Chapter Nine

The next night, Trent picked Lacie up for girls’ night out. He wasn’t really invited but had made such a big deal about her going out alone that she let him come. She was trying to keep the peace, even though she knew their days as a couple were numbered. Lacie didn’t like confrontation and was hoping this relationship would die a slow, quiet death.

Simon followed them in his Jeep after not having spoken more than ten words to her for the last two days. He ran with her in the mornings, worked with her all day, and then sat in the solitude of his house, for all she knew. She couldn’t even watch for him anymore, not since he’d made such a big deal about her curtains on her living room window. He obviously didn’t realize that was her only touch with the outside world since all this madness had started and she’d begun this self-imposed exile.

Between the boyfriend who seemed like her brother and the bodyguard who looked like a wet dream, the one night a week Lacie dared to brave the public had become awkward.

Frack.

Aubrey was next to her at their high-top table talking about chakras to Emily, and Trent was on the other side of her looking bored to death. Simon sat across from her listening mildly to everything going on, but his eyes roamed the setting. Keeping watch, she supposed.

“I’m telling you, sweetie, your chakras are fine. Now, Lacie is another story. Her chakras are so out of alignment, it’s not even funny. I’m surprised she’s not in physical pain.” Turning to Lacie, the spiky-haired redhead leaned in to speak to her. “But not nearly as severe as the new guy,” she said, pointedly looking at Simon.

Lacie tittered behind her hand, not willing to talk about Simon. She reached for her drink with one hand and for Trent’s hand under the table with the other. Taking a sip of her cranberry and vodka, she found his hand and pulled it into her lap, holding it there, hoping for an anchor in this sea of discomfort.

“Are you having a good week?” she asked Trent.

“Yeah. I’ve got some new clients, and it looks like at least one of them is interested in the Congress Street listing. I’m hoping to have that wrapped up before Harvey does.” He beamed at her, the dimples in his cheeks landscaping his face. He squeezed her hand for emphasis.

“Sex. Lots of good sex will help,” she heard Aubrey say to Emily. Lacie tried to filter out the noise and focus on her boyfriend. She refused to look at Simon to see if he was listening. “Sex leads to a chemical reaction in the body. This increases estrogen and other vital hormones. Girl, that is what aligns the chakras and helps fight diseases like cancer.” Lacie glanced over at Simon, who was turning purple in what looked like a divine attempt to not listen.

Turning back to Trent, she smothered her smile at the thought of Simon’s discomfort. “Yeah? What will it take to get it before Harvey? What do you have to do?”

Trent leaned toward her intimately, pulling her hand into his lap. He was eager to talk about his job, always had been. Lacie just wanted a distraction from the table’s occupants around her, but the more Trent droned on, the more of the other conversation she heard.

“So, Simon, what brings you to girls’ night out?” Lacie stifled her giggle at Aubrey’s raised eyebrows. She wasn’t going to take a shrug from Simon for an answer.

“Emily invited me,” he said flippantly.

“What are you teaching?” Aubrey continued the grilling.

“I’m Miss Hill’s aide.” Not Lacie. He’d called Emily by her first name but was putting distance between her and him. Lacie tried not to be hurt because it didn’t matter.

Trent leaned down to speak in her ear. “I was hoping we could leave a little early tonight. Go back to your place?” He drew circles on her wrist with his thumb.

“Can we go back to your place? I’ve never been there.” Lacie wanted to see his condo. He’d talked about it so much, and Simon seemed to think it was weird she’d never been there. Was it weird? Maybe so.

“Not tonight, babe. My housekeeper hasn’t come and it’s a total wreck. All I’ve done is come home to eat and change clothes. I haven’t had time to pick up after myself. I don’t want you to see what a slob I am.” He grinned at her sheepishly, dropping his face to look at her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Simon slip away from the table muttering some excuse about the restroom.

Lacie pulled her hand back to her lap and turned back to the table. “I don’t know. I don’t think …”

Before she could finish, a tap on her shoulder interrupted her. She looked up to see a tall man with dark hair and coal-black eyes looking down at her. It was the guy who had offered her a ride after her flat tire and flower incident at school. She froze, but her heart took off at a gallop, painfully pounding in her chest.

