"His name is Zeke," Laurie called back to him.

Cole bent down and scratched the tiny dog's ears. "Cute," he mumbled more to himself than to be heard.

Standing, Cole glanced at his surroundings. The more illumination that fl ooded the vast rooms, the more impressed he became. Cole could not help w ondering how someone like Laurie, on an obvious meager salary, would be a ble to afford a home of this magnitude.

He knew little about this woman and the possibility of her parents being dec eased hung over his head, making his question in the car lay on his tongue l ike a repugnant taste. But the a.s.sumption she still lived beneath her parent s' roof had been a viable one.

How could he not come up short in her eyes? She had seen his small apartmen t with its two bedrooms, a living room connected to a kitchen, and one bath room. h.e.l.l, her foyer was the size of his living room.

Cole walked toward the large archway on the left, leading to a living room decked with Queen Anne style furniture, looking as though no person had eve r sat on any of it. To the right of the foyer, a large dining room sat with a cherry-wood center table bedecked with eight chairs. Rich green brocade fabric covered the seats and draped the windows. A large hutch sported chin a etched with gold and crystal winegla.s.ses and goblets. The white as snow c arpet throughout lent to the elegance. Cole could never imagine himself kno cking about this house, marring its perfection.

"Do you like what you see?" a timid voice came from behind.

Cole turned around to see Laurie standing by the arch, arms crossed beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The air left the room as the walls seemed to close in on him.

Suddenly, there was not enough s.p.a.ce between them. Cole felt completely ou t of his element, as though he were drowning, his body tossing about in the middle of a whirlpool, sending him in a downward spiral. Never in his life had he been afforded such extravagances.

"I don't know. I was thinking maybe it wasn't such a good idea to come here, " Cole said, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans.

"I've already opened the wine." Laurie's eyes sparkled from the lights of th e large chandelier hanging over the dining room table behind him. "I've set out two gla.s.ses in the family room. I'm sure you'll feel more comfortable there." A nervous smile curved her lips. "My entire home is not this unlivable .".

He could tell by her expression that it mattered a great deal to her how he perceived her home, and leaving now would only hurt her.

"All right." Cole returned her smile. "One drink."

He followed her through the large kitchen, with its brick island that housed the stovetop and a built-in grill, to a room decorated in warm rich colors.

A deep burgundy sectional couch sat before a large screen television. Pillo ws of blues and greens were thrown haphazardly about the couch as large ones of the same colors lay in front of the fireplace on the floor, where Zeke h ad taken up residence. A square coffee table accented the front of the sofa, the only other piece of furniture in the room. Two large palm trees graced the corners and a lone window sported burgundy vertical blinds. Closed, they allowed the room no light from outside elements.

A small stained gla.s.s Tiffany floor lamp lent the room a soft glow. The win e sat open on the coffee table with two green-stemmed wine gla.s.ses beside i t. The unscrewed cap lay on the table beside the bottle reminding Cole how cheap it actually was.

His cheeks heated, and for the first time in a long while, he felt embarra.s.se d. A lopsided smile creased his face. "Sorry, about the wine," he apologized.

Laurie grinned, clasped his hand, and led him to the sofa. As Cole sat, she handed him an empty gla.s.s and poured some wine into it. After serving hersel f, she sat down beside him, sinking into the center of the pillows, propping her feet on the coffee table.

Cole realized Laurie had removed her shoes, causing him to look at his own booted feet. d.a.m.n, why had he not the insight to remove them? The entire house was a winter-land of white carpet.

Laurie chuckled, drawing his attention. In the dim lighting, she somehow a ppeared younger, her face soft and unlined. He'd never thought about her a ge before. She could not be much more than twenty-two, too young for a man of Cole's age.

"Don't worry about your boots," Laurie said, taking a sip from her gla.s.s. "Th e carpet may be white, but it cleans. And ," she glanced to the bottle, "the wine is fine."

Cole smiled, feeling ridiculous having his misgivings voiced aloud.

"I'm not at all like what you think," she continued. Her face mimicked the se riousness of her tone.

Cole narrowed his eyes. "And how's that?"

"I don't know. The spoiled rich kid. Snooty."

