Krastowitcz shuddered against her and struggled to breathe. He kissed her neck and nipped her ear playfully, words not yet formable in his head, let alone his mouth. It had never been better. He'd made love to many women. This one was different. She'd captured him with her honesty, her mind, her essence. He wanted to know everything about her, to make this moment last forever.
Rolling onto his back, he kept her with him, holding her close, tight against his chest. Her heart thudded against his. An enormous swell of emotion towards this woman filled him.
She had to be his now. He'd see that nothing ever hurt her.
Andrea lay for what seemed like eternity, soaking in his solid strength. Krastowitcz's massive arms encircled her and for the first time in days, chased away her demons.
"You had a nightmare," he said.
"What?"
"Before.. I--I"
"Oh, yeah. I remember now." She stiffened, but his caress was strong and firm.
"What was it?" He rubbed her glistening skin with his hand. The heat of his touch made her shiver.
"Just a dream. Same dream I always have. It's about my daughter, Sarah. You know, the day when she fell off the--"
"Don't think about it."
"I usually wake up with an acute asthma attack. But this time--"
"What?"
She smiled and snuggled into his arms. "This time, I woke up to you. You're a pretty good cure for asthma."
He traced his finger down her spine and she arched her back. "Glad to be of service. The prescription's easy enough to get. I'll stay right here as long as you need me."
"That could be a long time."
"I've got plenty of that."
He kissed her lips gently awakening a burning need deep inside. "Andrea?"
"Uh, huh?" She kissed the mat of hair on his chest.
"Tell me about Sarah."
Cold replaced the warmth inside. She sat up and their gazes locked. His eyes were kind. "It hurts to think about her. She was my life; shiny gold hair, red cheeks, and sparkling blue eyes. A happy child, except when her father and I fought. She loved us both unconditionally and we were unconditionally selfish. We each wanted to take her away from the other. All the hatred we focused on each other, we lavished as love on Sarah. You know the rest, Gary. I've had nightmares ever since."
"You weren't selfish, Andrea, just human."
"I think of her every day. I just can't seem to forget. I don't know...."
"And the asthma?" He drew his finger along her chin. It was meant as a caress, but his touch inflamed her. She crossed over him and drifted her knee up and down his leg. "I've taken a few calls on asthmatics dying at home. Not even enough time to get to the ER. I worry about you."
"Mine's serious, not debilitating. I only have problems with it during periods of extreme humidity, if I'm coming down with a virus, or if I have a severe emotional reaction."
"You've had a lot of things to react to, lately."
"What about you?" She inched closer and traced her fingers along the mat of hair on his chest, and circled his nipples with her tongue.
"What do you mean? I'm in perfect health."
She inched her hand beneath the sheet and gently stroked him.
"I've seen you roll that cigarette between your fingers, holding it up to your nose. You almost look like a junkie."
"Yeah, that's me. A cigarette junkie. I quit three months ago, for the umpteenth time, but this time, I'm determined to lick it. I carry one around with me, just in case."
"Just in case, of what?"
"Just in case I need it. So far, I haven't."
She pulled her hand away and rolled on her back. "We're a strange pair. I didn't even ask if you're involved with anyone?" She locked her fingers around his. "Or, if you're married?"
"No. I was. My ex-wife couldn't take living with a cop and left. And, yes, I'm involved."
Andrea's shoulders dropped in what he thought was disappointment.
He nuzzled her ear with his lips. "With you."
She smiled and kissed his chin. "That wasn't nice."
He laughed and pulled her to him. "Look at us. Isn't this involved? I don't usually sleep with women I protect. In fact, it's against regulations."
"We're not sleeping."
"Well we should be." He pulled the covers over her head. It's four o'clock in the morning. We really should try to get some rest."
"All right," she said. "Good night." She kissed his lips.
But her lips lingered too long. One kiss evolved into another. And another. Not the sort of kisses that said good-night. These were a definite hello-wake-up call. Adrenaline pumped and they were possessed with limitless stamina, writhing about the bed like a pair of teenagers.
Afterward, holding each other, saying nothing, Andrea listened to his regular breathing realizing he'd fallen asleep. If only she was lucky enough to experience dreamless sleep. Just for one night. If only. . .
