Shocking Pink (33 page)

J
ulie lay on the front seat of David’s car, her head in his lap as he drove. He had promised her a special surprise tonight. Something new and delicious. Something exciting.

She gazed up at him, heart thundering. She loved him. More than she had ever loved anyone. He made her feel cherished, protected, adored. He understood her and loved her for what she was; he didn’t judge her or want her to change. The way everyone else always had, even Raven and Andie.

In recent days, he had begun taking care of her most basic needs, ones for food, shelter and clothing; he chased away her fears and satisfied her physical desires. He had chosen her clothes in the morning and washed her hair at night. He decided what she would eat and how much.

Because he loved her. Because he wanted to be her everything.

And he was never stingy with her, didn’t deny her the things she longed for. Instead, he indulged her every whim. All those Easters ago, as she had stood in front of her bedroom mirror, admiring herself, she had promised herself a closetful of princess dresses one day. That day had never come. Until yesterday. She had shared her long-ago dream with David and he had taken her shopping. Now she had a closetful of dresses that made her look like a princess.

All she had to do in return was trust him.

“Where are we going?” she asked, moving her head in his lap, rubbing against his erection. Whatever he had planned for her, it excited him. Very much.

“The Gatehouse development.”

“My surprise is there?”

He smiled. “It is?”

“Will I like it? Will it—”

“Shh.” He brought one of his hands to her face, lightly caressing her cheek. “I don’t want to talk now. I want to prepare.”

So, obediently, Julie quieted. They had left the lights of Thistledown behind minutes ago; the car was dark save for the glow of the instrument panel. It tinted his skin red, and from her vantage point below, his dark eyebrows, sharp nose and cheekbones became more prominent, making him look half man, half bird of prey.

Or like the devil.

Julie caught her breath and squeezed her eyes tight shut. David was an angel not a devil. He was a savior not a destroyer. She breathed deeply, chasing her fears, the demons, away. She tuned into the feel of the road beneath them, the sound of David’s breathing, the smell of their growing excitement.

Before long, David slowed and turned, as if onto a lane or into a driveway. Within moments of that, he stopped and turned off the car.

“We’re here, sweetheart. Sit up.”

She did as he asked. They were parked in front of a spectacular-looking house. It, and two others within easy distance, rose up before them, showplaces in the middle of nowhere. The three models, Julie realized. The ones Raven was working on.

“It’s beautiful, David.”

“Wait until you see the inside.”

They climbed out of the car and went up the front walk. David unlocked the door, disabled the security system, then flipped a switch on the wall to his right.

Light flooded the house’s interior. Julie caught her breath. It was the most beautiful place she had ever been in. Like a castle.

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I see by your face that you like it.”

“I love it.”

“Your friend Raven has done a wonderful job. Nothing short of miraculous, really. I’ve never known a designer who moved so quickly or inspired others to work so hard for her. Several laborers, the floor installers, for one, put other jobs on hold to accommodate her.”

“Raven’s like that. She’s always been able to get people to do whatever she wants.” Julie swept her gaze over the interior. “And she’s so talented. I wish I—”

“No,” he murmured, turning, cupping her face in his palms. “You’re the special one, Julie. She’s not. Remember that.” He kissed her, then brought his hands to hers. “Now, close your eyes so I can take you to your surprise.”

She did, giggling, and he led her forward. They stepped off wood floors onto thick carpeting. He stopped, and flipped another switch.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Surprise.”

She opened her eyes.

And almost fainted.

A rope hung from one of the living room’s exposed beams, its end tied into a noose. Beneath the rope sat a tall stool, beside it a smaller one, so she could step up.

A cry spilled from Julie’s lips, and she took a step backward. She met the wall of David’s chest. His arms circled her, anchoring her to him. Against her shoulder blade, she felt the wild beat of his heart. His breath came in short, agitated puffs.

He pressed his mouth to her ear. “I want you to give yourself completely to me. Will you do this, my darling? Will you put yourself wholly in my hands, trusting me with the very breath you need for life?” He turned her to face him, kissing her again and again, sucking all resistance from her. “Give yourself to me, Julie.”

