Killer Love (59 page)

Preoccupied with his horrific woolgathering, he all but missed what was happening outside. A whoosh of relieved air left his body as the cruiser drove away.

He sent up a silent prayer of thanks while at the same time realizing this had been a warning. He had to be careful. Smart. He wasn’t cut out for the business of killing. That much was glaringly apparent. But he had to suck it up and go on. There was more work to be done.

The small television in the kitchen was on, the sound so low he almost missed the report, but he heard the words ‘Judge Mona show’ and grabbed the remote, zipping up the volume.

An Asian woman, mic in hand, stood in front of Valiant studios. She was giving an update on the murder of Judge Mona Morrison, sadly informing the public the police had no suspects at this time.

He peered beyond the woman to the building that housed the Judge Mona staff.

A tingle of anticipation worked its way through his body.

“Don’t go far,” he whispered to the reporter. “You’ll be back there sooner than you know.”

****

Downtown traffic was heavy but once Sam merged onto I-75, it thinned out considerably. Good thing. She was starting to feel a little woozy. A wave of nausea swam through her chest, lodging at the base of her throat.

She clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled over, rolled down the window, and sucked in long breaths of the fresh air, being careful to breathe through her mouth. She hadn’t eaten anything in the past twenty four hours. She should have grabbed a bite before heading out.

After a few minutes, she was feeling marginally better, but still a little lightheaded. She considered going back home, but decided that since she was closer to Hawkins’ house than hers, she would continue on to his.

Whatever he had for her, it had better be good.

Hawkins lived in a neighborhood in the suburbs and she followed his directions to a brick house with pale yellow siding. A silver GMC truck sat in the driveway. She was surprised to see that he owned a vehicle other than his precious Harley. The space next to the truck was empty, so she assumed the pampered Harley was parked in the garage.

The flowerbed outside the front window held no living flowers or plants, unless you counted weeds. She rang the bell and almost immediately, Hawkins opened the door. He wore a blue chambray shirt with a dish towel slung over one shoulder. And, dammit, he was wearing those faded Levis.

He invited her in and led her into a living room. Sam smelled something cooking, Italian, she guessed, and her stomach rumbled.

“Sorry about the lack of furnishings,” he apologized.

‘Lack of furnishings’ was a gross understatement. The walls were completely bare, except for stacks of cardboard boxes resting against them. Two black leather recliners with consoles containing cup holders and remote caddy’s faced an HD big screen television. A Reds’ game was on, the sound muted.

“Wow,” Sam said, admiring the size and clarity of the picture. “Adam Dunn isn’t nearly that tall on my TV.”

Dex laughed. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool. You like baseball?”

“Love it. My dad used to take me to games when I was a kid.”

“Being from Boston, I’ve always been a Red Sox fan, but I’ll have to admit, I like the Reds.”

Sam smiled. “I was born during the seventh game of the ‘75 World Series. My mom was furious because Dad didn’t make it to the hospital until the game was over.”

Dex shrugged. “Can’t blame him. That was one hell of a series.”

“Yeah,” she said, turning to face him. “And we kicked your ass.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say you—” He stopped, his gaze shifting to her forehead. Frowning, he gently brushed her bangs aside. It was the merest whisper of a touch, but it caused a shiver to run through her. “What happened?”

She pulled away. “I just had a little accident.”

“Accident? What kind?”

“A car accident. It was a few days ago. I’m fine.”

“Here, sit down, can I get you something to drink? Aspirin?”

“No, really, I’m fine.” But she did sink into the soft leather recliner. She was once again feeling a little lightheaded.

He stood looking down at her. “I’m such an ass,” he said, shaking his head.

“What?”

He sighed heavily. “We could have done this over the phone. All I wanted to tell you was that the test was negative. There were no drugs in her system.”

“Then why did you have me come over?”

“I wanted to see you.” He shrugged. “I wanted to cook dinner for you and I didn’t think you’d come if I invited you.”

Unbelievable
. She opened her mouth to blast him, but closed it again. The dinner smelled great. And she was starving. “What’d you cook?”

He smiled. “Lasagna.”

She returned the smile. “Smells wonderful.”

