For All to See (Bureau Series Book 1) (9 page)

N
athan was in shape
, but hauling an extra ninety-five pounds over the sand for two miles took its toll. By the time he laid Deacon onto the plush dog bed in the corner of the living area, his mouth was dry and his stomach wept for sustenance. She hadn’t said much on the walk back. No doubt she was pissed, but hopefully she gave some serious thought to what he’d told her.

Madelyn dumped the sand from her shoes and set them next to the front door. When she finally turned into the small house her gaze skated over his head. Yep, still mad. She headed for the fridge. The clank of glass bottles lit the air. Nathan almost groaned. He wasn’t above begging.

As she rounded the corner, her sultry, sad eyes narrowed on him. She held out one of the two beers she held.

He hesitated. “You slip something into it?”

“No.”

He reached for it, but she jerked it back. “I should knock you over the head with it though.” She shoved the thing at him and worked her jaw side-to-side.

Nathan snagged it, twisted the top, and then handed it back to her. “Perils of the job.”

Surprisingly, she traded bottles with him. He’d half expected her to remove the cap with her teeth, just to prove she didn’t need help.

“You’re not leaving until he wakes up, which means you’re staying for dinner. So, go light the grill while I figure out what you’re going to cook.”

“I’m on it.” He nodded—liking the idea of this domestic scene a little too much—and headed for the patio before she changed her mind. When he stepped into her bedroom his gate eased, allowing him to catalogue the nuances of her intimate space.

A hint of lavender hung in the air. Stings of tiny lights hung above the patio and reflected an ethereal glow in the space. It lit heavily on a queen-size bed shoved into the corner of the small room. She’d look so damn good spread out on the fluffy white comforter, all pliant, and needy. But it’d take more to get her there than he could give.

So, he adjusted his pants to accommodate his swollen cock, grabbed the knob to the back door, and twisted. Nothing happened. A satisfied smirk curved his lips. She did listen to him. At least a little. He flipped the bolt and made his way to the grill.

About the time he got the coals lit and the edges charred white, Madelyn breezed through the door. She placed a platter of shrimp and vegetable kabobs onto the bistro table, and then disappeared into the house without a glance in his direction. He stared after her sweaty, sand coated form.

The more he puzzled over Madelyn Garrett the more he wondered what he’d give—if he could—to be with her.

Nathan watched the black squares turn white, the vegetable and shrimp sear, and brooded. If he lost focus of his goals, the bad guys would win. And no amount of lust could override his need to see sick sons-of-bitches like Famosa and the Field-Dresser rot for their crimes.

The back door opened and closed again, but he didn’t turn around. He pulled the last of his beer and turned the skinny wooden spindles.

“Why do you care so much?” Madelyn’s sultry voice taunted him, while her words hit a little close to the mark.

“It’s my job.”

Her arm brushed his, inciting the throb between his legs that had only grown more insistent. A beer bottle hung between her fingers. He grabbed the offering and prayed she’d retreat. The scent of her sweat overrode his hunger for food. He licked his lips to keep from licking her mouth. The mouth that had pulled him like a bull to a matador’s cape when he’d had her flat on her back, nestling his dick on the beach.

“Not many people show so much dedication to their work.” The breath of her words danced over his bicep.

“Not many jobs protect the innocent and see that the guilty are punished.”

“Why is that so important to you?”

His grip on the beer doubled and he couldn’t decide whether her proximity or the sensitive subject matter had him on edge. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Hum.” She stepped back. “I have plates on the table. Let me grab them.”

“Hum?” He turned toward her retreating back.

Her pony-tail gyrated with the bob of her head. “You have this unearthly calm about you, but you can be pushed just like everyone else.”

“I don’t know that I like being lumped into the general population. Especially since you seem to have an aversion to them.”

Madelyn shoved a plate at his middle and ducked around him. Her gaze darted high and low in front of the grill.

“Looking for these?” He clamped the tongs together.

“Yes,” she bit.

Nathan reached over her shoulder, pinning her between him and the grate. Her breath hitched. He plucked two skewers from the low flame and set them on her plate. She stayed perfectly still as though he loaded her with dynamite instead of grilled deliciousness. He pulled the last three from the heat, heaped them on the plate, and then stepped back.

“Shall we?”

She walked to the table with a rigidity normally reserved for the dead. It loosened after gulps of beer and a few bites. “It’s very good. Thank you.”

