Double-Edged Detective

Chapter Two

Albert Moser entered his house through the garage and headed straight for the photo album. He knew the man who’d come to Nicole Beckham’s rescue tonight. He’d seen him somewhere, he was sure.

The encroaching date on the calendar had sent him out looking for Nicole Beckham. He was ninety-nine percent sure she hadn’t seen his face a year ago. Still, she was unfinished business.

He knew where she worked, so he’d waited outside the restaurant until it closed and she emerged. He was delighted when he saw that she was walking home. He’d figured it would be easy to follow her and force his way into her apartment as she unlocked the door.

But then a small drama had unfolded, and Albert realized Nicole Beckham had a protector. And not just any protector—a cop. He’d grabbed the kid who’d been walking behind Nicole, cuffed him and called a couple of his buddies to take the kid in. Meanwhile, Albert was able to get a good look at his face.

He’d seen him before.

He sat down with the photo album and thumbed through all the newspaper clippings he’d saved from the murders. He’d seen that cop before. It could have been several years ago, during the brief time the police were investigating his daughter’s murder. Or maybe his picture had been in the newspaper.

It didn’t matter where he’d seen him. What mattered was, he was a cop and he was watching out for Nicole. Did that mean the police were finally taking the murder of young women seriously?

If so, then Albert had to be doubly vigilant, and doubly careful. He sorted through the six insurance forms, looking at the birth dates. He narrowed his choice down to two, both of whom had been born on the twenty-fifth day of October, three days after his daughter.

THE NEXT MORNING, Deputy Chief Mike Davis of the St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s Office satellite office in Chef Voleur leaned back in his desk chair and frowned at Ryker. “I just got off the phone with Lieutenant James Faraday in Mandeville.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t give me ‘yes, sir.’ Tell me what you were doing arresting a kid in Mandeville at midnight last night. And don’t tell me this has anything to do with your serial killer obsession.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do both, sir.”

Mike scowled. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I was off duty. I observed a kid accosting—someone. He was acting drunk or high. I dispatched a couple of locals to run him in.”

Mike Davis sighed and sat up straight. “And the someone? That wouldn’t be that young woman whom you’ve been stalking, would it?”

Ryker studied the toes of his shoes. “The victim of last year’s foiled attack. Yes, sir.”

“Didn’t I refuse your request to provide protection for her?” Mike’s voice rose in volume.

“As I said, I was off duty,” Ryker said mildly. Mike couldn’t tell him what to do on his own time, but Ryker didn’t like bucking authority. He believed in going by the book. He also believed Nicole’s life was in danger.

And that belief took priority over any other.

“You’re going to give me apoplexy, Detective Delancey.”

Ryker wasn’t sure what apoplexy was, but he’d already noticed Mike’s red ears, a sure sign of an impending explosion. Now the redness was creeping down his neck and up his cheeks.

“Sir, I know that the man who broke into Nicole Beckham’s apartment last year is the same man who killed those other women. I know it.”

Mike sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I’ve already told you, my hands are tied. If I combine the cases and make it official that we believe the deaths are the work of one man, I’ll have to appoint a task force, and involve the district attorney’s office. The media will be all over us.”

“Women are dying.”

“Not to mention that we’re shorthanded already. I need more evidence—a lot more.”

“Damn it, Mike. How much more evidence will it take? For four years he’s struck during the same week in October. It’s always a nighttime home invasion, always when the women are alone. And they were all born in October.”

“I thought one of them was born on November 1.”

Ryker gritted his teeth. “One day.”

“I understand what you’re saying, but there’s not enough consistency. You can’t connect the women. You’ve got different weapons, different dates.” Mike stood. “And it doesn’t help your case that you have a history with one of the victims.”

“It was a few dates back in college. I hadn’t seen her in—”

Mike held up a hand. “Spare me. I’ve heard it before. Now I’ve got a meeting. This discussion is over.”

“Fine.” Ryker blew out a frustrated breath. “Within the week, he’ll strike again, and I’ll get you your evidence. It’s a shame that another woman has to die to convince you.”

“Get out of here, before I fire your ass.”

