Chapter Seven

 

Jessica felt ill. She collapsed onto the sofa in the living room and hugged her knees to her chest. In that moment, like so many times before, she wished she never had these dreams. Why was she cursed so? What was the point? What good did they do her or anyone else? And why would this monster out her to the police? "You're next, angel face."

Had he been talking to her? Directly to her? Was she his next target? Goosebumps peppered her skin. Lucy jumped onto the sofa next to her. She pulled her cat into her lap and hugged her tight.

"Someone wants to kill me, Lucy,"

Lucy snuggled her.

"Then who will take care of you?"

They had no one. Once her grandma died, Jessica had cut herself off from the world, gone it alone, free of judgment, free of pain.

And left alone to face a killer.

Adam walked into the room, his eyes looking hollow.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He nodded and peered in the praline bag once more.

"Is it hers?"

"Yes. But the question we should be asking is how did he know I was here? Better yet, how did he know I'm related to Sara?"

"You think it's someone from the Phoenix Agency? Or from the police department?"

"If he's a cop, it could be how he's been able to get away with it all these years."

She shivered at the thought. "Even more of a reason for me to go."

"We discussed this. Even if you go, how long do you think it will be until he finds you again?"

Tears of frustration burned behind her eyes. "I don't know. I don't know how he finds me."

"You two obviously have a connection."

"I don't know how. I've cut everyone from my life. There is no one left. No one from my past I've kept in contact with."

"Maybe he dreams of you, too?"

She could see he was reaching, that he didn't believe it himself, but he was throwing anything at the wall. Looking for an explanation where there was none.

"Can I ask you a question?" He sat on the sofa next to her.

"Shoot."

"Why black and white? Even your cat is white." He gestured toward Lucy. "Your clothes are white. Everything is white."

"I don't like color," she said.

Astonishment filled his eyes. "Who doesn't like color?"

She smiled. "Color is a distraction from the beauty of shape and design," she said automatically. "Without color, your eye sees the lines. The blank spaces between the lines."

He stared at her for a moment then took her hand in his. It was warm, and she was afraid if she let herself, she'd never let it go.

"That sounds like a rehearsed line. Something you tell your fans and clients," he said. "Tell me the truth."

She shook her head, knowing it was a mistake, but it seemed like they were way past the point of keeping things from each other. For reasons she didn't understand, this killer was targeting them both, and Adam was all she had.

"My dreams are very vivid," she explained. "I'm constantly surrounded by death. By painting in black ink, I don't let it too close. I don't let it touch me. I'm able to keep the horror at a distance."

"And everyone else, too?"

"It's how I've survived," she whispered. "Only now he's touched me. He's talked to me. He's looked me in the eye and spat."

"I know what you're thinking, but if you run, he'll find you again, and then you'll be right back where you were before—alone in the sights of a killer."

Tears pooled in her eyes. "What choice do I have?"

"You need to stop letting him victimize you. Stand up and fight."

"He's a monster. I won't win."

"You will," he insisted.

"How can you be sure?"

He pulled her to him, holding her close, pressing his lips against her hair and kissing her. "This time, things are different. This time you have me."

She only hoped that would be enough.

***

Adam had crossed the line, he knew that, but it was too late now. There was no pulling back even if he wanted to, so instead, he held on to Jessica and kissed her until she stopped shaking.

"I have an idea," he said.

"What?"

"How about if you paint something different, something other than death and darkness?"

"I do. I paint my cityscapes." She pointed to the Charleston painting above the fireplace.

"Yes, I know. But I mean something with color. I'll buy you some oils and you can paint…I don't know, the ocean."

She wrinkled her nose.

"No? Okay, you can paint me."

She looked at him, and her beautiful mouth lifted at one corner. "You?"

"Sure. Why not? Paint me, alive and smiling at you."

She grinned at him, and he thought he saw a glimmer in her eyes. "I might like that."

"Do you have any oils here?"

"I like acrylics."

He leaned forward and brushed a stray strand of hair off her face. She was so beautiful. "Okay, do you have any acrylics?"

"No."

"Then let's go get some. And dinner. I'm starving."

She laughed. "Okay, on one condition."

He sat back. "All right. What's that?"

Her smile turned seductive. "I want to paint you in the nude."

His heart dropped to his stomach. "In the buff?"

"Yep."

"But—"

"But nothing. Do we have a deal?"

He saw the wicked glint in her eye and realized this could be fun. "All right. Only if you paint me while you're in the nude."

"What?"

"Come on, it’s only fair."

She laughed. "All right."

He stood. "Great. Now where should we eat?"

