Solid as Steele (4 page)

What? Thank him for revealing himself? Or maybe the wounded look in his eyes made her want to let him know that everything was all right. Whatever that meant.

Without fully understanding her own motives, she reached for him and pulled him close.

She'd felt safe in his arms last night when he'd come rushing over to find out what was wrong, and she'd never thanked him for that. She'd only bristled at the questions his job had compelled him to ask.

Suddenly, everything had shifted. When she eased back and tipped her face up, she found that her mouth was only inches from his. It had been a long time since she'd kissed a man, and she'd be fooling herself if she tried to deny that she'd thought of kissing
this
man. For heartbeats, neither one of them moved, except for their shallow breathing. It wasn't too late to stop. Somewhere in her mind she knew she should pull away, but she stayed where she was for a charged second and then another.

She wasn't sure which of them moved to close the gap, maybe both of them.

“Jamie.” He said her name as their mouths met, and he moved his lips over hers in a kiss that was tender and needy and sexy, all at the same time.

Wanting to shut out the world, she closed her eyes so that she could focus on the man who held her in his arms.

She liked the taste of him. The texture of his lips. The heat of his body. Without even thinking about what she was doing, she felt her arms encircle his neck. In response, he gathered her closer as he turned his head first one way and then the other to change the angle of the kiss.

Somewhere in her mind, a voice spoke. This is wrong. You shouldn't be in his arms. You shouldn't be kissing him. But it was impossible to heed that voice when it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be close to him like this. As she nestled in his embrace, she could imagine what it would be like to share more than this kiss with him. Not just a sexual encounter but all the emotions she'd kept bottled up inside her for long, lonely months.

His tongue played with the seam of her lips, asking her to open for him, and she did, so that he could explore the line of her teeth, then stroke the sensitive tissue on the inside of her lips.

She made a small sound deep in her throat, telling him she liked what he was doing. When his tongue dipped farther into her mouth, hot, needy sensations curled through her body.

His hands stroked up and down her ribs, gliding upward to find the sides of her breasts, making her nipples tighten. She wanted to beg for more. She'd forgotten where they were. Forgotten why she shouldn't allow this man such liberties.

She tangled her hands in his thick, dark hair, loving the slightly rough texture. For months she'd wanted to touch him there, and now she had the freedom to do it. Sensations she hadn't experienced for too long bombarded her body and overwhelmed her mind.

Wanting more of him, she eased back a little so that she could pull open the front of his leather jacket and press her hands against his broad chest.

“Yes,” he murmured, his mouth still on hers.

She rubbed her hands against him, feeling hair crinkle through his shirt. It would be dark and thick and textured like the hair on his head.

Through the fabric, she found a flat nipple, feeling it stiffen at her touch. Her other hand found the placket of his shirt. When she slipped two fingers inside, he dragged in a sharp breath.

Her own nipples had tightened painfully, and she pictured herself dragging his hand to her breasts. Before she could do it, the sound of a car horn intruded into the fog of her brain.

Jerking away from Mack, she looked wildly around and
saw a pickup truck pulling into the driveway just ahead of them. An old guy behind the wheel was glaring at them like they'd been filming a porn movie in the street.

Mack cursed under his breath and started the engine. The car bucked as he pulled away from the curb.

Jamie flopped back into her seat, fumbling with the seat belt, her face hot.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he put distance between themselves and the homeowner.

She made some kind of sound that could have been agreement or condemnation. It would be easy to accuse him of taking advantage of her, but she knew that it wasn't true. She'd been a willing participant in what they'd been doing, and she wasn't even sure how far they would have gone if they hadn't been interrupted.

She might have admitted as much, but his next words sent her mind spinning off in an entirely different direction.

“There are some things you didn't tell me about Lynn Vaughn's murder,” he said as he put distance between themselves and the guy who'd so rudely knocked them out of whatever fantasy they'd been sharing.

