If Looks Could Kill (21 page)

“Incredible,” she agreed.

And it had been. Absolutely. She would never have thought of herself as the kinky type, and she still didn't. She didn't judge others, but she was sure she never wanted to play some of the sex games she'd seen on the cable shows. She knew she didn't want to be handcuffed, hurt or whipped, or have Dan act like a child who needed to be punished. She had no desire whatsoever to call him “naughty boy” and make him grovel for her sexual favors. She didn't want to take part in an orgy, or get involved with couples who played switchies.

But tonight…

Wow.

And all because of his sexy little gift. He'd gone crazy, seeing her in the panties. And the things he'd done…and the responses she had given…

Just the two of them. So alone, so intimate. Having fun. As they hadn't in a very long time…

“What an idea. Thank you,” she told him softly, kissing his lips, then snuggling back down beside him again.

“What do you mean? Thank
you.
Honey, you were awesome. So sexy. You have to buy more of those. What gave you the idea?”

She felt the strangest sensation of icy cold sweeping over her. It wasn't exactly fear, but it was awfully close.

She was silent too long.

“Kaila?”

“I…”

Dan was frowning, leaning over her and staring at her with angry eyes. “Kaila, where did you get those panties?”

“I—I didn't get them. They were a gift. They arrived at my table today at lunch, addressed to me. I assumed you had sent them.”

“Naturally.”

“Dan!”

He leaned back against the pillows, still staring at her, and the accusing glitter in his eyes was frightening.

“Dan—you didn't send them?”

“No.”

“But—”

“No, I didn't send them.”

“Then they must have been a mistake. Someone else was meant to have them.”

“You just said they were addressed to you.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did! Were they, or weren't they, addressed to you?” he yelled.

“Dan, stop it! This isn't a courtroom. You—”

“It might turn into a courtroom pretty damn quick. They were addressed to you, right?”

“Right! What are you getting so angry about? If you didn't send them, one of the girls must have been playing a trick—”

“Oh, Kaila, quit it.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“What does that mean?” he repeated. “It means that you've been flirting with someone. Flirting enough to give him the idea that you might be available. Christ! Here I am feeling guilty that you're so depressed, stuck home being a mother!”

“I'm not depressed being a mother!” she protested. “And I never said that. And I don't flirt!” She said the words boldly, then realized they were a lie.

She
had
given someone the idea she might be willing to have an affair.

She felt cold again. Really cold.
He
didn't know that she had decided she was every kind of a fool and really truly loved her husband.

Oh, damn.

He
might have sent the…gift.

“Look, Dan, honestly—”

“Save it, Kaila,” he said softly, then rose. He slipped quickly into his robe and left the room, slamming the door in his wake.

Kaila stared after him, stunned. And cold, so cold.

The panties…

She shivered, feeling dirty. Had she really come so close to an affair? Worse, had she really already destroyed her marriage?

The next time she saw
him,
she was really going to give him a piece of her mind. She was going to explain that she had just been going through a bad period, that she really loved her husband.

Oh, God…

She still felt dirty. Squirmy. And afraid.

Dan had never looked at her like that before.

She got out of bed, wrapping up in her own robe, wondering how such wicked ecstasy could turn to something so horrible. She walked out to the living room. He was standing in the kitchen, staring out at the back, drinking a beer.

“Dan?”

“What?”

“I love you.”

“Who sent you those panties, Kaila?”

She lied. She had to lie. “I have no idea, Dan. Honest to God. I swear on the kids' lives—I never cheated on you.”

“Well, it's just interesting that another man would send my wife edible underwear,” he said dryly.

“One of the girls must have done it as a joke.”

“Sure, Kaila.”

She walked to him, slipping her arms around his waist, really frightened that she might lose him.

“I love you, Dan!” she whispered.

She felt his muscles ease. His arm came around her. Tears slid down her cheeks, he brushed them away with his knuckles and kissed her lips.

“Every once in a while…” he murmured.

“What?”

“Well, you look like your mother. Maybe I get a little afraid you might want to try out several husbands.”

“Dan, what an awful thing to say.”

“You did receive edible underwear.”

“I love you, Dan.”

“Do you?”

“God, yes! I've just been afraid, I guess, because you're gone so much! Because you work with young, bright attorneys, so many women. And sometimes I feel that I can't compete with the excitement of your day because all I do is wear spit-up and baby drool, and all I can talk about is the most recent PTA meeting or the latest Disney movie.”

He smiled and smoothed her hair. “That's my child's spit-up you're wearing, Kaila. And I love Disney movies, and believe it or not, the PTA matters to me. And you're intelligent and articulate and interesting. I love you, too, Kaila.”

“Oh, Dan!” she murmured. “I'm so sorry. It's just that the kids are so little, I sometimes feel that I need three hands, and yet I adore them, and…and I adore you. You've been so good!” she whispered.

“You know what?” he told her, his voice growing harsh again.

“What?”

“I'm going to find out where the hell those panties came from.”

