His lips quirked. She’d taken the reins. Good for her. „Whatever you say, lady.“
„Don’t call me lady.“ Then she closed her eyes, her lips pressed together. Her hand fell away from his, clutching the quilt. She frowned, focusing so hard he had to smile. He rubbed the heel of his hand across the hard bone of her pubis, watched her face change, soften, watched pleasure chase the frown away. She was beautiful like this, discovering her own capacity for passion. He fondled her through her slacks, saying nothing, showing her how good she could feel. Her eyes flew open and in them he saw amazement and urgency.
„Don’t stop,“ she whispered.
He gritted his teeth against the sudden surge of his own body. Not now. This time is Kristen’s. „I won’t.“ He didn’t, and she moved her hips, lifting against his hand, her breath coming in hard pants. She braced one foot on the mattress so she could push harder and then her body froze. Her hand dropped the quilt and clamped over his, pressing, pressing, and Abe knew he’d never seen anything sexier than Kristen caught up in climax. She slumped back, still panting. His body hurt, his erection straining for release. But even the power of his own need was nothing compared to the look in her eyes when her lashes lifted.
„I did it“ It was an awed whisper. „I really did it.“
He had to smile despite the throbbing in his groin. „Yes, you did.“
„Thank you.“ It was more than simple gratitude. This was a watershed moment in her life and he was humbled to have shared it with her. He could only hope she had another, more advanced watershed moment very soon. He wasn’t sure his body could stand the strain of watching her again without participating a little more actively.
He tugged her bra up to cover her breast and pushed the tousled curls away from her face. „You’re welcome.“
She shuddered out a breath. „You didn’t…“
He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. „I didn’t. But it’s okay.“
She bit her lip. „I’m sorry.“
He laid a finger against her lips. „Be quiet. I’m fine.“
„Abe…“ Tears filled her eyes and her breath hitched. „I’m sorry, I – “
„Sshh.“ He gathered her in his arms, settling her on his lap for the second time that evening. He’d had expected this response, but still her tears tore at his heart. She pressed her cheek against his chest and her shoulders shook.
„I was so afraid.“
He kissed the top of her head. „Of me?“
She shook her head. „Not you. That I’d never…“ She lifted a shoulder. „You know.“
He knew and he silently cursed whoever had made her lose confidence in her own body, who’d hurt her so badly that she’d all but buried whoever she’d once been.
Hurt her. What a pathetic euphemism that was. He was a cop, he’d seen everything and still he had trouble saying the word he knew she’d never forget. Rape. She’d been raped. He made himself think the word, forced himself to stay calm when what he really wanted to do was find out who’d done it and tear his guts out with his bare hands, and felt a flash of respect, gratitude to the killer who’d already removed one rapist from the planet. It was wrong to feel that way, but at the moment, if he knew who’d hurt the woman in his arms, he wasn’t sure that he wasn’t capable of cold-blooded retribution murder himself.
„Do you want to talk about it now?“ he asked quietly and her body tensed.
She shook her head again, more vehemently this time. „No, not now. Not now.“
Abe hugged her close. „Then sleep.“
Monday, February 23,
1:30 a.m.
He’d lost control before, with Conti. That couldn’t, wouldn’t happen again. Not that the beast didn’t deserve it, and a lot more. But it was dangerous. He’d left evidence behind on Conti’s body, of that he was certain, but apart from dipping the man in a vat of lye, he didn’t know how to rectify the situation. What was, was.
You could have just buried him and left his family to wonder, he thought. But that would have robbed him of precious closure. The world knew that Conti had been punished for his crimes against Paula Garcia, her unborn son, the American justice system, and last but far from least, Kristen Mayhew. Perhaps now the scum that paraded through her court would think twice before publicly defaming her name.
He shifted, trying to find a comfortable place on the concrete of the roof. He’d had to find a new rooftop. Who would have thought the police would use Skinner’s car to guide them to the old rooftop? He had to give them credit. Mitchell and Reagan were no fools. Especially that Reagan. He frowned a little, thinking of how Reagan arrived to rescue Kristen from those thugs that ran her car off the road. Kristen had walked into his arms like she’d known him all her life instead of only a few days.
He sincerely hoped that Reagan wasn’t the kind of man to push his advantage. If Reagan was foolish enough to try, he’d find Kristen had powerful allies in hidden places.
Aah, finally. He’d thought his target would never come. After his little detour with Conti, he’d gone back to the fishbowl and resumed his quest. Tonight’s mark had been easy enough to lure. He’d found Arthur Monroe in a bar, quickly made friends by buying the man a beer. Then he’d made Monroe practically drool by bragging about a stash of pure cocaine and offering him some if Monroe met him here tonight. The lure had worked well in the past, bringing him every mark except for Skinner who’d required a slightly different candy. Skinner’s lure had been the promise of discrediting information about a victim who was accusing one of Skinner’s clients with sexual harassment. His lips curled in distaste. Killing Skinner had been one of his greater contributions to humanity.
But tonight was about Arthur Monroe, a man who’d justified his gross sexual imposition of the young daughter of his girlfriend by saying the five-year-old had „led him on,“ that he „hadn’t been able to help himself,“ that it had been a „one time thing.“ Kristen pushed for a trial, but the mother refused to allow her child to testify. He gritted his teeth as he brought the mark into his sight Most of the time parents refused to allow their children to testify to protect them from media exposure and further trauma. This little girl’s mother didn’t want her boyfriend to go to jail. To Kristen’s shock, the judge in this case had sided with the boyfriend.
He’d known her by then and remembered that day well. She’d been devastated. She’d worked out a plea that she’d found repugnant enough, but the judge had unbelievably decided society in general had failed the pedophilic boyfriend and had rejected the plea, sentencing Monroe to probation and counseling.
Probation. For molesting a five-year-old. He smiled grimly as he tracked the man crossing the road. This time he’d get the boyfriend. Maybe next time he’d pull a judge’s name out of the fishbowl. Because there were judges in there, waiting with all the others.
He inched the sight down, bringing the man’s knees into view. He really wanted Monroe to pay, and with more than an easy death. But the vision of his own bloody hands after he’d killed Conti entered his mind, front and center. His bloody, gloveless hands. What a stupid mistake to make. He couldn’t risk losing control again. The police already knew the florist sign on the van was a sham, and they’d recovered a bullet. That the bullet was too damaged to identify was a short-term boon. Sooner or later they’d figure it out and find him. He needed to hurry. There were many more names in the fishbowl.
He brought the sight up to Monroe’s forehead and gently squeezed the trigger.
Nine down and still a million to go.
Chapter Fifteen