He removed her shirt and bra, caressing each place he revealed, murmuring words of adoration, of encouragement and thanks.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She was afraid, so afraid. Yet, she was powerless against his hold on her. Even as a part of her screamed to break away and run for her life, she allowed him to manipulate her this way and that, a puppeteer with his living doll.

When she was naked, he bound her wrists, then last, lovingly, he blindfolded her. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice quivering with excitement. “This will be good, very good.”

David helped her up onto the stool. Sobbing, she stood on tiptoe, feet apart, and he fitted the noose over her head and around her neck, then eased back to the flat of her feet.

The rope tightened. It squeezed at her throat; she struggled to breathe even as she told herself to let go. Her entire life had led her to David and this moment. Fate had brought her to his window all those years ago, it had brought her here.

He was going to kill her.

Panic exploded inside her, with it a kind of acceptance. She wanted to die, she realized. She had always wanted to die.

He stood before her; she felt his breath against her knees, her thighs, her sex. He began to make love to her. With his hands and mouth, his heart and soul. She writhed under his ministrations, sensations rippling over her, pleasure mixing with pain, shame with arousal.

With each movement, the rope worked its terror, soon she was gasping and light-headed.

“Now you know who I am,” he whispered. “Now you know.”

She did know, she thought, panting, light-headed. She had always known.

He was Mr. X.

And she was Mrs. X.

She didn’t want to die, she thought suddenly, arching against his mouth, stars flashing in front of her eyes. She wanted to live.

She orgasmed violently; her knees buckled. The rope jerked tight. Light exploded in her head. Then darkness.

She was in his arms, crying like a baby, grateful to him for her life. He rocked and petted her, brushing the tears from her cheeks, cooing. “You see, my darling, I didn’t kill Leah. How could I have? I loved her. Like I love you. I could never hurt you.”

She lifted her face to his, her vision blurred with tears, her neck so sore she winced at the movement. He smiled tenderly.

“Someone else killed my Leah. And the way I figure it, you and your friends are the only ones who might know who.”

N
ick couldn’t sleep. Andie’s couch had been designed for midgets. It had lumps. The mantel clock ticked with the force of a sledgehammer striking stone. The pillow was hard, the blanket scratchy.

And Andie slept not twenty feet away, in a big soft bed made for two.

He groaned, punched the pillow, then dragged it over his face. When he lay perfectly still and held his breath, he swore he could hear her’s—soft, rhythmic, sensual. And if he breathed deeply through his nose, he could smell her—her perfume, her shampoo, her soap. The whole damn place smelled like her, he thought, tossing the pillow aside.

Screw his sense of honor and responsibility, he thought. Screw his concern for her opinion of herself in the morning, and most of all his own, ridiculous, overblown ego.

So what if it had been fear that had inspired her to invite him into her bed? So what if she hated them both in the morning? He could be wrapped up with that glorious body of hers right now. He could be asleep, sated and satisfied instead of lying here, hard, horny and totally pissed off at himself.

Fool.
He grabbed the pillow, punched it again and stuffed it under his head.
Asshole.
When was he going to learn that in love, nice guys always finished last?

He smiled suddenly, amused by his own thoughts. Oh, man, what a woman Andie Bennett was. What a kiss they had shared. He hadn’t been kissed like that, with such passion, in a long time. He’d felt like a kid, untried, a mass of raging hormones and a supercharged libido.

He turned his head toward the hallway and Andie’s closed bedroom door. What would she do if he went to her now? If he told her he wanted her, that he couldn’t sleep from wanting her? Would she open the door or slam it in his face?

Damn the consequences.

Nick stood and started for the hall.

His beeper went off.

Swearing, he doubled back, snatched it off the coffee table and checked the display.
Shit. Headquarters.
This time of night—morning, he corrected, seeing that it was nearly five—the call was most certainly bad news. The kind of news that would, without a doubt, take him away from carnal possibilities with Andie Bennett.

He found a phone and made the call. A drug bust had gone bad, there was one dead and two wounded. The chief wanted him there, a.s.a.p.

Nick went back to the living room and collected his gun, badge and shirt. He glanced at Andie’s bedroom door again, thought about leaving a note and slipping out, but decided he couldn’t do that to her. Especially considering what had brought him here in the first place.

