The Kill (39 page)

Then he hit the spot and she grabbed the bedspread in her hands as her back spontaneously arched to give him full access. She heard nothing, saw nothing, her entire body responding to Zack’s ministrations.

She was on the verge, gasping and wanting him to stop and continue at the same time. But when he pulled back, she shivered at the lost connection. He kissed her stomach, her breasts, kneading and massaging her, her intense heat tempered as he slowed the pace.

“Zack, make love to me.”

He stood and stripped off his pants. His body was hard, lean; Zack was the poster boy for tall, dark, and handsome. Handsome? Try to-die-for sexy.

She wriggled in anticipation. She wanted more.

He lay on her and she moved beneath, his chest pressing against hers a powerful sensation.

“I want you, Olivia.” He spread her legs and plunged in. She bit down a startled cry as an orgasm surprised her.

He didn’t go slow. He kissed her hard as he urgently made love to her, faster and harder until a second orgasm spiraled up, up, ready to take her away.

“Livia, I love you. Oh God I love you.” He strained and they were coming together, hot and sweaty, hands clenched together, souls entwined.

Her body trembled beneath his.

“I take it we’re okay now?” she asked, tentatively.

“Okay? I thought that was better than okay.” He smiled and kissed her. “Yes, we’re okay.” He touched her hair, her lips. “I love you, Liv. We’re going to make this work.”

Her lips trailed from his mouth, across his rough face, to his ears. Her hands fisted in his hair, hair nearly as long as hers. She kissed his neck, her tongue feeling his pulse beating a rhythm.

Now that the urgency was over, they could take the time to fully explore each other.

Zack matched her exploration, his kisses coming harder, his mouth sucking her neck, her chest, down to her breasts. She gasped when he drew a firm nipple into his mouth, her entire body on fire. She thought she wouldn’t be ready to make love so soon, but she found herself craving him again.

Zack rolled over and she found herself on the top.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Wrong? Nothing. I thought you might enjoy being in charge.”

She hesitated. She’d never done anything like this before. She’d never been wild and playful in bed. She didn’t know quite where to start.

Zack must have sensed her insecurity because he said, “Kiss me, Liv.”

She did, and her nervousness faded away.

She explored with her hands, her breasts teasing his nipples, her hips rocking against his. She didn’t feel as petite while sitting on top; she became empowered.

His hands never stopped, roaming up and down her back, massaging, touching, molding her bottom, her thighs, her hips. She gasped when his penis jerked against her, hard and long, and she reached down and touched it, its velvety softness over the firm length quite erotic.

Every touch made her hotter, more desperate to make love. She kissed him long, tasting his lips, his tongue, his neck. He tasted salty and rich, deliciously hot and spicy.

She looked down and saw his hardened length reach for her, as if it had a mind of its own. On instinct—because she’d never been on top before—she tilted her pelvis up and with her hand, guided him into her. She watched him enter her, gasping from the erotic sight as well as the feeling of him moving within her.

He moaned, reaching up and grasping her hair.

She eased down slowly. She was small, tight, and he—wasn’t. He filled her. But she was ready for him, ready to make love, and finally pushed all the way down, gasping as he jerked inside her, sending electric shocks through her body.

He grasped her hands and squeezed. She was the novice here, but he was letting her take the lead. She found a rhythm that seemed to please him as much as her. He moaned, his neck muscles taut.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he whispered. “I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.”

“You want me to stop?” she teased.

“No.”

“Good, I wasn’t going to.”

Never in her life had she felt more feminine, more like a real, whole woman than she did now, entwined with Zack. She moved up and down, faster. Hot, sweating, she wanted release.

Zack couldn’t take his eyes off Olivia as she enjoyed her newfound sexuality. Her head tilted forward as she concentrated on the sensations they created together. Her little gasps when she rubbed her clit into him on the downstroke.

He wanted to urge her on, faster, but he loved watching her experience something so new and powerful for her. Every muscle in his body tightened as he fought to maintain control. He wanted to give her the power, to show her how much he loved and trusted her.

