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  wine, he laid a hand on her arm.

  “I missed you, Fiona. Damn it.”

  “Oh, thank God.” She put her arms around him again, laid her head on his shoulder. “That makes it more balanced, like the two chairs on the porch, right?”

  “I guess it does.”

  “I have to get this out, and I don’t mean to put pressure on you. But when I dropped Mai and Sylvia off, after I did, all I could think about was that poor girl and what she went through in the last hours of her life. And when I pulled up here, home, and saw you, I was so relieved, so relieved, Simon, that I didn’t have to have all that in my head and be alone with it. I was so glad to see you on the porch, waiting for me.”

  He started to say he hadn’t been waiting. Knee-jerk, he realized. But he had been waiting, and it felt good knowing she’d wanted him to be.

  “You got back later than I figured, so I—Crap.”

  “Last-minute shopping blitz, then the traffic—”

  “No, not that.” He’d remembered the FBI and decided he should get it all over with at once. “The feds were here—Tawney and his partner. I don’t think they had anything new, but—”

  “A follow-up.” She backed up, picked up her wine. “I told him before I left that I’d be home sometime today. I’m not going to get back to him tonight. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “Good.”

  “But I need you to tell me what you know about it. There wasn’t a way for me to find out any of the details, and I want to know.”

  “Okay. Sit down. I was thinking about putting something to eat together. I’ll tell you while I do.”

  “I have frozen dinners in the freezer.”

  He sneered. “I’m not eating those girl diet deals. And before you say ‘sexist,’ look me in the eye and tell me those Lean Cuisine numbers aren’t marketed to women.”

  “Maybe they are, mostly, but that doesn’t mean they’re not good, or that guys who eat them grow breasts.”

  “I’m not taking any chances. You’ll eat what I give you.”

  Amused, as he’d meant her to be, she sat. “What are you going to give me?”

  “I’m working on it.” He opened her fridge, scanned, poked into compartments. “Deputy Davey came by to tell me the day you left,” he began.

  As he spoke, he tossed some frozen shoestring fries onto a cookie sheet, stuck them in the oven. Bacon went into the microwave. He found a tomato James must have left behind and sliced it thin.

  “She was beaten? But—”

  “Yeah. It sounds like he’s trying to find his style.”

  “That’s horrible,” Fiona murmured. “And it feels true. Was she . . . she was beaten and trapped and strangled. And still rape puts a clutch in the throat.”

  “No, she wasn’t raped. At least that wasn’t part of what Davey told me, or in any of the news reports.” He glanced over, scanned her face. “Are you sure you want this now?”

  “Yes. I need to know what might be coming.”

  Simon kept his back to her, ordered himself calm as he layered cheese, bacon, tomatoes between slices of bread. “He deviated with the beating, and with keeping her longer. Otherwise, it sounds as if he followed pattern.”

  “Who was she? You know,” Fiona said quietly. “You’d have made it a point to know.”

  When Simon slid the sandwiches onto the frying pan, the butter he’d spread on the outside sizzled. “She was a student. She wanted to pursue a career in physical education and nutrition. She taught yoga classes and did some personal training work. She was twenty, outgoing and athletic, according to the reports. She was an only child. Her mother’s a widow.”

  “God. God.” She covered her face with her hands for a moment, then scrubbed hard and dropped them. “It can always get worse.”

  “She fits the body type. Tall, slender, long legs, toned.” He flipped the sandwiches. “If there’s any more, the press doesn’t have it.”

  “Did he mark her?”

  “Roman numeral four. You’re wondering what number he plans to put on you. I want you to hear me, Fiona, and to understand I don’t say what I don’t mean.”

  “I already understand that.”

  She waited, watched as he slid the sandwiches onto plates. Shook the fries from the pan beside them. He pulled out a jar of pickles, tossed a couple onto each plate and considered it done.

  He put a plate in front of her. “He won’t mark you. He won’t be able to give you a number any more than Perry could. If the cops don’t stop him first, then we’ll stop him. And that’s it.”

  She said nothing for a moment, but rose to get a knife, to retrieve the wine. She topped off the glasses, then cut her sandwich into two neat triangles before offering the knife.

  “No, thanks.”

  She picked up her wine, sipped, set it down. “All right,” she said, meeting his eyes. “All right.”