“I bought you a drink, Yoga Girl.” His smile was chilling, and his words froze her where she sat. Yoga Girl. It was happening again. Lacie watched helplessly as he set another cranberry vodka on the table next to her empty one. Everyone else at the table stiffened.

Trent spoke up first, “She came with me, man. Step off.”

“She may have come with you, but she’ll go home with me.” The sneer made bubbles of fear boil in the pit of her belly.

“I’m not going home with you. I’m here with friends. I don’t know you.” She stood on shaky legs, willing herself to make this creep leave.

Simon appeared behind the man without a word. Just his presence brought her a measure of comfort, but when he moved, the liquid agility was magic to watch.

Simon put both arms around the man’s torso, one over the shoulder and one underneath, dragging him down to his ass on the ground. He simultaneously reached for an arm to pull behind him as Simon rolled the man onto his stomach. It was efficient. It was clean. And the man was effectively helpless with Simon’s weight pinning him to the ground.

“Not tonight, asshole,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “The bartender’s calling the cops, and you’re going to jail for attempted rape. I saw you dose the fucking drink.” His elbow dug between the shoulder blades of the man he’d just taken down.

The man, to his credit, didn’t fight back. He muttered curses, then looked straight at Lacie with cold, calculating eyes, sending another chill down her back. As more security showed up to get the offender, his eyes continued to bore into her, sending her a silent message.

One she didn’t care to read.

“Sweet baby Jesus …” Emily breathed. Simon had gone off with the man and security. “Who is he?”

“Former cop, remember?”

The bartender came and retrieved the cranberry and vodka from their table. “Would you care for another drink? On the house, of course. I’m terribly sorry.”

Lacie shook her head. “No, I think I’m going to go home.” Looking over at Trent, he was staring at his phone, oblivious to the events around him. “Really, Trent?”

He looked up at her, eyebrows raised. “What?”

She sighed. “Nothing. Can you take me home?”

“Sure. Can we go by someplace first? I need to run by the Slaughter property and grab something real quick.”

The events caught up to her, and Lacie lost whatever composure she had. Her “boyfriend” was clearly just going through the motions with her. “You know what? Never fracking mind. I’ll find another ride.”

“Babe, don’t be like that.”

“Don’t babe me. This is stupid, Trent.” She waved her hands back and forth between them as he stood and put on his jacket. “Whatever we have is not a relationship. I’m not sure what you’re doing, but I’m done.”

Trent planted a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll call you later. We’ll talk, okay? I’m glad you’re okay.” He left her standing there.

A strange sense of unreality settled over her, and she briefly wondered how Trent had made it through life so far, as disconnected from his surroundings as he seemed to be.

“I’m not okay!” Lacie yelled at his retreating back, but he was talking on his phone and didn’t hear her.

Rolling her eyes, she turned to find Simon looking at her, concern etched on his features. He turned to the other ladies and said, “You guys got a way to get home? I’ll take Lacie.”

That was the first time he’d ever said her first name, and it sounded nice coming from his mouth. Better than nice. The idea of his lips and tongue curving around her name, shaping it with his breath, gave her a sense of tranquility in the sea of raw nerves.

Simon drove Lacie to the police station to file a report, just to keep the paper trail alive. On the way, he distracted himself from the humming vibrations traveling through the air in his Jeep by peppering her with questions about the man, surprised to learn it was the man from school who had offered to help with the flat tire he’d no doubt put there himself.

Simon had seen the man walk in while he was listening to Emily and Aubrey’s uncomfortable conversation. Clean cut, with no visible tattoos and dark hair that fell over intense eyes, the man been looking for someone. When his eyes had fallen on Lacie, they’d sparked with recognition and a slim smile curved his lips. He’d found his target and went to the bar to talk to the bartender and get her drink. When Simon saw the little plastic bag being withdrawn and upended into her drink, he’d moved to take him down.