A few minutes later, they were seated at an oblong dining table, Caesar salads, lasagna, and crusty French bread laid out before them. Not caring if it were ladylike, Sam dug into the food, finishing half before she spoke.

“This is fantastic,” Sam said when she finally took a break. “A man who can cook. Wow.”

“Actually, this is the only thing I know how to cook.” He grinned sheepishly. “I had an Italian girlfriend a while back. She taught me how to make it. To her, food was erotic so she shared her passion. The relationship didn’t last long enough to learn how to cook anything other than lasagna.”

“Ah,” she smiled. “I feel better now. I was afraid you were going to show me up. But, I can cook two or three dishes, so I still have you beat.”

“If you can cook two or three dishes, how is it that some man hasn’t already snagged you up?” he asked teasingly.

“Actually, I was snagged up, then tossed back.”

“You’re divorced?” At her nod, he said, “What kind of idiot would divorce you?”

She flushed, unaccustomed to compliments from men, especially one as devastatingly handsome as Dex. “I guess I’m just not very lovable.” She’d meant to come off flip, but it hadn’t worked. She said hastily, “I didn’t mean to sound self-pitying. I’m happy with my life as it is. Getting married was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “No. Marrying the wrong person was the worst mistake you’ve ever made.”

She gave a nervous laugh and pulled her hand away. “Yeah, well, I figured out a long time ago that I’m not good at picking the right person. Best just to stay alone.” She’d meant to say ‘single’, but had said ‘alone’. God, was she sounding pitiful or what?

Fortunately, he changed the subject. “Ready for dessert?” The question was innocuous enough, but somehow, coming from his lips, it sounded sexual. Their eyes met and she saw that he knew what she was thinking. His lips turned up at the corners in a slow smile. “I have pound cake. From the bakery.”

It took her a moment to answer. “I couldn’t eat another bite. But thank you.” Her voice sounded breathless and she was suddenly nervous. She needed to get the hell out of here. She stood and began clearing plates.

“No.” He reached out and closed his hand over her arm. “Don’t bother with this. I’ll get it.”

Her gaze went down to where his touch warmed her flesh, making little tingles shoot clear to her toes. She took a deep breath and pulled away from him. “I insist. You did the cooking.”

“You’re not feeling well and you’re my guest.”

“Ok,” she acquiesced. “Thanks. I really should be going anyway.”

“You know, I’d feel better if you’d let me give you a ride. I was a jerk to trick you like that. The least I can do is drive you home.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What was that all about, by the way?”

“It was a pathetic attempt to spend some time with you, get to know you better.”

“Why?”

“Because, I like you.”

“Like me? How can that be? I’ve been nothing but rude to you since the day we met. You can’t possibly
like
me.”

He shrugged and held out his hands, palms up. “You got me there. Okay. I am very, very attracted to you. I admire you and I respect you. I think that under that hands-off, tough-gal exterior, there’s a passionate, sensitive woman.”

“I guess that proves my point. You don’t know me at all.”

He stepped closer and Sam held her breath but didn’t retreat.

“I’d like to. One thing I do know.” His voice was soft, seductive, drawing her in. “If you’d try this...” he reached up and took hold of her jacket, slipping it off her shoulders, “...and this...” he pulled the banana clip from her hair, letting it fall loose around her face, “...you’d look soft, feminine, beautiful.” His husky tones and glittering eyes made her shiver in response.

She reached up and self-consciously smoothed the crease she knew her hair must have. It was still damp when she’d pulled it back. “As opposed to?” she asked, a catch in her voice giving away the effect he had on her.

“As opposed to strong, intimidating, beautiful.”

“Hawkins, I...”

His eyebrows lifted in amusement. “If we were in bed together, would you still call me Hawkins?”

“I guess we’ll never know, will we?” she said, but the words came out in a shaky whisper.

He took a strand of her hair where it rested on her shoulder and caressed it between his thumb and forefinger. “Never say never.”

Oh God, this was insane. He was a real piece of work.

Be strong, Samantha, you know his type.

Then she remembered poor Anthony Conniver, his wife...Dex. What an idiot she was. She’d almost fallen for his charm.

