Serial Bride (12 page)

At least for one night.

She turned in his arms. Tilting her head back, she looked up at him. She needed to feel those things. Needed what he could give her. If he was gone tomorrow or next week or next month, so be it. She needed him now.

Locking her arms around his neck, she pulled him down to her.

He fitted his mouth over hers, claiming her lips, filling her with his tongue. He tasted so warm, so sweet, so strong. She wanted more of him. She couldn't get enough. And she didn't want to wait.

She broke off the kiss. She turned again to face the mirror, her back to him.

He watched her in the mirror, his eyes dark, intense, looking into her, waiting for what she'd do next.

She untied the sash at her waist. Fingers trem
bling, she pulled the sides of her robe apart and slipped it off her shoulders. She stood naked in front of him. Her breasts hung free, her nipples puckered and taut. Warmth curled between her legs.

He sucked in a long breath. She felt his gaze move over her as much as she saw it in the mirror. His eyes took in every detail, as if every inch of her skin was precious, every feature unique, the whole package more alluring than any woman he'd ever seen. “You are so beautiful.”

She let his gaze and words and the feelings building inside engulf her. If she had this man looking at her just this way every day, she'd feel beautiful the rest of her life.

She'd feel wanted.

She pushed away a shiver of fear. She couldn't think of anything right now but him, the time they had together. She couldn't concentrate on anything but the reflection of his eyes.

Stepping forward, he pressed his body close once again. The ridge of his erection jutted against her bottom and lower back. The crisp fabric of his shirt rubbed against her.

Slipping his arms around her, he cupped her breasts in his hands, lifting, caressing. Her nipples poked between his fingers. Lowering his mouth, he kissed her neck, her shoulder. He slid one hand down her side and over her belly until he found the heat between her legs.

Her belly tightened, low and hot. A moan vibrated deep in her throat, a sound she didn't even recognize as her own. She rocked against him, the heat building. But she wanted more.

Reaching behind her, she gripped his shirt and pulled it from his pants. She wanted to feel his skin, his warmth. She needed all of him. She didn't want him to hold anything back.

He took his hands from her and stripped off his clothing. When he snuggled up behind her again, his skin smoothed warm against hers, his erection pressed against her, branding her with its heat. Nudging her legs apart, he moved closer, pushing between her thighs. But he didn't enter her. Instead he pressed tight against her. Taking a breast in each hand, he rubbed his tip across the most sensitive part of her.

Heat rippled through her, burgeoning with each stroke. She watched his hands lift her breasts, scissoring her nipples between his fingers. She felt the glow in his eyes, reveled in the hardness thrusting between her legs, rubbing, building. Pleasure shuddered through her and broke loose from her lips.

His strokes quickened, eliciting more shudders. Just when she thought she was done, he slipped inside her. He filled her, stretched her, yet she felt no pain. Only slick heat.

She watched him move into her. His eyes were
half closed, yet she could tell he was watching her, too. Watching her breasts bounce with each thrust. Watching the way she tilted her head back against him. Watching as the sounds of pleasure moaned deep in her throat.

He leaned forward, his breath tickling her ear. “I can't get enough of you, Sylvie. I could never get enough.”

She soaked in the words, the sensations. She couldn't get enough of him, either. He was what she needed. What she'd always needed.

Slipping out of her, he scooped her into his arms and carried her out of the bathroom and laid her gently on the very edge of the bed. Nudging her legs apart, he settled between them and lowered his mouth to her.

She never guessed her body would still have the stamina to respond. He moved his mouth over her, devouring her until waves of shudders seized her again.

She cried out, louder this time. She could no longer control her response. She could no longer control her feelings.

Pressure bore down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She was falling in love with him. It was too much, too fast, too dangerous, but she was falling in love with him anyway. Sometime tonight, she'd stepped over that cliff, and now she was plummeting. Now she would never be the same.

