If Looks Could Kill (16 page)

He would take it slow with her. So slow…

He started suddenly, unhappily aware of an uneasy feeling—as if he were being watched himself. He looked around quickly, frowning. No one, no one, no one, could see him, except maybe…

The other one. The one he
really
wanted. One day, oh, God, yes, one day! He suddenly felt giddy. She looked and looked and looked, but she couldn't see! he thought exultantly.

He'd seen her!

While she…she couldn't see the forest for the trees. They were all so blind. He felt like laughing as an old biblical saying came to mind.

There are none so blind as those that will not see!

Still…

She could prove to be dangerous. And if she came too close, if she threatened him…

It would be slow with her. Because it would be the same as it had been so very long ago. He would adore her, even as he despised her. She was the threat. And he would let her see every single little thing he would do to her, with her.

For the moment, he looked out from the shadows and waited patiently for the clouds to cover the moon before he made another move.

 

Jassy Adair was certain that they would catch the killer soon. Kyle knew his business, and his profile was undoubtedly an accurate picture of their killer: a handsome, articulate man who could easily charm his way into the trust of women. A man who spent the majority of his time living a seemingly normal life, accepted by his family and peers.

Thanks to her sister, they knew what kind of room to be looking for, and when they homed in closer, she was sure, Madison would be of even greater help. Science and spirituality—or whatever it was that Madison had—could work hand in hand. Science could prove the truth of Madison's visions.

The killer would be caught….

Then she heard a noise, and she wondered again if she had locked the door. Suddenly she was praying that
she
would live to see the killer caught.

She leaped out of the shower, grabbing her towel. Sopping-wet, she tore down the hallway, even though logic was telling her it was the wrong thing to do. She needed to darken the house and somehow make her way to the back door.

Too late.

He was already there.

Dead still, soaking in her towel, she stared at him.

“Doors should be kept locked,” he said, very softly. “You should know, doors should be kept locked. You, of all people…” He sighed. “You'll learn.”

She opened her mouth to speak.

Words wouldn't come. Because he was already stepping forward. “You're so beautiful. So perfect and beautiful. And the way you talk about body parts…”

 

Kaila wrapped a towel around herself, letting the water continue to run. She stepped very carefully to the bathroom door and looked cautiously around it, doing her best to keep herself hidden.

Someone was in her house.

Her instinct was to slam the door and lock herself in. She thought of her cell phone, tucked away in her purse by her bed.

She couldn't slam the door; her children were in the house. She had to protect them.

She stared out the bathroom door for what seemed like an eternity. Silently she slid around it. She couldn't see anyone in her bedroom.

But the glass door was partially open. A breeze was lifting the half-closed curtain.

Tentatively, her heart in her throat, she walked toward it.

“Kaila?”

At the sound of her name, she screamed, spinning around, dropping her towel.

Dan stood in the doorway. He had an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne in one hand, two stemmed glasses balanced in the other.

“God, honey, I'm sorry. I called to you when I got home. The trip's off. I guess you didn't hear me over the water.”

“You nearly scared me to death.”

“Honey, I am
so
sorry!” He walked past her, set down the ice bucket, champagne and glasses and closed and latched the glass door, then turned back to her. She hadn't retrieved her towel. He smiled, looking handsome, ruffled, worn, and glad to be home. When she did start to reach for the towel, he approached her quickly. “Honey, don't. You look like a million bucks. I'm sorry about working so much, honest to God. I just can't seem to get out of it…but I do love you, Kaila. You and the kids mean more to me than anything in the world. I swear it.” He drew her against him, wrapping her in his arms. She was wet and chilly in the air-conditioned room, and he was very warm. He felt good and secure, and she was suddenly glad of him, wanting him. He could touch her, kiss her, lick her anywhere, and it would feel natural and delicious. It was just that she'd been married so long….

“I love you,” she told him.

“I'm off all day tomorrow. I'll take care of the kids from morning till night.”

“Oh, God, Dan, that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard!” she told him gratefully.

