a sound.

“I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You just need sleep, honey. It’ll be better in the morning. Everything’s better in the morning.”

Mac pulled her down beside him. She fell without protest, feeling his arousal press hard against her hip. Now he would do something, she thought. But he didn’t. He merely tucked her into the curve of his body, his chest hot against her back, his arms like steel bands around her waist.

“I don’t like strange motel rooms, either,” she said abruptly, and could almost see his grin against her hair. Then in another minute, she could tell he had drifted off.

Kimberly closed her eyes. She curled her fingers around Mac’s arms. She slept the best she had in years.

Front Royal, Virginia

6:19 A . M .

Temperature: 88 degrees

MAC WOKE FIRST, the tinny bleat of his cell phone penetrating his deep slumber. He had a moment of disorientation, trying to place the dimly lit room with its sagging bed and stale-smelling air. Then he registered Kimberly, still curled up soft and snug in the crook of his arm, and the rest of the evening came back to him.

He moved quickly now, not wanting to wake her. He slid his right arm from beneath her head, felt the resulting tingle shoot up from his elbow as various nerve endings fired to life, and swallowed a rueful curse. He shook out his hand, realizing now he didn’t know where his phone was. He had a vague memory of throwing it across the room during the night. Frankly, given his recent treatment of his phone, it was a miracle it was working at all.

He dropped to the floor, scrambling on all fours until he finally came up with the palm-sized object. He flipped it open, just as it was ringing for the fourth time.

“Special Agent McCormack here.” He glanced at the bed. Kimberly still hadn’t stirred.

“Took you long enough,” a distinctly male voice said.

Mac relaxed immediately. No more distorted voices to mess with his head. This was simply his boss, Special Agent in Charge Lee Grogen. “Been a long night,” Mac replied.

“Successful?”

“Not especially.” Mac filled in the details of the past twelve hours. Grogen listened without interruption.

“It’s definitely him then?”

“No doubt in my mind. Of course, for an official opinion you’d have to consult the Feds. They probably think it’s a terrorist act.”

“You sound bitter, Mac.”

“Three hours of sleep will do that to a guy. Now, best we can tell, we got two more girls out there. Pardon my French, but fuck the Feds. I have some leads, and I’m goin’ after them.”

“And I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. In fact, I’m going to pretend we’re talking about fishing.” Grogen sighed. “Officially speaking, Mac, there’s nothing I can offer you. My boss can press their boss for cooperation, but given that it’s the feebies…”

“We’re frozen out.”

“Probably. At least they’ll refer to us one day-at the press conference when they announce their big catch, we’ll be the local yokels who had a shot at the guy the first time around and couldn’t get the job done. You know the drill.”

“I can’t give up,” Mac said quietly.

“Don’t let me come between a man and some fishing,” Grogen said.

“Thank you, sir.”

“We have another complication.”

“Uh oh.” Mac rubbed his hand over his face. He was already tired again and so far he’d only been awake ten minutes. “What’s up?”

“Nora Ray Watts.”

“Huh?”

“She called me in the middle of the night. She wants to talk to you. She claims she has information about the case and she’ll only give it to you, in person. Mac, she knew two girls were dead.”

“Has there been something in the papers?”

“Not a peep. Mac, I didn’t even know two girls were dead until ten minutes ago when I called you. Frankly, I’m a little freaked out.”