Unless he counted picking up the thought waves of a serial killer.
He looked at the clock, and took one last sip of coffee. “I have to go, honey. This was great. What are we having for supper?”
Caught between amusement, hope, and absolute terror that he evidently planned to stay with her again, all she could do was start laughing. “You’ve just finished breakfast,” she said between giggles.
He pinched her chin. “Even in the Rubaiyat, old Omar listed food first.”
“I thought the wine came first.”
“Tells us a lot about him, doesn’t it?” He winked at her and went into the bedroom to finish dressing, and Marlie began clearing the table. She felt giddy. He was coming back that night.
She wondered how he usually conducted his affairs. Was he satisfied with spending a night together every now and then, maybe just the weekends? Or would he come by every night, spend time with her, make love, and then go home to his own house? She didn’t know what to expect. There was a very satisfied air about him that led her to think he was very pleased with the personal outcome of the weekend, but perhaps that was just sexual satiation. She wasn’t experienced enough to tell the difference, assuming there was one. Despite his kindness, his tenderness, even his passion, despite the fact that she had fallen headlong in love with him, she was aware that she really didn’t know him.
He was shrugging into his shoulder holster as he came out of the bedroom. “I forgot that I don’t have a jacket here,” he said, frowning. “I’ll have to stop by my house to get one, so I have to run.” He bent down to kiss her. “’Bye, honey. I don’t know how long this will take.”
She put her hands on his chest and lifted herself on tiptoe for another kiss. “I have to do my grocery shopping, if you want anything at all to eat. If I’m not here, that’s where I’ll be.”
He put his arms around her and pulled her close, forcing her hips against his. His mouth settled on hers for a kiss so hard and hungry that she went limp in his arms, shivering with delight. His hands sought her breasts, and rubbed between her legs. He forced her back against the cabinets and swiftly lifted her up onto them, pushing his hips between her spread thighs. She clung to his heavy shoulders, feeling the leather of the holster beneath her palms.
He tore his mouth away with a groan. “God Almighty. We can’t do this. I don’t have time.” Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his eyes had that heavy-lidded, intent look that nearly made her beg him to stay. But she of all people knew the price of duty, and she forced herself to release him.
“Go,” she said. “Now.”
He stepped back, wincing as he reached down to adjust himself. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, but it may take several hours. Do you have an extra house key?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Let me have it.”
No hesitation or uncertainty for him, she thought as she jumped off the countertop and hurried to her purse. She gave him the extra key, and he slipped it onto his key ring. He started to reach for her, for another kiss, but caught himself in time. “Later,” he said, winking at her, and headed for the door.
When he was gone, Marlie collapsed on the couch and tried to take stock of her life. She was wary, even frightened, of what was happening, but nothing on earth could have stopped her from plunging into the experience. For the first time in her life, she was in love, and it was wonderful.
To Dane’s surprise, the chief of police was present at the meeting. Rodger Champlin, tall, white-haired, and stooped from too many years behind a desk, was nevertheless a career policeman who had come up through the ranks, and he had over forty years of service under his belt. He was a sly old dog who had managed to stay abreast of the flood of new technologies involved in police work, rather than stubbornly clinging to the outmoded ways he had learned in his youth.
Bonness’s cramped office wasn’t big enough to hold everyone, so they went into a conference room and closed the door. Ivan was there, his lined face and bloodshot eyes evidence that he had been up all night. All the detectives were there, most of them obviously puzzled by this Sunday morning meeting, especially one that involved the chief.
Bonness was drinking coffee as if it were all that kept him going. From the looks of him, he hadn’t slept much, if at all, and the hand holding the coffee cup trembled slightly from caffeine overload.
Everyone got his own cup of coffee and settled into his chosen seat. Dane decided to stand, and propped himself against the wall.
Bonness looked down at the sheaf of papers on the table before him, and sighed. He was obviously reluctant to begin, as if officially putting it in words would make it more real.
“People, we have a big problem,” he said. “We only have two cases to compare, but the similarities are so overwhelming that we’re pretty certain we have a serial murderer operating in Orlando.”
Dead silence filled the room as the detectives exchanged glances.
“We were alerted to the possibility,” he said, without going into specifics, “which is why we’re able to get on it so fast.” He passed some of the papers to the detective seated to his right, Mac Stroud. “Take one and pass it down. These are the files on Nadine Vinick and Jacqueline Sheets. Read both of them carefully. Mrs. Vinick was murdered a week ago Friday, Ms. Sheets was killed this past Friday night.”
“So what do we have?” Mac asked.
Bonness looked at Ivan Schaffer. “Nothing,” Ivan said flatly. “Not a damn thing. No fingerprints; he wears gloves. No semen, though vaginal bruising in both women indicates that they were raped. He either wears a condom or uses a foreign object. I haven’t found any stray hairs, either. No footprints, no fibers from his clothing, no witnesses. We have nothing.”