“Oh great. You can't deal with kissing me, so you're switching back to Lynn Vaughn?” she said, hearing the grating sound of her own voice.

“Can you?” he asked.

He had a point. She'd ended up in his arms with very little provocation, and she'd started touching him in ways that were totally inappropriate. She had no excuse for that, other than her own emotional instability.

She sighed. “Okay, we can get back to business. What do you want to know?”

“You told me that you'd have dreams about bad things
happening to people you knew, and they'd turn out to be true.”

“Yes.”

“Are you saying that you knew Lynn Vaughn?”

The question had edged into territory she didn't want to explore with him. “Why do we have to keep talking about this?”

“Because I'm going to have to call the police if we don't.”

The threat had the effect Mack must have been striving for. “I didn't say it, but I did know her. She and I went to high school together.”

“Why didn't you tell me that?”

“It wasn't relevant.”

He looked at her, then turned back to the road. “It could be. Any detail could be.”

When she said nothing, he asked, “Were you close?”

She sighed. “We weren't best buddies, but we knew each other. I know that when she graduated, she went to the University of Maryland in Baltimore. She became an emergency room nurse.”

“Did you keep in touch with her?”

“No. I kind of avoided Gaptown. I think you can figure out why.”

“Yeah. But why do you think Lynn reached out to you? Did she know about your dreams?”

“I didn't advertise it. Nobody knew. Except Mom.”

“Would she tell anyone?”

“She kept it between us, because she didn't want people to know there was something weird about her daughter.”

 

A
FEW MILES AWAY,
Fred Hyde was touring the funhouse making sure everything was ready for the evening's
entertainment. He'd had a very satisfying time selecting the exhibits. He'd used some of the same ones as for his last guest. Others were new, and he'd taken down the funhouse mirrors. Those were too much of a cliché. Now he was trying to decide if he was going to use a witch's face or a demon for the pop-up display on the first floor.

The witch had worked very well. But it might be amusing to give the green-and-purple-faced demon a try.

Still pondering the choice, he went back through his music selections, most of which he'd pulled from the soundtracks of slasher movies, although he also liked that spooky “Night on Bald Mountain.” He'd mixed and matched the tracks, and he hummed along as he listened to some of the cuts, then decided on the disc that started with the
Night of the Living Dead
and continued on to
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre
.

After he'd satisfied himself with the preparations, he went downstairs to look at the woman who was sleeping in the cell he'd constructed in the basement. He'd built the walls of cinder block, and the door was reinforced, so there was no chance of escape.

The woman on the narrow bunk inside was lying on her back, her blond hair fallen across her cheek. As he stood over her, he suppressed the urge to brush it back.

Better not touch her until he was wearing his gloves and his Locard suit. Well, it wasn't anything official. That's what he called it. Locard was the French forensic scientist who'd first pointed out that when two objects touched, each would leave traces of themselves on the other. But that wasn't going to happen with his suit made out of neoprene.

He took a step back, still staring at the sleeping woman. He'd drugged her, and she wasn't going to wake up for several hours. Plenty of time for him to go out to dinner,
then put on his outfit. He'd be wearing it when he let her out of the cell, and then the games would begin. Of course, there might be fibers from the cape. But that didn't matter. He'd bought it at a vintage clothing store in Boston, so nobody was going to connect it with murders in western Maryland.

After making sure the door to the cell and also all the doors to the house were locked, he climbed into his SUV and drove to an area down by the Potomac River where there were some shops, artists' studios and restaurants. The Chamber of Commerce or some other group was sprucing up the town, but they'd left some major messes. Right down by the river was a half-demolished brick building that used to be a dye works. It dragged down the whole area. And there should be more restaurants to choose from. He'd had Italian for dinner last time before the fun. This time he was going to try that place where you could get Maryland crabcakes and barbecued ribs.

 

M
ACK HAD CONTINUED DRIVING
as they talked, and Jamie looked up to see that they were on a road that ran parallel to the CSX train yard where more than a hundred freight cars were parked.