He didn’t have a clue what the fuck was going on.

Simon called Hollerman on the way to the station.

“Dex, I need you to try to pull some strings. I’m taking the client to the station to fill out a report. Any way you can speed up the process so we’re not there till dawn?”

A soft chuckle met his ears. “I’ll see what I can do, but they’re all mad at me, so chances are slim. I’ll email you what I have tonight.”

Lacie had had two home invasions, one a through the window of her bedroom and one had jimmied her back door. She’d had anonymous flowers delivered to “Yoga Girl” at work after her tires were slashed. A “good Samaritan” had stopped with an offer to help, but her dad had been there and told the guy to take a hike. It reeked of Ted Bundy. And now this.

Four encounters. Three different men. All using a separate M.O. Simon didn’t know what to make of it. There had to be someone behind it who was feeding these guys information about Lacie. And the boyfriend’s apathetic attitude didn’t bode well, but what motive did he have?

“Tomorrow, after school, we’re going to sit down and have a chat about who could be doing this.”

“Okay,” Lacie said meekly. Simon wanted to wrap her in his arms and ease the visible trembling, but he couldn’t do that without it leading to more. He knew the attraction was there—on both sides. He could sometimes see the heat in her eyes when she looked at him, and he knew he’d be lost if he touched her.

And that couldn’t happen. Never again.

At the station, there was an officer waiting to take their statement. Lacie calmly retold her version of the events, and Simon told his. There was a sense of satisfaction at actually having a man to press charges against, even if he wasn’t talking. After an hour, they left to go back to her house.

On the way, Simon watched her as much as he could. He was physically incapable of peeling his eyes from her. Her chocolate-colored hair—loose from its usual braid tonight—fell across her shoulders in waves, and he longed to touch it, to tangle his fingers in it, to wrap it around his fist and pull her closer to him.

Here, in the unequivocal masculinity of his Jeep, Lacie was soft, feminine, clean. She brought a breath of fresh air to his stagnant life. Having her in his domain made him feel a possessiveness he wasn’t accustomed to.

She was sleepy, leaning her head on the window, her eyes closed. But he didn’t think she was actually sleeping.

“Who do you think is behind this? Have you made any parents angry at school?” He kept his voice soft, so as not to startle her in the silence of the Jeep.

She shook her head, still leaning against the glass as a weary sigh left her mouth. “No. My parents, for the most part, are welfare families living paycheck to paycheck. They don’t have the time to orchestrate something like this.” He hated the defeat in her voice.

“Anybody who would want to harm you?” His grip whitened on the steering wheel at the idea.

Tears filling her eyes, Lacie shook her head again. “I’m a nice person. I’m one of those awful people who tries to please everyone. I can’t imagine making someone angry enough to do this.”

Her words rang true and begged the question, “Are you in love with Trent?” Love could be the only misguided reason she would allow him to make her safety take a backseat to his career. He was a grade-A douchebag, and Simon had wanted to pummel the man for leaving her tonight.

Lacie straightened in her seat and turned toward him. “No, I’m not in love with Trent. I don’t even know what we are anymore. He certainly doesn’t seem to care a fig for me.”

“Then why are you still with him?” He was treading some dangerous waters here. The lines between professional and personal were blurring with this line of questioning, but he had to know. “Does he have something on you?”

She thought about his question and a soft laugh escaped her as he turned down her street. “I don’t like the confrontation of breakups. It’s so sad. I hate that I can’t just say what needs to be said to him. It’s obvious there’s someone else, and I don’t even care.”

They were silent as he pulled into her driveway and got out of the Jeep. Walking her up to the door, Simon couldn’t stop from reaching out and touching the small of her back. It was warm, her spine hard against the surrounding soft flesh. The urge to run his hands across her bare skin was overwhelming.

If he reached up just a few inches, he could get a fistful of her hair, test its softness.

“Thank you for bringing me home. I appreciate it.” At her door, she turned.