HE STOOD outside her apartment. The lights went off. She had protection, now, but it wouldn't last forever. It had all become too easy. He hadn't wanted to kill the girl. Suzanne had surprised him. He couldn't let her go. Right now, he was invisible. How long would it last? But this time there was something else--a stirring deep within his groin. It had been good, better than a drug-high. As the light drifted from Suzanne's eyes, he was supreme, omnipotent, next to God. No wonder surgeons had such egos. He liked the feeling. A lot. This sensation made people kill again and again.
The rush.
The power.
The glory.
No wonder Grafton had killed so many. At first, a crime of necessity. Just to get rid of the bodies. No other way. And when Grafton turned on him, he'd turned the tables.
Now he watched.
And waited.
He'd do them all and especially that bitch. She'd get hers and he'd be the one to do it.
Chapter XVI
. . . AND WILL ABSTAIN FROM EVERY VOLUNTARY ACT OF MISCHIEF AND CORRUPTION, . . .
Andrea sprang upright in bed "The grant."
Maybe there was a difference between Grafton's original request and the one filed at the NIH. She couldn't believe she'd thought of it in her sleep. Amazing what a good night's rest did for her intuitive powers.
Yet she hadn't really slept at all. She slid back under the covers, thoughts of Gary Krastowitcz flaming her cheeks. Heat warmed her where he'd pressed against her. Still, when she finally slept, it was deep and refreshing. Ready for anything, Andrea rose. Gary was gone and a uniformed officer stood outside her door. There was a note on the table:
Gone to see McNaughton. Meet you at my office around eleven. Did you have a good sleep? Love.
She held the note tightly.
Love.
A smile tickled the corners of her mouth. On first encounter he was ignorant, cold, and insensitive. Now, she knew his tender streak, his intelligence, his kindness, his warmth. He was some-one she could talk to and care for and, most of all trust.
She went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. The fresh brewed smell was almost better than the taste. Using her finest gourmet coffee, soon the inviting aroma filled the room. Steaming mug in hand, Andrea forced herself to concentrate on the grant spread on the kitchen table. Gary was convinced the answer lay somewhere inside the document. She agreed. She needed to call Paris about the blood sample. Maybe there was a connection. She wished she could go to Paris and talk to Professeur DuBoismier personally. Had Milton discovered a miraculous cure? Whoever found it would be set for life, not only as a world hero, but financially. Was Milton killed for the formula or what he'd done?
She couldn't imagine.
But, today, she'd get some answers. First, a call to Hardwyn's secretary for the university submission copy, then Paris.
Andrea gulped her coffee, scooped up the grant papers, and stuffed them back into her brief case. She dressed quickly and phoned the Dean's office.
"Teresa, Dr. Pearson. Does your office have Dr. Grafton's NIH grant proposal?"
"Oh, sure. We've got a copy around here, somewhere. Want me to get it?"
"Great, I'll be in around ten to pick it up. I really appreciate it, Teresa."
IT TOOK ONLY thirty minutes to get to the medical school. But Andrea had a surprise waiting for her. Dr. Hardwyn paced the outer office. He seemed different, preoccupied, upset.
"Andrea," he said sternly. "Please come into my office."
"What's the problem?"
"Teresa tells me you've requested a copy of the NIH grant."
"Yes, I--"
"I'm sorry dear, you can't have it."
"What? Why not?"
"President Sullivan told me he's received several calls complaining about you."
"What kind of calls?"
"I don't know, Andrea, he asked me if you were on duty. I told him you had been given a few days off."
"Who complained?"
"He wants you to stop snooping around university property. Andrea, don't you understand? Your faculty appointment is in jeopardy."
"Peter. That bastard."
"You think he complained?"
"Either Peter or McNaughton, they both hate me."
"Andrea. No one hates you. It's just that you're not the police."
"But I'm working with the police. If they call Dr. Sullivan, will that take care of things?"
"I don't know. You need to lay low for a few days."
"Wait a minute. Last night, before Suzanne--" she stopped a moment, blinking back hot tears of frustration. "Sergeant Krastowitcz and I discovered a memo from the Pasteur Institute describing some of Milton's experiments as being successful."
"You did?"