When Bryce awoke with sun peeking around the drapes and Sylvie curled at his side, he wasn't sure if he'd made a new start or a big mistake. All he knew was that he'd do it all over again in a heartbeat. When he'd told Sylvie she was the bravest and strongest woman he knew, he wasn't lying. Only now he'd have to add softest, sweetest, sexiest and most passionate to the list, as well.

He watched her eyes move under her closed lids, her hair spread over the pillow in wild waves. A smile played over her lips, the corners rising and falling with the flow of her dream. She looked so peaceful. More peaceful than she had since he'd met her. And he could only hope that he was a part of that.

He couldn't stand to see her as upset as she'd been last night. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but seeing Yamal dead had hit her hard, and he knew that
ever-present fear for her sister was no small part of it. He probably shouldn't have come back to her room, shouldn't have asked her to open the bathroom door, shouldn't have kissed her, but he hadn't been able to stop himself. He hadn't wanted to stop himself. Now he only hoped that she didn't regret making love. That she knew how much he really cared about her.

He glanced across the room at the desk. The folder holding the articles about Dryden Kane that Diana had collected still perched under the lamp. Evidence of what he had been, what he had done. He hadn't shown them to Sylvie. He hadn't wanted her to know the truth. He hadn't wanted to see the look in her eyes. But after last night…

A tremor lodged in his chest. She might hate him. She might blame him for her sister's fate. Why wouldn't she? He sure as hell blamed himself. Though seeing condemnation in her eyes would rip him open, after last night he wanted to be honest. He wanted her to know him. And the only way for her to truly understand the man he had become was to know the man he once was.

He looked back to her sleeping face. So beautiful. So strong. So sweet. He bent over her and touched his lips to hers.

Her lids fluttered. Her eyes opened.

“Good morning.”

At first she looked confused. Then she gave him a tentative smile. “What time is it?”

“Just after seven.”

She moved to sit up, clutching the sheet to shield her breasts. “I need to call Perreth. I need to find out when the autopsy—”

He held up a hand. “Wait.”

She sucked in a breath and looked at him, as if suddenly remembering what had passed between them. Or maybe she was just finally acknowledging it.

Something inside him hesitated. The connection between them was so tender, so new, anything could destroy it, much less what he was about to confess. But if it was to grow, he had to be honest. He lowered his lips to hers again, kissing her for what might be the last time. “We have to talk.”

“About what?” Her eyes darted, searching his. “Last night?”

“Last night was more than I'd ever dreamed.”

She let out a breath of relief.

“What I have to tell you happened long before last night.”

She frowned, a crease digging between her eyebrows. “What?”

“I never really told you why I hate Dryden Kane so much. Why I need to find who's helping him. Why I need to set things right.” He paused, searching for the words. How could he describe how single-
minded he'd been? How ambitious? How caught up in the game of law? “Why don't I show you?”

Throwing back the sheets, he thrust himself out of bed. Naked, he crossed the floor to the desk and picked up the folder.

The shrill ring of the hotel phone cut through the room.

Sylvie sat up, pulling the sheet to her chest. She looked at the phone and then at him.

He could see the questions in her eyes, the fears. Was it Perreth with the lab results? With news of Diana? Was it the man in the ski mask?

Leaving the folder on the desk untouched, he crossed back to the bed. “Do you want me to answer?”

She shook her head. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the phone. She brought it to her ear, tilting it so Bryce could hear.

He sat on the edge of the bed and lowered his head next to hers.

Sylvie cleared her throat. “Hello?”

“Sylvie.” The voice was weak, little more than a soft croak.

Tears pooled in the corners of Sylvie's eyes. “Reed. I'm so glad to hear your voice.”

“Me, too. I had to call you myself. Can you come down here? We need to talk.”

She nodded and looked to Bryce. “We'll be right there.”

 

W
HEN
S
YLVIE HAD HEARD
Reed's voice over the phone, she was so relieved she could hardly speak. Now that Reed was awake, they'd find Diana for sure. Now that Reed was awake, Perreth would have to keep them in the loop. Now that Reed was awake, maybe she wouldn't feel so vulnerable. Maybe she could regain control.

