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  Yes.

  They didn’t move for a second, just gasping as sensation exploded and pleasure erupted. Helpless to the demands of both their bodies, they began a slow, sultry tango. He filled her; he pleasured her; he offered her tenderness and delight and strength. Dean made her feel, for the first time in ages, that she wasn’t alone, and that there was still goodness and light and beauty to be found if she just opened herself to them.

  They loved until the water grew completely cold and they both cried out their ultimate release. But it was only afterward, when he gently lifted her from the shower and carried her to her bed, that she realized the dam had burst. The tears had been released.

  And she sobbed quietly in his arms until she fell asleep.

  Chapter 10

  Dean hadn’t held a sleeping woman in a long time, and he liked it.

  As Stacey’s ragged breathing smoothed and evened, and the tears dried in her eyes, he watched her succumb to exhaustion. Her long lashes rested on her pink cheeks, her lips parted slightly as she breathed over them. Her hair was still wet, spread across the pillow and his chest.

  He just kept watching her. Wondering what he’d gotten himself into here, and why he didn’t regret it.

  By the end of his marriage, he’d been sleeping in the spare room. Dean had been working crazy hours back then, traveling a lot, getting home late in the night. His wife hadn’t wanted to be awakened, since she had to get up early in the mornings to get Jared off to school. He’d understood. More, though, he’d been relieved.

  That should have been a big tip-off about the state of his marriage. He hadn’t given a damn. He’d had no physical interest in the woman he’d married. Between his absorption with his job and focusing every spare thought on his son, he’d been entirely oblivious that she was walking out of their marriage.

  He really had been a lousy husband.

  With all these realizations that had been hitting him in recent days, he was seeing the whole sorry mess clearly for the first time since he’d been so blindsided by her request for a divorce and her confession about the affair.

  He’d been furious. Humiliated. Ashamed.

  But not heartbroken.

  It had taken him more than a year to realize that truth. She hadn’t broken his heart. Because it hadn’t been hers to break anymore.

  Stacey sighed in her sleep, her bottom lip quivering. Drawing the sheet up, he covered her naked body—so feminine and curvy for a woman so tough and capable.

  “Maybe too tough,” he murmured, swiping the tip of his finger down her cheek.

  In another time and place, the idea of a woman bursting into tears and sobbing her heart out right after they’d both had orgasms that nearly blew the tops of their heads off might have been a little disconcerting. Even worrisome.

  But he knew why she’d cried. She had at last been releasing those closed-up boxes of dark emotion that he suspected had been building in her head for a very long time. She’d needed to let them go. That the catalyst for the final emotional meltdown had been a poor pup someone had left on her front porch meant only that she’d been ready to break anyway. He was just glad he had been here when she did.

  “Dean?” she murmured, not even opening her eyes.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He tightened his arm around her waist. “I’m not.”

  “I mean, sorry that I broke down.”

  “Repeat: I’m not.”

  She nestled closer, her face against his neck. “I don’t usually do things like that.”

  Unable to help it and wanting to lighten her mood, he replied, “Really? You’re incredibly good at it.”

  She chuckled a little against his throat, but didn’t reply. And within moments, her breathing returned to its deep, steady pace as she drifted off again, obviously feeling completely safe right here with him.

  Well, wasn’t she? Because he’d do anything to make sure she didn’t get hurt. Except he somehow had the feeling he’d already hurt her, at least a little. By showing up in her town and invading the nice, safe world she’d invented for herself after she’d escaped from the horror she’d seen in her previous job, he suspected he had hurt her badly. She either hadn’t realized it yet, or just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

  “I’m the one who’s sorry,” he whispered into her hair.

  From the bathroom a few feet away came the ringing of his cell phone. Dean normally would have ignored it, but not now, not while he was on a case—especially this case. Carefully disentangling himself from her, he padded naked across the room and grabbed his jeans off the bathroom floor. Tugging the phone from his pocket and seeing the familiar number, he couldn’t keep a smile from his mouth.

  Not the case. Not the job. Something much more important.

  “Hey, big guy,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

  “Hi, Daddy. We gotta talk.”

  Smothering a chuckle at Jared’s serious tone, he knew before the words left the boy’s mouth what the problem was.

  “They’re back.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way. They’re under there. I hear ’em.”

  “Impossible, dude. You know your mom wouldn’t stand for any dust bunnies under your bed, so there can’t be any dust-bunny-eating monsters.”

  From across the room, he thought he heard a sound. A quick glance, however, revealed that Stacey was still sleeping soundly.

  “I think they eat candy wrappers now.”

  “Well, that’s a different story, then. Have you been tossing candy wrappers under the bed?” Candy. He almost snorted. His ex and her dentist husband would have a fit.

  “Maybe one or two.”

  Or maybe his son just wanted to say good night once more. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d shared a second good night phone call since he’d given Jared the cell phone. His ex hadn’t liked it, but too bad. Dean wanted Jared to be able to reach him whenever and wherever he wanted.

  “You’re gonna get those wrappers out of there in the morning, right?”

  “Yep. But until then . . .”

  “Okay.”