Ryker beat a hasty retreat. Mike couldn’t fire him. Not without cause. But he understood his deputy chief’s frustration.

Even so, there was no way he was going to leave Nicole unprotected. It was October 21. Within the next few days, he fully expected the killer to strike again. There was no way he could stop him. But he’d be damned if the victim was Nicole.

THAT NIGHT AS NICOLE EXITED the restaurant, Ryker fell into step beside her.

She jumped and pressed her hand to her chest.

“I see you paid no attention to me,” he remarked. “I told you to drive.”

“I see you’re still following me.”

“Somebody has to look out for you if you aren’t going to take care of yourself.”

She sped up. He was surprised her heels didn’t strike sparks off the sidewalk. “I do not intend to act like a victim,” she threw back over her shoulder.

Ryker easily caught up to her. “Taking reasonable precautions is not acting like a victim.”

“I take reasonable precautions.”

“Walking alone at midnight is not a reasonable precaution.”

Nicole stopped at the stairwell that led up to the second-floor landing of her apartment building. “Look, Detective. After the break-in, I was so spooked that I gave up my job and my apartment. I will never feel that way again.”

He saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes. “I understand. Is that offer for a cup of coffee still open? I’d like to tell you about this killer.”

Her eyes widened and shimmered. “Why? To terrify me?”

He shook his head. “No. To prepare you, in case he comes back to finish what he started.”

She shuddered. “In other words, to terrify me.”

He knew his words were harsh, but at this point, with only a few days’ window for the next attack, he’d do anything to get her attention. “If you insist on looking at it that way. But the more you know, the better prepared you’ll be.”

She swallowed and pressed her lips together as she studied his face. “Fine. Please,” she said wryly. “By all means, come in and have a cup of coffee and tell me about the killer who’s after me.”

She turned and climbed the stairs. Ryker followed her, taking the opportunity to admire her backside in the jeans she wore. She was trim, but with curves in the right places. He liked that. He didn’t like stick-thin women who looked as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks.

He gave his head a shake. This wasn’t about admiring her figure or considering how her firm curves would feel under his hands.

By the time she got to the top of the stairs she was digging in her purse. Ryker heard keys jangle. He grimaced. He’d have thought every woman everywhere knew to have keys out and ready. It could be dangerous to be fumbling for keys outside in the dark.

Nicole felt Ryker’s disapproving gaze on her as she unlocked her apartment door.

“I usually have my keys out before I get up here.” She winced at her tone. She sounded like a wimp. She had no need to make explanations to him. In any case, it was his fault she hadn’t pulled out her keys earlier. When he’d stepped up beside her out of the shadows he’d given her a scare.

“Maybe you could look at my locks while you’re here,” she said as she walked through the door ahead of him.

He paused for a second and glanced around the landing, then stepped inside and gave the locks a brief inspection before closing the door. “They look good,” he said. “Nice apartment.”

“Not as nice as the one I gave up in Chef Voleur,” she said, an accusatory note in her voice as she stepped behind the butcher-block island into the kitchen area.

She swallowed nervously. Ryker Delancey made her small apartment feel tiny. He wasn’t a real big man. He was six feet tall, but lean. He probably only weighed about one-ninety, but he filled up her living room—and her senses.

He sat on one of the bar stools at the island. “You didn’t grow up in Chef Voleur.” He made it a statement, not a question.

“No. I moved there when I got the job at the restaurant.”

“Where did you grow up?”

Nicole winced internally. In an apartment half this size with a mother who wasn’t there even when she was there.

“Baton Rouge,” she said noncommittally. “Do you really want coffee, or would you rather have something else?” She opened the refrigerator. “I have—water. There might be some bourbon—”

Ryker laughed. “Coffee’s fine with me.”

“Do you mind if I make it decaf?”

He shook his head.

She grabbed the decaffeinated beans from the cabinet and put them in the grinder. By the time they were ground, she realized he was standing beside her. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

His voice rumbled near her ear, disturbing and enticing. She took a fraction of a step away from his imposing presence.

“Just appear, like you did on the sidewalk. You don’t make any noise.”

