Their Summer Heat (11 page)

“I don’t know. I was walkin’, felt a tug on my arm. I glanced down, and it was bleedin’. I looked around to see if anyone paid attention to me, but no one was…except you.”

“I was thirty feet behind you. I stopped when you did. When you spun around in a circle, I realized something was wrong. Do you know if this was done by someone walking toward you or from behind you?”

Summer closed her eyes to think but couldn’t seem to focus. She shook her head. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. The street cams may provide the information.”

“I didn’t feel anything.”
Which was strange.
“Shouldn’t I have felt pain?”

Wallace looked at her but didn’t comment. Couldn’t anyone treat her like a normal person?

Her body trembled like a leaf in a windstorm in what she knew was the onset of shock. She closed her eyes and listened to the beep-beep-beep of the monitor, and tried to figure out why she hadn’t felt the bite of the knife.

* * * * *

Logan was pacing when his brother raced into the waiting room.

“Have you heard anything?” Max asked.

“No. I just walked in two minutes ago. I did inform Connors. He’s on his way.”

“Where’s Dan Wallace?” asked Max.

“Who?”

“The security detail I put on her.”

Logan scanned the lobby, looking for the type of guy who screamed don’t-fuck-with-me, but only saw anxious husbands, mothers, dads, and a few adults with children. Then the men’s room door opened, and he spied Mr. Wallace. The man walked with purpose and confidence and didn’t stop until he stood toe to toe with Max.

“Mr. Preston. Dan Wallace.” He offered his hand, first to Max and then to Logan. “I apologize for the incident with Miss Heat.”

Logan’s throat tightened at the bloodstains on the sleeves of Wallace’s jacket and the front of his white shirt. Damn, there was a lot of it, and it was all Summer’s.

Max dragged a hand across his face. “Tell us what happened.”

In under a minute, they relived her terror, and Wallace obviously felt terrible that it occurred on his watch.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Mr. Wallace. You can’t protect someone who doesn’t cooperate,” said Logan. He turned to Max. “We should have told her,”

“She called you a bird dog, by the way,” said Max.

Wallace grinned. “I’m sure she had other names for me. And she wants to know how I found her. I told her to ask you.”

“Great,” muttered Max.

Logan’s cell rang. He pulled it from his pocket and stared at the screen. Fear crept along his skin. “Son of a bitch.” Logan flipped his phone around to Max and Wallace.

You can’t have her. I’ll kill her first
!

Max’s phone beeped, too. Logan watched his brother’s face and knew Max had gotten a chilling message, as well. He showed Logan the contents and then Wallace.

I can get to her at any time
.

“Son of a bitch!” screamed Max.

The other patrons murmured and cast chastising frowns in Max’s direction.

“It’s obvious he doesn’t want to kill her…yet. He’s toying with you two,” said Wallace.

Logan agreed. “It could have been a knife to the liver, heart, spinal cord… If he wanted to do real damage, he could have done so quite easily.”

“Which means she’s not safe until we catch this lunatic,” said Max.

“I’ll have my connections see if they can trace your emails, but something tells me this Jack is slick as snot.”

“I need ‘round-the-clock eyes on her,” said Max.

“No problem. As soon as she’s settled, we’ll sit on her. We need to limit the number of people who have access to her room, narrow it down to one or two nurses per shift, plus her doctors. The hospital can provide pictures of the staff for visual verification.”

Connors and Bates arrived, and Wallace told them what Summer had said, and then they showed the detectives the messages Logan and Max had received.

Bates cleared his throat. “Where were you two this morning between midnight and three?”

Logan jerked his head up as a heavy feeling settled in his belly. Max muttered a curse.

“We were at home…in bed…with Summer…all night,” said Max.

Connors arched a bushy brow. Bates rolled in his lips. Wallace didn’t even bat an eye.

“And when she’s well, you can ask her,” continued Max.

“No one saw you?” asked Bates.

“No,” answered Logan. “Who has alibies when they are sleeping?”

“Do you two know Amber Holcomb?” asked Connors.

“Yes,” said Logan. “But I haven’t dated her.”