  Cupping his hand around the mouthpiece of the phone, he began to recite the rhyme he’d made up when Jared was five and had first started hearing monsters under the bed. They banished them with invisible laser beams. Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader—who’d somehow become a hero between Dean’s generation and his son’s—helped. So did Jared’s favorite stuffed bear, which he still slept with but hid from his buddies by day.

  “Jared’s not coming down there; you can wait all night. So just get going or we’ll have another fight,” he concluded, hearing his son sigh in sleepy happiness at the end. The boy barely even murmured good-bye, already half-asleep.

  Dean was smiling as he stuck the phone back into his pocket and carried his jeans into the bedroom. At least until he saw that Stacey was now awake, climbing out of the bed, not meeting his eye. And definitely not smiling.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Are you hungry? I’m hungry. I forgot about that steak. Let’s go eat.”

  “Better idea. Let’s go back to bed.”

  She did that weird take-the-sheet-off-the-bed-and-wrap-it-around-yourself thing that he had only ever seen in movies. As if he hadn’t explored just about every inch of her body in the shower less than an hour ago.

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why. “Stacey, look, if anybody was due for a meltdown, it was you. Don’t wig out because you happened to let some of the pent-up emotion in your head come out through your eyes.”

  She stared at him, snagging that full bottom lip between her teeth. Sniffing, she murmured, “Thank you for that. I guess I needed to let it go.”

  Exactly. But that damned sheet stayed in place. And she actually headed toward her dresser and began pulling out clothes. Sensible, nonseductive Stacey clothes, including a simple white bra and boy briefs that he knew would look sexy as
hell on her.

  He didn’t, however, want anything on the woman. Except himself.

  “What’s going on?”

  She pulled on the underclothes, dropping the sheet. Yeah. Supersexy.

  Grabbing a brush, she yanked it mercilessly through her long hair. He knew she was putting up barriers, but damned if he was going to watch the woman rip those long strands out by the roots. Stepping into the bathroom again, he grabbed his briefs, tugged them on over his naked body, and walked up behind her. Dean took the brush out of her hands and began working it through the tangled, damp mass of hair, which had begun to curl softly against her skin as it dried. Such beautiful hair, kept so tightly restrained. Like the rest of her.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  He met her stare in the mirror over her dresser, unsmiling. “I know. It’s not a problem.”

  They remained silent while he worked out the knots, sliding his fingers through the strands as each one was freed. With each stroke of the brush and his fingers, he silently gave her time to figure out what she wanted to say to him. Because he knew her well enough to keep his own mouth shut, not asking her what was wrong. Something was; that was clear. She’d let him know when she’d figured out how to tell him.

  Finally, when he’d finished and placed the brush on the dresser, he put his hands on her shoulders and stared at her in the mirror. “Okay?”

  Her eyes were moist and red from her crying jag. But they also swam with fresh emotional uncertainty.

  “You’re wonderful,” she whispered.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “It’s true. You’re all hard-ass and tough, but you’re also utterly wonderful.”

  “You’re nuts. I told you before, I’m no nice guy.” He had an ex and a bunch of other people, like those he’d busted and some he’d worked with, who’d confirm it.

  She turned around in his arms, her body pressed against his as she looked up into his eyes. “Yes, you are. That’s what’s killing me here.”

  “I so don’t get you.”

  “I heard you on the phone with your little boy.”

  He shrugged. “He’s afraid of monsters under the bed.”

  “You love him. You’re a wonderful father. You gave me exactly what I needed just now. And I can’t have that.”

  Her seriousness told him they’d finally reached the point. “Care to explain?”

  “This is a fling, damn it. Just sex, just while you’re in town, just because I’m lonely and you’re newly single.”

  Ahh.

  “No strings, no emotions. No wonderfulness. No hearing you on the phone with the kid you adore, when I don’t even want kids.”

  Taking the same tack she’d used earlier in the car, he forced a dry laugh. “Hey, I came over to have a beer, not knock you up.”

  She saw right through him. Putting one hand on his chest, she pushed him back and ducked away. “I could fall for you.”

  “Don’t,” he warned her, knowing that she was right. This was just a fling. A get-back-in-the-saddle interlude for them both to gain a little release. The fact that she was someone he already cared about was something he’d fully intended to ignore when he’d shown up tonight.

  And the idea that she could care about him? Inconceivable. He didn’t have to hear her say it to know that her coming back here to Hope Valley had been all about getting away from men like him, in jobs like his. And he had already proved once that he totally sucked at the whole relationship thing.

  “Stacey, I get the picture,” he insisted. “I agree. It’s sex, great sex, no strings. That doesn’t mean we can’t like each other. In fact, liking you makes it better, in my book. Less . . .”

  “Impersonal?”

  He nodded, liking how quickly she got him. “God knows the situation couldn’t be much worse, but the timing, at least, is right. We both need exactly what we’re getting. No more, no less. Not a one-night stand with a stranger, and not a lifelong relationship. Something in between that works for both of us.”

  She eyed him warily. “Really?”

  “Really. You’re not falling for me; you are attracted to me and you like me. And there’s not a damn thing wrong with that. We’re friendly lovers.”

  “Not loving lovers.”

