Killer Scents

His mouth captured hers in a long, drugging kiss. After a couple lame attempts to get away, she relaxed in his arms, and gave in to the whirlwind of emotions she tried so hard to contain.

Suddenly he scooped her up and cradled her in his arms. The intensity in his eyes robbed her of breath. She knew full well the direction they were headed.

“I can’t make any promises.” Her words came out nothing more than a whisper.

“I’m not asking for any, Red.” He carried her through the kitchen toward the bedroom. His lips claimed hers once again, but this time she offered no resistance.

Chapter Sixteen

Click. Click. Click. His boots snapped against the cement as he paced the room. Thoroughly pissed off at himself for tainting the thrill of being at his crime scene.

“Idiot! Why did you have to leave the box behind? How could you be so stupid?”

The skin on his neck pulled taut. He yanked open the cooler and grabbed a fistful of asters, pulling the heads off and scattering the pale purple petals into the air. He twisted the stems, over and over until they pulled apart and threw them on the ground. The cement turned green under his boot grinding them into the floor.

Calm yourself.

Two words whispered in his ear ended his tirade and drew him to the counter where he picked up the silver frame and smiled down at her.

“I’m sorry, dear heart. I know you don’t like it when I lose my temper. I wanted everything to be perfect for you, and it almost was.”

His heavy sigh steamed the glass as he pressed his lips to the smiling woman’s forehead. Reverently, he set it back, face down.

A hiss of air escaped the barstool he sat on. He wiped his sweaty face on his shirtsleeve. “Look at this mess.”

Dark purple roses caught his attention. He wrinkled his brow. “Of course, it’s her fault distracting me like that. She’s been nothing but a pain in my ass since she came back to work.”

Before then he wasn’t the least bit worried they’d solve the mystery of The Florist. Now that they put the dynamic duo together he had to admit he thoroughly enjoyed baffling Ms. Hoity Toity.

The scent of lemons wafted up from the wash basin he filled. Some of his best thinking happened when cleaning. Now, what is my next move? He’d completed what he’d set out to do. All seven of his victims were carefully picked, each encounter meticulously planned down to the minutest detail over the past year. To pick another virtual stranger from the journal meant taking a huge risk he’d overlook something or slip up somehow.

He sat back on his heels and dropped the scrub brush in the water.

It really is a shame to stop just when I’m getting so good at it.

He snapped his head up and rubbed his damp hands on his jeans. A smile twisted his lips.

“Unless...”

Randy settled in his seat and stretched his legs out, resting his boot on his highway pegs. The crisp morning breeze off the water, coupled with a flashback of Becca in bed, her long red hair fanned out across the pillow, brought a smile to his face.

They gave themselves to each other in unabashed abandon, blocking all the ugliness and heartache The Florist brought to their lives. Never in his life had he felt so connected to a woman. They shared an unspoken language only their bodies could decipher.

Any attempt to sleep once he got back to his place proved futile, so he showered and climbed on his bike. The wind had a way of soothing his soul like nothing else could, and as much as he wished to keep going, they had a killer to catch. He turned from the country road toward the precinct.

Less than twenty minutes later he flicked on the light, illuminating the morbid smiles of The Florist’s victims on the seven boards at the front of the meeting room. He set his files on the table and hurried to put some coffee on.

Chief Thomson stepped through the doorway, coffee in hand. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Chief.” Randy propped himself on the edge of a table. “Are results in from last night?”

“The others should be here any time now. Let’s wait until they arrive so I’m not repeating myself.” He sat at a table nearest the boards and opened a file. “Here, put these up on the empty board at the end.”

Randy took several photographs from him. Like all of the others, there was a picture of Kevin Baird pre- murder, and half a dozen taken at the crime scene.

Her voice carried in the room before he saw her, setting his pulse racing. Randy braced himself and turned, almost knocking her over. “Well, hello.”

Becca stood less than a foot away with her hand out. She stared intently into his eyes. “Work first?”

He narrowed his gaze on her, trying to figure out her intentions. He gave her a nod. “Okay. Play later?”

She smiled. “Let’s find this guy.”

“That sounds like a plan to me.”

Chief took his glasses off to rub his eyes. Once everyone was seated he raised his hand to silence everyone.

“I’m sure you’re all tired and frustrated. This guy has taken down seven people, and we’re no closer to finding him than we were on day one.” He walked down the row of boards, hitting each one. “Sandra Bedows, Derek Masters, Carol Tate, Lori Davis, Susan White, Jeffery Dunn, and last night, Kevin Baird.

He sighed wearily. “Randy, what do we know about these people.”

Randy pushed back from the table and walked to the first board, his notebook open. “Sandra Bedows, twenty-six years old, single. She lived on a disability pension due to being morbidly obese.”

Randy turned a page.

“Derek Masters, thirty-two years old, also single. He was an orderly until five years ago when he was let go for being a Peeping Tom.”

“Carol Tate, forty-seven years old, never married. At twenty-six years of age she murdered her plastic surgeon for ruining her face. She served ten years of a fifteen-year sentence.”

Randy stopped at Susan’s board and looked directly at Becca, who nodded her consent for him to continue.

“Susan White, sixty years old, single. She was a retired nurse’s aide.”

He turned his back to the boards before continuing. “Lori Davies, lawyer. Jeffery Dunn, computer tech, and Kevin Baird, a bouncer and ex-con.”

Randy snapped his notebook closed. “We know all seven victims came from very different walks of life. In fact, the only commonality is, they were all single. Hardly a reason for The Florist to kill them the way he did.” He returned to his seat.

Chief Thomson returned to the front of the room. “It’s obvious The Florist did his homework on all of his victims. He most probably watched them for quite some time before making a move. Given how quickly he’s carried off these murders, he had a pretty precise plan of action.

“It wasn’t like he typed in ‘potential victims who are single’ in the search bar and a magic list of only seven single people popped up. No, we’re missing a piece of the puzzle. There has to be a connection.”

He slapped the file down on the table. “I want all of you on this. I can’t stress enough how time is of the essence. I want this bastard found before he strikes again.”

Chapter Seventeen

A pile of wadded-up pages lay on the floor beside him, his head resting on his hand while he stared off into space. All through the night he’d wrestled with who his next victim would be. Now that I know, why is this still so hard?

Using the drug on Kevin Baird added a new element of satisfaction, but he only purchased enough for the one time, and the dealer had come to him. I need to get my hands on another dose, but how?