"There's a great little fish place down the street."

"Sounds good. I'm down for some good ole Low Country shrimp and grits."

She grinned. "Then I know just the place."

He made sure his gun was in its holster and started for the door.

"Adam?"

"Yeah?" He turned back to her as he slipped into his jacket.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being her with me."

He tipped his head. "Just doing my job, ma'am."

She laughed. "Is that all I am, a job?"

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. "You better believe it. And a very enjoyable job at that."

They left her apartment and walked hand in hand through Charleston's historic district, as if they were a couple of tourists in love with not a care in the world. She took him to an art supply store, where she picked out acrylics and brushes, and then played tour guide, pointing out the notable homes and gardens on their way to the waterfront.

"You really love this city, don't you?" he asked.

"I do. I'd hate to leave it."

"Then don't let anyone chase you away."

She gave him a sad smile.

He thought he might have gotten through to her for a minute, but now he wasn't so sure. She took him to a quaint restaurant by the waterfront, where he had the creamiest shrimp and grits he'd ever tasted. "This is amazing," he said after taking his first bite.

"I thought you'd like it."

They ate and drank wine and talked of anything and everything that didn't have a thing to do with murder. She was fun and beautiful, and it was easy to forget that he'd just met her that day, that she was an assignment, and not the woman he was falling in love with. He didn't fall in love, ever. And he certainly wasn't hit upside the head and blindsided by it. He just had to focus on keeping her safe, keeping her happy, and keeping her from panicking and taking off the first chance she got.

After dinner, on the way back to her apartment, they passed a park bench, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her down onto it and kiss her as if they were sixteen. Night had fallen, stars lit the sky, ripples danced along the water, and he was happy. He loved the feel of her hand in his, the way she brushed his shoulder with hers as she walked, the smile she'd tilt his way when she didn't think he was looking. He wanted to feel her heat, to taste her again.

But they were too exposed here. For just a moment, it had been too easy to forget it wasn't safe.

His cell jingled inside his pocket. He took it out. "Hello?"

"Adam, it's Mia."

"Hey, Mia. What's up?"

"Our source down at the station just called. McCloskey has petitioned for a warrant to search Jessica's apartment."

He stopped walking. "You're kidding."

"Is there anything there we need to be concerned about?"

"We need to go back," he said to Jessica, and, with his hand on her back, he steered her quickly toward the apartment. "They only know of the paintings of the two victims here in Charleston, not all the others," he told Mia. "If they find those, she will become their number one suspect."

"Do what you have to do. I got the pictures you sent of the paintings, and we're already working on finding out everything we can about them."

"Thanks. Personally, I think this killer is the same bastard who killed Sara—in fact, I'm certain."

"I'm sorry," Mia said, and he could hear the sincerity in her voice. "I was afraid of that."

"But the question is, how does he know who I am? That I'm Sara's brother? And what's more, how does he know I've been at Jessica's apartment all day."

"Does he know?"

"Yes. He delivered a bag of pralines this afternoon to Jessica's doorstep. My sister's locket was in the bottom of the bag."

She sucked in a deep breath.

"That means not only does he know where Jessica lives, he knows about me and about my sister. Not too many people know about her."

"We haven't told anyone, Adam."

"Then how could he know?"

"I'm not sure, but we'll find out."

"Another thing: I don't think the police realize he's taking souvenirs from the victims. Sara's locket proves that."

"I'm really sorry, Adam."

"Don't be." He caught Jessica's eye as they turned the corner. "We're going to catch this guy and stop him for good."

"Yes, we are," Mia agreed.

"But right now, I'm going to move the other victim paintings into my car until we're ready to share them. I don't want Jessica spending the night in jail. This guy could be one of Charleston's finest. Only the Phoenix Agency and the PD even know I'm here."

"I understand, and I agree. We've got your back, Adam."

"Thank you," he said, feeling relieved. At this point, they could all be charged with obstruction.

"Adam?" Mia said.

"Yes."

"We are here for you. All of us at the Phoenix Agency. I hope you'll learn to trust us and to consider us your family."

He paused. Jessica turned back to look at him, her eyes questioning. He didn't know what to say. Ever since he lost his sister, he hadn't let anyone too close. It was easy, being deployed in the military. The soldiers were his brothers. He'd do anything for any of them. If they ever reached out to him. But since the day he left the unit, he'd never seen a single one.

"Thank you, Mia. I really appreciate that."

"No one is an island, Adam. We are here for you. Just let us help."

She disconnected. He started walking again, his hand on the small of Jessica's back as he leaned close to her.

"The police are coming. We need to get rid of the paintings."