She jerked away from him, grabbed her blazer and shrugged it on.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Dex asked

She whirled back to face him, her voice rising as she spoke, “
You’re
what’s wrong. Good Lord, do you think I don’t recognize a player when I see one? You’re one of those men who thinks because you’re sexy, you can treat women however you’d like, screw with their emotions.”

She knew she was being unreasonable, bitchy even. But she’d had her heart trampled by guys just like him. The first had been when she was sixteen. By the time she miscarried his child, he was already dating her best friend. She’d been stupid enough to marry the second one. Yep, she knew the type. So, thanks, but no thanks.

“I don’t know why you’d be interested in me, anyway,” she said scathingly. “After all, I’m not wearing a wedding ring.”

He scowled, his voice rising to match hers. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She started to tell him, then decided against it. He knew exactly what she meant and she wouldn’t play into his innocent act. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“It’s not ‘nothing’. What the hell are you talking about?”

Before she could answer, there was a sound at the doorway of the kitchen and Samantha turned to find a young boy and a woman standing behind her.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman said. She was attractive, though slightly overweight, and blonde with wide, cornflower blue eyes. The boy was about fifteen or sixteen, tall, and also blonde. He would no doubt be a looker when he’d aged a few years.

Sam remembered seeing him at the ball field. Dex’s son? And, this woman must be his wife. Or, please God, his ex-wife, since Sam was alone in his home with him.

“Ryan forgot his cell phone and we came back to get it,” the woman continued. “If I’d known you had company, I’d have knocked. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She flashed an apologetic smile at Sam.

Okay, must be his
ex
-wife.

“Oh no,” Sam said quickly. “We’re colleagues and had business to discuss. You’re not interrupting anything.”

“It’s fine,” Dex agreed. “Detective Colby was just leaving.” The cold tone of his voice hurt a little, although Sam had no idea why. Hadn’t she just read him the riot act?

“I’m Clarissa and this is Ryan.” The woman stuck out her hand and Sam took it.

“Nice to meet you both,” Sam said, then turned to Dex. “Thank you, Dr. Hawkins. Goodnight.”

Their eyes locked for one quick moment before Sam quickly made her exit.

Chapter Seven

Sam was glad to be back at work, although she felt the lingering effects of her collision in every muscle, not to mention the pounding headache that wouldn’t go away. Her car was out of the shop, seemingly no worse for the accident.

While she’d been gone, Frank had run a check on the license plate of the car that hit her. Her hopes soared when they learned the car belonged to none other than Calvin Rollins. They dipped back down again when she found out that Rollins had reported the car stolen,
before
Sam had been run off the road.

If the killer was trying to frame Rollins, it made sense he’d use the guy’s car to go after Sam. And that could explain why he’d hung around long enough for her to get the license plate. He wanted them to know the vehicle belonged to Rollins.

The car was found abandoned late last night and the lab was running prints, but Sam didn’t hold out much hope they’d find any that belonged to the thief.

In her absence, Frank had also checked out the alibis of the other Judge Mona litigants on Sam’s list. Everyone came back clean. That left Todd Brahern, Eric Avery, and Calvin Rollins on the prime list of suspects.

As Sam was leaving the station that evening, a woman approached her outside the precinct doors. Sam didn’t recognize her at first. The evening sun was behind her, casting her features in shadows. Then Sam saw who she was and her stomach clenched. What was Dexter Hawkins’ ex-wife doing here?

Clarissa smiled as she approached. “Oh, good. I’m glad I caught you.”

“What can I help you with? I was just leaving.”

“Can we go grab a coffee? I wanted to talk to you.”

Sam hesitated, looking for a gracious way to decline the invitation. None immediately came to her, so she accepted, dread and curiosity winding through her in equal measures.

They walked down the street to the
Java Joint
, standing in line long enough for Sam to wonder when ‘grabbing a coffee’ had begun to mean sipping five dollar concoctions with names like ‘Mocha Madness’ and ‘White Line Flavor’ from a paper cup and tipping for counter service.

When it was finally her turn, Sam chose a Columbia blend—sans the exotic flavors—and joined Clarissa Hawkins at one of the high tables with shiny wooden tops.