Crash Into Me (6 page)

“I’m
going to the ladies’,” Carly announced, squaring her shoulders.

“If
you throw up, I’m taking the bill out of your allowance,” he warned.

Sonny
almost choked on her vegetables. What would be next? Hari-kari over dessert?
Carly For tune was a walking, talking teenage nightmare. “I’ll go with you,”
she said quickly, putting her napkin on the table.

“He’s
only joking. I never puke.”

Ben
gave his head a slight shake, indicating that Carly was lying. Sonny couldn’t
conceive of a man who would be so nonchalant about his daughter’s eating
disorder, but when she studied him closely, she realized he was at the end of
his rope. As she rose to follow Carly, he leaned forward, closing his eyes and
pinching the bridge of his nose in a way that was positively heartbreaking.

No
wonder he didn’t go out. Carly sapped the energy from the room like a tsunami,
sucking up everything in its wake.

“You
may as well forget it,” the girl said moments later as she emerged from a
stall.

“Forget
what?”

“Bagging
the bachelor,” she replied, performing a mini-toilette at the sink. “My dad
isn’t interested.”

“Who
said I was?”

Carly’s
eyes met hers in the restroom mirror. “Give it up. He’s hot.”

Sonny
conceded the point with a nod. “Don’t you want him to be happy?”

“He
is happy. He has surfing and me.”

“What
about you? Don’t you want a boyfriend?”

“No,”
Carly said, lifting her chin. “I’m going to be an independent woman.”

Sonny
smiled. “Okay.”

“Okay
what?”

“I’ll
leave him alone, if it means that much to you.”

Carly
looked suspicious. She wanted an argument, not an agreement. “Fine,” she said
anyway, whipping her long black hair over one shoulder.

“I’m sorry about Carly,” Ben said again,
leaning back against the seawall at the crux of some craggy rock formations at
Windansea Beach.

“Don’t
be. You aren’t responsible for her every action.”

He
looked out at the water, his expression somber. “Now you’re thinking you should
have let her take her chances out there, right?”

The
Pacific was as stormy and unpredictable as it had been the previous evening, a
formidable hash of blue and white, like the soapy surface of a giant washing
machine sloshing back and forth. Sonny got a disturbing image of Carly’s
lifeless form, laying facedown on the foam-specked surface, dark hair floating
around her head.

“I
was a teenager once. Not too long ago,” she added, in deference to the role she
was supposed to be playing. Ben was awfully young for a man with a
sixteen-year-old daughter, but she knew he wouldn’t be interested in an
immature girl, fueled by hormones and emotion. He had more than enough drama
with Carly.

“Were
you? I have trouble picturing you giggling or throwing tantrums.”

“No.
I misbehaved in other ways.”

“Let
me guess. You got into fights.”

Her
pulse accelerated. “What makes you say that?”

His
dark eyes flicked over her. “There’s something about you, a violence, lying
just below the surface. I wouldn’t turn my back on you.”

“Jesus,”
she said with a shaky laugh, running her fingers through her hair. “Don’t
romanticize it. Just say what you think.”

He
shrugged easily. “If I’m wrong, tell me. I don’t mean to insult you. Perhaps
violence isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s strength, or passion.”

She
didn’t bother to tell him that he’d been right the first time. Nor did she need
a diagram to understand his interest in her. “I don’t want to be your next
challenge, Ben. Like some big wave for you to conquer. Another cheap thrill.”

He
was silent for a moment, weighing her words. “I didn’t think you knew—”

“Who
you were? Why, because I didn’t fall all over myself to go out with you? Not
every girl is impressed by the size of your wallet, or your stick, surfer boy.”
She poked at his chest, and was rewarded when annoyance flashed across his
face. “By the way, you’re wrong. I didn’t fight. I was promiscuous.”

There.
Let him chew on that.

“I
don’t believe you,” he said after a pause. “Tell me some dirty stories, to
prove it.” He tried for a sly smile, but his eyes were heavy and intense.

She
looked away. “I’m sure yours would put mine to shame.”

He
only nodded, guilty as charged. “Carly always rakes me over the coals for
getting her mother pregnant when we were seventeen. I can’t believe she’ll be
that age soon. God forbid she follows in my footsteps. Or attempts to outdo me
in debauchery, which would be a challenge.”

Sonny
took pity on him. “She told me she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend.”

He
brightened. “Really? That may be true, for now. But she does flirt with my
friends.”

She
shook her head, not envying his position. “Maybe you
should
lock her
away until she’s thirty.”

“I
know I’ve indulged her too often,” he said with a sigh. “She’s always been
difficult, and I’ve usually been…gone.”

Sonny
looked out at the dark, stormy Pacific. The evening had turned blustery, and it
was time for her to go. “I told her I would leave you alone.”

“What
do you mean?”

“She’s
not ready to share you.”

“Let
me worry about Carly. She’s important to me—hell, she’s everything to me, but I
can’t let her dictate my life forever. I’ll take you out again, just us.”

“No.”

“Fuck.”

His
frustration was matched by her own. She’d never felt this drawn to someone.
They had nothing in common, besides an obvious mutual attraction and a history of
youthful indiscretions, which had most certainly taken a greater toll on her
than him. It had been her experience that a man could engage in any number of
illicit encounters and walk away with a clear conscience and a spring in his
step.

Even
if she could pursue an emotional relationship with him, professional ethics
decreed that she maintain a physical distance. Getting close to a subject was
one thing, hopping into bed with him another.

She
cursed Grant for putting her in this precarious situation. “Ben, it’s not
Carly. I can’t get involved with anyone right now.”

