Eight #2
“The FBI got involved when you were kidnapped by Dom because you were a witness in not just a murder case, but a case to put away Roman’s father.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means they stayed on top of the case, from the first guy killed in your old apartment to today when we pulled that man out of a dumpster this morning. Unlike us, they saw the killings as one singular case instead of four different ones.”
I stayed quiet, listening.
“The profilers there put together a report and they sent it over early this morning. They feel that the murders are the work of a serial killer.”
“Because there’s more than three,” I said confidently, because everyone knew that.
He scowled at me.
“True crime documentaries are important, Sam.”
He huffed out a breath. “I’m sure they are.”
“What else links the crimes together?”
“Pardon me?” He sounded so pained.
“Just tell me,” I pressed him.
“All the victims look alike.”
“Why didn’t anyone notice that?”
“I told you—the timing, the three-year span, and the fact that the first one was thought to be an attack on you by Roman.”
“Okay.” I tried to absorb everything he’d said. “And who are the guys that got killed?”
“Trey Hart was first, three years ago, and he was a student who’d just moved here from Atlanta. The second and third were hustlers, Ron McCall, and then Nolan Allen.”
“When were they killed?”
“McCall in 2000, Allen earlier this year, and then today, Donald Bower, who was a teacher here in Chicago who was supposed to be at an art seminar in Pittsburgh that he never made it to.”
“So two this year?”
He nodded.
“That’s weird, right? One, three years ago, another in 2000, and then two just this year?”
“This is why everyone had trouble with the pattern, or even discerning that there even was one because it makes no sense.”
“But the FBI thinks it’s all the same guy.”
“Yes.”
“Because why?”
“Because they’re all young blond guys, and other random coincidences like one of the rent boys lived in the same building as you, just not at the same time.”
“Which building?”
“The one your brother owned, across from the jazz club. That’s the address that was on your license that we found on Bower this morning.”
“That’s weird but, is it enough to draw conclusions over?”
“The FBI thinks so,” he said miserably. “Plus, Allen was employed by the catering company that worked Dane’s engagement party.”
I shook my head, raking my fingers through my hair.
“It’s just weird, Sam, nothing else. I think everyone is looking for things that aren’t there.
I mean, some guy who lived in my same building but not when I was there, some random waiter at Dane and Aja’s engagement party… It’s crap, don’t you think?”
“The FBI profilers don’t think so. The only connection they can find between the murders is you.”
“So am I a suspect, then?”
“No, they believe you’re the target.”
“And how come none of this was in the papers or on the news?”
“The murders all made the news and the papers, J, but they’re so spread out—again, three years between the first and this last—no one in the press has made the connection.”
I nodded. “But they might.”
“They might.”
“Okay, but have you checked out all the—”
“Baby, it’s not my case. It’ll never be my case because you’re my partner.
If it’s true and it is, somehow, all about you, then I have to stay on the outside looking in.
All I can do is ask Hefron and Moore what they’ve got and what I can do.
If they hadn’t called me this morning, I would still have no idea what was going on. ”
“Will they talk to you?”
“They will. We’re all detectives, and they’re friends of mine.”
“Will they still be your friends once they find out about you and me?”
“They already know about you and me, J, that’s why they called me. And yes, they’re still my friends. You’re not the only one with good people in his life.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
We were quiet for several minutes.
“Sam.”
“What?”
“I do remember you saying when Trey was killed that whoever did it wrote something on the wall. What was it?”
“A word.”
“What word?”
“Just… It doesn’t matter.”
He really didn’t want to tell me. I felt like my stomach had dropped out of my body. “What was the word written in?”
He just looked at me.
“Was it written in blood? In Trey’s blood?”
“In his blood and something else.”
“What?”
“I don’t wanna talk about this,” he almost yelled. “Just help me figure out who would wanna hurt you.”
“I dunno, Sam. It still seems like it could all just be a weird coincidence. I’m not a superhero or a crime boss; I don’t have people in my life who want me dead.”
“Jory—”
“None of this makes any sense.”
“Agreed.”
“But Trey was killed in my old apartment. I still think maybe Roman didn’t wait for Dom and got the address and tried to kill me himself. Doesn’t that make the most sense?”
“I’m telling you, I know Dom and Dom would not have let Roman, and more importantly, Roman’s guys, make that kind of mistake.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Jory, come on.” He sighed wearily. “Your license was on the victim today, and the resemblance was good. I mean, he could’ve been your brother.”