“Let me in.” Simon’s voice was grittier than he intended. Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline and he realized what he’d just said. Backtracking, he clarified, “Let me look around, make sure it’s safe.” The words were a reminder to him of his purpose.

Lacie nodded, and he saw the disappointment in her eyes before she unlocked the door and opened it.

He was slammed with sensations. Her house was awash with color and textures—soft, gauzy curtains, plush pillows, purples, greens, reds, blues, the thickest rug he’d ever felt beneath his feet. It was whimsical, colorful, homey, just like Lacie. Her house smelled floral and sweet with the remnants of whatever she’d made for supper.

Simon turned on lights as he walked from room to room checking doors, windows, closets, and behind shower curtains, with Lacie following behind him.

He was going out of his mind. Every place he didn’t find a bad guy hiding was one more place they were alone together. One more place he could lose himself in her. All control gone.

He was already going under.

Back at her door, his rounds finished, Simon turned to Lacie, her wide, brown eyes so trusting. She was so fucking pure, he could hardly stand it. Words failed him. He meant to say reassuring things, like “All good here” or “It’s safe,” but they lodged in his throat.

Could he do it? The others had followed their hearts and found happiness. Was it possible for him to do it too? He had no idea if this was even his heart talking. It had been months since he’d had sex.

Emotion roiled through his veins, a fierce sense of protectiveness warring with white-hot lust. His body hummed with the battle raging inside him.

Unable to help himself, Simon reached out to touch her hair, rubbing a lock between his fingers. In response, Lacie’s breathing grew ragged, drawing his attention to the shadow of cleavage between her breasts. But her body stiffened, which happened a lot around him, he’d noticed. Dragging his eyes up, he saw the pulse in her neck pounding. She licked her lips, and his eyes settled there.

Better than getting lost in those eyes again.

Simon took a step toward her, tugging the tendril of hair—softer than satin—behind her ear. He couldn’t leave it, though, so he tangled his hand in her tresses, cradling her head. She leaned into him, her body still stiff, hands at her sides.

What was he doing? Lacie waited, watching him carefully, her eyes darting around his face, from his lips to his eyes, back to his lips. He lowered his head, his mouth within a hair’s breadth of hers, inhaling her scent, looking for something wrong, some reason he could turn his back on her.

But she was fucking perfect. Lacie had him ensnared in her web and wasn’t letting him loose. And right now, he didn’t want loose.

“I have to try something. Don’t move.” Her eyes widened as he closed the gap and touched her lips with his.

Sweeter than honey. With his hand tangled in her hair, relishing the softness, his lips brushed across hers, melding with her warmth. She didn’t move, seeming to sense he needed to control this, but a soft sigh caressed his face, and it was so sweet, Simon needed more.

With a fierce need to taste more of her, Simon opened his mouth, sealing her lips to his. Lacie reached up and gripped his shirt. When he nipped on her bottom lip with his teeth, she gasped, and he took advantage as he swept his tongue inside.

His hand found her waist and he hauled her against his body, showing her how badly he wanted her. As the need coursed through his veins, he couldn’t control himself.

Their tongues rasped against each other, the wet friction teasing his senses. Lacie moaned into his mouth, arching her body, and Simon was suddenly inundated with visions of her twisting in his sheets, tangled limbs in front of the fireplace in his study, Lacie sprawled across his desk. As his tongue danced with hers, the visions changed. Lacie in a gown, marrying him, Lacie’s belly full of his child, Lacie with their son in her lap.

With a heaving gasp, Simon pulled away from her. It was too much. Too many emotions.

“I can’t …” Wildly looking around for something to tether him to reality, anything but her, he found her laptop open to the grade program for the school. As if kindergarteners needed grades. But it was sort of what he needed to remind himself this was a job, nothing more. If he mixed the job with sex, she would die.

That was it. “It’s too much … feeling. I’m sorry. I thought I could, but I can’t.” He’d said too much. Weakened himself. If he stayed, he would babble more nonsense, so he opened the door behind him and ran into the darkness.

Well, dang.

