Their Summer Heat (20 page)

She sank down in one of the chairs and took a sip of coffee as her mind raced down the list of things she couldn’t do. She couldn’t contact Logan or Max or anybody back in New York. She couldn’t access her old email account, her old bank account, her anything. Her only communication was either a phone call to Marshal Mathew Stevens or an email to him from her new account, which bore her new name. He also demanded she phone right away if anyone took an interest in her.

The FBI had put the Society Murders killer on the ten most wanted list and had offered a substantial reward, and according to the marshal, the FBI had thousands of leads. Hell, she couldn’t use a computer to research anything about the case, not even from a public library.

She rested her head on the back of the chair, closed her eyes and rocked. Images paraded through her mind of Max stepping out of the shower with his long, glorious wet hair; Logan’s gentle smile that always reached his eyes, the intensity in their heated gazes, the feel of her body between theirs.

Her eyes flew
HerhH
open to force the longing from her mind, because dwelling on those memories was a self-defeating task.

With all this time to think, she’d realized she didn’t want to leave Max and Logan—especially after the authorities apprehended the killer. So what if the brothers grew tired of her? Hell, she may grow tired of them first. Whatever happened, she had to let the ménage play out. She was miserable without them, and her noble intention of protecting her heart wasn’t so noble anymore. As soon as this was over, she’d hightail it back to New York. If they had moved on, then at least she knew there was nothing with them. If she stayed away, she’d never know.

With her decision made, she felt more at ease.

It was so quiet here—well, not entirely, because the birds were chirping and the wind was rustling the leaves—but it was silent compared to the push and shove of New York City.

The small stream at the edge of the property reminded her of growing up on the farm. Late in the afternoon, Granddaddy would take her down to the creek to fish. God, she loved seeing the little orange cork duck under the water. Granny would fry the bigger fish for supper. That was some good eating and some great times.

Her breath caught when two small deer meandered out of the trees and stopped at the water’s edge. Their ears flipped around as if they were listening for trouble. After a few seconds, they both drank.
Wow.
She hadn’t seen a deer since she left North Carolina.

She sighed. She’d been in this house for thirty minutes, and she was half a hair from crazy. The wildlife wouldn’t be able to hold her attention, and it certainly couldn’t lift her spirits. What was she supposed to do with herself? Hiding out required a distinct kind of temperament, one she sure as hell didn’t possess. No books to study, no offices to clean, no people to get off over the phone, and no brothers to…to…hold her, laugh with her, just be with her.

As moisture slipped from her eyes, she was amazed how much her heart physically hurt. As an almost psychologist, she knew the physical signs of depression and grief but hadn’t grasped the depth of the actual physical pain. And the fact she’d discovered this because a damned madman was killing innocent women pissed her off.

After a few minutes of inhaling too-clean air, she headed inside and, with trepidation, turned on the TV. Thanks to Marshal Stevens, she knew a woman had died last night, but he didn’t have specifics. Was it a society lady or another unfortunate random victim?

Why couldn’t a taxi annihilate the bastard? Couldn’t he just fucking die?

When the national news came on, it showed the protestors in the street carrying signs and demanding Summer give herself up. The media interviewed several people who called her a bitch. The mob was angry, and Summer understood their fear. The Society Murders killer held the city hostage with his terror, and to the good citizens of New York City, she was the bargaining chip. But what did they expect her to do? Offer to meet the killer for lunch?

Five minutes later, a shock rolled through her as the news plastered the face of the latest victim on the screen, a blonde-haired beauty who worked at a bar. The caption read: Rachael Hodges. Summer didn’t know the woman but wondered if the brother’s did. Miss Hodges was striking enough to capture Max and Logan’s attention.

“We’ve received another correspondence from the
perso
n who claims he’s responsible for the Society Murders. He says he’s killing the society women because of the way they treated Summer Heat and he’s killing random women until he finds Summer.”

The blood drained from Summer’s brain as a picture of her face took up the whole screen.