“Where are we going?”

“You said the funhouse was in Gaptown. Maybe we can find it.”

“Gaptown's a big place.”

“Not like say, Baltimore or Washington. Maybe you'll have some…insights.”

“Okay.” She took in a sharp breath.

“What?”

“I do remember hearing a train whistle in my dream.”

“Which means it could be down here.”

“No. The train goes right through town. There are even
bridges over the tracks on the west side—the elegant part of town. You can't get away from CSX. The railroad's been here since before the company bought the Chesapeake & Ohio.”

“Then which way should we go?”

“You know more about murder than I do. Would the guy leave the body somewhere near the house, or would he drive far away?”

“Far away. Unless he wanted the cops nosing around his playground.”

“Then we might as well head west, into the mountains.”

He did as she asked, and they drove into the countryside. She looked at houses, but nothing seemed right. They were all too small and modern. Unless he had an enormous underground complex. No, that didn't seem right, since she remembered climbing upstairs.

“It's got to be bigger,” she murmured. “There were lots of rooms. Lots of corridors. He must have modified the interior himself.”

“We could try a development of tract mansions,” he suggested.

“It's not a new house.”

“How do you know?”

She thought about her impressions. “The floorboards were old. And some of the walls were real plaster. I guess drywall and plywood were added to make all those hallways.”

“Okay.

“So how did Lynn get there?”

“I don't know.”

“Either she drove herself there, or the killer drove her.”

“Why would she drive herself?”

“Because she knew him and felt he wasn't a threat. Do you have any idea what kind of car he had?”

“No.”

“I guess an emergency room nurse wouldn't moonlight selling any kind of products,” he mused.

“She might. Something like cosmetics. Or cleaning supplies for one of those big companies that rope in a lot of owners. But she'd sell them to people she knew at work or at church, not door to door.”

“I guess that's right.” He thought for a moment. “You said the dream started when she was already in the house.”

“I jumped into it when she was running from him. I had the impression that the…game had been going on for a while.”

They drove through the countryside for almost an hour until Jamie said, “This is just wasting time. I didn't see the outside of the place. I'm not going to find it this way.”

“I guess we might as well head back to town.”

Since she had spent most of the previous night tossing and turning, she leaned back and closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep. Her eyes snapped open again when she felt the car stop.

“Where are we?”

“A hotel.”

They were under a marquee, and she looked to her right, into the lobby of a multi-story upscale establishment that commanded a large plot of land near the old C&O canal and the river. Swinging her head back toward Mack, she said, “Surely you don't expect me to stay in a hotel with you?” She could have added, “After that kiss,” but she left that part unspoken.

“I'm not going to come on to you, if that's what you
mean,” he snapped, revealing that he wasn't as relaxed as he looked. “We'll get our own rooms.”

“That's too expensive,” Jamie protested.

“Expense account.”

“Are you saying you're charging the Light Street Detective Agency for this trip?”

“I can do that, yeah.”

“Who's your client?”

“The wife of a deceased colleague.”

She stared at him. “Wait a minute, I didn't ask for you to go that far.”

“There's no charge when we do jobs for each other. You included. We have special funds set aside.”

“I don't want Light Street involved.”

He shook his head. “You called us,” he reminded her.

“Which meant that you couldn't…didn't want to handle it by yourself. And you could be in trouble. I'm not letting this go.”

Of course, he was right. She had called because she'd known she had to tell someone about the nightmare, but she hadn't let her thinking process carry her beyond that when she'd picked up the phone. She simply hadn't wanted to be alone with her own fears in the middle of the night.

They walked into the comfortably furnished lobby together, and Mack asked about two adjoining rooms. When he found out he could get a junior suite for less money, he took that.

The sixth-floor suite consisted of a bedroom and a living room with a fold-out couch.

“I thought it would be two bedrooms,” she said, as she checked out the arrangements.

“You can have the bedroom. I'll take the sofa.”

Feeling trapped, she nodded.