“That’s all you. I just heated it. But I have to warn you…” Her eyes shot wide. “If this is what I get for tranquilizing your dog, tackling you, and smashing your face in the sand, you had better keep a good eye out.”

A genuine smile bowed her pretty mouth. Too soon it fell away.

“You honestly don’t think Jim killed her. I get that. But when will you know for sure?”

He tossed a pita triangle heaped with some sort of black spicy dip she’d added to the table into his mouth and chewed. His head shook before he could speak. “You really don’t trust anyone, do you?”

“I trust him.” She hiked a thumb toward the unconscious dog in the house. “And he trusts me.”

“Your trust is hard earned, and I can respect that. What I can’t understand, is why you’d risk your life when all the signs point to the Field-Dresser.”

Madelyn pushed her half-eaten meal away. “Because I went with the superficial once and lost everything for it. I don’t have much to lose now, but what I do have I intend to keep.”

Nathan shoved her plate back in front of her. “Eat. It’s not the husband. Not unless he’s the serial killer. And I don’t think he is. This guy is patient. Jim Gallow has a world of impulse control issues. But if you need actual physical proof, I’ll have it in a couple of days.”

When he’d finished every bit of food on his plate and the tray of dip, she reached for the dishes. He caught her hand in his. “I don’t suggest waiting that long to go into protective custody.”

It could have been a trick of the light, but he’d swear her pupils dilated. “Noted,” she breathed. He released her hand. She snatched the plate and stood. “I’ll go clean these up.”

“I’ll take care of the grill.”

“Thanks.” She ran like the mountain behind her house had just erupted. With a stack of breakables, the display made him chuckle.

He dealt with the coals, cleaned the grate, and locked the door behind him, along with every window in her bedroom. In the kitchen dishes clanked and clatter and water drizzled from the spout. Deacon stretched his legs over the edge of his dog bed. Nathan sat next to the groggy pup. He braced his back on the tiniest sofa he’d ever seen and stroked the big guy’s scarred belly.

Little by little the dog wiggled his way off the dog bed and to Nathan’s side. “Sorry for the fake out, buddy. Sometimes we all have to take one for the team.” He found the particularly sensitive spot at the top of Deacon’s sturdy chest and scratched. The big guy’s tongue lulled out the side of his head and groaned as though he’d found an unattended Christmas ham. “I suppose this’ll get us square?”

Deacon lifted his head and plopped it on Nathan’s thighs. After a few wiggles the top half of the pup’s body fixed him to the floor.

“Real talk. I like it.” Nathan scrubbed the dog’s head. “So, wanna tell me how to get Madelyn to trust me?”

The mighty beast heaved a sigh.

“Pray for a miracle? Yep, that’s what I thought.”

The water in the kitchen shut off. Silence descended in the tiny dwelling. Nathan kept his mouth shut to head off any beating Madelyn would dole out if she heard him pestering the dog for information. A few cabinets opened and closed. The soft pads of her footsteps announced her arrival a few seconds before she appeared.

She’d washed her face and let her hair down. Some clung to the tops of her breasts while the rest cascaded down her back. A huge smile parted her lips and warmed her somber eyes.

L
ord
, he was in trouble.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was awake?” She skittered across the room and dropped to her knees beside him. “Hey, bud.”

Madelyn leaned forward, cupped Deacon’s head in her hands, and lowered hers to meet it. Her hair draped her face. It forced a rush of air thick with her scent straight up Nathan’s nose. He ground his teeth to keep from groaning like a dog.

She sat back, still holding Deacon’s head and smiled. “You have my permission to bite him,” she whispered.

“Not a chance.”

“You’re right, he wouldn’t.” Her gaze met his. “He likes you a lot and that’s out of character for him. He only appreciates a few people, but not this openly.” She gestured toward his current position.

They shared a smiled that—despite its innocence—charged the air between them. This close, the pull grew bold. His fingers itched to tame her hair in his grip. Her gaze darted to his mouth, and then back up. His breaths came shallow, flaring his nostrils.

Madelyn’s lips parted. She cast her gaze at the dog and gnawed on her cheek.

“I won’t bite you, you know?”

Her hand brushed Deacon’s fur in a light, distracted stroke. The caress transferred through the dog’s body. Nathan’s thigh tingled.

“Would it sound crazy,” she whispered, “if I said I’m worried you won’t bite.”

“Not if you explain what you mean.”