  She lifted half of her sandwich, took a bite. And smiled. “It’s good.”

  “A Doyle staple.”

  She took another bite and brushed his leg under the table with her sexy purple toes. “It’s good to be home. You know, one of the things I have in those shopping bags is this incredible honey almond scrub they use at the spa. After dinner, and after I give the dogs some more play and attention, we could take a shower. I’ll exfoliate you.”

  “Is that code?”

  She laughed. “You’ll have to find out.”

  “Do you know why I don’t cut my sandwiches into triangles?”

  “Why?”

  “For the same reason I don’t want to smell like honey and almonds.”

  She gave him a wicked look as she picked up a french fry. “Or eat Lean Cuisine. I bet I could change your mind on the scrub. Tell you what. I’ll just do your back. Your big, strong, manly back, and we’ll see how it goes from there. They also had this shop that sold very interesting lingerie. I bought a little something. A very, very little something, which I’d be inclined to model for you, if you try the scrub.”

  “How little?”

  “Minuscule.”

  “Just the back.”

  She smiled and nibbled on a fry. “To start.”

  She played with the dogs for an hour, endlessly tossing balls, letting them chase her through the obstacle course, then taking turns playing tug with each of them until he wondered that her arms didn’t pop out of their sockets.

  But he could see, even when he left the games and sat on the porch to watch, she used the activities, the dogs, the connections to focus. To block out what they’d spoken of before dinner.

  She’d deal, he thought, because that’s what she did. For now, she channeled her energy, and whatever nerves brewed under it, into the dogs and somehow transformed it into joy.

  “Now I need that shower.” She swiped at her damp face with the back of her hands.

  “You wore them out.”

  “Part of the plan.” She held out a hand. “I never asked what you were up to while I was gone.”

  “Work. And after work, James and I took in some strip clubs.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “We took the dogs,” he said as they walked upstairs.

  “Naturally.”

  “Newman’s a mean drunk.”

  “It’s a problem.” In the bedroom she dug the box of scrub out of the shopping bag, opened it for the jar.

  “Actually, if you want some speculation and gossip, I don’t think we’re the only ones who’ll have exfoliated in the shower recently.”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “I came by to pick up the dogs one morning because I needed some supplies and figured I’d save James the trip. Lori’s car was in the drive.”

  “Really? Well, well. She might’ve stopped by early, like you did. I hope not, but—”

  “He came out when I started rounding up the dogs. He blushed.”

  “Aw.” She crooned it, then laughed. “That’s so sweet.” After she set the jar down on the bathroom counter, she pulled the band f
rom her hair—shook out all that rose gold.

  He went rock hard.

  “Strip it off,” she ordered. “Let’s see if I can make you blush.”

  “I don’t blush, and I’m not sweet.”

  “We’ll see.” She tugged off her shirt, but flicked his hand away when he reached out. “Uh-uh. A deal’s a deal. Let’s get wet.”

  Maybe it was another way of focusing, channeling, blocking out. But who was he to complain? Naked, he stepped under the spray. “Your bathroom needs to be updated and redesigned.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” She made a circle with her finger, so he turned around and gave her his back. “It feels a little rough,” she told him as she scooped the scrub out of the jar. “But in a good way.”

  She began to rub it over his back in slow, steady circles. “The texture, the flesh-to-flesh contact, the aroma—all add to the experience. Your skin wakes up and feels more—Uh-uh,” she said again, when he reached back. “I do the touching till we’re done. Hands on the wall, Doyle.”

  “Did you get naked in the shower at the spa for this?”

  “No. I’m adjusting it for home use. You smell wonderful already, and mmmm, smooth.” She leaned in, let her breasts ride over his back before using more scrub farther down. “Is this all right?” she asked as she circled those firm hands over his ass.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why don’t you close your eyes, relax? I’ll just keep going until you tell me to stop.”

  Those hands ran down his legs, the rough texture tingling over his skin to be sluiced away by the spray, then explored by her lips, her tongue.

  Need banged in his blood until his hands on the wall were fists. Rich scent curled in the steam, became erotic until even drawing a breath aroused to aching.

  “Fiona.”

  “Just a little more,” she murmured. “I haven’t even started on the front yet. You’ll be . . . unbalanced. Turn around, Simon.”

