Pitch Black Page 15

  The wind howled wildly through the top floor of the building, which swayed a little under its power. He couldn’t have chosen more perfect weather. The shriek the air made as it rushed past the metal frame was reminiscent of a woman’s scream. It would disconcert her—terrify her even more.

  “I do wish I could stay and say hello to you in person, after all this time. But it wouldn’t be prudent to wait until things are over to take my leave.” He stared down at her naked body, pale and helpless in the moonlight, wondering why he felt no pity. Why he never felt pity, never experienced remorse or concern for a single one of them. His victims. His sheep.

  He’d been born without the gene, he supposed.

  “I’m not merciless,” he told her. “You have a chance. Don’t lose your head; use your brain for once and you might survive this. Embarrassed in the light of day when you’re found by the construction crew, but otherwise safe and sound.”

  As long as she didn’t lose her head.

  With a smile and a softly blown kiss, he took his leave of her. He tucked the tape and the knife into his knapsack, along with the minilaptop into which he had plugged the nanny-cam receiver, and entered the elevator. During its long descent, he removed everything—the note, the bear, the roses, and the candles. He even looked for clumps of wax or a random flower petal. Though he had no confidence in the FBI agents who pursued him, there was no point in making things easy for them. The phone had been clue enough.

  Reaching the ground floor, he watched for any sign of life, then quickly strode across the deserted street. He glanced at his watch—another forty minutes, at least, before she awoke.

  He had parked down a side alley, a few blocks away, and, once inside his vehicle, made his way out of the area. Careful to stay away from intersections with cameras that might record his passing, he took backstreets, avoiding streetlights in favor of stop signs.

  Everything went perfectly. At ten twenty, he entered the upscale hotel on the opposite side of the harbor. He’d checked in earlier, booking a room on the twenty-fifth floor, facing the water, due south. Once in his room, he didn’t turn on the light, moving across the darkness to the window. He had already set up the telescope, training it on his point of interest. Within seconds, he was looking into the top floor of the site he’d left a short time ago.

  From here, he had an excellent vantage point of the perimeter along the north- and east-facing sides. The west portion of the building, which fronted the street and was out of his line of sight, was blocked by a temporary wall, nowhere for her to go.

  No temporary wall guarded the remaining three sides of the structure, though, not since he’d cut away the safety netting. His only real worry was that she would move toward the southern edge. He couldn’t see it at all. What a disappointment that would be, to have set up something so entertaining and then miss the show.

  And there would be a show. He had told her she could avoid it. He knew she wouldn’t.

  A glance at his watch confirmed that it had been more than an hour since she’d drunk the champagne. “Come on, wake up now; I have other things to do.” Namely, drive to an area not far from here, where the woman he was truly interested in awaited his response. The moment this was over, he intended to pack up his things, slip quietly from the hotel, and head to Samantha’s.

  How delicious to write to her while parked outside of her building.

  He could make it even more delicious by using some of the knowledge he had gained while visiting her apartment. But that might be too much for now. He didn’t want to frighten her; he merely wanted to intrigue her. As she intrigued him.

  Unlike Miss Wendy Cramer.

  Suddenly a movement. A shape in the darkness. Awake at last.

  “Yes, yes, you’re confused, aren’t you? Not sure if you’re even conscious, or you’re having a nightmare. Lost in blackness.”

  A long minute passed. She was trying to get her head to stop spinning, still under the effects of the drug. Shocked, terrified.

  Not a dream. Cold. What’s happened? Rafe, where are you?

  He practically heard her every thought.

  Where am I? So dark! Why can’t I see?

  Realization sinking in.

  My hands! Oh, God, what have you done? Why are you doing this?

  A flash of white. Her naked body, struggling to her knees, then managing to stand. Her balance uncertain, she staggered forward.

  She stood no more than five feet from the edge of the building.

  “Careful, now. Don’t panic.”

  But she did. Of course she did. Fool.

  She could have sat back down, remained in place. Felt her way an inch at a time, making sure there was floor beneath her before moving at all. Waited for rescue. Used her fucking brain.

  Instead, the stupid bitch let her terror overwhelm her.

  Blind and bound, only her feet moving, she spun in a frenzied circle. She staggered drunkenly, somehow oblivious to the clues to where she was. The cold cement floor. The wind blowing wildly across her body. Perhaps even the softly audible lap of the water far below. Christ, it was as if she’d forgotten where she had been headed before she’d blacked out.

  Then, of course, a step too far. She reached the eastern edge, so close to falling he would swear her toes had actually hit empty air.

  And she knew it.

  Surprisingly, she had some fight in her. Wendy Cramer pulled back just in time, spinning away from the drop-off. Sheer terror and the fight-or-flight instinct sent her running in the opposite direction, away from the danger. Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t really determine the opposite direction, being blind, bound, and drugged like that.

  She ran right off the north side of the building.

  Interesting. She obviously hadn’t anticipated it. There had been no jerk back, no attempt to avoid the fall. The panicked woman had truly thought she was running on solid surface up until the very second that surface disappeared beneath her feet.

  Darwin tsked, having been proved right yet again. Had there ever been any doubt?

