Setting Naomi on her feet, Dylan began removing her clothes, eager to see her naked again. He had little doubt she would present the same picture of perfection that drove him nuts with wanton desire two years ago. As though eager to please, Naomi pitched in to hurriedly undress and display her nudity for his eyes only. She did not disappoint. All the curves and bends in the right package of taut slenderness. Her breasts were not too small, not too large, but just right—waiting to be caressed, the erect nipples tasted like sweet wine.

  “You still like what you see?” Naomi’s eyes widened teasingly.

  “What’s not to like?” Dylan licked his lips appetizingly. “You’re a meal fit for a king.”

  “I’m happy to be your queen, Dylan.” She gave him a toothy smile, while fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. “Do you have protection?”

  “Yes.” He was happy to see that, like him, she didn’t confuse wanton desire with recklessness. If children were ever to become part of the picture for them, there would be a time and place for that. Right now, it was all about them and satisfying pent-up needs.

  He removed his pants, underwear, shoes and socks, tossing them aside, till he was totally nude. His firm erection left little doubt where he stood in wanting to be with her. Naomi studied it in wonder while taking in the whole of his body. “You haven’t changed a bit, I see,” she gushed.

  “Thanks, but I think I have,” he corrected, and it had nothing to do with his workout regimen. Or healthy living to make for a healthy body. “You see, I’m two years wiser. And, as such, two years hungrier for a meal that only you can provide for the ultimate nourishment.”

  “I want you, too,” she promised, a catch to her tone. “Like now!”

  As she lay invitingly on the chenille bedspread, he got a condom out of the drawer of a weathered oak nightstand, tearing it open and swiftly putting it on. Without further delay, Dylan slid onto the bed and halfway into Naomi’s waiting arms. There, they picked up where they left off, exchanging fiery kisses, moving from their mouths to cheeks and chins and back again to each other’s lips. She was driving him crazy and he loved it. The need to be inside her building up like steam in a freight train, he nevertheless held back, wanting Naomi to need him even more than she did. Using the tips of his fingers, Dylan brought them down to her sweet spot and adroitly massaged till she was wet and wanting. She quivered mightily to his touch and left no doubt that he was succeeding in his endeavor.

  “Make love to me, Dylan,” begged Naomi. “I’m ready!”

  “That’s all I needed to hear,” he told her in a deep tone of voice. Lifting up, Dylan sandwiched himself between her splayed legs. Entering her hot body, he drove in hard and often, with Naomi encouraging with each thrust. Her moans and movement were intoxicating to his libido, playing with his mind as well, with lust drowning out everything else. As she gripped his buttocks, he felt Naomi’s powerful orgasm, her body shaking like an earthquake of satisfaction.

  They had sex for as long as Dylan could stand it, before his need to explode took over. As his orgasm broke free, practically paralyzing him with the potent release, he sucked in a ragged breath and allowed nature to take its course. Naomi followed suit, as a second wave of climax manifested itself, allowing them to ride the wave of carnal delight in tandem, their slickened bodies moving harmoniously till reaching the end of the line.

  Afterward, both lay still for a long moment, catching their breaths and sharing a few kisses for good luck, before uncoupling. “Was it as good for you as before?” Naomi asked, putting her mouth to his shoulder.

  “I might have thought that was an impossible mountain to climb,” Dylan said honestly, playing footsies with her. “But after what we just went through, I think it’s obvious that the sex between us is better now than ever.”

  She blushed. “I can’t argue with that.”

  “Neither can I.” He touched one of her nipples, getting an immediate reaction. “Guess some things never die, but only strengthen with time.” What that meant exactly in the scheme of their separate lives, Dylan wasn’t sure. Were they meant to be only fantastic lovers but not soul mates? Why not both? Or was this laying the groundwork for some necessary give-and-take, especially on his part?

  Naomi chuckled. “Maybe we’re vampires that only needed to be reawakened,” she quipped.

  He laughed. “You can bite me anytime you like.”

