Night Hunter (33 page)

Tonight the light was on in his apartment, but there was no movement. She felt empty, unfulfilled. Perhaps she was too early, she thought. She would leave and return after midnight.

Corinne reached over to start the car when a station wagon pulled up across the street. She jerked her hand away and slid down on the seat, pressing herself into the dark corner. With pulse racing, she watched as a man stepped out of the car. There was no mistaking Jack’s silhouetted profile. She watched a woman get out of the car a second later.
Who was the woman with him?
She
watched the two of them enter the apartment house.
Not a mate, don’t let her be his mate.

In the light of the vestibule, she recognized the woman with John. Regina.

Corinne was relieved to see that the two hadn’t touched each other. Not lovers, she thought. Thank God.

In the hall, Regina headed for the stairs.

“
Why don’t you come in,” John asked, unlocking his door and pushing it open. “It’s early.”

She paused indecisively.

“
Kristy’s not home yet. She has to pass here to go upstairs. I’ll leave the door open.”

“
Well ...”

“
We haven’t had dessert yet.”

Regina smiled weakly, then walked past John into his apartment.

“
Sit down. Make yourself comfortable,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen.

She stood in the middle of the living room and leisurely took in her surroundings. His apartment was furnished in a potpourri of new and old, store bought and scavenged. The furniture consisted of a leather sofa and a matching armchair, a weathered pine rocker, a straight-back pine chair, and an upended antique leather trunk topped with a piece of glass. The coffee table, rich-toned mahogany, was one half of a scarred double door, intricately carved, the hinges and handle intact. Opposite the sofa was a wall unit stereo system with television and VCR. On the floor were cacti in terracotta pots, and baskets made from thick, gnarled twigs woven into crude shapes, containing potted plants
and
magazines. On the walls were sketches of deserts and Indian and Cavalry portraits and paraphernalia. The room was warm, western, and very pleasing.

Against the far wall was a work area. She crossed the room to the desk. To one side of the computer system she saw a group of photographs. There were pictures of John’s aunt and uncle, pictures of him standing with strangers, both men and women. There was a portrait, done by a professional photographer, of John, a baby cradled in his arms, and a stunning blond woman. His wife and baby? Where were they now?

“
Sugar? Cream?” John said from the kitchen doorway.

She spun around, embarrassed to be caught peering at his little gallery of pictures. “A little milk, please.”

He stared at her a moment before nodding and disappearing back into the kitchen.

One entire wall, from floor to ceiling, held shelves of books. Books upon books; fiction, nonfiction, reference, but mostly fiction. Three books had the same title.
Evil Tidings
by — she lifted the book to read the name of the author—John T. Davie. She turned the book over to see his photo on the back. Inside she read the dedication: “To Darlene and Andrew with eternal love.” She closed the book, staring at his picture.

John entered the room carrying a glazed terra-cotta tray with two steaming mugs and two squares of a sugar-glazed pastry. He put the tray down on the coffee table.

“
This table,” he said, “was once the door from a Spanish mission in California. A friend sent it to me as a gift. The freight nearly bankrupted me.”

She turned with the novel in her hand and said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

“
I’d like to read it.”

“
Take it. It’s yours.”

“
I’d rather buy one.”

He smiled. “I appreciate that, but I doubt it’s still in print. Take it. A gift.”

“
Thank you.”

“
Let me know what you think. If you hate it, lie.”

She laughed. “Any others?”

“
There’s one coming out in the fall”

“
I’ll buy that one.” Bringing the book back with her to the sofa, she sat and picked up the coffee mug.

John sat on the other end of the sofa. He handed her a plate of strudel.

“
Looks delicious. What is it?”

“
Sour cherry and walnut strudel.”

“
You and Pillsbury?”

“
This is homemade and I had nothing to do with it.”

She took a bite. It was delicious.

“
Can you get a list of the contestants from the pageant?” he asked.

“
You think it may go beyond the finalists?”

“
It’s possible.”

She remembered the call from one of the contestants in the studio Saturday. Jamie Sue had nearly died from an allergic reaction to alcohol. Regina felt an iciness inside her. “I have a list at the office. I’ll bring it home tomorrow.”

He rose, came around to her side of the sofa, took her hand, and pulled her to her feet. “Come,” he said.

She put down her plate and allowed him to lead her across the room. He pulled out the desk chair for her. Over her shoulder he activated the computer and pointed to the monitor.

Materializing on the blank screen was a list of names. Under VICTIMS, she read: Corinne, Donna, and Tammy. She saw Amelia’s name, and finally her own. Question marks followed the latter two. The icy feeling returned.