“The killer states, and I quote, “Summer Heat was
bleep
-ing both Logan and Max Preston. She’s a
bleep
, but I forgive her. You’d better come out of hiding, Summer, or no one will be safe in New York. Last night’s kill was a direct result of Summer running away.”

Official photos of Max and Logan came next, along with their pedigree and a list of their successes. Camera crews were stationed outside both of their offices. Several people, whom Summer suspected were Preston employees, were assaulted by reporters, but all declined to comment. God…the Prestons must be pacing like caged animals.

“We’ve reached out to FBI Special Agent Carver Benson, and here’s that clip.”

“Why can’t the FBI catch this killer?” asked the reporter.

“I wish I had the answer. Agents are working around the clock, doing everything possible. He’s always three steps ahead of us, and he has killed two of our agents.”

“Do you know where Miss Heat is?”

“No, we don’t know the whereabouts of Miss Heat. He’s found all the women we’ve put in hiding, and I think that’s why Miss Heat ran. She knew we couldn’t protect her.”

“Nicely played, Agent Benson,” Summer mumbled.

Deep lines marred Benson’s face. He looked tired, frazzled, almost defeated. But he was skilled at lying. Even she believed him.

When the news finally moved on, she sank back on the couch, her body void of energy, exhausted. Her hands shook slightly, her lungs tight, making her gasp for breath.

The handsome images of Logan and Max played in her mind. What were they doing? Were they okay—really okay? Were they trudging through work? Did Max go to court today? Did Logan snatch a premium piece of property out from under some poor bastard’s nose?

Summer grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it close to her body as her mouth watered and her stomach churned. “Gosh, dang. I’m goin’ to be sick.” She hopped up and sprinted to the bathroom, where she emptied her belly into the porcelain bowl.

With the purging done, she laid down on the floor, made sure her face benefited from the cool tiles.

She wasn’t going to make it—mentally. She couldn’t function, knowing women died because of her. So, she did the only thing she was good at lately. She cried.

The next morning, Summer almost grinned when she found herself in a grocery store that reminded her of the IGA back in her hometown. Small, without all the fancy stuff. She skirted the bacon and sausage smell coming from the deli, snatched a much-needed item from the pharmacy area, before filling her cart with fruits, veggies and other healthy items.

In the checkout line, her breath seized in her throat at the sight of her face on the front of a newspaper with the caption:
Should she turn herself in?
Thank God, her hair was a different color.

“Agnes,” said the lady at the next register. “What do you think about this girl who’s responsible for the Society Murders?”

No. No. Not now.

“Oh, Mildred. Don’t start your mess. You know damn well no one holds this Summer Heat responsible for what some lunatic does.”

“Really. And if your Mary Jo was the one killed last night, you wouldn’t hold Miss Heat accountable?”

Summer took an instant dislike to Mildred.

“Um, no. Because if the shoe was on the other foot and this lunatic obsessed over my Mary Jo, I wouldn’t want her to sacrifice herself so these killin's may—or may
not
—stop. For all anyone knows, he’s blowin’ smoke and will kill this girl when he finds her and then continue the killin’ spree. Since he’s talkin’ to the media, he’s strokin’ his ego.”

Summer was surprised to learn other people considered the possibility that he might not stop with the society women, but kill her and then who knows who else. He probably couldn’t stop, couldn’t give up the adrenalin high.

Thank you, Agnes.

After paying with cash, she practically ran to her car, making sure to observe her surroundings for anyone paying attention to her. Once inside, she rested her head on the steering wheel, let the feeling of peace overcome her.

I am not responsible for this killer; I’m just a number on his stupid list.

She’d known it all along, but in the funk she’d been in, she’d forgotten. With the burden lifted from her soul, she enjoyed the delightful drive to the cottage. She’d used herself as bait before and it hadn’t worked. He could have snatched her off the sidewalk instead of cutting her arm. If he could sneak into several homes undetected, the bastard could have broken in to Max’s place.

The opportunities had been there, so he was concerned with executing his intended plan. She was part of the plan.
The plan’s important to him.