She continued to rub the dog and drive him mad without a word.

“I can bite…and make you like it.”

Her cheeks flamed red. She zeroed in on him with wide eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.” A sigh drew her shoulders. “I mean if you acted like most men it would be easier.”

It was worth a shot.

“Easier?” he asked, quirking a brow.

“I wouldn’t feel bad about slamming the door in your face or telling you to fuck off.”

“So, you haven’t told me to fuck off?” He grinned to lighten the mood. “I’d hate to be the bastard that got the blunt rejection.”

The pulse in her neck made the skin just below her ear throb. One little kiss couldn’t hurt. Could it?

Nathan sat forward, bringing their faces a breath apart. His hand released the prickly fur for more tender locks.

“Deacon is awake, so you’re free to go.”

“Do you want me to go?” He stilled, stared into her soulful eyes, and waited.

“You should go,” she murmured.

“Do you want me to go?” he repeated.

A war raged in her flitting eyes.

“Yes.” Her gaze met his. “I need time to wrap my head around all this. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen to me. I am a simple person. I lead a simple life. And all this…” She stood and raked her hands through her hair. “It’s just crazy. I mean you—the FBI here—Nichole gone, Jim, and your killer. It’s too much.”

“It’s not more than you can handle. You are a strong woman. You just have to trust us to take care of the situation. You have to trust me.”

“Trust doesn’t come easily. Not for me anyway.” She shrugged.

“Me neither.”

“I want to trust you.” Her arms crossed over her chest, plumping her breasts.

But I’m a rat bastard with a fixation on your body that can’t be trusted.

“But?” he asked.

“But it’s hard to give up control. I finally have control over my life and here’s another man…” She ground her lips together. “You’re asking me to relinquish it. I…I need time. Lock me in here tonight and take a look around outside. You said yourself he strikes two weeks apart, so I have a little time. Just give me tomorrow.”

He hoisted himself and Deacon off the floor. “Where do you want this lug?”

“Will you put him on my bed, please?”

Nathan nodded and hauled the dog into her room. Madelyn stayed put. He laid Deacon on her plush comforter and rubbed his head. “You lucky bastard.”

He returned to find her holding the same locked down—a.k.a. breasts out—position. “Hold out your hands.”

She scrunched her face and cocked her head to the side.

“Do it.”

She huffed, but did as he commanded. And wasn’t that hot.

He placed a walkie-talkie in her hand. “I’ll be close. You need me, for anything, use it.” Her cheeks turned pink. “Seriously, you think you hear something outside, you think you see something, don’t wait.”

In the other hand he placed a Glock 27. “In case I’m not close enough.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know how to use one of these?”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

“You want me to shoot you?” Her pretty mouth bowed, and not in a smile. “I took a gun safety course and shot nearly every day in Mississippi.”

“That was a while ago.”

Madelyn clipped the radio onto the waist of her shorts. She cradled the gun like a professional. Her small hands wrapped firm around the slide. One finger hit the slide lock. She stripped and reassembled the Glock in military fashion in under thirty second’s time.

“Hot damn, I think I’m in love.”

She held the pistol by her leg, covered her mouth with her other hand, and giggled. “I think you’re crazy. Truly.” Her head shook back and forth. “And now that I’m armed, don’t tackle me in the dark.”

“Only if you ask.” He grinned and stepped around her slacked jaw. Before he let himself out he called over his shoulder, “Lock the door behind me.”

H
is large frame
sat hunched over the sullied kitchen table. The last rays of sunlight dissipated from the shallow room. Cigarette smoke hung heavy, clouding the stagnant air, while fresh fumes constantly rose from the bidi laid on his linoleum-topped office space. A static-laced tune filled in the smokeless holes. The delicious and haunting voice of Billie Holiday diffused from the turntable speaker plopped in the center of the adjacent living room. Over and over she sang of the strange fruit and the blood on the leaves.

His hands worked over the spool of rope in front of him. A row of twelve spools sat lined against the wall, awaiting their useful day. Around his wrist he twisted the tight knit fabric until his skin was masked with the wrapping. Taking the loose end firm in his opposing hand he wiggled the slack for a brief moment. Then, with mighty force, he yanked it taut. The boa constricted around his wrist burning his flesh as it moved rapidly across it. His fist clinched down on the rope and his eerie bellow rattled the walls.