  She nibbled playfully on his neck. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

  Their easy banter and sheer sexual compatibility reminded Dylan of how good they were together. As if he could ever have forgotten. It was a welcome respite from working the Violet Killer case and stressing over it and keeping Naomi and other women out of harm’s way. Suddenly, feeling reenergized, he found Naomi’s mouth and conquered it again with hard kisses, for which she reciprocated in kind. He became aroused, as did she. One thing led to another, with him grabbing a condom, for a repeat performance. Only this time, having appeased their primordial urges, they were able to take it nice and slow. When it was finally over, Naomi rolled off Dylan and both started giggling like little children. But with decidedly adult sexual appetites.

  As they lay there for a long, silent moment, Naomi propped on an elbow and asked pointedly, “So, where do you see this going...?” Her eyes sharpened at him. “Or was what just happened more about a roll in the hay for a fun trip down memory lane?”

  Dylan cocked a brow in surprise. “Is that what you really think?” As Naomi mulled that over, considering it was she who initiated the sex, he couldn’t resist throwing it back at her. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  Her mouth furrowed. “So why don’t you?”

  He knew why. Because Dylan didn’t believe for one minute that all she wanted from him was to be taken to bed. Any more than merely sex, no matter how fantastic, was all he wanted from her. Indeed, he wanted so much more. The entire package. He just wasn’t certain she felt the same way. At least as it pertained to living in the same place at the same time in pursuing a romance. “Long-distance relationships never work,” he uttered pessimistically.

  “That’s because the parties involved fail to make a concerted effort to at least try to make it work,” Naomi offered reasonably.

  Dylan met her eyes. “Is that what you want, a long-distance relationship?” He noted that this had never been an option presented to him two years ago.

  Thinking about the question, as though she had never zeroed in on it full-fledged till now, Naomi lowered her gaze and admitted waveringly, “I don’t know...”

  Just as they both contemplated their past and future, a cell phone rang. Dylan could tell from the peppy ringtone that it came from Naomi’s phone. He actually welcomed the distraction to give them more time to assess what they wanted from each other and whether it was even possible to attain. “Better get that,” he told her.

  Unenthusiastically, Naomi rolled off the bed and Dylan enjoyed the view of her firm backside as she walked toward her clothes in a pile on the floor. Picking up cropped pants, she fished around for her cell phone before studying it. He watched her cringe, as though being the bearer of bad news. “What is it?” Dylan asked, sitting up.

  “It’s from him...” Her voice broke. Dylan climbed off the bed and met Naomi halfway. With a trembling hand, she held up the cell phone so he could read the text message with his own eyes:

  Such a pretty violet. Too bad she had to die. You’re next...

  Dylan wrapped Naomi within his protective arms, fully understanding why she was shaken up. He cursed within at the thought that the unsub continued to harass her. To what end? Would he actually try to come after Naomi when they were ready and waiting for him to even try? Just as ominous was the implication that another young woman had been murdered by the Violet Killer. “Don’t let this creep get to you,” Dylan cautioned Naomi as best he could offer reassurance.

  “How can I not?” she shot back. “I know it’s just words. But they have meanings and since the unsub’s already proven what he’s capable of, I have to wonder when the frightening texts will turn into something more sinister.”

  As if on cue, Dylan’s own cell phone rang. He reluctantly released Naomi from his grip and took a few steps to his floored trousers, lifting the phone from the back pocket. The caller was FBI Agent Patricia Stabler.

  “Hey,” he said tentatively. “What’s up?”

  “A woman was found dead this evening in her apartment.” Patricia sucked in a deep breath. “Looks like the Violet Killer has struck again.”

  * * *

  NAOMI ARRIVED AT the crime scene with Dylan. Though he would’ve preferred to spare her witnessing yet another murder, she believed it was incumbent upon her to see if the latest victim was another person of color. The fact that the unsub had chosen to make her part of his sick games made Naomi feel vulnerable. It also steeled her, making her more determined than ever to see him brought down. If she played any role in the woman’s death, she needed to face it head-on and do her part to support the Task Force put together to halt the unsub in his tracks.