  Watching her descent, he wondered what she was thinking. That she would fall forever? No, several long seconds at most. But what lovely seconds, and how he enjoyed them.

  His Wendy had done exactly what he’d thought she would do. His little bird had flown. Oh, how she’d flown.

  True to his word, Alec was on track to get her home before tomorrow. Barely. They turned onto Sam’s street with about five minutes to spare.

  The ride from D.C. had been a mostly silent one. Alec appeared frustrated by the wasted day and their failure to engage his suspect, his pose reflecting his irritation. The sexy, smiling, maybe-verging-on-flirtatious man had been replaced by this scowling, hard-edged agent, who looked ready to pick a fight with anyone who crossed his path. Including her.

  It wasn’t merely frustration over the case; something else had happened. His mood had gone dark back there in the conference room, right around the time he told her he’d been shot.

  Maybe he had cued in to her reaction. Because while Sam’s first thought had been genuine concern for his well-being, she had also been taken aback to learn he was shot by a woman. Given the way he refused to discuss it, and had averted his eyes during that refusal, her curiosity had grown. Sam had some experience with men who averted their eyes when they were trying to hide something involving a woman, or when they were ashamed. Her ex had often done the former, though he’d rarely felt the latter.

  She just hadn’t expected it of Alec.

  She shouldn’t think of him in those terms, or in any personal terms. Simply because they worked well together and she enjoyed talking to him—both the serious issues and the unexpected lighter moments—didn’t mean she had the right to be disappointed in him. Disappointment indicated far too much emotional involvement. She had no stake in what Alec did.

  But she couldn’t deny she’d felt let down, wondering if he was the type to get himself into trouble with women. Considering one had shot h
im, she had to think that’d be a big ten-four.

  “Almost there,” he said, breaking the heavy, thought-filled silence. “I’m sure you’re ready to be home.”

  “Sure.”

  She had the feeling he intended to escort her to her door, say good-bye, and never see her again, unless the psychopath he sought reached out to her once more. Which should have been a relief, given how annoyed she’d been by his intrusion into her life a few short days ago.

  It wasn’t.

  What was she supposed to do, forget about this Darwin, this Professor? Act like his world had never brushed against her own and the FBI had never whisked her away to help them? Go back to her regularly scheduled life?

  As if.

  She was in this. Moreover, she wanted to be in this. She had reached out to the FBI once before, when she realized how deeply in trouble her grandmother had gotten, only to be left feeling abandoned and helpless. Now she was no longer helpless. She had played a part today.

  How could she give up just because their first efforts to engage the killer had failed?

  There was more to it, however.

  Sam wasn’t ready to go into her apartment and watch Alec Lambert drive away, never to see him again. Something inside her had awakened during their long, quiet hours together in the conference room. A bit of her spirit, perhaps.

  Even more surprising, so had her long-dormant libido. One intense, steady look at him, with all the caution lights in her brain turned off, all the hurt pride and rejected-woman anger shoved aside, had forced her to acknowledge the truth.

  The man was sex on a stick, to put it in Tricia terms. A pure confection of masculine heat, all hard-bodied and hot enough to burn anyone who got too close.

  In that moment, she’d wanted him. Not only mentally acknowledging how good-looking he was, or how much she liked the feel of his hand on her shoulder. She had wanted him sexually, with the kind of intensity she didn’t know she was even capable of experiencing anymore. The desire had dimmed somewhat with his admission about being shot by a woman, and her suspicions of why, but it hadn’t gone away completely.

  Throughout the car ride home, despite the tension, the awareness had slowly rebuilt. She’d felt the warmth of his body, heard his slow exhalations. She had watched the way his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched when he was deep in thought. Noted the muscular build of his shoulders and arms beneath his shirt, and the solid-ness of his chest. Inhaled the spicy, masculine scent of his skin.

  Yes, her libido had definitely woken back up, with a vengeance. Shooting or no shooting, it was screaming at her to do something before he walked back out of her life.

  But could she, really? Could she do what her friends and her mother had been telling her to do for months? Take a chance, let a man make her laugh again? Let a man into her bed again? Into her life?

  Uh-uh. No way. Women shoot this guy. He’s trouble.

  She knew she should listen to the little voice in her head. She also knew she probably wouldn’t. Because she wasn’t talking about falling in love with him, or letting her emotions get tangled up in it. Would some physical connection—before her girl parts dried up and fell off, as Tricia so eloquently put it—really be so bad?

  Not as long as she remembered it was purely physical.

  Unfortunately, she had no idea about how to make something happen. She had been out of the romance game so long she didn’t even know if he was at all interested in her; though she’d seen a few long glances that made her suspect he had at least noticed she was female.

  They were within a block of her place now. Alec was probably already picturing waving good-bye and going home to his glass of scotch and a boxing match with a cyber character. He would put her out of this investigation as quickly as he’d brought her into it.

  “You know, you ought to talk to Jimmy,” she suddenly said.

  “What?”

  She shifted in the seat, staring at him, watching the way the dashboard lights sent soft beams of illumination over him. That handsome face was even more attractive with the addition of a slight five-o’clock shadow. “Jimmy Flynt. The con man I told you about.”