He started to kiss her, first her lips, then the length of her naked body. His tongue snaked over her flesh, between her thighs…

Stepping up into Jaime's van, Madison suddenly shivered fiercely. She sat in the front passenger seat, buckling her seat belt, fighting the vision that was clouding her mind.

She saw shadows, but within the shadows, two lovers, intimately entwined with one another.

She couldn't really see the people, and she had the awful feeling of intruding on something that was not just intimate but warm and special. She could see that…

The woman was a redhead.

She wasn't watching them through her own eyes, she realized.

Strange words ran through her mind.

Killer is watching, Killer is watching….

The vision faded suddenly.

All that remained was the memory that the woman was a redhead.

And the words…

Killer is watching, Killer is watching…

They kept repeating, a refrain that haunted her mind. And she knew that no matter what argument they might be having, she was going to have to tell Kyle what she had seen with her strange mind's eye.

M
adison smoothed her hair, collecting herself and ignoring the others as they argued over where they should go for dinner.

The voice and its haunting refrain faded completely, and Madison began feeling rather silly. She was frightened, yet not in a tangible way. She was surrounded by people; she was safe.

Hell, she even had her own personal FBI agent following right behind the van in his rental car.

She realized that Jaime was staring at her, frowning with concern. He had left the decision of where to go to Hector and George, who had agreed on a rustic crab house near Sloppy Joe's.

“You all right?” Jaime asked her as he helped her out of the van. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“I'm fine, honest.”

He suddenly reached forward, pinching her cheeks. It hurt. “Jaime!” she protested.

“That's better! You don't want the government asking the same question, do you?” he queried, arching a brow devilishly.

She started to protest again, then shrugged. “Do I look better?”

“Ah, Madison, you look stunning! If looks could kill, you'd be lethal! Come on now.”

He linked an arm with hers. And though the place was crowded, he had the right pull. They were quickly seated.

She had expected that Kyle might feel awkward at dinner, being a stranger to everyone but Madison, but he actually seemed more comfortable than she did. Everyone knew about his father's upcoming gallery opening, and their enthusiasm for Roger Montgomery's work and commitment, were contagious. Madison, relaxing, forgot the strange sensation of being watched that had seized her earlier. The restaurant was boisterous, but not too loud. The company was very pleasant, laid-back.

Kyle was even being merciful and not hounding her about the fact that she had left town without telling anyone. In fact, he assured her early on during dinner that her father knew she was going to be at his house; Jordan Adair had talked with Darryl that afternoon. Then Michelle diverted his attention, but Madison didn't care. She was finally beginning to unwind. The company and drinks were numbing her mind. Even memories of her vision were fading. Then, as they talked, she was startled to hear a pleased squeal from across the room. With an alarming feel of dismay, she watched as a petite dynamo hurried across the room to them. Sheila.

“Madison! What a lovely coincidence! And Kyle Montgomery. What a pleasure.”

“Sheila, what a surprise!” Madison said helplessly. Kyle pulled out a chair for Sheila, and Madison introduced her to the others. “Sheila plays keyboards with the Storm Fronts.”

“Yes, of course, your delightful musical group!” Jaime said with pleasure. “I've seen you play with Madison, but we have never been formally introduced.” He kissed Sheila's hand in greeting.

Sheila was delighted. “Naturally, I know your work, as well! It's spectacular!”

“You're too kind,” Jaime protested. “Well, now and then, we all have a stroke of genius,
sí?
”

“Sheila, we'd love to have you stay with us,” Madison said. God, she was lying through her teeth! And Sheila was a friend! “Of course, we'll understand if you're here with friends.”

“What luck! I was here celebrating my sister's birthday, but she and her husband—and even Mom and Dad—have just left.”

“What luck,” Madison agreed.

Sheila joined them, advising them on the local beers. Madison hadn't planned on having anything with alcohol, but now she changed her mind. The fresh catch was dolphin, which they ordered for the table, along with a shrimp-wrapped-in-bacon appetizer and conch chowder.