His arms were around her, but despite that, she felt the devastating cold once again.

 

“I'm really not sure why you're so worried,” Madison said. She was driving, and Kyle was at her side in the passenger seat, sipping coffee from a paper cup as he reached in the back seat for the
Miami Herald
she had just bought. “Kyle, this guy is a pattern killer, and if he goes by his past record, he isn't due to strike again for another several weeks. The middle of the month.”

He was staring at the paper. “Damn it!” he swore.

She nearly jumped. “What?”

His knuckles were white as he clenched the paper.

“Kyle?”

He shook his head, staring at her. “Someone leaked the information that we were searching the last victim's house for snapshots of the killer.”

“What?”

“Jimmy and I found the place where Holly Tyler, the last victim, got her tattoo. The woman who ran the place said Holly nearly showed her a picture of the man she was going away with, except that she couldn't find the picture. The cops are searching her home. And it's in the damned paper.”

“Kyle, maybe it's not all that bad. I mean, the cops are already searching the house, right? So the killer can't come in now and ransack it to get his hands on the pictures himself, right?”

“Right,” he said, staring out the front window, still furious. “And in a perfect world they'll have found the pictures by the time we reach Miami, he'll have a record, we'll find his identity by computer and arrest him by this afternoon.”

“It could happen that way.”

“It's not going to. What will happen is that we'll wind up tracking down Holly's third cousin twice removed who lives in rural Arkansas. And both crackpots and helpful friends will start sending in snapshots, and our needle will wind up in a giant haystack.”

“Maybe not. The first scenario is still possible.”

“Sure,” Kyle said. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed headquarters, getting Jimmy on the line. Jimmy assured him that they were looking for the leak, and that there was going to be hell to pay for someone.

Kyle clicked off.

“Kyle?” she said quietly.

“Yeah?” he asked, looking at her.

“Remember what I said before? The killer strikes in the middle of the month. He isn't due for another three weeks.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying that you can't be so worried about me. I'm going home now.”

“And?”

“And Carrie Anne is coming home tonight.”

“And?”

“Kyle, I can't just…I can't just sleep with you at home. You've got to go back to your hotel tonight.” She felt him watching her as she drove. “Kyle, she's a little girl, and I don't know how to explain—”

“So you think Darryl never sees anyone when he has his daughter?”

“I'm the custodial parent,” Madison said. “She's with me most of the time—”

“So you're going to spend your life having two-day affairs when your daughter is with her father?”

“You're being completely unreasonable—”

“I'm just curious. What are you going to do if you ever get serious about a man?”

“If I get really serious, I'll get married again, and that way I can explain to Carrie Anne that I'm married!” she explained, aggravated. “Kyle, she's a very little girl. And no matter how well Darryl and I get along, I don't ever want to give him any ammunition against me if he decides he suddenly wants custody.”

“Darryl wouldn't do that.”

“You never know.”

She felt him watching her. “Well, you can always marry old Darryl again. That would solve that problem. Or sleep with him now and then—I guess that would be all right.”

She stared at him, incredulous and furious. There was a gas station ahead. She pulled into it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Stopping. Get out of my car.”

“What?”

“Out!”

“I don't think so.”

“I'm telling you to get out.”

His eyes narrowed. “And I'm refusing. I have to get to work in Miami.”

“Call a cab.”

“Out here? In the middle of the Keys? Call a cab to Miami?”

“Call a cab—call the damned FBI. I don't care. Get out of my car.”

“Why?”

She stared at him, absolutely incredulous. “Because you're being hateful and vile and—”

“Scared!” he told her, his voice so deep and husky that she broke off, staring at him. He crushed his empty coffee cup in his hand, his knuckles white around it.

“Kyle…”

His coffee cup fell unnoticed to the floor, and he took her face between his hands, staring into her eyes. “Someone is murdering redheads in the middle of every month, and you're a psychic—whether you choose to be or not. You see the murder victims. Law enforcement is beginning to get a few leads. Just a few! But maybe enough to spook the killer. I don't want you to be alone. We don't have to sleep together, but I won't leave you alone at night. I can sleep on your couch, and we can explain to Carrie Anne that I'm a cop like Jimmy, and I'm just there to watch out for you both. Any objection?”

Madison tried to shake her head. “No, I guess not. And you can let go of my face now!”

He released her, easing back into his own seat. “May we go?” he asked politely.

They drove again. In dead silence. But fifteen minutes later they passed Theater of the Sea, one of the few facilities where people could swim with dolphins.

“I always wanted to do that,” Madison mused aloud.

“Go to Theatre of the Sea?” he inquired, puzzled.

She laughed. “Swim with dolphins.”

“You dive with sea creatures all the time.”

She shook her head. “I've never run into a playful dolphin. Never.”

“If it's something you want to do, the answer's easy. Do it.”

“When you want to do something, do you usually just do it?”

“Yup.”

“What was the last thing you wanted to do really badly?” she asked him.