  He glanced over, appearing puzzled, not noticing the light change from red to green.

  “Why should I talk to him?”

  “If this unsub of yours is using e-mail scams to lure his victims, Jimmy’s the man you should see. I know a few, but he could write an encyclopedia.” There was more to it, though. “Besides, you said you wanted to try to get into this killer’s head. I suspect Jimmy and this Darwin have a lot of the same views. Flynt really looked down on the people he stole from, almost like they had been asking for it. Which sounds like your guy, doesn’t it?”

  “I suppose.”

  “So maybe if you need to try to get inside this killer’s head, to profile him, talking to someone who thinks the same way and did the same sort of thing—though not so violently, of course—wouldn’t be a bad idea. It beats just waiting around for another body to turn up.”

  As soon as the words had left her mouth, she realized she’d put that badly, as if she’d been criticizing the job he and his colleagues had done so far. She hadn’t been; nor would she. Today, sitting with them all, watching them come together as a team to work on this case, Sam had gained a whole new respect for the FBI.

  “You might be right,” he said with a hint of reluctance.

  She let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, glad she hadn’t offended him. Even gladder that he seemed to be considering her suggestion. Because he hadn’t yet realized he wouldn’t be able to pull it off without her help.

  He nodded slowly, still thinking about it. Finally noticing the light, he touched the gas pedal, and within seconds they arrived at her building. Alec pulled into a parking space outside, lucky to get one—the street was crowded, cars lined down each side. As he cut the engine, he muttered, “That’s actually a good idea.”

  “Good. Let me know when you want to set it up.”

  Startled, he raised a brow.

  “He hates the FBI for bringing him down.” She wasn’t exaggerating. “But he likes me. A lot.” Also not an exaggeration. “I told you about his letters.”

  Alec dropped his gaze, as if not wanting to reveal the anger she suspected he felt. “Does he e-mail you?”

  “Of course not. He’ll never be allowed to go near the Internet again. They were handwritten letters.”

  Though she wouldn’t see any ever again. She’d made sure of that. Thank goodness the warden had had the foresight to decide not to tell Jimmy she didn’t want to receive them anymore. He might not feel as friendly toward her.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the inmate talking to her, helping her with the book. But that in no way meant she had any liking for him. Though Flynt had been incarcerated by the time her grandmother had even learned how to use the computer Sam had given her, he was just like the men who’d stolen everything the elderly woman had. She detested him, as she detested all who preyed on the weak and vulnerable.

  That didn’t mean she wouldn’t use him, or help the FBI use him, if it meant stopping a monster. “I can call his attorney or the prison directly. The sooner, the better, I’d imagine.”

  “Forget it. You’ve been dragged far enough into this.”

  “I volunteered.”

  “It’s not happening, Sam.”

  “I am telling you, Flynt will not give you the time of day,” she insisted. “He might not even talk to me if you’re in the room, but I’m about the only shot you’ve got with him.”

  His lips compressed tightly, as if he’d said all he was going to say. But he didn’t open the door and usher her out to silently announce his decision was final. Instead, he stayed in his seat, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and index finger. Obviously thinking.

  Reconsidering? Sam remained quiet, waiting for him to realize her idea was a good one. He was a smart man; he’d see the sense in it.

  She couldn’t stay
entirely still for long, however. The bitterly cold night had been held at bay, though not defeated, by the weak heater. Now, with the engine turned off, the frigid air began to sift through the closed windows. She could already see her breath in front of her face, and the tip of her nose felt like an ice cube. Shivering, she wrapped her coat more tightly around herself, crossing her arms and tucking her hands beneath them for warmth.

  He noticed. Without a word, Alec restarted the car, another sign he wasn’t going to just shove her out and ignore her offer.

  To her surprise, though, he went a step further. Reaching into the backseat, he grabbed his overcoat. He had thrown it there when they had gotten in, obviously having a little lava in his blood. Without a word, he tugged it up front, reached into the pockets, and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. Not even looking over, he tossed them onto her lap, still silent, still considering.

  Sam couldn’t have spoken either, even if she wanted to. Her breath had lodged in her throat. She was so taken aback, she didn’t know how to react. Staring at the gloves, she studied them mutely, not even aware moisture had risen in her eyes until she felt a tear on her cheek.

  In the entire four years she had been married, her ex had never done something as thoughtful as worrying about whether her hands were cold. One of their first fights, in fact, had started because she’d pulled a pair of his cashmere socks on her cold feet one morning when she couldn’t find her slippers.

  Simple courtesy had been beyond Samuel Dalton Jr., who’d been raised with such a big silver spoon in his mouth he hadn’t even needed the bowl.

  To Alec Lambert, the thoughtful gesture had been second nature. And it touched her the way Samuel’s diamonds and huge bouquets of roses never had. She’d known this man for only a couple of days, but already she had begun to wonder if his entry into her life was going to leave her changed forever.

  Maybe. If only by making her hold out for a man who gave a damn if her hands were cold. Or her feet.

  He finally broke the silence. “It’s a bad idea.”

  Still touched by the simple kindness, she didn’t respond.