Lacie heaved in a breath as Simon retreated into the darkness across the street. She closed the door and locked it, double-checking out of habit before turning and plastering herself against the cool wood. She was gasping, her breaths ragged in the silence of the room.

And shaking. She put the back of her hand against her mouth. Like that would help her breaths even out. Or the sensations leave her.

Lacie had never been kissed like that. Ever. What had started as an exploratory thing had exploded into nothing but an expression of pure, unadulterated need. His erection had pressed against her belly, proving it wasn’t one-sided.

And then he’d just stopped.

“Well, Mama, I hope you like company,” she muttered. As much as she wanted to revisit the memory and relive the sensations, she knew that would cause pain. When she was eight and her mother had died of a heart attack, her father had taught her to take all the painful memories and lock them up tight. There was an imaginary footlocker in her mind, a steel one with a huge lock, and Lacie had started by putting her mother’s death in there. When she’d gotten stood up on dates, those memories had gone in with Mama. The attackers were there too. She liked to think Mama was in there with her cast-iron frying pan, giving them all hell for hurting her baby.

It made her feel better. Probably an unhealthy, immature move for her at this age, but it worked, so she continued it.

Simon would join the rest. Not that the kiss was a bad memory, but if it had ended with anything less than him jerking away and running, she wouldn’t put him in there. But he had.

It was time for bed. Lacie needed her comfy pajamas and a cup of tea to settle herself. Tomorrow was a new day and she had to work with this guy. His tongue in her mouth was not something she needed to dwell on.

That night, in his own fake home, Simon looked over notes Dex had emailed.

There had been six women in the Austin area who had reported the multiple break-ins of different men in the last month. Each woman had between three and six different men break into their homes or approach them at work, gyms, or bars.

Looking at the women, Simon saw where Hollerman had compiled lists. Thank God for cops and their lists.

Victim number one was Andrea Peterson, a bank teller, thirty-five years old. She was a divorced, blonde, Pilates instructor at the gym in her neighborhood. She’d had three break-ins and an attack at the gym where she worked. One reported rape. Moved after the second attack in her home but was attacked once more in her new apartment.

The second victim was Shelly Alfred, a Postal employee, twenty-nine years old. She was single, brunette, and partied at a bar on Sixth Street. She’d been slipped a date rape drug there, taken home, raped, brutally beaten, and left for dead. While recovering in the hospital, another man had slipped into her hospital room and tried to force himself on her but didn’t make it before nurses came in and called security. Her home had also been broken into four times. Four different perpetrators. She’d shot and killed the last one.

Victim number three was Jennifer Anderson. She was a housewife and thirty-one years old. Married, she lived in an upscale neighborhood. Her fancy security system had been breached five times, and she’d been raped twice. Her husband was currently working from home and reportedly armed to the teeth.

The fourth victim was Marcia Vold, a stripper at a bar on Sixth Street, twenty-three years old. Single, blonde, lived with a roommate. Security was tight where she worked, but her home had been broken into six times in the last month. She and her roommate had both been attacked, beaten, and would have died, except the boyfriend of the roommate had come in on the attacker, who got away. She was looking for a new apartment.

Victim number five was Hilary Walton, roommate of Marcia Vold. She was twenty-two years old, unemployed, and living off her parents’ money while attending the University of Texas. Currently, she was in the process of moving home with parents in Lubbock, Texas.

The final reported victim was Lacie Hill.

Simon leaned back and sighed. Lacie had gotten off easy compared to some of the others. She was a fighter. Older than most of the others, she had a certain life experience the others may not have, even though she seemed so fresh and innocent. There were few commonalities between her and the other victims besides being female, relatively fit, and being clean-cut, middle-class women.

They didn’t go to the same gym, grocery stores, post office, bars, clubs, or hairstylist. Hollerman had checked into their habits like the pro he was, looking for similarities.

Simon checked profiles of the attackers who’d been arrested. All he had were the ones in custody, but there was zero in common with either of them. Different M.O., different looks, and nothing to give him a clue as to what was happening with Lacie.

Nothing that would lead him closer to figuring out how to stop the attacks.