He went to her door, uncertain whether he should knock or go in. He did both. After tapping softly, he eased the door open and stepped inside.

Her bed was a jumble, the sheet and blanket tangled around her legs—as if she, too, had been tossing and turning.

“Andie,” he said, taking another step into the room. “I’ve got to go.”

She stirred, then when he called her name again, sat up. The sheet fell away from her as she did, revealing a pale pink gown made of some delicate, shiny fabric. Through it he could make out the soft swells of her breasts and the dark outline of her nipples.

Arousal was swift and stunning. He sucked in a sharp breath and cursed the fact he hadn’t simply left a note and gone.

“I’ve got to go,” he said again. “There’s been a homicide.”

“Nick?” Her voice was thick, slurry with sleep. She reached up and pushed the hair out of her eyes. The movement brought her breasts into relief against the sheer gown. As if realizing what was happening—what she was doing—she dropped her hands and grabbed the sheet, yanking it up to her chin.

He returned his gaze to her face. Her cheeks were bright red. He supposed it would have been nicer if he hadn’t stared, but some things were simply beyond a man’s control. Besides, he was done being Mr. Nice Guy.

“I got a call. I’ve got to go in.” He slipped into his shoulder holster. “Are you going to be all right?”

She watched him, eyes wide. “Yes, of course.”

She said it so evenly, with such unruffled adultness. But she looked anything but confident and unruffled. She looked young and vulnerable and completely lost.

“Are you?” she asked.

“What?”

“Going to be all right?”

He smiled. “Oh yeah, bullets bounce off of me.”

“Funny.” She didn’t smile. “I’m going to get up, could you turn around, please?”

He did as she asked. A moment later, she gave him the all clear. She had put on a robe. One that, in his opinion, only enhanced what she hoped to conceal.

“I’ll make coffee.”

“I don’t have time.” He went in search of his jacket; she trailed after him. He found it and put it on, then turned back to her. “How’d you sleep.”

“Like a baby. You?”

“Same,” he lied, irritated that he’d asked the question, but more irritated that sleeping within a handful of feet of him hadn’t disturbed her slumber. “If you’d like, I’ll check on you later.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine. Really.”

“Good.” He found himself staring at her mouth and wanting to kiss her. He dragged his gaze away and headed toward the foyer. “Lock the door after me.”

“I will.”

He started through. She stopped him. “I… Thank you. For…everything.”

He opened his mouth to tell her she was welcome. Instead, he muttered something unintelligible even to his own ears, dragged her against his chest and kissed her hard and long. For one moment she stood stiffly in his arms, then she melted against him, curving her arms around his neck, matching the fervor of his kiss with her own.

Finally, regretfully, he pulled himself away. “I’ve got to go,” he whispered. “Be careful today.”

Nick didn’t look back as he made his way down the walk and into his Jeep; he fought the urge while he started the engine and backed down the drive. He gave in then. And his heart turned over. She stood just where he had left her, breeze stirring her filmy gown and robe, the morning sun spilling over her, making her look like an angel.

Shit, he thought, catching his thoughts. He was deep into it now. So deep he wasn’t sure just how he was going to make it back out.

J
ulie pulled up in front of Andie’s house and gazed at her friend’s bright windows. She shifted David’s Jaguar into neutral, but let the car idle, uncertain if she was going to stay.

Andie would help her. Andie would know what to do.

Julie leaned her head back against the rest and closed her eyes. As she did, she recalled the pressure of the rope around her neck, recalled her twin feelings of shame and arousal, resistance and acquiescence.

She brought a hand to her neck and trailed her fingers across the rope’s path. Though the bruise was several days old, her skin still bore the mark of the rope; if she tipped her head just right, her neck muscles screamed in protest, though not loudly, as they had at first.

She was losing her mind.

In the days since her and David’s encounter at the Gatehouse model, the lines between fantasy and reality, self-preservation and pleasure had blurred. The past and present flowed one into the other in her head, creating a distorted, frightening mix.

At night she dreamed of David and Leah Robertson; by day memories of that summer consumed her thoughts. Memories of her, Raven and Andie’s friendship and the things they had watched David and Leah do.

David was Mr. X. But he hadn’t killed Leah Robertson. He wasn’t capable of such an act. She believed that with all her heart.