  She knelt in front of him, water gleaming off her skin, sleeking her hair back. “I’ll just start down here, and work my way up.”

  “I want you. You couldn’t need for me to want you more than this.”

  “You’ll have me, as much as you want. But let’s see if you can hold out till I finish. Let me finish, and you can do whatever you want with me.”

  “Jesus Christ, Fiona. You drive me insane.”

  “I want to. That’s what I want tonight. But not yet.”

  He reached down for her hands, let out a strained laugh. “Don’t even think about putting that stuff on my—”

  “That’s not what I’m going to put there.” She skimmed her tongue over him until he bit back a moan. “Can you hold out?” she murmured, torturing him with her mouth as her hands worked up his legs, over his belly. “Can you hold out until you’re inside me? Hot and hard inside me. That’s what I want when I’m done. I want you to take me and use me until I can’t stand it, then I want you to take me and use me more. I won’t tell you to stop. I won’t tell you to stop until you’re done.”

  She took him to the edge, then those tormenting lips slicked over his belly, up his chest, while her hands circled, circled.

  “The water’s going cold,” she murmured against his mouth. “We should—”

  He put her back to the wet wall. “You’ll have to take it, and me.”

  “Deal’s a deal.” Her breath caught and shuddered out when he slid his hand between her legs.

  “Wider.”

  She gripped his shoulders, shuddered once as his eyes burned into hers. As he drove into her, they burned still. He took her, ruthlessly, so that her cries echoed with the slap of wet flesh, the sizzle of cold water. When her head fell on his shoulder, he continued to thrust while his hands made rough use of her body.

  His own release ripped through him and left him raw.

  He managed to shut off the water and pull her out. When she staggered, he half carried her to the bed. They dropped onto it wet and breathless.

  “What do you—” She broke off, let out a whistling breath, cleared her throat. “What do you say about honey almond now?”

  “I’ll be buying a case of it.”

  She laughed, then her eyes popped open as he straddled her. His eyes, still hot, met hers as his thumbs flicked over her nipples. “I’m not done yet.”

  “But—”

  “I’m not done.” Leaning over her, he took her hands, lifted them, clamped them around the iron rungs. “Leave them there. You’re going to need something to hold on to.”

  “Simon.”

  “What I want, as much as I want,” he reminded her, and slid down, lifted her hips. “Until I’m finished.”

  The breath trembled between her lips now, but she nodded. “Yes.”

  EIGHTEEN

  As a sop to healthier eating, Fiona tossed some strawberries onto her Froot Loops. She ate them leaning against the kitchen counter, watching Simon drink coffee leaning against the one across from her.

  “You’re stalling,” she decided. “Stretching out another cup of coffee so you’re here until people start coming in for the first class.”

  He reached into the cereal box she’d yet to put away, took a handful. “So?”

  “I appreciate it, Simon, nearly as much as I appreciate being sexed into a coma last night. But it’s not necessary.”

  “I’m drinking this coffee until I finish.” He experimented by dunking a Froot Loop into the coffee. Sampled.

  Not half bad.

  “I’m staying until I leave,” he continued. “If you have something you have to do, go do it, but I’m not leaving you alone. Deal with it.”

  She scooped up more cereal, munched it while she studied him. “You know, somebody else might’ve said, ‘Fee, I’m concerned about you, and I don’t want to take any chances with your safety so I’m going to be here for you.’”

  He dunked a couple more. “Somebody else isn’t here.”

  “That’s very true, and maybe there’s something perverse in me that prefers your method.” He might’ve been dunking colorful rounds of cereal into his coffee like tiny doughnuts, but he looked scruffy and irritable. God, why did she love that? “What are we going to do about this, Simon?”

  “I’m going to drink my coffee.”

  “And, using the coffee as a metaphor, are you going to keep drinking it until they catch the person who’s killing those women, and may want to add me to his scorecard?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded, ate more cereal. “Then stop hauling that stupid duffel over here every night. I’ll give you room in the closet, clean out a drawer. If you’re sleeping here, it’s ridiculous not to leave some of your things here. You deal with it.”

  “I’m not living here.”

  “Understood.” He’d inconvenience himself for her, but he’d be careful not to step over the next line. “You’re just hanging out here, and drinking coffee with coffee-soaked Froot Loops—”

  “It’s pretty good.”