The conversation turned first to music, then to art. Madison, at her end of the table, far from Kyle and Sheila, listened as Kyle avidly joined in the discussion. She watched him, thinking about how he so seldom let others see his own talent. But beyond that, it seemed that he really did love art and had a greater appreciation for his father's interests than she had ever imagined.

He caught her watching him once. And it was a strange moment, because she knew that he was reading
her
thoughts, but somehow that made him strangely vulnerable to her.

A nice switch, she thought.

Conversation was easy. They all laughed. Madison felt comfortable, relaxed, secure.

It was inevitable, though, that someone would ask Kyle about his work.

“I read about some of your work once in
Time,
” George said. “Can you tell us what you're doing down here? Is it that serial killer the papers have been writing about?”

“Well, we definitely believe we have a serial killer on the loose in the area,” Kyle said solemnly. “Most of the recent developments will be making the late news tonight. Like my breaking into Madison's house,” he added dryly.

“What?” she asked, startled.

He shrugged, looking around at the others again. “Over the last four months, there have been four gruesome murders, all occurring around the fifteenth of the month, and each growing more and more violent. The victims were all young, beautiful, vivacious women. When you're working with something so heinous, you have a tendency to worry about the people around you.”

“Dear Lord,” Sheila murmured, leaning an elbow on the table and propping her head on her hand as she looked at him. She shuddered fiercely.

“And…you broke into Madison's house in pursuit of this killer?” Michelle demanded, confused.

Kyle shook his head, smiling ruefully. “As I said, this killer is preying on young, beautiful women. I couldn't get in touch with Madison last night, and then…when I couldn't reach her this morning, either…” He lifted his hands helplessly, then took a long swig of his beer, staring at Madison again. “Her lock was easy to pick, but she has a good alarm system. I'd told Jimmy Gates down in homicide that I was going in, but…well, I almost got myself arrested anyway, and I'm wondering right now just how ridiculous I'm going to look on the news.”

“I didn't answer my phone, so you broke into my house?” Madison said incredulously.

“Madison, you shouldn't be so snippy!” Sheila advised her.

“Sheila, I'm not! I'm just surprised.”

“Thank God you've got a stepbrother who cares so much! If someone in my family couldn't reach me, they probably wouldn't worry for a week!”

Kyle arched a brow to Madison, obviously enjoying the fact that her friends thought she was the one in the wrong.

“Sheila, you're always going off for days at a time,” Madison reminded her.

“Well, you still shouldn't be angry!” Sheila said.

“Are you angry?” Hector demanded, grinning at Madison. He looked amused, out to cause trouble.

Everyone was staring at her. She stared at Kyle, gritting her teeth. “Of course not. I told you—I'm not angry, I'm surprised.”

“Surprised!
I'm
scared. A serial killer, preying on young women!” Sheila said, and shivered.

“A little fear can be healthy, I'm certain,” Jaime said.

“Do you agree, Kyle?” Michelle asked in her soft singsong. “Is it smart for women to be afraid?”

“A little fear can be very healthy. The police weren't exactly trying to keep the killings quiet, at first, but they didn't want to cause a panic, either. But as of this afternoon, it's been officially decided that it's time to cause a bit of a panic. From comments made to friends by the victims, we're certain that the killer is a charming young man who is seducing his victims into believing they're in for the love affair of a lifetime. He's most probably very good-looking, blends in with a crowd, appears entirely respectable. Not in the least the image of a crazed killer. So, Sheila, you should be concerned. It would be wise for you to be very careful.”

“You know,” Hector murmured, “if you're curious about the news…Well, it's gotten late. Maybe they'll have the eleven-o'clock news on at the bar.”

They stared at one another briefly, then rose in one body, moving to the bar. Kyle remained slightly in the background. As the news moved from the latest terrorism in the Mideast to local-interest stories, a police spokeswoman giving a press release appeared on the screen. She said that the police believed that they were investigating four murders that were the work of a single killer, and that young women needed to be seriously on the alert, especially women, and women living alone.