“Nobody moves without making any noise. You’re not paying attention. Being unaware of your surroundings could get you killed.”

“Do you think you could lay off the scare tactics for a minute or two?”

“You have a real espresso machine. That’s impressive.”

Nicole laughed. “Okay. Nice segue. Yes. I do have a real espresso machine. I like coffee, probably a little too much.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve always wanted one. Show me how to use it.”

Together, they made two mugs of decaf cappuccino, and Nicole put sugar in hers. She leaned against the kitchen counter and sipped her coffee. Ryker leaned next to her.

Nicole felt the subtle brush of his sleeve against her bare arm, and realized that this was the first time a man had been in her apartment—other than the moving crew and the locksmith. Thinking of that, it occurred to her that she hadn’t been out on a single date in the year since the break-in.

Why was she even thinking about dating? Her gaze lit on Ryker’s hands holding her jazz festival mug. They were large and square, with long fingers. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and his tanned forearms were dusted with golden hair, lighter than the light brown hair on his head.

He was attractive. Very attractive.

And strong, in the way that basketball players and soccer players were. Lean and wiry. She liked lean and wiry. Maybe that was why she was suddenly thinking about dating.

Okay, stop. He was in her apartment because she’d been the victim of a home invasion, and he, the investigator on the case, thought her life was in danger. That was a far cry from dating.

She shivered.

He glanced at her sidelong. “You okay?” he asked.

“Not really. Do you think that boy last night was following me? “

Ryker put his mug down and turned toward her. “No. I think he was high as a kite and lost, like he said he was. But it ought to illustrate to you what could happen. Someone could easily follow you. In the few minutes it takes you to walk from the restaurant to here, you could be grabbed.”

“There you go again with the scare tactics. You can’t manipulate me by scaring me. I will not quit this job. I already had to give up one job because of this person. I will not lose this one, too.”

“I hope you won’t. He hasn’t come after you, and it’s been almost a year. Maybe he won’t. Maybe I’m wrong, and your attack had nothing to do with the others.”

“But you don’t believe that, do you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have eaten at L’Orage every night for almost a year.”

Nicole looked up into his blue eyes, searching for a denial of what she’d just said. But as surely as he was standing there in front of her, she knew he was right.

“You believe before this week is out, he’s coming to get me, don’t you?”

Nicole’s green eyes filled with tears, then wavered and dropped to the cup she held.

Ryker took the cup and set it aside, then took her hands in his. “Listen to me, okay? Just listen to me. I’m going to make sure that nothing—nothing—happens to you.”

Her fingers squeezed his. “Okay,” she whispered, meeting his gaze. “I believe you.” Then she blinked, and a fat tear spilled over onto her lower lashes and hung there, sparkling in the light.

That tear almost undid Ryker. He was a sucker for tears. So much so that he’d had to teach himself to remain detached when he questioned victims or interrogated suspects. He couldn’t afford to get his emotions entangled in his job. He’d seen the devastating effects of emotion up close, and he wasn’t about to become a slave to his feelings like his father had.

Before he’d even finished his internal lecture, he’d defied it by reaching out and catching the teardrop with his thumb. When he did, her eyes closed. He laid his palm against her cheek.

He’d kept an eye on her for a year, ever since the break-in. She was his only living connection to his serial killer. He’d seen her leave her job and move. Watched over her as she searched for a new job in Mandeville and finally took the executive chef position at L’Orage.

He was intimately familiar with her honey-colored hair and skin, her sharp, beautiful green eyes, her graceful yet determined walk and the sweet smile she shared with everyone around her. When had he become so fascinated with her?

As soon as the question arose in his mind, he dismissed it. He wasn’t. Well, except as a victim of the killer he was trying to catch. She was his connection to his killer. That was all.

At that moment, Nicole’s eyes opened. Tears had matted her lashes until they looked like dark starbursts around her green eyes. Before he could work up the willpower to stop himself, he bent his head, urged her chin up with his fingers and kissed her.

She kissed him back. She tasted like coffee and cream. Hot, sweet, intense. A fire erupted inside him. The fire of lust—raging, consuming. He was instantly hard and burning for release.

