He wanted to make her smile and hear her laugh every single day of his life. He wanted to show Lucy how much he loved her. He dreaded returning to Washington knowing they’d be going back to their separate homes.
“Sometimes,” she whispered, “I feel so empty. Like there’s nothing left inside and I’m alone.”
“Oh, sweetheart, don’t.” He found her lips and kissed her. “You’re never going to be alone. I’m here.” He kissed her again. “I love you, Lucy. I’m not going anywhere.”
Lucy’s breath hitched when she tried to tell Sean she loved him. She couldn’t get the words out. She wanted to, but fear stopped her, fear of losing Sean, fear of losing herself. Fear that she would never be normal, no matter how much she pretended that everything was all right. The nightmares, her past, her future-or what was left of it. She wanted to love Sean, she wanted to stay here with him, to forget that anyone else existed, to forget pain and sorrow so deep that if she thought about it she’d break into a million pieces and no one would be able to help her. She didn’t want Sean to suffer her burden. It wasn’t fair to him.
She was teetering on the brink. Her cool facade was just that, an act, a hard shell she’d erected not only to stop pain from coming in, but to prevent her emotions from leaking out. Sometimes she felt blank, without the capacity to love or hate, able only to exist. And sometimes the deep-seated fear and hate and regret and endless sorrow that simmered in her core threatened to boil over until she wanted to scream. How could she cultivate the ability to love someone, to hope for a bright future, when she didn’t even know if she had love to give?
She couldn’t speak, but she could give Sean a small piece of herself, show him that she needed him.
Lucy felt for his unshaven face and held it between her hands, then kissed him. She kissed him until she felt as warm inside as she was outside, wrapped in his arms. His body temperature was always raised; he could wear shorts in winter and be hot to the touch. She kissed him until all remnants of the nightmare memories that had been plaguing her for weeks faded far away into the dark corners of her mind. She kissed him as if she were dying and he was her only hope for survival. And maybe he was. Maybe he could save her from shattering.
It was a fine line between commitment and obsession, a narrow path separating sanity from lunacy. She walked it every day, an acrobat on a tightrope, fearing she’d fall straight down and there would be no safety net, personally or professionally. Lucy knew she could lose herself in her past just as easily as she could lose herself in her future. She felt close to being a whole, normal person only when she was pursuing justice, focused on helping others.
Except now. Except with Sean.
Her hands were on his bare chest, and she pushed him onto his back, rolling on top of him, never letting his lips leave hers. His biceps flexed around her body as she straddled him. She felt a groan deep in his chest. She had no words, no thoughts, just a deep, extreme physical need.
Never had she been so forward, so urgent, in lovemaking. Sean’s hands were on her back, holding her tight, as if afraid to let her go and lose this unspoken, overwhelming desire. She tossed her T-shirt and panties across the room and pushed down Sean’s boxers, without breaking contact for more than a fraction of a second. She needed his hands, his arms, his entire body wrapped around her, inside her, filling her emptiness, completing her as only he could.
She gasped as she controlled Sean’s entry, but slid down smoothly, firmly, without hesitation. She broke the kiss as her back arched up, sweat coating her body and his. She held still for a long moment, savoring this instant flash of pleasure so natural, so real, so primal. A wave of heat washed over her and she pushed the blankets off impatiently.
Sean pulled her back to his chest, his lips on hers, as their bodies moved in unison, jumping from first gear to overdrive. Lucy gasped each time he went deep, his hands pulling her onto him as he pushed himself into her. Their lovemaking was perfectly timed, as if they joined together like this every night and had for years, though it was all still new and fresh and exploratory.
Sean said something but Lucy couldn’t hear over her rushing blood, as every muscle in her body tightened simultaneously, then released in a flood of ecstasy that surprised her so much she exclaimed Sean’s name in a voice that sounded nothing like her.
Sean thrust in a final time and held her tightly against him, their bodies hot and thoroughly pleasured. He didn’t let go when he was done, his hands moving from her butt to her back to her hair. He grabbed it in his fists and pulled her face to his and kissed her again, just as passionate and heated as before.
“Lucy,” he murmured into her mouth.
Lucy felt languid and so relaxed she didn’t think she could move. Sean sensed the shift inside her, and adjusted their position so she returned to the crook of his arm, but her head tilted so he could kiss her. She sighed contentedly, feeling like a lazy cat must when stretched out under a sunbeam.
“You’re smiling,” Sean said.
“I am.” And like a lazy cat, she was satiated and tired. She sank into a blissfully dreamless sleep.
TWENTY-SIX
The rain that had fallen in buckets half the night was now a light but steady trickle at seven o’clock Sunday morning. Suzanne had worn thick socks and rain boots, but her feet were the only part of her body that was dry.
The fifth victim of the Cinderella Strangler had been found outside an abandoned storage facility in Red Hook, where once again an underground party had been raging through the night. Jessica Bell had died practically a stone’s throw away in Sunset Park just one week ago.
Because her primary suspect was locked up on Rikers Island, Suzanne wanted to believe Sierra Hinkle had been killed by a copycat. But she’d stayed up half the night reading the report Lucy Kincaid had prepared for Hans Vigo, and she now believed she’d been wrong.
Suzanne had half expected the name, address, and phone number of the killer at the end of Lucy’s detailed analysis, but of course it wasn’t there. And while Lucy had stopped short of providing a psychological profile of the killer, Suzanne read between the lines. Lucy damn well had a psych analysis in mind, but she hadn’t included it, whether out of deference to the assistant director or because she didn’t want to go out on a limb.
Lucy had provided statistics regarding similar serial murders that gave information, but no conclusions. She’d taken Suzanne’s methodical time line and added in the victims’
Lucy had seen one thing in the autopsy reports that Suzanne hadn’t, and the discrepancy had kept Suzanne from sleeping more than an hour. Because all she could think about was that if she’d caught the difference when she first got the case, she might have understood the significance in time to save the lives of Jessica Bell and Sierra Hinkle.
Suzanne remembered reading the note about the black powder, but had assumed that the lab couldn’t identify it, or was backed up, or
She’d noted the various crimes’ similarities: isolated location, victim’s age, intoxication level, and recent sexual activity. She hadn’t noticed that the first victim was most likely killed spontaneously, and the others systematically stalked and murdered.
Which was why Suzanne had called Sean Rogan and asked him to bring Lucy to the latest crime scene. Lucy