“We'll relax for a while. Then we can go out to eat or order in.”

“Let me think about it.” She turned and walked into the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her, wishing she had her own car so she could go back home. Only maybe that wasn't such a great idea.

At the time she'd called the agency, she'd told herself she didn't know for sure what had happened to Lynn Vaughn. Now she knew Lynn was dead, and she couldn't just walk away. But why did she have to be stuck with Mack Steele?

When she pulled back the covers and lay down on the bed, her mind flashed back to the incident in the car. She wasn't going to kid herself about that. She was attracted to him, and she'd responded to his kiss, even when it never should have happened. Unfortunately, now they were going to be in each other's pockets.

At least she could stay in this room for the time being and keep away from him.

She closed her eyes, thinking that she was much too jumpy to relax. But the tense hours last night had taken their toll, and after a few minutes, sleep claimed her.

 

I
N THE SITTING ROOM
of the suite, Mack walked back and forth across the carpet, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into. Kissing Jamie had been a big mistake. But it had happened, and now he had to deal with it, because it confirmed what he'd known all along. They were attracted to each other. The kiss had proved beyond a doubt that the chemistry was there. He sure as hell hadn't been the only one responding. She'd been as into it as he had. Although that didn't mean they'd suddenly both made up new rules for the relationship.

He clenched and unclenched his fists. He'd been fighting
his attraction to her, but what was wrong with getting involved, damn it? Her husband was dead. She wasn't cheating on him by starting a relationship with someone else. Only both of them obviously thought otherwise. Could he get over his guilt about going after Craig's wife? Could she stop thinking of herself as a married woman? He didn't know if either one of them could handle the relationship, and he had another problem.

Jamie had knowledge of a murder. She'd claimed to have gotten it through some kind of psychic dream. But could he believe it?

He knew some pretty weird things had happened to some of the Light Street staff and also to the men and women who worked for their sister organization, Randolph Security. He'd never gotten involved in anything he'd call extrasensory. Now he was caught between doubting Jamie's account and wondering if he could believe something that wasn't grounded in any reality he understood. He'd like to consult someone at the office. Jamie had been trying to get in touch with Jo O'Malley, and he knew that something paranormal had happened to her and her husband, Cam Randolph, years ago. But talking to his boss about the woman who'd closed herself in the other room would make him feel like a snitch.

He sighed. It seemed like he was caught in a trap. He didn't love being forced to explore his own feelings. At the same time, he couldn't simply walk away from a murder investigation. He could turn the problem over to someone else at Light Street, but that would mean he'd have to come up with a good reason for ducking out.

Since he wasn't prepared to do that, he was stuck for the moment. As he saw it, his only option was to investigate the murder the way he'd investigate any other case. Which made the expense account perfectly appropriate.

He turned on the television, keeping the sound low as he scanned for local news. Apparently there wasn't a station right in Gaptown, but there seemed to be two in a city about sixty miles away. And both of them had sent reporters here.

As he watched, he noted that the police hadn't released Lynn Vaughn's name yet, but he knew they were going to be interviewing her colleagues at work and her neighbors. Could he duplicate their research? And would the people he talked to wonder why he wasn't working with the cops? He'd started out on the Columbus, Ohio, police force. But he'd been caught in a personnel reduction. Since he had no seniority, he'd been let go. But Jo O'Malley, from Light Street, had been on a recruiting trip, and she'd offered him a job. He'd been with them for five years, and he loved the job.

When he'd watched the same news report several times without learning anything more, he knew he was just spinning his wheels.

After turning down the sound on the TV, he got out his laptop and checked his mail. There was nothing urgent, and nothing on the Net about the murder that he hadn't already seen on TV.

He closed the laptop and left it on the desk, then looked toward the bedroom. He'd given Jamie some space. Now it was time to get some dinner, turn in and start fresh in the morning.

He crossed the room, hesitated for a moment, then knocked on her door.

When she didn't answer he knocked again. “Jamie?”