He’d loved Leah.

He loved her.

But she couldn’t tell Andie that. She couldn’t tell Andie—or anyone else—who David really was. Julie curved her fingers tightly around the steering wheel, her heart thudding heavily against the wall of her chest, so heavily she had to fight to breathe. Andie would pat her silly friend on the head, then promptly phone the police. She would try to convince Julie that her life was in danger, that David meant her harm.

Julie turned her gaze to Andie’s bright windows once more. She simply wouldn’t understand. She would insist David had been the one terrorizing her, the one who had left the noose and scarf, the one who had done it all.

But he wasn’t the one. David could never harm anyone. He had proved that to her the other night.

But if David hadn’t killed Leah, who had?

The way I figure it, you and your friends are the only ones who might know who did do it.

Had one of them seen something they hadn’t shared with the others? Julie wondered. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Had one of them kept a secret from the others? If so, why?

Julie shifted the car into first and eased into Andie’s driveway. She shut off the engine, flipped open David’s cell phone and punched in Andie’s number, quickly, before she lost her nerve. Her friend picked up on the first ring.

“Andie, it’s me, Julie. I have to talk to you. It’s important.”

Julie heard the desperation in her own voice and wondered at it. Was that the way she felt? Desperate? Lost and out of control?

“Where are you?” Andie asked sharply, obviously concerned.

“In your driveway. I…don’t want to see anyone else, Andie. Are you alone?”

“Yes.” The phone line crackled. Julie saw Andie’s front blinds move. She heard her friend’s quick intake of breath. “Where did you get that car?”

“It’s a friend’s. Andie, I can’t…you’re not expecting anyone, are you?”

She meant Raven.

Andie would know that. She would wonder why.

“I’m not expecting anybody. Julie—” her friend hesitated “—are you…is everything all right?”

To Julie’s surprise, her eyes flooded with tears. “I don’t know. I—” Her voice broke on a sob. “I’m coming up. Okay?”

Andie said it was, and in a matter of moments, she was in her friend’s house and arms, being cooed and fussed over. Andie got her settled on the couch, cushioned by big, soft throw pillows.

“Can I get you something?” she asked. “A drink? Some coffee or—”

“No, nothing.” Julie blinked against the tears that filled her eyes. “Thanks though.”

Andie sat on the other end of the couch, legs curled under her. “Talk to me.”

Julie shifted her gaze, unable to look Andie directly in the eyes. “I don’t know where to start.”

“So start anywhere.”

“Like the part where I tell you I’m falling apart?” A hysterical laugh tumbled past her lips. “Where I tell you I think I might be losing my mind?”

“You’re not losing your mind,” Andie said softly, “even if it feels that way.”

“You know what it really feels like?” She lifted her gaze to Andie’s. “It feels like I’m dying. And you know what? I’m not all that upset about it. What does that mean?”

The color drained from Andie’s face.

Julie brought her shaking hands to her lips. “I can’t stop thinking about Mr. and Mrs. X. About what they did together. I feel so weird all the time, like somehow I’m reliving the past. Reliving their affair.”

“Let him go,” Andie said. “Don’t see him anymore, Julie.”

“I can’t.” Julie shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I want to but…he has this hold on me, Andie. This power. It’s scary, I…I don’t think I can live without him.”

“You can, baby. You can. I’ll help you. Raven will help you.”

This wasn’t going the way she had meant it to, Julie realized. She had meant to talk about the past, about Mr. and Mrs. X. She had meant to help David.

“Julie, sweetheart, talk to me. It’s him, isn’t it? He’s done this to you.”

Julie dropped her hands, her gaze with them. “No.” She shook her head. “No.”

“Listen to yourself,” Andie said, her voice quivering. “Look in the mirror. You are falling apart. You’re killing yourself. He’s killing you.”

“He wouldn’t hurt me!” Julie cried. “He loves me. And I love him.”

“Then what’s happening?” Andie scrambled across to her, catching her hands. “You can come live with me. Quit your job, get into a program. I’ll help you, he won’t know where you are.”

“You don’t get it, do you? I’ve been dying for a long time, maybe forever. He didn’t do this to me.”