She began moving faster, up and down, her head falling backward, revealing her neck. Zack had to force himself not to stare at the bandage. He’d almost lost her. But here she was, alive and free and all his. He’d give her the world if he could. He would keep her safe forever. Never allow her to be hurt again.

With Olivia, Zack had the right woman, the woman who completed him, who freely gave her passion and her love.

She moaned, her body slick with sweat and desire, his body vibrating with passion. He placed his hands on her hips and pushed her fully down on him, his cock reaching her cervix, her body hot and tight around him.

“Oh Liv,” he moaned.

Her gasps took on a higher tone and her body shook from head to toe, vibrating with an orgasm that rocked him into his own release. He held her tight as their shared spiral reached a fevered pitch, then her body melted onto his, her skin hot to the touch, her breathing heavy and satisfied.

“Zack.” Her voice was a mere whisper as she kissed his chest with hot, feather kisses. “That was . . . well. I can’t begin to describe it.”

“You don’t have to.” He cleared his throat. “We’ll have a lot of time to practice as you find the words.”

“There are no words in the dictionary that come close to describing how I feel right now.”

He rolled her off him and only then realized they hadn’t used a condom. He wasn’t usually that careless, but the thought disturbed him only briefly.

He planned to spend the rest of his life making Olivia happy. He had no intention of letting her go. So whatever happened, they were in it together.

Kissing her all over her face, he said, “Come home with me. Take some time off.”

She tensed next to him and he propped his head on his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to Virginia tomorrow.”

“But—Liv, we worked it out, didn’t we? You know I want you with me.”

Olivia wanted nothing more than to stay with Zack. She didn’t even want to get out of bed again. But she owed it to Greg for helping her, and Rick for standing up for her, to face the disciplinary board and answer their questions.

She had broken the rules, and while Rick was doing everything he could to protect her job, she still had to stand up for what she’d done.

“I have to go back. I broke the rules; I have to face the music. I owe it to Greg, who also has to face the disciplinary board.”

“I’ll write a letter about how valuable you were to the investigation.”

She smiled. “Quinn told me that Chief Pierson was giving me a commendation, and Bureau Chief Clark has written a letter for me. But I still need to be there; you understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said, obviously not happy about it.

“I’ll be back when I can.”

“I may end up in Virginia faster than that.” He held her tight. “I’m not going to lose you, Liv. You know that, right?”

“I know,” she whispered. “You’d really come out to Virginia?”

“I promised you a vacation. I’ve never been to the East Coast except for a training conference years ago.”

“I can show you the sights. Autumn is beautiful out there.”

“And then we can really talk, okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

He kissed her once, twice, three times. “We’ll work everything out, Liv.” He kissed her again. “I promise.”

“In Seattle this morning a man police suspect of brutally murdering thirty-two children was shot and killed by the father of one of his alleged victims. Fifty-four-year-old Christopher Adam Driscoll was pronounced dead at the scene, and Paul Benedict, father of murdered nine-year-old Jennifer Benedict, was arrested.
“Police Chief Lance Pierson said . . . “

Brian sat on the park bench that Sunday afternoon, listening to the news on a handheld radio, awestruck.

That bastard Driscoll was dead.

Brian couldn’t feel an ounce of remorse for the asshole who’d framed him for that girl’s murder. He deserved to die, though Brian would have liked to see how Driscoll would have fared in prison.

At least that was one loose end tied up. He’d seriously considered offing Driscoll as repayment for stealing thirty-four years of his life.

He looked up at the house.
Her house
.

She hadn’t come home yet, but that was okay. The two days he’d had since arriving in Virginia gave him time to plan. Not only how to kill the bitch who’d helped imprison him, but to figure out where he would go once she was dead.

Canada was relatively close, but he’d be better able to lose himself in Mexico. Cheaper to live there, too. And he had street smarts. It’d be easier to make it in Mexico. Not to mention it snowed in Canada. He hated the cold.

The whole thing was making him nervous. Not so much killing Olivia St. Martin, but being responsible for his own life. In prison, he didn’t have to think about earning money to eat, paying rent, or working.