But looking at Reed lying in the hospital bed in his private room—skin as white as the pillow his shaved head rested on, struggling for each molecule of oxygen from the tube threaded under his nose, as if he were alive and conscious by willpower alone—she wasn't so sure.

Sylvie stepped into the room. Bryce hung back, leaning against the jamb, as if to give her space to talk to Reed before she had to explain his presence. A consideration she appreciated.

Crossing to the bed, Sylvie realized they weren't alone. Giving the woman standing in the corner of the room a passing glance and nod, Sylvie stopped at Reed's bedside and focused on him. “How are you feeling?”

The corner of his lips twitched in a smile. “Great.”

At least he hadn't lost his sense of humor. She took his hand in hers, carefully skirting the IV needle, and gave him a teasing smile that she didn't feel. “I thought you were dead.”

“If you hadn't found me so quickly, I might be.”

So quickly? She hadn't been quick. She'd been too late. “I wish I would have found you a lot quicker than I did.”

“Why? So the bastard could have kidnapped you, too?”

“So you know Diana is gone.”

He glanced at the woman in the corner. “Yes.”

Sylvie followed his gaze.

With long, lush brunette hair and a face that could grace magazine covers, the woman should be beautiful. But there was something hard about her—a sharp glint in her eyes, a brittle tension to her lips—something hungry that undermined her striking looks and made Sylvie a little uncomfortable.

“Sylvie, this is Nikki Valducci,” Reed said. “She started working with me last week.”

The woman stepped across the room and offered Sylvie her hand. “I just got my promotion to detective, and Reed was supposed to be teaching me the ropes. Instead, I'm here delivering him flowers.” She nodded at a basket of carnations and baby's breath.

“And news,” added Reed.

“Yes.”

Sylvie reassessed Reed's new partner. She liked that hard hunger in a cop. Especially a cop who was working with Reed, a cop who would help her find Diana. “Glad to meet you.” Sylvie took her hand.

Nikki shook hands with gusto, the entire time standing in the characteristic stance of a cop, the right leg slightly back to protect her gun side.

Sylvie nodded toward the door. “Reed and Nikki, this is Bryce.”

Bryce shared a nod with the detectives.

“He's been helping me.” It seemed like such a lame explanation, one that didn't even begin to describe her relationship with Bryce. But then, she wasn't sure of her relationship with Bryce, so how could she describe it to others?

She steered her mind away from the questions clouding her mind, questions about last night, about what it was that Bryce had felt he had to tell her this morning.

“Stan Perreth says you've been searching for Diana.”

She focused on Reed, taking his hand in hers once again. “We haven't found her.” Had Detective Perreth told Reed about the body the police had found? The body they thought was Diana's?

She watched Reed's eyes, the paleness of his face. If she was in his place, no matter how weak she was, she'd want to know. She was pretty sure he would, too. “Did Perreth tell you about the burned body?”

“Nikki did. That's part of what I need to talk to you about.”

A cold sweat slicked Sylvie's back and trickled
between her shoulder blades. The DNA test? Did he know the results?

Bryce crossed the waxed tile and stopped beside her.

She didn't look up at him. She couldn't. She knew why he'd moved beside her. To take care of her if the news was bad. To be there for her if…

She shook her head and focused on Reed's dark eyes. “The lab was doing a DNA test and…” She couldn't finish. All she could do was stand there and hope her silence conveyed the rest.

“Didn't Perreth tell you?” Reed's voice rose in anger, despite his condition.

Sylvie's pulse rang in her ears. “Did he get the results?”

“It's not a match. Not even close.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I'm so sorry he didn't tell you. The results came this morning. They didn't even have to do a DNA test. The blood type didn't match yours. The body's not Diana's. Diana might still be alive.”

Sylvie's knees sagged like rubber.

Bryce placed a hand on her elbow, steadying her.