  Yeah. Right. Exactly. At least for now.

  If his expression changed with that crazy thought, she didn’t appear to notice. Instead, she seemed almost relieved, mumbling, “Okay.” She glanced at the bed, then down at his body. “Still want that steak?”

  He reached for her, sliding a hand around her waist and tugging her against him. “The steak can wait.” Then he covered her mouth and kissed her deeply, with slow deliberation. He’d had her up against a shower wall before. Now he wanted her in bed. For hours.

  Before he could take her back there, though, his damn cell phone rang again. “I’m sorry; I can’t turn it off.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

  Not allowing himself to get frustrated, since he knew Jared’s calls were more about staying connected to his dad rather than any real fear of monsters, he got his phone. But the caller ID said it wasn’t Jared.

  “Hey, Wyatt,” he answered. He immediately pulled his head back in the game, shaking off his sensual lethargy. And willing down his hard-on.

  He listened to what his boss had to say, the information doing a lot to remove from his brain any thoughts of sultry sex with a sultry sheriff. In fact, by the time Wyatt was finished, Dean’s mind was filled with nothing but red rage.

  Because it appeared they were too late.

  “What is it?” Stacey asked after he’d disconnected the call.

  He’d already begun pulling on his jeans, hoping the shadowy room, and the fabric, were dark enough that she wouldn’t notice the bloodstains on them. He’d change the minute he got back to the hotel.

  “Dean?”

  “They think they’ve identified the latest victim.”

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered, drawing a hand to her mouth.

  “She’s a teenage girl who disappeared from a mall in Bethesda, Maryland, Friday night. She’d fought with her parents that day, and then with her boss, and the local guys figured her for a runaway. But when they found her wallet and her car in the mall parking lot, and all the security cameras in the area shot out, they changed that theory.”

  “Cameras shot out?” she whispered.

  “It isn’t the first time. Our guy’s damn good with a twenty-two rifle. He shot out the cameras at another location when grabbing the third victim.”

  “So there’s no doubt he’s got her?”

  “Very little.”

  She covered her eyes, as if wanting to block out a horrible sight.

  He knew exactly what she was trying to block out. Because the same vision had filled his mind from the moment he’d read the transcript of that last sick online auction.

  Beheaded.

  “Twenty-four hours,” she finally whispered. “Is there any chance she’s still . . .”

  “No,” he snapped, crushing his own tiny bit of hope that the girl, Amber something, was still alive. “I don’t think so.” He finished yanking on his clothes, then kissed her roughly. “I’ve got to go to Maryland. I’m going back to the hotel to meet up with Stokes and Mulrooney so we can all go.”

  She nodded. No tears, no regrets, no sighs that he was walking out on her right in the middle of their first night together.

  Damn, he liked her.

  “Call me when you have more news.”

  “I will.” He kissed her again, more gently this time. Stroking her soft, almost-dry hair, he murmured, “Be careful. Keep your head down and leave this alone until you hear from me, okay? I don’t want you doing anything to attract this bastard’s attention.”

  “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt the case.”

  “I don’t mean the case, Stacey.” He cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I mean you. Just because we’re friendly lovers doesn’t mean I can�
�t worry about you. I want to know who the hell left that hateful message for you on the porch.” Frowning because he wouldn’t be around to help her deal with that situation, he quietly added, “The box is in the trunk of your squad car.”

  “Thank you. And don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’m sure that isn’t connected to the Reaper case.”

  “I know. It’s not his style.” He offered her a grim smile. “Believe me, if I thought it was that bastard, I wouldn’t be leaving you here alone.”

  She nodded, completely understanding, not arguing. She saw the sense in what he was saying without his having to explain a thing or justify himself. What a rarity.

  Damn, he could love her.

  Which was the last thing he could afford to think about as he said his good-byes and left to go try to find the Reaper’s latest victim.

  For the first several hours after receiving that anonymous e-mail message, the Reaper lost himself in the Playground. He disappeared from the dirt world, the one some people called real, but which he considered only dark, drab, ugly, and colorless. No life at all, just existence.

  In that world, someone was trying to do him harm. Someone actually believed he could be blackmailed. Unacceptable.

  He needed to escape in order to think about it and decide on a course of action. He couldn’t panic, couldn’t allow rage to make him do something stupid. Only one location calmed him now; only one provided any real escape. In the sunlit, warm, beautifully colorful world that was the Playground, no one could ever touch him. He’d never be betrayed. Never criticized. Never hurt.

  He did all the hurting, of both the game-generated ’bots who inhabited Satan’s Playground, as well as personalized avatars created by those who wanted to see what it would feel like to be murdered.

  And now it was even easier to do. He had lots of new toys to try out. He’d just bought some new custom-made weapons and implements to enhance the torture chamber that existed in the dungeon of his cyber castle: vises and blades, whips and chains, a stretching rack, gallows, and a spike-lined box. All perfect.

  He’d filled a pit of snakes and rejoiced as a dumb bitch had broken her ankles and been devoured after he’d tossed her in. He’d finally experienced the excitement of seeing someone drawn and quartered. How wonderful a death; and how weak and pathetic people were to have stopped using it so long ago.