After putting her purchases away, she immediately grabbed her pharmacy purchase. “Time to piss on a stick.” She should be apprehensive, but she wasn’t. Everything would be all right. Soon, they’d capture the bastard, and then she’d see if the Prestons still wanted her. If she was pregnant—great. If not—great.

But with a queasy belly and a missed period, she suspected she was with child. She hadn’t taken her pill while she was in the hospital, so the only thing she could figure was that she’d conceived immediately after coming home.

After reading the instructions and following them to the letter, she chewed her nail, waiting the required minutes, and then she held her breath as she viewed the results.

A big smile crossed her lips. “I’m gonna have a baby!” She danced into the bedroom, whirled around like Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music. She needed to tell Marshal Stevens so he could arrange a prenatal visit, and she needed vitamins, needed to eat right.

She needed this bastard caught so she could share the
terrific
news.

Wait. What if they didn’t want a child? What if her pedigree wasn’t good enough for the Preston lineage? She sank down on the bed. She couldn’t fathom either one of the brothers skirting their responsibility. It didn’t matter. If they wanted the child—great. If not—great, but she would bet they’d be ecstatic.

Of course, the issue was who to marry, since polygamy was against the law in every state. Could she wed one and not the other? She didn’t think so; her heart would feel as if she’d slighted one of them. But she wouldn’t want her baby born a bastard, either.

What the hell? The cart was way before the horse on this one. Neither may want a wife.

But she had to admit—she couldn’t wait to tell them, whatever the outcome.

Someone banged on the door and brought her out of her reverie. Was the marshal back all ready? Did something happen?

She flew to the foyer and snatched open the door. She blinked.

“Hello, Summer.”

A thousand pinpricks of fear stabbed her skin. “You?”

“There you are.”

She turned her head to the right as memories rushed her brain. She’d been at the safe house, had opened the door, and then Collin had covered her mouth with a foul-smelling cloth.

“Collin?”

“No, sweetness. I’m Cullen.”

She tried to swallow, give herself time to think as she stared at Collin. Was this a multiple personality disorder? Through the haze, another body came into view.

“And I’m Calvin.”

“There’re two of you?”

“No, doll,” said Calvin. “Collin makes three.”

A third man moved to the foot of her bed. Her gaze roamed to each face. Triplets.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know,” said Collin.

He helped her sit up, placed pillows behind her back as the one called Calvin handed her a glass of water. She gulped the liquid, trying to hydrate her cotton field mouth.

Collin sat on the edge of the mattress. “It’s really simple. I’ve…we’ve been in love with you since the first time we saw you in class.”

Summer studied each of the men’s clean-shaven faces, noting no dissimilarities between them. They dressed the same, they slouched the same. If she closed her eyes, she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference by their voices. And they all
loved
her? “We?”

The brothers gave her the same crooked smile.

“Yes,” said the one she thought was Cullen.

“Every one of you…went to class?”

“Yep, just to see you,” said Collin.

She remembered the distorted voice on the phone, telling her she knew him, but she never had a clue it was Collin and his brothers. “Why me?”

“I was the first one to see you,” said Collin.

“Yeah,” said Calvin. “All he talked about was how lovely you were.”

“Like some lovesick fool,” added Cullen. “So we traded places with him, and once we met you, we understood.”

“You’re so witty, fun-loving,” said Calvin.

“Don’t forget beautiful,” added Cullen.

“But you never gave us the time of day,” said Collin.

She searched her mind for any past conversations she’d had with him…them. The three Cs acted like juveniles in class, but now they seemed different, much more mature, comfortable in their own skin. They were relaxed, dressed in jeans and polos, handsome devils.

Chameleons.

Killers.

“Why did you kill all those girls?”

“They treated you like shit,” scoffed Collin.

“But that’s okay. I’m fine with that. What people do to me doesn’t always hurt me. I’m a big girl. I can overlook the bitchiness.”

“No,” said Cullen. “The bitches lacked manners.”