I arched a brow at him. “He was as pretty as me?”
“Don’t fuckin’ joke around! This isn’t funny! Watching those officers pull that guy outta that dumpster… Fuck! If I hadn’t just left you, I would’ve fuckin’ lost it right there.”
“Sorry,” I said softly, running my fingers through his hair and watching it curl. “So what now?”
“Now you work from home. If Aubrey wants to see you, she—”
“No.” I shook my head. “I won’t be a prisoner in my own—”
“Goddamnit, J! How stubborn are you gonna be? Do you get that not only is there some whack job out there killing guys that look like you, but whoever the fuck it is has been stalking you for the last three years, maybe longer? Do you fuckin’ get that?”
“What’re you—”
“Whoever killed the teacher today stole your wallet or had somebody else do it a long time ago. I mean, do you get how fucked up it is to steal something from your intended victim years in advance, only to plant it on your current victim? That is twisted as shit and really, really spooky.”
“Why kill other people? Why not just kill me?”
“Maybe he can’t. Maybe something’s preventing him.”
“Him?”
“The chances of it being a woman with the force that was used during the killing, the amount of—the chances are very small.”
“Oh.”
“So you’ve gotta go into protective custody and—”
“Oh, fuck that, Sam!” I shouted, stalking out of the bedroom and down the hall.
“Jory!” I heard him striding after me before my arm was grabbed and I was yanked around to face him. “Goddamnit, you need to—”
“No, Sam. I am not gonna go through that again. I will not have my life flipped upside down because of something I didn’t do. It’s not fair, and I won’t do it.”
“Jory—” he began, his voice rising.
“And then what?” I asked, walking away from him, turning at the couch to look back at him.
“You’re gonna bail again because you gotta go look for my stalker?
You won’t be able to protect me if you’re so close to me?
” I ranted, throwing up my hands. “That’s bullshit too.
If you wanna go, then just go. If it’s another all-or-nothing proposition for you—fuck it.
I don’t want this again. Once was more than enough. ”
We were silent, glaring at each other.
“You’re right.”
Since I didn’t want to say anything I’d regret, I remained quiet, crossing my arms.
“When I left I was worried about you—terrified—but I was also scared for me. I knew going would take care of both problems.”
“You ran away.”
“I ran to accomplish a specific goal, in both cases, but yes, I did.”
I nodded. “If you’re gonna run again, please do it now before I get in too deep.”
“Okay.”
“What does that mean? Okay you’re running or okay you heard me?”
“C’mere.”
I crossed slowly back to him, like I was walking to the electric chair, and when he could reach me, he grabbed hold of my lapel and yanked me forward.
“Like you’re not in too deep right now,” he murmured, his hands on my face, raising my chin for a kiss.
I melted against him, my hands on his forearms, kissing him back deep and slow, wanting to make it last.
“I want you to stay home with me today, all right?”
“No, I need to get things together for Abe on Monday, and I might see some clients this afternoon to make up for Wednesday—Thursday—whatever day, and there’s just a lot to—”
He unbuttoned my suit jacket, and his hands eased it off my shoulders.
I heard it land softly on the back of the couch.
He wasn’t listening to me, but I had things to do.
Even though it was Saturday morning, I had calls to make, emails to send.
There was no way I could just blow off my responsibilities to spend the day in bed with my very hot boyfriend.
“Sam…”
My tie was worked gently loose and slid off, joining my suit jacket before his fingers started working the buttons down the front of my shirt.
“Sam, I can’t—”
“I could rip it off like I did with the one the other night, but I figure you don’t wanna explain two of them to your dry cleaner.”
I let my head fall back, and he kissed my chin and jaw as he got me out of my clothes. The shirt he let fall to the floor before he smoothed his hands up my sides, raising my arms. I leaned back so he could drag the undershirt up and over my head.
“Don’t need this,” he said, balling it up and tossing it onto the floor.
I stared into his eyes, marveling as always at the color, the deep slate blue now absolutely molten with desire. Impossible to miss the need there, and it was a great big turn-on knowing I was the one responsible. I got him hot, just me, and that power was intoxicating.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice so low and sexy, and between the seductive heat in his gaze and his hands on my back moving over my skin, I was a goner. “I’ll protect you. I won’t let anything happen to my baby. I can’t. What would I do without you?”