Then the fire enveloped her, and her response was as hungry and frenzied as his own.

He backed her against the counter and kissed her deeply and thoroughly. She gave as good as she got, doubling her fists in the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer, taking his openmouthed kisses and returning them fully. He pressed the full length of his body against her, revealing how turned on he was.

She uttered a small cry and pushed at his chest. Somewhere in his brain, he felt relief. At least one of them had some self-control.

“What is that?” she panted, squirming.

He stared, incredulous. “Are you kidding me?” he muttered.

She shook her head. “Not that.” She touched the leather strap around his midsection. “This.”

Oh. His gun. She was talking about his gun. He had on his shoulder holster and she’d felt hard metal pressing against her. He stepped backward. “Sorry.”

“Just take it off.” Her green eyes were stormy, yet amazingly, still filled with passion.

He took off his jacket and then unbuckled the holster and shrugged out of it. By the time he was done, his lust had waned slightly. He breathed deeply. “Maybe I should go.”

Nicole didn’t say anything. He looked up at her, his holster dangling from one hand.

Her tongue slid out to moisten her lips and she shook her head no.

His hand tightened on the leather strap. He could stop right now. He could put the holster back on, and the jacket, and walk right out the door.

But he didn’t. Against his better judgment, he let the holster drop to the floor. Then he reached for her. Before he could take her in his arms, though, she grasped his hand and pulled him toward her bedroom. At the bedroom door, he stopped and turned her around to face him. “Are you sure?” he panted.

She pulled his head down and kissed him intimately. “If I want to, or if it’s a good idea?” she asked.

“Good idea.”

“No.”

“Yeah, me neither.” He pulled her close and kissed her again as she maneuvered them closer to the bed. When the backs of his calves hit the mattress, he tumbled, taking her with him. They ended up laughing in a tangle of clothes and sheets and throw pillows.

Nicole tugged a bright orange pillow out from under his shoulders, and a turquoise one that was tangled in her legs. Ryker chuckled as he tossed the rest of them onto the floor.

“What are those things for anyhow?” he asked, between kisses.

“Throw pillows?” she answered. “To throw, I guess.” She leaned over the side of the bed, reaching for one. “I’ll show you.”

Ryker caught her waist and pulled her back. He turned her around to face him and slid her green top up and over her head. She wore a pink bra—not sexy at all. Utilitarian. It did have a front clasp though, so he disposed of it quickly. He decided that her full, round breasts were the most beautiful he’d ever seen. They were lush, firm, creamy-smooth. His mouth watered to taste them, but he restrained himself.

Once he got started, he didn’t want to be hindered by clothes, so he quickly undid the top button of his shirt and tugged it off over his head, then shed his khaki pants.

By the time he was out of his clothes, Nicole had stripped down to her pink panties. Now they were sexy.

He didn’t remove them. Not yet. Instead, he slid his hands along her firm, soft skin. He caressed her breasts, trailing his fingers across their tips and watching them tighten in response. He traced the curve of her waist and the swell of that enticing backside. Just as he’d thought, it was as firm and silky smooth as the rest of her. Then he hooked his fingers around the bikini panties and pulled them off and tossed them aside. He dipped into her, sliding, touching, coaxing her body into response.

“There are condoms in that drawer,” Nicole whispered raggedly.

The box of condoms was sealed, and he couldn’t help wondering how long she’d had it as he tore the cardboard top and retrieved one. He fumbled like a teenager, but finally got it on. In the midst of it, as his cheeks warmed in embarrassment and he thought about stopping while he still had one rational brain cell in his head, Nicole wrapped her hand around him, and that one last coherent thought scattered like dandelion seeds in the wind.

He kissed her again, and retraced the path of his fingers with his tongue. He kissed the petal-smooth skin of her cheek, her neck, her collarbone. Then he traced the little tunnel between her breasts. He cupped them again, lavishing more attention on their tips. Once they stood erect, he tasted each one in turn, then grazed them with his teeth. To his delight, she arched her back and moaned with pleasure.