"Yes. From a Professeur DuBoismier. We were going to call him, but after Suzanne. . .."
"Look, Andrea. Perhaps the president has been a bit harsh, but the university has to maintain its credibility. Residents simply can't interfere in administrative areas." He rolled his eyes, thinking. "However, there is something you can do."
She straightened her spine in anticipation. "What?"
"Take a trip to Paris and check out the information at Pasteur? Would that be agreeable?"
"Wow! When?"
"Right away of course. Teresa will make all the arrangements."
"Thank you, again, Dr. Hardwyn. It should only take a day. . . maybe I can--"
"Take several days," he said, interrupting, "especially in Paris. Take a week. These past few days have been hard on all of us. Especially you. Think it over, Andrea. It'll be good to get away. You'll make the president happy and perform a service for Dorlynd at the same time. Give me your answer, soon."
"Thank you, Dr. Hardwyn. I hope I didn't get you in any trouble."
"Nonsense. The president screams at me on a regular basis. All part of the job. Don't give it another thought. Now, hurry."
As she left his office, she noticed the look in Teresa's eyes. Was it a look of fear? Nonsense. What would scare the Dean's secretary? Andrea was tired, punchy. She needed a few days off. A few days in Paris.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Pearson," Teresa said. "I hope I didn't cause any problems. I had to have his permission to release the grant."
"President Sullivan's?"
"No. I--I. . . Dr. Hardwyn's. I had no idea he didn't want the grant to go out. We've got so many. No one ever seems to care about them. Duplicates float all over the university. But this one--must've been the only copy." She sighed. "I never know from one day to the next what he's going to want. Sometimes the pressure gets to me."
"Dr. Hardwyn said I should talk to you about flight arrangements for Paris."
"Oh, is he going to Paris?"
"I am going to the Pasteur Institute to check out some information."
"Sure. No trouble," she said, picking up the receiver. "I'll call the university travel agent."
Teresa punched numbers into the phone and made arrangements. Why didn't Hardwyn want her to see the grant? Why was there only one copy? Yet he suggested she go to Paris. Maybe she could find out something from the Institute. But why, all of a sudden, did he suggest she go? It was almost as if he was trying to get rid of her.
Back at her office, she'd go ahead and make a quick call to Paris. Couldn't hurt. She gingerly unlocked the door, heart pounding. There couldn't be another grisly scene waiting. Everything was as she left it last evening. With the exception of Suzanne's body on the floor. Andrea dialed the phone, fingers shaking.
Professeur Jean DuBoismer signed the letter, conveniently recording both his office and home numbers. After a few failed attempts and a ten-minute session with the operator, she contacted an Institute receptionist. After another ten minutes, she located the professor.
"Hello, Professeur DuBoismer?" she said loudly, after another few minutes of waiting. "Dr. Andrea Pearson, calling from Omaha, Nebraska. I've been working with Dr. Milton Graf-ton on his DNA research project. I hope it's not too late to talk?"
"
Oui
,
Docteur
Pearson. Milton spoke of you many times. He has great respect for your young intellect. How can I help you?" The voice on the other end spoke English with a thick French accent.
"What can you tell me about the blood samples Milton Grafton sent you?" she asked.
"Oh, it is so wonderful. I am sure you are all overjoyed as are we. But cannot Milton tell you himself?"
"Professor, there's been a tragedy here at Dorlynd. Milton is dead. He was killed and the police are desperately trying to find a motive."
"Oh, no. . . no. . . his is too sad. . . such a catastrophe for a great scientist. Motive? Of course, I can give you a motive. What Milton discovered is so great that many would want it for themselves. We must not speak of it on the phone. You can come to the Institute so that I may explain it properly, yes?"
"I don't know, Sir. Time is crucial. I've been working with the police here. Can't you just tell me about it, please?"
"Of course,
Docteur
. Milton was trying to find a way to change the cells to make them complete again. He had talked about bathing cells in a DNA solution, working with electricity. First, shocking the cells to give them strength, then bathe them with a special bacterial solution. Now, he has some type of serum that changes the cells internally when injected into the blood stream. The last samples he sent us were astounding. We have been so excited to hear from him again. But nothing for the last two weeks. I couldn't understand it. Now he's dead. What's to become of--?"