Laurie rooted through the pillows, pulling out the remote control. She point ed it at the television and pushed a b.u.t.ton, illuminating the large screen. Two bodies intertwined, rolling about. Close shots of bare flesh, mouths, an d hands slowly became clearly focused. Cole shifted uneasily, feeling the se xual tension sizzling about the room, knowing full well what would take plac e if he did not leave soon.

Laurie cleared her throat, held out the remote, and flipped the channel. Willa rd Scott sat on a red wagon giving tips for the better garden.

Cole glanced at Laurie, whose cheeks flamed bright red as she looked at him in apology, causing him to chuckle.

"HBO," she laughed. "It's after midnight-no telling what that was."

"Laurie," Cole began. His humor quickly dissipated and reality set in. He wanted Laurie Michaels, a truth not to be denied, but the fact remained-s he came from a whole other generation. A whole other planet as far as he w as concerned. They had nothing in common, and a relationship was the last thing he wanted. "Maybe I shouldn't have come. I'm not so sure this was a good idea."

"Did I do something wrong?" Laurie drew her brows together. Cole did not wa nt her laying the fault on herself. The blame should lay on his shoulders, not hers. He was the older one-old enough to know better.

Setting his gla.s.s on the table, he stood. "I'm sorry, Laurie. I shouldn't be here. I have a case to work and I need a clear head come morning."

Placing her gla.s.s next his, she stood beside him, her face displaying her disappointment. "Do you think maybe we could do this another time?" Her ey es were wide and hopeful.

Cole did not have the heart to tell her not a chance in h.e.l.l. He could not commit to someone. And she was a journalist-a profession he would never a pprove of. Most of all, though, she had more money than he would ever feel comfortable with. In his view of the world, the man supported the woman-n ot the other way around.

"Yeah. Maybe," Cole agreed, knowing he would never hold himself to it. He walked toward the entrance with her close behind. He did not have to loo k to know she followed. He could smell her perfume; feel her eyes on him.

d.a.m.n, he hated himself for not being a womanizer and take what he really wanted.

Cole turned by the entrance, hoping to make a quick apology and duck out the door, putting this night far behind him. But when his gaze caught hers, all good intentions fled his mind.

Sadness claimed her gaze as though she really did not want him walking out the door, knowing full well what the night would hold if he didn't. It wa s as though she might actually want Cole as a person and not for what he c ould do for her career. Cole knew women came on to cops all the time. A ma n with a badge turned them on. But the badge in his back pocket or the box in his front was not what caused his discomfort at the moment. His jeans had become too constricting.

Without a word, Cole took a step in her direction. Her eyes widened, her lips parted. He saw her pulse throb at the base of her throat, heard the tiny int ake of air as he took another step. Cole grasped the sides of her face with h is palms and brought his lips down to hers, pinning her against the wall.

Had she given him a sign she did not want him, a sign she had not wanted this , he would have been able to turn and leave. Instead, her hands grabbed his w aist, dragging his T-shirt from the waistband of his jeans, sliding it up his sides.

Cole pulled back long enough to yank the shirt free of his head and discard i t to the side, wasting not a moment of time.

Laurie gasped at the intensity of his eyes, at his dire look of hunger. His mo uth slanted over hers, his hot tongue slipped past her lips, stealing her brea th. Her heart beat heavily off her ribs; the sound echoed in her ears.

His hands pushed up the sides of her sweater, over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s until Cole was forced to break the kiss as he pulled it free of her head, tossing it aside.

Cole held her fast against the wall, his hands cupping her b.r.e.a.s.t.s through h er lace-covered bra.s.siere, his thumbs brushing across the tender centers.

Her nipples hardened and begged for his attention. G.o.d, but she wanted his h ands on her naked flesh, his mouth....

As if he had read her thoughts, Cole gripped the cups of her bra, jerked the m downward, and exposed the rose-colored centers above the white lace. His m outh left hers, trailing a wet path down her heated skin to the flesh quiver ing for his touch. His mouth covered one of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as his hand kneaded the other.

A moan escaped her lips and she sagged against the wall. Had he not been an choring her there with his groin pressing against her abdomen, surely she w ould have slid down the wall like a warm pool of gelatin.