  The three-story apartment complex was located on Camden Lane, not too far from Dylan’s cabin, but far enough away that Naomi still felt safe there. In spite of the unsub’s chilling texts and an unnerving sense that he was watching her every move, there was no solid proof that he had encroached upon Dylan’s property. Much less, actually entered the cabin. Still, neither she nor Dylan were taking any chances, staying armed and ready, should the need arise to defend themselves.

  Keeping up with Dylan as he worked his way through the usual barriers around and within the scene of a homicide, Naomi felt the loaded 9-millimeter Glock in a leather holster inside the waistband of her wide-leg slacks, worn with an oversize cardigan, reflecting a chill in the evening air. “I’m sure it’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” Dylan advised her, “but be prepared anyway. Death is never a pretty sight.”

  “Tell me about it.” Naomi rolled her eyes. Yes, apart from seeing enough of Sandra Neville’s remains to stay with her, she had encountered corpses as a member of the Secret Service. Though unpleasant, it came with the territory. That included being thrown into the mix of a serial killer case. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him, even if still feeling a bit jittery after receiving the purported perp’s text message.

  “Okay.” Dylan nodded before they approached Detective Hwang, Agent Stabler and other law enforcement personnel. Onlookers were being questioned and kept at bay. “What’s the latest?” Dylan asked casually to no one in particular, having been filled in on some of the details before they arrived.

  “The medical examiner has arrived to transport the body to the morgue,” Hwang said. “Forensics is going through the apartment for evidence.” He took a notepad out of his pocket and flipped through the pages. “The victim is a white female who has been identified by her roommate, Julia Bridges, as twenty-six-year-old Sylvie Maguire, a graduate student at Pebble Creek College and part-time bartender at the Owl Club on Bogue and Tenth Street. According to the roommate, when she got back home at approximately seven from class at Pebble Creek College, she found Maguire, fully clothed and lifeless on the floor in her bedroom. A violet was sticking out of her mouth.”

  Oddly, sad as it was to see another young woman lose her life, Naomi found some comfort in the fact that the latest murder did not appear to be race based. In spite of the texts that were clearly intended to intimidate her, as though it was personal. She chose to believe, as the profiler had indicated, the unsub’s targets were less about physical characteristics and more about the often random nature of serial homicides and the opportunistic targeting, even when scoping out the victim’s habits and locations prior to an attack.

  Dylan cringed. “Is there a boyfriend or...?” Naomi immediately understood that Dylan was automatically going for the standard process of elimination. Female victims of homicide were much more likely to be murdered by current or ex intimates than any other type of offender. Exploiting a high-profile serial killer’s MO by being a copycat murderer to throw the authorities off was not unheard of.

  “She’s been single for a while, says the roommate,” Hwang responded, seemingly putting that angle to rest. “Still, we’re checking her relationship status out, and also going door-to-door to assess the landscape and see if anyone saw anything.”

  “At least one person saw everything,” Patricia said dreadfully, running a hand through her hair. “The perp who snuffed out the victim’s life like a candle. With her fair skin and long, thick red locks, Sylvie Maguire could well have been my little sister. Instead, she has been denied the ability to carve out a long future with all its benefits.”

  Dylan bristled. “Yeah, it’s probably the worst part of this for all the victims and their families.”

  Naomi felt the same, having experienced it firsthand with the loss of her uncle, whom she would never get to have long conversations with on the ups and downs of life. Not to mention, he would never have the opportunity to walk her down the aisle, assuming that were to ever happen. She considered briefly the amazing and all-consuming sex with Dylan earlier, reminding her of just how good things were between them before she left two years ago. Now they seemed to be at a crossroads in determining where they went in their relationship. Would she call making love one time—make that twice—as intense and unforgettable as it was, a relationship? Would he? Was there enough there to bridge the gap that still seemed as wide as Pebble Creek Lake itself?

