Chapter Sixteen
Ethan couldn’t sleep. Desire kept him hot and hard into the small hours of the night. Dammit, he had never felt such a clawing need for a woman, not with Ally or anyone else.
He finally fell asleep sometime after two, tossed and turned, and woke up a few hours later when his cell phone started to signal. He rolled over and checked the red digits on the clock on the bedside table. Six A.M.
Ethan looked at the caller ID, saw a Dallas area code, but didn’t recognize the number. “Brodie.”
“Heath Ford. I’ve got some bad news, Ethan.”
The muscles across his shoulders went tense as he sat up in bed. “Tell me.”
“A woman was murdered last night. Happened sometime between midnight and two A.M. Vic was strangled. Raped. She fought him and went down hard.”
His grip tightened on the phone. “One of the models?” He’d thought they were all in and accounted for, prayed like hell they were.
“No. A stripper. Mandy Gee. At least that’s the name she uses. Stella Davis is her real name. Works at the Tiger’s Eye Lounge.”
Ethan nodded, feeling both relief and regret. “I remember the place. Not exactly top-of-the-line entertainment.”
“Maybe not, but it’s always busy. Mandy left just before midnight. Her roommate found her body when she got back to the apartment around two thirty. The thing is, E, the first detective on the scene found a note. Same style as the one in the photo you showed me.”
A hard knot balled in his stomach. “What’s it say?”
“‘Sinners, sluts, and whores. You can run but you can’t hide.’”
The knot tightened. “Printed note? Different fonts?”
“That’s right. Could be him.”
“First vic wasn’t raped. Death was quick and easy. If it’s him, he’s escalated.”
“I’m heading for the crime scene. I’ll keep you posted.”
“I’d like to take a look.”
“All right, but we need to let the CSIs clear out. I’ll call you later, try to make it happen.”
“Thanks, Heath.” Ethan ended the call. His thoughts went to Val, how badly she was going to take the news. He needed to see her, make sure she was okay. He wanted to be the one to tell her about the murder, not Carlyle or anyone else.
He phoned Dirk and filled him in, then took a quick shower, pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a black La Belle T-shirt, shoved his feet into low-topped boots, and headed out the door.
All nine top models had suites. Val’s was on one of the upper floors. His smaller room sat on a lower one. He didn’t like being so far away, but without causing trouble for both of them, there wasn’t much he could do.
As of this morning, that was going to change.
He reached the sixteenth floor and strode out of the elevator, waved at the security guard, headed down the hall. He didn’t know if she was awake. He didn’t care.
She was going to take the news hard. He wanted to make it as easy on her as he could. He didn’t bother telling himself it was because she was Samantha’s friend. That was a load of crap and he knew it. He cared about her. He shouldn’t, but he did.
He knocked on the door and waited. Knocked again. Still no answer. His nerves kicked up. He had a pass key card, and if she didn’t answer in the next five seconds, he was going to use it.
He was reaching for his wallet when the door swung open and Val stood in the opening. Her honey-blond curls were sleep tangled around her face and shoulders. She was wearing a sexy ankle-length peach satin robe that clung to her curves and shouted La Belle lingerie, and instantly he went hard.
Jesus, he wanted this woman.
Instead, he steeled himself. He had bad news to deliver. He needed to get it done.
Val raked back her long golden hair. She wasn’t wearing makeup, which reminded him of the way she had looked the day he’d found her at the Perfect Pup. As far as he was concerned, she looked even better without it, fresh-faced and wholesome, which he was beginning to believe she was.
“Ethan. What is it?”
“I need to talk to you, Val. It’s important.”
“All right. Come in.” She stepped back to let him walk past, then closed the door behind him.
The suite was opulent, the living room done in soft golden tones accented with moss green, the traditional sofa and chairs upholstered in silk brocade with contrasting gold-striped pillows.
There were mahogany tables and brass lamps, long moss green-and-gold draperies at the windows.
The models definitely lived the good life. Aside from the drawback that someone wanted them dead.
“What’s going on?” Unconsciously, Val clutched the front of her robe, pulling it a little snugger across her breasts. He forced himself to look away.
“I think you need to sit down for this.” He tipped his head toward the sofa, and her body went rigid.
“What is it? What’s going on?”
“Val, you need to sit down.”
“Tell me. I want to know what’s happening.”