“Me neither.”

“Was there a message on her wall?” asked Logan.

Bates nodded as he pulled his phone. When he found the picture, he flipped it around.

Ugly bitch!

“Can you tell us if it’s written in blood? Since you think we’re the killers, we already know the answer,” said Max.

Logan grinned. They couldn’t argue with that statement.

“Yes. It’s probably the vic’s. And all three were raped.”

“You get any semen?” asked Max.

“Nope,” said Connors. “Bastard used a condom and either flushed it or took it with him.”

Max scratched his chin. “Any DNA at all?”

Connors shrugged. “We don’t know yet, but it’s doubtful.”

“Do you know whose blood was on Summer’s wall?”

“Nope,” answered Connors. “Lab’s backed up.”

“How did he get in Miss Holcomb’s place?” asked Wallace.

“Don’t know that, either,” said Connors. “There were no signs of forced entry. Seems as if the women were asleep when he attacked.”

“The FBI will be here tomorrow, and I’m sure they’ll want to talk with you two,” said Bates.

“We’ll be right here,” said Logan. “Send them over.”

Bates offered to send an officer to stand outside Summer’s door, but Max quickly assured the detective it wasn’t necessary.

Connors closed his book. “Call us when we can interview Miss Heat.”

Logan could only nod. He needed to see her, needed to assess the extent of her injuries, assure himself she was alive and would recover fully.

“Sunday morning,” said Wallace, “he killed two ladies. Monday morning, he killed another one. But he also left the same type of message on Miss Heat’s wall.”

“Yeah,” said Max. “So?”

“Let’s say he went to Miss Heat’s, and when he didn’t find her, he went on a rampage and killed the other two. Then he went back and still couldn’t find her so he trashed her home and wrote on her wall. What was it about her that pushed him over the edge? Was she supposed to meet him? Has she dismissed any guy’s advances recently?”

Logan shook his head. “The detectives asked all those questions, and she replied no to each one of them.”

“Then that means he’s fixated on her from a distance. She may have no idea who this creep is.”

“And he could be anybody,” offered Max.

“And him seeing her in the paper with you two may have pissed him off,” said Wallace.

Logan had to hand it to Wallace. Everything he’d said made perfect sense but also highlighted the fact that finding this scumbag would be nearly impossible unless the emails provided a path back to the bastard.

Everybody made mistakes, and Logan hoped the killer fucked up before another woman died.

Friday morning, Max opened the door to his apartment, and Summer came to a sudden stop. Three more muscular men stood inside the foyer. Counting the three in the hallway with her, plus Max and Logan, she was overrun with freakin’ testosterone.

Max had promised to explain the situation to her when they got home, and now seemed like a good time. Before the door even clicked closed, she spun toward the Prestons.

“Spill it.”

Max grinned. “This is Dan Wallace and his team, and they are here to ensure your safety.”

The man called Dan appeared uncomfortable, so she stuck out her hand and smiled. “I remember you. Thank you for bein’ there for me.”

“My pleasure.” He shook her hand gently before introducing the rest of the men.

Summer exchanged handshakes with each one of them, her hand being swallowed by theirs, before she spun back to the Prestons.

“What’s happened since I’ve been in the hospital?”

Logan crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. Max shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. They were guilty of something. She’d been virtually out of touch the five days she’d been in the hospital. “My TV wasn’t broken, was it? You two disabled it.”

“Guilty,” said Logan.

“Either tell me what’s goin’ on, or I’ll hightail it out the door and never look back.”

Logan arched a brow, and even she didn’t believe the words, but she would not be railroaded by these two cave-dwellers. Dan Wallace and his men scurried away like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

“Why don’t we sit down in the living room?” said Logan.

“Only if it will hurry the words out of your mouth.”

“It will,” he replied.

In the living room, Summer sat in the chair. She needed to see their faces, their eyes, their subtle movements.

“Since you’ve been in Presbyterian,” said Logan, “there has been a Society Murder every night.”

Chills raced across her skin, her vision narrowed, her throat felt as if someone were physically clutching it…hard. “Please tell me that’s not true.”