He’d realized much too late that he should have waited to kill the cop and prosecutor until
after
he got his restitution money. He’d been mentally berating himself for the past two days.

A million dollars, thrown away, just like that. Gone. There was no way he could go back to California now; he’d made too many mistakes. For one, he’d used the same gun on both men. What was he thinking?

He hadn’t been thinking. The story of his fucking life, right? The reason Driscoll got away with framing him. Brian should have thought about who else could have killed that girl. If the cops had asked the questions the Seattle cop had asked, Brian would have figured out about Driscoll years ago.

One last debt to pay and he would truly be free. But while freedom was alluring, he’d begun to miss the structure and security he had in prison.

A fancy car pulled into St. Martin’s driveway. Brian shut off the radio and pretended to read the book he held while he watched a tall, skinny guy walk up to the front door with two bags of groceries in his arms.

This was it. His chance to get inside the house.

He crossed the street and approached the house. He hadn’t broken in when he’d first staked out the place yesterday morning because of the alarm system, but this guy entered and so must know the code.

Would he have locked the door? Brian hoped not. He didn’t want to kill the guy, but he’d do what he had to do.

Cautiously, he tried the front door. Unlocked. He glanced from left to right to make sure no one was watching him. The houses were set far apart, and with the park directly across the street, Brian felt safe enough to enter.

He listened in the doorway. His heart skipped a beat at the sound of rustling in the kitchen down the hall.

Directly in front of him was a staircase. The bedrooms would most likely be upstairs, but he’d inspect the entire house once the guy in the kitchen left. Find the best place to hide. Where she would least expect him.

Walking as silently as possible up the staircase, Brian Hall finished forming his plan.

He’d wait until Olivia St. Martin came home.

Then he’d kill her.

Zack stayed the night, and early Monday morning he joined Olivia for a light breakfast with Quinn and Miranda Peterson.

“I’ll take you to the airport,” Zack said.

“I can’t let you do that,” Quinn said.

“Excuse me?” Zack glared at him. What was Quinn’s problem?

“She’s under federal protection; I’m flying out with her.”

Zack looked from Quinn to Olivia and said slowly, “What’s going on?”

“Oh,” Quinn said. “Miranda, I think we should step out of the room.”

“What’s going on?” Zack repeated as the Petersons left.

“I didn’t think to tell you—I’m sorry. It’s Hall.”

“Hall?”

“The police believe he killed two men involved with his prosecution in California. They think he’s coming after me.”

“Shit, Olivia!” He slammed his fist down. “You’ve been threatened and you didn’t tell me?”

“This all just happened. We don’t know where he is—he could have fled the country. His car was found at the San Francisco airport. It’s just—the FBI profiler believes he is seeking vengeance for being incarcerated. Hamilton, Gary Porter, now me. Federal protection is just a precaution. Hall has hardly any money, he has a record, and his photograph and description has been disseminated to all law enforcement agencies. It’s only a matter of time before he’s caught.”

“Before or after he tries to kill you?”

Zack yanked her from her chair. She was startled, but he didn’t care. “In the last seventy-two hours, you almost fell to your death in the Cascades, you were held hostage by a serial killer, and now a suspected murderer might be after you for revenge? And you think I’m letting you out of my sight for one minute?”

“I—”

He kissed her. Full on, open mouth. He pulled back, his heart racing.

“I don’t care what Quinn Peterson ends up doing, but where you go, I go, federal protection or not.”

By the time they reached Virginia, it was after six in the evening. Agent Tim Daly greeted them at the airport and took over from Quinn; Zack seemed to take the situation in stride. Daly drove them to Olivia’s small but elegant two-story house in Fairfax.

Olivia was embarrassed showing Zack her home. While the house was stylish, and the furniture expensive, it was empty. Barren. It wasn’t a
home
—it had no living plants, no photographs, nothing that said a content, fulfilled human being lived there. Even her bookshelves were tidy with a few, mostly decorative, books. The manuals she used for work were in her office. Model homes in new housing developments had more personality than Olivia’s, though she’d lived here for three years.