She gave him a grateful glance. She could handle this. If Diana was still alive, she could handle anything. “Then we have to find her.”

Nikki gave Reed a pointed look. “If she didn't know about the test, she doesn't know the rest, either.”

“The rest?” Her mind crested relief and plum
meted back into worry, as if she was riding a roller coaster.

“I'll tell her,” Nikki said.

Reed exhaled heavily and leaned his head back on his pillow. If possible, he looked worse than he had when they'd arrived.

Nikki turned her razor-sharp eyes on Sylvie. “The past few months, we—or rather, Reed, along with some county detectives—have been investigating two murders in the area. Both murders had certain characteristics in common.”

“Like what?” Sylvie gripped Reed's hand, balling her other hand into a fist by her side. All she had to do was to look at the despair in Reed's eyes to know whatever Nikki was getting to was vitally important.

“Both of the victims were women, for one thing. Both were killed with a serrated knife. And there were other similarities, too, things that weren't released to the press.”

“Can you get to the point?”

Nikki nodded to acknowledge Bryce's question, yet kept her focus on Sylvie. “The body Perreth thought was your sister's matched most of these characteristics.”

Sylvie thought of the reasons Perreth had given for not letting her see the body. “All the women were burned and had their teeth pulled?”

“No. That's where this body differed. That's why
we didn't identify the last murder as part of the pattern, at least not right away.”

Bryce frowned. “And what makes you think it's part of the pattern now?”

“Virtually everything else about the murder matches. And the other elements of this killer's signature are very distinctive.”

“Signature?” Sylvie had skimmed enough articles about Dryden Kane to know what that word signified. “Are you talking about a serial killer here?”

Nikki exchanged glances with Reed. “Yes.”

A serial killer. Sylvie flinched at the thought of the photos of Dryden Kane's victims. The young blond women. The woman who looked like Diana, like her. The familiar hum grew louder in her ears. “Why are you telling us this?”

“The killer's signature is identical to a killer who struck Wisconsin a number of years ago.”

His name stuck in Sylvie's throat.

“Dryden Kane,” Bryce supplied.

Nikki nodded.

“But he's in prison.” Sylvie's voice barely rose above a whisper. The image of Diana running through the forest lodged in her mind. Diana being hunted like an animal, the way Dryden Kane had done with most of his victims. Frustration and fear twisted her stomach and clogged her throat. “Isn't he in prison?”

“Yes. He's still at Banesbridge. It isn't Kane
himself. But whoever this is seems to be copying his signature nearly exactly. A copycat killer.”

Sylvie's mind jumped ahead—to why Nikki was telling her this, to what it had to do with her. With Diana. “They're all blond, aren't they? The three women?”

“Yes.”

“And they look like Kane's original victims? The women he killed before his escape?”

“Yes.”

She thought of the scenario she and Bryce had discussed. “Do you suspect Kane is controlling this copycat? Controlling him from his prison cell?”

“We don't really know. But we think it's possible. The copycat killer is reproducing details about Kane's murders that only someone privy to the case files would know.”

“Like a detective.” Sylvie glanced at Bryce.

“Or someone who devoted his life to studying Kane,” Bryce countered.

Suddenly, Sylvie knew why Nikki was telling her about these murders. “Diana. You're afraid that Diana…” She couldn't finish, but she didn't have to. Reed's nod told her all she needed to know.

“Oh, my God.” She sucked in a breath, fighting for control.

Bryce grabbed her arm as if he was afraid she'd go down.

Regaining her balance, she swung her focus to Reed. “Do you know about the research project? The interviews Diana was doing with Dryden Kane?”

“Nikki told me this morning.”

Nikki told him. Not Diana. Diana had been keeping her fascination with Kane a secret from Reed, too. “The two professors she was working with? We found out one of them was pursuing Diana. She complained to his supervising professor. He's been studying Kane for years. He knows everything there is to know about him.”

“Sami Yamal committed suicide,” Bryce added. “We found his body yesterday. If he's the copycat killer, he's dead.”