John pulled up the pine chair and sat beside her. On the keyboard he typed, CHEMICALS: Acid-like substance: Rat Poison: Chlorine.

“
Those chemicals—assuming chlorine was used —can be bought in most hardware or building supply stores. If the dog was poisoned, then the killer was in her yard. He or she could have dropped something. Something considered evidence. I doubt the police did anything beyond remove the animal and file a report. We’ll check it out.”

Regina positioned her fingers on the keyboard and typed,
Telephone warnings before both assaults.

“
How many knew about that scheduled program?”

“
The employees, the guests, and, of course, whoever they told.”

“
That should narrow it down. Have you personally had a warning?”

“
Not directly.”

Over her shoulder he pressed function buttons, saving the latest text. She became acutely aware of his body close behind her. She could smell some vague after-shave, musky, yet light. When he reached around her to shut down the computer, his arm grazed her arm and she felt a slight current of electricity run through her. They were just inches apart. She sensed he was staring at her. She held her breath. Time seemed suspended. She had only to turn her head and ...

He pulled back.

She rose quickly only to find he had also risen. They stood facing each other. She breathed deeply and was filled with his scent. His hands came up to cup her face lightly. Their eyes found each others and locked.

Her heart began to pound. She hadn’t kissed a man in a long time. The thought both excited and terrified her. She lowered her eyes and felt his lips, warm and soft, lightly touch hers. Her lips parted.

The sound of the street door closing sent a jolt through her. Someone was coming. The inner door open and closed. They broke the kiss, and, like deer caught in the blinding light of a car’s high beams, stood facing each other, frozen.

“
Hi,” Kristy said cheerfully from the open doorway. “What’re you two working on?”

Her voice broke the spell, sending John in one direction and Regina in another.

“
Kristy,” Regina said, her voice cracking. “You’re home.”

Kristy looked from her mother to John, a sly smile working at her mouth. “It’s after nine.”

John consulted his watch. “So it is. Say, Kris, how about some strudel?”

“
Love some. But first I want to change clothes and check the machine for messages.”

“
I’ll go with you,” Regina said. She felt uneasy, shy —vulnerable.

“
Don’t bother,” Kristy said hurrying out.

Regina glanced at John. He was watching her, an enigmatic expression on his face.

John went into the kitchen. She picked up her coffee mug and drank. It was cold. She took the two mugs into the kitchen. John stood at the counter cutting the strudel.

Regina began to clear the abandoned dinner dishes from the table.

“
You don’t have to do that.”

Oh yes I do, she wanted to say. “I don’t mind.” She filled the sink with soapy water.

He poured fresh coffee for them and milk for Kristy.

Behind her she could feel his presence, unmoving, yet overpoweringly absolute. It took every ounce of willpower for her to not turn and look at him. What was he doing? Why was he standing so still? Would he touch her again? Kiss her again? She forced herself to stop before she could finish the thought.

She scrubbed a soup bowl, the dishcloth going around and around. From the corner of her eye she saw him move, and then he was out of her peripheral sight. She swallowed. Her body tensed. She anticipated his touch.

Waited for his touch. Longed for his touch.

And when she felt his hand at her waist, she jerked, dropping the bowl in the sink. He stood close, the heat of his body warming her. She closed her eyes and leaned against him, her head bent forward. His lips came down on the nape of her neck, making her shiver. His fingers played the vertebrae along the length of her back.

Feelings she had forgotten she possessed rushed through her like a flash flood. She hadn’t felt a man’s special touch in ages.

A voice inside her head said,
He’s been gone only six months.
Yes, yes, I know.
Six months.
But it’s actually been years. Years.

“
Momma?” Kristy’s voice, strained and shaky, spoke from the kitchen doorway.

Regina spun around.

John stepped away.

Kristy’s face was pale, her brow furrowed. “Momma, there’s something I think you should hear.”

Regina shook the water from her hands and hurried to her daughter. “What is it?”

“
On the answering machine. A message.”

John was already out the door and climbing the stairs when Regina and Kristy came out of his apartment. They took the stairs two at a time. When they entered the apartment, John was standing in the living room looking around, confused.

“
Bedroom,” Regina said, and rushed down the hallway to her room. She activated the machine.

The voice, low and gravelly, said, “The prettiest shall be last. Which one is the prettiest?” Rushing air, the dial tone, then a final beep before the cassette rewound itself.

“
I’ve been warned,” Regina said softly.