  “I understand you received another text message, Naomi,” Patricia said, breaking through her reverie.

  Snapping out of it, Naomi saw that Dylan and Hwang were now bringing Chief Frazier up to speed. “Yes,” she told the profiler. “It came just before we learned about the latest victim.” Naomi warmed at the thought of making love to Dylan mere minutes before they were brought back to reality in stark and distressed fashion.

  “Can I see it?”

  “Sure.” Naomi took out her cell phone and brought up the text, which still left her on edge.

  Such a pretty violet. Too bad she had to die. You’re next...

  “Hmm...” Patricia frowned. “So, he’s continuing to harass you, even while murdering others...”

  “I think he may be stalking me in person, as well.” Naomi squirmed as she thought about the man watching her in the lake.

  Patricia acknowledged as much. “Dylan mentioned it.”

  “What do you suppose it means, if anything?” Naomi questioned, ill at ease. “Is it a warning of more intimidation to come? Or does the perp have something much worse in his demented mind where it concerns me?” She shuddered to think of what he could be planning, if orchestrated successfully.

  “Let me work on that in the unsub’s psychological profile,” Patricia responded willingly. “Could be that I’m missing something here. If so, I’ll find it. In the meantime, I suggest you not let your guard down, for even a minute. The worst thing you could do would be to underestimate the threat, which could only embolden the person who’s doing this into further, more decisive actions.”

  “I get the picture.” Naomi felt her firearm and wondered if she would be called upon to use it to defend herself. “I’ll keep my eyes open.” She knew Dylan would as well, along with the extra patrols he had ordered for the neighborhood. Perhaps that would be enough to do the trick. Either that or give the unsub greater determination to succeed in what he had in mind.

  Naomi turned as the medical examiner came out, identified by Patricia. Dr. Martha Donahue looked tired, but made a beeline for Chief Frazier and Dylan. “The victim was definitely strangled to death,” she told them dolefully. “As to a more definitive analysis, I should have the completed autopsy report in the morning.”

  After she answered a couple of routine questions, the body bag containing the corpse of Sylvie Maguire, the Violet Killer’s newest victim, was carted away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next day, Dylan headed to the medical examiner’s office to get the official word on Sylvie Maguire’s death. Though this was more or less routine, it was never as simple as that to him. Each victim who died at the hands of the unsub was a human being—or had been prior to her murder—and deserved to be respected in that regard and given a decent burial. Knowing precisely how they died and connecting it with a single perpetrator would keep the focus on apprehending the killer and giving the victims the ability to rest in peace, accordingly. More than that, Dylan wanted to do his best to keep Naomi from a similar fate. With the unsub feeling brazen enough to send her frightening text messages and possibly stalking her, Dylan would move heaven and earth to protect Naomi. Whether they were on the path toward a reawakening of their romance or had mind-blowing sex to release pent-up passions with no expectations for more remained to be seen. Neither of them had talked about it after getting back to the cabin last night—each retreating to their separate bedrooms to sleep alone—as if to do so would only lead to more harm than good. For his part, Dylan knew he wanted Naomi for much more than a one-night stand. He sensed she felt the same. So why was it so hard for them to own up to this and do something about it? Would they really allow themselves to miss the mark again, knowing that second chances rarely turned into third ones?

  Arriving at his destination, Dylan let the thoughts rest for now, as he refocused on his detective side and a serial killer case that continued to dog him and the Pebble Creek PD. And would not let up for them and the Task Force, till they could wrap up the investigation. This wouldn’t happen unless the unsub was brought to his knees.

  Martha Donahue was all business upon his arrival to her spacious office with a nice view out of a square pivot window. “Since I have a couple more autopsies to perform and we’re both pretty busy these days,” she said, “I’ll cut to the chase, Detective Hester. Sit.” She proffered him a black task chair in front of the desk, where she was seated.

 

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