He read the tension in her body, the way she held her back ramrod straight. No way was she moving from where she stood. “I got a call from a friend in the Dallas PD. There’s been another murder, Val.”
She swayed, made a little sound in her throat.
“Not one of the models,” he hurried on. “A woman who lives here in Dallas. She worked in a strip club. She was killed in her apartment last night.”
Val started trembling. Her face had gone paper white, not even a trace of color in her lips. He clamped down hard on the urge to go to her, to pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay. He was her bodyguard. He was there to protect her, nothing more.
“Was it . . . was it him?”
“The police don’t know yet. Whoever did it left a note like the others, but the MO was different.”
She started to shiver, looked even paler, still stood her ground.
Ethan clenched his fists. “You need to sit down, honey. Let me get you a glass of water or something.”
She looked up at him, her eyes beseeching. “I’m . . . I’m scared, Ethan.” Her voice trembled and her hands started shaking.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand there a second longer. It wasn’t supposed to be personal, but it was.
“Fuck it.” In two long strides he was there, hauling her close, wrapping her trembling body in his arms. Val turned into him, melted against his chest, pressed her face into the side of his neck. A soft sob escaped her throat.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he said, tightening his hold. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”
“Ethan . . .”
“It’s all right, honey.” He pressed his lips against her hair. She was tall. He hadn’t realized how perfectly she would fit him. “You’re safe, baby. Everything’s going to be okay.”
She made a faint little whimper, took a deep breath, and pulled away enough to look up at him. Her lips were plump but still pale, and they were just inches from his. If he moved just a fraction . . .
Val leaned up and kissed him. Her mouth, soft and damp, melded exactly with his.
Ethan didn’t hesitate, just dragged her fully against him and claimed the gift she offered.
He was already aroused, his erection throbbing inside his jeans.
When her soft lips parted, inviting him to taste her, his tongue swept in and the kiss went deeper. Vaguely, he heard himself groan.
The kiss went wilder, hotter. He tasted sweetness and the remnants of her fear, tasted hot desire. Val pressed herself against him, the vee of her sex pillowing the hard ridge of his. He wanted to be inside her more than he wanted to breathe.
Her robe had come partly open. He looked down at the luscious breasts he’d admired from too far away. Filling his hands with the smooth pale fullness, he tested the weight, ran a thumb over her nipple, and heard her swift intake of breath.
“Ethan . . .”
Her nipples were hard. When he bent his head to take the tip of one between his teeth, her head dropped back to allow him better access, and her fingers curled around the nape of his neck, holding him in place as he suckled and tasted.
Fisting a hand in her hair, he dragged her mouth back to his and kissed her again. Kissed her until neither of them could breathe.
“I need you,” she said softly. “Oh, God, Ethan, I need you so much.”
He wanted to tear the robe completely away, wanted to admire every inch of her beautiful body.
He growled like a predator, felt like one as he lifted her into his arms and started striding toward the bedroom.
Val didn’t stop him, just clung to his neck, her head on his shoulder, her satin robe flowing around them.
Ethan kissed her long and deep as he crossed the threshold, his erection high and hard, straining for release. He’d almost reached the bed when an insistent knock sounded on the door.
Val whimpered. Ethan swore a dark oath and clenched his jaw against the pain of his aching arousal.
With a long, calming breath, he set Val on her feet, pulled her robe back in place over her breasts. “Stay here.”
Striding out of the bedroom, he crossed the living room, looked through the peephole in the door, and saw Matthew Carlyle standing in the hallway. He’d been expecting Carlyle. Just not this soon.
Cursing himself for losing control, he looked back at Val, who had walked into the living room. “You okay? It’s Carlyle.”
Val pulled the sash on her robe a little tighter and raked back her heavy blond hair. “I’m all right. Let him in.”
Even with his light brown hair unkempt, the shadow of a beard covering the scar along his jaw, Matthew Carlyle was an imposing man. And impeccably dressed as always, in beige slacks and a blue Oxford cloth shirt.
“I’ve been expecting you,” Ethan said as Carlyle walked into the living room, though his arrival had been the last thing on Ethan’s mind when he had been kissing Val. “I’ve got friends in the DPD. I know about the murder.”
Carlyle looked past Ethan to Val. The color was back in her face. The kiss had been good for something, at least.