When his demented joy subsided he moved the rope to his exposed thigh. He repeated the ritual again and again over his body. With each pull of the slack his mind erupted in joy at the thought that his pain was nothing compared to theirs.

His thoughts during his ritualistic ecstasy always flew to his first witnessed kill. His father had taught him well. As a boy every one of his father’s kills he'd been privy to had been a show of artistry.

He could still see his father’s skilled hands toil over the white-fronted capuchin. His innocent eyes had been wide with disbelief as his father slowly and methodically tortured the small monkey. Cuts and burns, abrasions and punctures stained his young eyes. The screams his father had persuaded from the animal still rang in his ears. It had taken seven days for the animal’s death.

His father was his hero. And now as an artist himself, he could appreciate his father’s patience and zeal for perfection. It took a surplus of control to extend the pleasure as long as that man could. He’d tried to hone that particular skill and failed at each attempt. Through childhood he’d tested his restraint on small animals. When they lost their luster he moved on to larger ones. He used goats and cattle, cats and dogs to get his adolescent rushes. But each time he couldn’t restrain the urge to end them much more quickly than his father would have.

In his adult years, his environment expanded and he learned more about the world. He was finally introduced to the concept of right instead of wrong, good as opposed to bad, happy versus sad. And the ideas stuck for a time.

He lived the straight and narrow for years, blending in with the people around him. He molded himself into a conventional man. College had been a liberating experience. It had allowed him to see good in the world and even to create happiness in his own.

But the demon would not be long denied. His hunger returned more ambitious and greedy than before. The tricks of his youth no longer held his attention. He needed something more.

When he crossed over into the human realm he met the devil inside himself. And he liked it. These pawns were so much more fulfilling than the ones of his youth. He could frighten them with one touch, one word. Even a look could conjure a beautiful plea.

Each beauty he enjoyed reminded him of his mother. Long, dark hair flowed down their backs. Their kind hearts and sweet smiles coupled with their feminine curves and lines. But the thing that reminded him most of his mother was the feel of their blood.

His loving mother ended her own life when he was just a boy. It happened shortly after his father had shown him his intricate hobby. He’d returned from the bus stop, a mile trek to where he was shuttled back and forth to elementary school, because he’d forgotten his lunch bag. He opened the front door and saw his mother hanging from the living room rafters.

Blood dripped from her wrists. Her favorite Billie Holiday song livened the background.

When he couldn’t get a response from her he laid in the pool of her blood, scrolling his fingers through the congealing liquid until his father came home from work. He liked lying there because he could see the slight smile on her paling face. Sure, his father had been angry with him for not going to school, but he hadn’t beaten him. He’d simply cleaned the blood off of them both and put Momma to sleep in the ground behind their house.

Today’s beauties reminded him so much of his momma. They were certainly more difficult to come by than cats or dogs. But the reward far outweighed the labor involved. On occasion their fight was more too. He had gotten a bloody lip and even a broken finger carrying out his devil’s will.

He was constantly challenged. From planning to execution, he methodically laid out each step of his pleasure’s feat. Crowds were a constant nuisance and the authorities were a hindrance. Several times he had to change tactics on the fly, which he hated to do. But it was all worth the trouble.

The joy of their cries tickled his ears. The sight of their struggle gave life to the mundane. Their begging stroked his ego. But nothing compared to that gleam in their eyes. Standing under their hanging spot, when the last thread of hope vanished, their eyes gleamed. He lived for the realization that came just before the noose tightened around their life and all was lost. No shining knight would come to their rescue. No one would save them.

He saw in their eyes the acknowledgement of pure evil in the world and the recognition that he was the conductor of it all. When that gleam flashed in their eyes and they accepted their fate, he was victorious.

His body rocked as the memories and power washed over him. Putting his spool aside for the moment he placed latex gloves on his large hands. Their pop stung the air. The bottle of all-purpose kitchen cleaner squeaked as his hand depressed the nozzle and removed any evidence from the table. When the site was clear he picked one of the waiting spools from the wall and placed it on the linoleum.

He sat in front of the heap of rope. He sang Strange Fruit with Billie while he made his next noose. He would get to use it sooner than he’d thought. The corners of his mouth turned and a deep laugh escaped his throat. Once again he was working on the fly, but he would enjoy it no less.

Madelyn angered him and she would pay. He hadn’t seen a glint of terror in her eyes. Not enough sadness for his pleasure. She was stronger than the others. She needed a more penetrating threat.