Listening, Madison found herself worrying about Jassy. She told herself that her sister was smart. Besides, she still thought Kyle might be the man her sister was seeing, and if so…

She was going to call Jassy. She had to make sure her sister knew what she was doing.

She blinked. The news was still centered on the killer. There was an interview with Jimmy Gates, who gave out the information that friends of the victims had told police that before each disappearance, the murdered young women had been looking forward to time away with a new romantic interest.

Then there was suddenly a shot of Kyle. He was in his suit, in front of Madison's house. There were police cars everywhere. Kyle looked worn and very aggravated—but still handsome and appealing. He was shown talking with Jimmy as Jimmy arrived at the scene, then he spoke briefly with the press, recommending that women in the area be advised to use extreme caution in accepting any invitations. “Don't go out with strangers. Period. Even if you think you know someone, double-date. Don't go anywhere without a friend knowing your exact destination and who you're with. Leave work in groups, shop with a girlfriend.”

“Should women be armed?” a pretty reporter asked anxiously.

“If a woman is going to be armed, she needs to know what she's doing with a weapon, period. A gun is never a guarantee of safety. Bear in mind how many children have been killed with a family gun. To me, the best way to stay safe is to stay smart and cautious.”

“What about women living alone?” the same reporter queried.

Kyle had been solemn; now he suddenly smiled. One of those rare smiles of pure charm that sent hearts racing. “Well, if possible, move back home for a while,” he suggested.

“Good idea!” someone called.

“And if that's not possible, the main thing here is to be smart, be careful and don't make yourself vulnerable.”

There were more questions, coming faster and faster, like bullets themselves.

Kyle answered tersely, especially when he was asked why he was at the home of Madison Adair, daughter of the slain movie star, Lainie Adair, his onetime stepsister.

“In fact, sir, didn't you just break into her house?”

“Were you arrested and handcuffed?”

Kyle fielded the questions well, ignoring what he chose to ignore and replying that—naturally—any man was concerned about the young women in his family under these circumstances. Yes, he admitted, he had been worried about his stepsister, but he had since been advised that Madison Adair was fine and away working on a fashion shoot.

Madison noticed that he didn't say where.

When he excused himself and walked away from the interview, the camera focused on the pretty newswoman who had hit him with the most questions. She had done her homework well. She rehashed Lainie's murder and “scandalous” life, then brought up Madison's work, her resemblance to her mother and her occasional involvement with the police. By the time the newscast was finished, Madison wanted to sink into the floor.

At the same time, she felt like an absolute ingrate, certain that the news hadn't managed to capture the entire event. Kyle had nearly been arrested for breaking into her house, all because he had been worried.

About
her.

She looked back at Kyle, who shrugged irritably. “At least they missed the fact that I was nearly shot as an intruder before I had a chance to flash my ID.”

“Thanks for worrying,” she murmured. “And I'm sorry. I guess, under the circumstances, I should have called Jassy or Dad before taking off, as well as Darryl.” She sighed with weary exasperation. “That damned newswoman! She didn't miss any of my life. We got to go through my mother's death all over again.”

“Ah, child!” Michelle commiserated.

“They showed your house—right on television. Can't you sue them for that or something?” Sheila asked.

“I don't think so,” Madison murmured. “I don't think it matters, anyway. Where I live has never been a big secret.”

Kyle was staring at her. He wasn't pleased. From his look, she knew he was thinking that it probably hadn't mattered before if her address was publicly known.

But it did now.

“Well,” Michelle said, “this killer will have to think twice now. With such a warning out, surely young women will be very careful.”

Kyle shook his head very slowly. “If only that were true. If only they all understood the point. This man is extremely clever—and charming. Most rational people feel that such violent murders must be the work of a madman. They're sure they would recognize such a man, that he must look like a monster, when his real power lies in his ability to appear to be not just respectable, but secure. A protector of the innocent. Hopefully we'll have alerted at least some of his possible victims, and maybe we'll slow him down long enough to catch him.”