“Julie, please, listen to me. Before this man, you were trying to change. Trying to get a hold of your life. You were in control—”

“Jesus, Andie! Don’t you get it, I was never in control! My whole life, I—” She swallowed the words, their taste bitter against her tongue. “That’s not why I’m here.” She curled her fingers around Andie’s. “I have to know something, about the past. About that summer. It’s important.”

Andie nodded. “All right.”

“Remember that time Raven was in the house alone with Mr. and Mrs. X, that time we got out but she didn’t?” Andie nodded again and Julie continued. “Do you think…could she have seen something…something more than what she told us?”

Andie searched her friend’s expression. “What are you suggesting?”

“Do you think Raven—” Julie drew in a deep breath, using the seconds it took to choose her words carefully. “Remember how obsessed she was with Mr. and Mrs. X? Do you think she ever…that she could have gone back to watch them without us? Could she have gone back and not told us about it? Do you think that maybe she saw…something she shouldn’t have?”

“Something she shouldn’t have?” Andie repeated. “We all saw something we…” Andie’s thought trailed off, then she widened her eyes. “Like what, Julie?”

“I don’t know.” Julie looked away. “Like who killed Mrs. X.”

“Are you saying…you think Raven lied to us? To the police? To everyone? Are you saying, you think she actually
saw
Mrs. X’s murder?”

Julie wet her lips, her heart thundering. “I don’t know, I…yes, I guess I am.”

For a long moment Andie said nothing, then she drew her eyebrows together. “Why would she lie, Julie? Why?” She shook her head. “Raven’s your friend. You’ve known her almost all your life. Now, suddenly, you question her honesty? After everything she’s done for you? Where’s this coming from?”

The disappointment in her friend’s expression cut her to the core. Julie ripped her hands from Andie’s. “You always liked her better than me, didn’t you? You always sided with her.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is!” Julie jumped to her feet. “It was always ‘poor, silly Julie, the airhead.’ You always felt sorry for me, you always humored me.”

“I’ve always loved you, Julie! I’ve always thought you—” Realization crossed Andie’s features. “This is coming from
him,
too, isn’t it? This man you’re involved with?”

“Of course not.” The words sounded like a lie even to Julie’s ears; she could imagine how pathetically false they sounded to Andie. So she said them again, defiantly.

“It is this man.” Andie followed Julie to her feet, pleading. “He’s dangerous. He’s alienating you from us, your friends. He wants you to be alone and vulnerable. He wants you to feel like you have nowhere to turn but him.”

Tears choked her. That was the way she felt. But it was the way she had always felt—like she had nowhere to turn.

“Listen to me.” Andie reached out a hand to her. “I can get you into a program. It’ll take time, but you’ll feel better, Julie. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to be happy?”

Julie shook her head, her tears welling again, threatening to spill over. “How do we know the truth, Andie? How do we know what’s real? Aren’t people…aren’t things sometimes not what they seem?”

“What you see is real, Julie. What Raven and I have been to you, that we’ve been there for you. That’s real. That’s love. Not what this man is contorting you into. Not this man’s perverted version of love.”

“You don’t know.” Julie took a step backward, away from her friend. “You don’t understand.”

Andie reached for her. “He’s dangerous,” she said again. “He’s hurting you.”

“David loves me.” She took another step. “I shouldn’t have come here. I should have known you would try to turn me against him.”

“David?” Andie repeated, a look of horror crossing her features. “Did you say his name’s…David?”

Andie had figured out that her David was Mr. X.
Julie snatched up her car keys. “I’ve got to go.”

Andie grabbed her arm. “Julie, I have to know. What’s his name? David who?”

Andie would go to the police. She would turn him in.

“No!” Julie yanked her arm free, turned and ran. She reached the door, fumbled with the lock, then tore it open. She stumbled out into the night, Andie only steps behind her.

She made it to the car and scrambled inside, slamming the door just as Andie reached it. She punched down the lock.

Andie grabbed the door handle and tugged at it, then pounded on the window. “Wait!” she cried. “Julie, please!”

Hands shaking so badly it took her three tries, Julie shoved the key into the ignition, twisted, and the powerful engine roared to life. She slammed the stick into reverse, hit the gas and screamed out of the driveway, Andie’s calls to wait ringing in her ears.