He
looked perturbed, and impatient. “Is it because of that guy on the phone? Your
boss?”

“Kind
of.”

His
eyes narrowed. “Are you in love with him?”

“Of
course not,” she said with a scowl. Grant was like family to her, and there had
never been anything romantic between them.

He
smiled, more confident now that he would have her. “If you aren’t involved with
him, why’s he calling you at midnight?”

Like
Carly, he had a habit of asking impertinent questions. Sonny wrapped her arms
around herself to ward off the chill. “I work with search-and-rescue squads.
Troubleshooting, helping teams work together efficiently. Sometimes he needs to
reach me at odd hours.”

“Search
and rescue?” He sounded impressed. “No wonder you went in after Carly.”

“I’ve
had some pretty extensive water training,” she said. That, at least, was true.

“You’re
a good woman to have around,” he said.

“I
won’t be here long.”

Sonny
knew by his reaction that she’d said the wrong thing. She’d meant the words as
a polite brush-off, but he wasn’t the least bit deterred. Instead of defusing
the tension, her vague time line had ratcheted it up.

Now
he wanted her immediately.

Oops.

She
knew it was time to walk away, but when Ben pulled her against him, he was so
deliciously warm she almost wept. Letting the full length of her body press
into his, she turned her head, resting it against his chest. She felt the
cotton of his sweatshirt across her face, the tattoo of his heartbeat beneath
her cheek. As she inhaled the scent of his soap, and the sexy, masculine smell
of him, her hands snuck under his T-shirt, by their own volition, and splayed
over his smooth, sleekly muscled back.

He
sucked in a tortured breath.

She
dug her nails into his skin, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a moan. If she got
this hot from a simple touch, how could she keep her professional objective in
sight?

“Summer—”

It
was the name that brought her to her senses. The wrong name.

She
jerked her hands away, pushing at his chest. His fingers were linked together
across the small of her back, holding her in place. As she felt his response to
her touch, an old familiar panic welled within her. That, as much as duty, made
her say “I have to go.”

“Stay.”

“Don’t
make me struggle,” she whispered.

He
let her go, clenching his hands into fists as she slipped away.

As soon as she returned to her apartment,
still reeling from her date with Ben, Sonny went straight to the bedroom and
took the case files out of the closet.

She
needed to be reminded that Ben Fortune was a suspect, no matter what her
instincts—or her body—told her. So what if he was ridiculously handsome? Serial
killers were often charming, intelligent, and attractive. Some were
accomplished liars, and experts at putting their victims at ease. On the
surface they looked like anyone else, the average Joe or the boy next door,
with no hint of the beast beneath.

Sonny
spread the crime scene photos out on the surface of the bed, thinking that Ben
was no more a killer than she was. Even so, she allowed for the remote
possibility that her attraction to him was interfering with her professional
objectivity. What an inopportune time to find out she wasn’t immune to lust.

The
images of death weren’t any easier to look at the tenth, or even the hundredth,
time around, but she forced herself to do another close examination.

Victim
one, April Ramirez, was a brown-eyed brunette, very young, and very pretty.
Daughter of cruise ship mogul Juan “Bailamos” Ramirez, she was found in Torrey
Harbor at the base of Sunset Cliffs. She’d been raped and brutalized, her
clothes torn from her body, and her wrists tied with her own bra. The marks on
her neck, and the whites of her sightless eyes, spotted with aneurysms, told a
terrifying tale.

The
second victim was Sarah Knox, a free-loving, earth-saving blonde. She’d been a
dedicated student and amateur drug dealer, cultivating hydroponic marijuana and
a 4.0 GPA at SDSU. She was found nude, facedown on the beach near La Jolla
Cove. Like April Ramirez, she’d been raped, and strangled with some type of
cord.

Their
killer knew better than to leave behind DNA, but there had been enough trace
evidence at both scenes, namely wetsuit fibers, to link the murders together.

Was
there also a connection to Olivia Fortune’s death?

Sonny
had obtained a copy of Olivia’s file from the local police department, and
there were many dissimilarities between Olivia’s murder and the more recent
attacks. Ben’s wife had been killed in her own home, and this scenario suggested
some degree of forethought or familiarity. There was also no indication of
rape; the only genetic material present belonged to Ben.

There
were more discrepancies in execution. Olivia had been strangled by a length of
electrical cord, of the same size and circumference as the implement used in
the later murders, but the marks on her neck looked very different from the
marks on the other victims. They were multiple, for one, and tentative, for
another. They were the kind of marks a fledgling killer would make, as though
he wasn’t sure how much pressure to apply.

Or
as if he was entertaining second thoughts.

Troubled
by the idea, Sonny shuffled through the file folder, looking for more
information about Darrius O’Shea.

A
decorated veteran of the Vietnam War, O’Shea had suffered a head injury during
his final tour of duty. His marriage had dissolved soon after his return to San
Diego, and in the following years he had few personal ties and no permanent
address.

If
not for the disability check he’d collected in person each month, one would
have never known he was alive.

Less
than forty-eight hours after Olivia Fortune’s body was found, the police
arrested O’Shea for vagrancy. Upon finding a monogrammed towel with Mrs.
Fortune’s initials stitched in gold thread, along with the infamous murder
weapon, mixed in with his personal effects, two homicide detectives
interrogated him.

O’Shea
confessed to the crime eventually. Tests on the items in his possession left no
room for error. And yet, he had no motive, no history of violent attacks. In
addition to the towel, only a small piece of jewelry had gone missing from the
Fortune household. Olivia’s wedding ring, which boasted a sizable rock, hadn’t
been touched, and Ben’s money clip had been in plain sight, not far from the
point of the attack.