“We can’t,” whispered Max.

How could this be? “Well, aren’t the authorities protectin’ these women?”

Logan glanced at Max then said, “The FBI has been at every woman’s house or apartment since Wednesday, and somehow, the creep still got in.”

One man could outsmart the FBI? She sensed they had more to tell. “What does that mean? Somehow, he got in?”

“Two times, he came in through a second-story window where there was no fire escape. He killed one agent at one place, and one time, the FBI believes he hid in the apartment,” said Logan.

“And all these women took part in the gala auction?”

They both nodded.

“Did he leave any messages on their walls?”

Max nodded. “So, you see, these men are here to protect you until this bastard is caught.”

She remained still, her brain processing the fact that all those ladies had died…maybe because of her. “Are you two still suspects?”

“No,” said Max. “We were with you during those times, and it seems the detectives were keeping tabs on us. We never left during the night, and the hospital video also helped with our alibis.”

Relief rushed her system at the good news. “I guess I’m not a suspect, either?”

They shook their heads, Max’s long hair swinging.

“What did the messages say?”

“That’s not something—” Max began.

“Did they mention me?”

“Some of them,” answered Logan.

So, this
was
about her. People were dying because of something she did or didn’t do. “Call the FBI and ask them to be here at three and to bring everything they’ve got on these killin's.”

“No,” said Logan. “You shouldn’t get involved. Let the professionals handle this.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I want to get involved. If this is about me, I need to participate in finding the solution.”

“You know,” said Max, “people who are directly involved with a case are not allowed to participate because of something called a conflict of interest.”

His voice was calm, but she didn’t miss his intention.

“Somehow, I’m the center of this case. Not gettin’ involved is out of the question.”

“I’m sure the bureau will have questions for you along the way,” offered Logan.

“You just need to stay here and stay safe,” said Max.

Stay safe? If the FBI couldn’t keep the other women from harm, how could she be sure she’d be all right? “What about school?”

“Wallace seems to think it would be better if you skipped this semester. We don’t know if this maniac could deviate and hurt some of your classmates.”

Good God, she hadn’t considered that. The possibility of reaching her goal of finishing school on time no longer existed. “And what do you want me to do all day long? I’ll go crazy.” And she would, too. Her personality would balk at going from ninety-miles-per-hour to zero. “Let me help. It’s important to me.”

The brothers exchanged a look she couldn’t discern.

“Okay,” Logan finally said.

Max glared at his brother. She’d learned Logan was the reasonable one of the two.

“Great. Call the detectives, and tell them to bring all the photos.”

They glanced at each other again, and she refrained from screaming like a crazy person with a psychotic disorder. Barely.

“Unnecessary,” said Max. “Now that the FBI is involved, and because of Wallace’s connections, they’ve sent copies of everything to him.”

“Okay. Let’s have a look.”

“No,” said Max. “You will rest now, have lunch, and then
maybe
this afternoon we’ll allow you to see the stuff.”

Maybe? Allow? I don’t think so.

“They’re gruesome,” added Logan. “Are you sure you want to see them.”

“I appreciate your concern, but this is the profession I’ve chosen. I’m not sayin’ I can figure it out, but I’d like to give it a try, maybe compare notes with the FBI’s psychological assessment.”

“Okay, but now’s rest time,” said Logan. “Where do you want to rest—in here or in bed?”

“Bed. That way, Wallace and his team can come back in from the hallway.”

Max grinned. “After lunch, they’ll review the game plan with us, and it’s important we do what we’re told.”

Summer knew he referred to her and not
we
. She lifted her arm to brush her unruly hair out of the way and winced.

“Do you need something for pain?” asked Max.

“Yes, but no narcotics.”

Max headed to the kitchen, and Logan offered her his hand. She placed hers in his warm palm and let him lead her to the bedroom. In truth, she just wanted to curl up between the two of them and sleep for a week. Really, who could rest in a hospital with the nurses coming in all hours of the night to check vitals? And the Prestons should be tired, too; they’d spent every night in her room, sleeping sitting up in two chairs made for children, and then going to work every morning.