"Oh G.o.d," she whispered as his tongue made circles and his teeth nipped.

She moved her hands down his waist, pushing at the band of his jeans, wanti ng, needing what lay beneath. Her hand brushed against his full erection el iciting a groan from him.

His mouth and hands left her as he clutched the sides of her skirt, pulling i t upward, and ripped the silk panties from her. He quickly undid the b.u.t.tons of his Levi's, pushing them low on his hips.

Laurie gasped shakily, afraid to move, afraid to breath, afraid he would leav e her trembling by the wall.

With shaking hands, Cole reached into his pocket and withdrew a small box. H e hastily tore into it and pulled out a foil packet. He ripped it open with his teeth and discarded the waste aside.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked in a gruff voice. She nodded, unable to utter a word.

Finished with the needed protection, Cole's hands returned to her, one cupp ing her breast, the other sliding into her warmth. Laurie closed her eyes a nd tilted her head back. "Oh, G.o.d, please, Cole," she pleaded, though she k new he would never offer her more than this. This would have to be enough.

In a swift move made out of desperation, he pulled her leg around his waist a nd entered her. Laurie cried out, reveling in the feel of him filling her com pletely. She brought her other leg up to circle his waist as he held her back side in his palm, supporting her. Laurie wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly as her back slid up the wall with each of his powerful thru sts.

His lips- G.o.d, those lips- came back to hers. Their tongues mated in a rhyth m matching that of their bodies.

White lights stole her breath and lightning sizzled up her spine, ending wit h an explosion ringing in her ears, rocking her to the core. Her body convul sed around him and a cry escaped her throat, dying within his kiss. It was a t that exact moment she knew he had stolen her heart.

Cole felt her release as she tightened around him. His breathing labored, his heart pounded in his ears. Without a thought or a care for the morning, Cole thrust a final time as his own world detonated and he released four years of restrained pa.s.sion.

Laurie sagged against the wall as her feet supported her, her head tilted ba ck, and her breath left her body in a rush of air. Cole stood motionless, wa iting for some, any, energy to move. Finally, he pushed off the wall and tur ned his back to compose himself.

Finished, he looked at Laurie, who sat at the base of the wall, legs curled be neath her, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s now concealed by her bra, and her eyes turned to the fl oor.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, his breathing still labored.

The last thing he saw-the sight that would surely plague him for days to c ome-were the tears slipping unheeded down her cheeks, telling him what he already knew. She wanted more from him than he could ever offer. Turning t he k.n.o.b, he opened the door and walked out, hoping the night would deaden the pain, because he sure the h.e.l.l would not be able to forget.

Chapter 14.

Cole stood in the center of Mary Stine's room at the Cleveland Motel. A hole now laid in the blue carpet from the missing, bloodied, size-eleven footpri nt. The exact type of shoe was indeterminate because of the crimson-colored smear on the carpet fibers, though they were positive it came from a boot. T he white counter, on which the a.s.sailant had left the quote, also had been t aken to the lab.

a.n.a.lysis showed the perp wore black, possibly gardening, cloth gloves. All blood at the scene came from the same blood type, the victim's. Foreign fib ers taken from the bed led them to believe their man dressed in black for t he occasion. No hair other than the victim's was present. No flesh under th e victim's nails, no s.e.m.e.n found for DNA testing.

With latex gloves, Cole began searching through drawers and cabinets, hopin g to find any possible clue that might lead to the man they searched for.

So far, they had a white male, possibly between the ages of twenty-five to t hirty-five, who may or may not have long black hair. He appeared to like dar k clothing and was nocturnal. At the determinable time of these murders, thi s person preferred to work late at night, meaning his perp probably did not hold a regular day job.

He took his victims by surprise; he was effective, too, because there were no defense wounds or signs of struggle. Rape had not been a factor, and Cole wo ndered if the son of a b.i.t.c.h could even get an erection or if he preferred to m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e to the trophies he collected from his victims as he relived his t wisted fantasies at a later date.

There was no doubt in Cole's mind, three murders later, they dealt with a ser ial killer. This man would continue killing until he was stopped.

In a drawer of lingerie, beneath a considerable amount of lace panties and b ra.s.sieres, Cole found a thin black book hidden at the back of the dresser. H e picked it up and leafed through it, glancing at the names. His heart raced . This book listed Mary's clients. She was no street-walking hooker who rand omly got into the cars of people she did not know; she had a clientele-a lar ge clientele, especially for one of her stature.

Cole recognized some of the men on the list as prominent businessmen in th e community. d.a.m.n, but he bet there would be a lot of people who would wan t to get their hands on this book.

Flipping through the pages, one name caught his attention-Nicholas Darby. A red star resided beside his name as well as a few others. It either denote d people she liked well enough or those maybe she preferred to stay away fr om. Which of the two, Cole did not know, but intended to find out.

He withdrew a small plastic bag from his blazer, slipped the book inside, and tagged it as evidence. Excitement bubbled to the surface as he placed the it em in his pocket. He had found the first real piece of evidence in this case and he planned to follow up on it by paying Mr. Darby a surprise visit as soo n as he wrapped things up here. Finally, he had a lead that might just point to the killer.

Cole pulledup in front of a townhouse on Westwood Drive, not far from the border of the city of Westlake. The address matched that of Nicholas Darby 's.

A new sleek black corvette sat in the driveway. Cole withdrew his paper an d pencil, quickly scrawled down the license plate number, and hoped if it was anywhere near the Cleveland Motel the night before, someone would have spotted it. A car like that would hardly go unnoticed.

Cole stepped out of his detective's sedan and headed up the walkway. The l awn appeared well taken care of, the shrubbery trimmed conservatively, and red flowers lined the many window boxes. Cole walked up the brick steps a nd rang the bell. The front door stood open and through the screen, Cole s aw a pet.i.te blonde heading in his direction.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked. Cole recognized her as the woman waiting in the car for Nicholas at his daughter's funeral. Cole took an instant di slike to her. Only a cold woman would show such disrespect-that is if it ha d been her decision and not Darby's to stay in the car.

Cole reached for his wallet and flashed his badge. "Fairview Police. I'd lik e to speak with Nicholas Darby."

"Sure. You're lucky you caught him. We were just heading for tennis at the club." She gave Cole her slender back and called out, "Nick, darling, the re's a police officer out here who wants to speak with you." She glanced b ack at Cole. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," Cole said. "Tell him it's Lieutenant Kincaid."

Before she could call out his name, Cole spotted Nicholas heading in their d irection through the closed screen door.

"Lieutenant," Nicholas greeted, opening the door and offering his hand. A smile spread across Mr. Darby's handsome face. He wore white tennis short s and a polo style pale-blue shirt, attesting to the fact he had a day of tennis in mind. "You've come with good news about my daughter's murderer I hope. Come in."

Cole followed Nicholas into the house, and down the hall to a small kitchen graced with a pedestal table and four caned chairs.

"Get the lieutenant a gla.s.s of lemonade, sweetheart," Nicholas instructed, t he cheeriness in his voice ringing false to Cole's ears. "What news do you h ave for me?"

"Nothing good. I'll need to read you your rights, Mr. Darby, before I proceed ." Cole held up his hand, stilling any argument ready to spill forth from Nic holas's lips. "You are not under arrest, it's just a formality. I'm sure you can understand."

After being read his noncustodial rights and signing a statement saying he understood full well what he had been told, Cole was ready to continue. "Ar e you familiar with the name Mary Stine?" Cole asked, watching the color dr ain from his face.

Nicholas's mouth twisted as he glared at Cole. Taking his gaze off Cole for a second, he turned to look at the woman approaching with two gla.s.ses of l emonade. "Why don't you head to the club, sweetheart? I'll meet up with you later. Lieutenant Kincaid and I have a private matter to discuss."

They waited until the small blonde grabbed her tennis bag and trotted out the door, promising to see her darling Nicholas later.

Mr. Darby turned back to Cole, his expression now granite. "What the h.e.l.l a re you doing here, Lieutenant?"

"Just answer the question. Do you know a Mary Stine?"

Nicholas wrapped his fingers tightly around the gla.s.s, refusing to meet Col e's gaze. "Nope." He glanced back up. "Next question."

"I believe you do," Cole said, leaning forward in his chair. "I think you not only knew her, but paid for her services."