The Stranger You Know. Andrea Kane
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always our intention,” Marc responded. “We’re not interested in being at odds with law enforcement. Just understand that we’re protecting one of our own. Anything we do that falls into the gray area will be our responsibility and will in no way implicate the police.”
“Fair enough,” Tom agreed. “Let me finish the paperwork, including all the information you just gave me. We’re in the process of checking for latent fingerprints on the tarp. We could get lucky. This bastard might be in the system. But first thing tomorrow morning, I’ll take your request to my captain.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Claire said.
She disconnected the call. She didn’t need to look around the table to see what was reflected on her teammates’ faces.
With or without police assistance, they’d already taken on the case.
* * *
Claire remained in the conference room long after the rest of the team had taken off and even Casey had gone upstairs to make the attempt to catch some sleep.
No matter how hard she tried, Claire couldn’t get the crime images out of her mind. They flashed through her head, one image after the other, like some old horror movie.
The visualizations had begun in sequence as Tom elaborated on what he’d found at the crime scene. Claire could see it all—Kendra’s wrapped body, her hair, even the red satin ribbon tied around her throat. Worse, Claire could feel what Kendra had been feeling—everything from the panic to the blinding pain to the sense of futility, and then the moment when she’d given up.
The whole horrifying event had grabbed hold of Claire and wouldn’t let go.
She dropped her face in her hands and rubbed her eyes, as if by doing that she could make it all go away.
It didn’t work.
Shoving back her chair, Claire left the conference room, heading down the stairs, looking for escape. She had no desire to go home or to be alone in her apartment. She was totally freaked out and trembling, consumed by a sense of death.
She didn’t remember passing the ground floor and continuing downstairs to the basement. But once she’d done so... She had no idea how she knew Ryan would be there. She just did.
The door to his lair was half-closed. Claire stepped inside, glancing at his usual spot behind the computer. He wasn’t there. Instead, he was across the room, sitting on his bench and lifting weights. He was definitely a man with a mission, pumping iron with a vengeance, perspiration glistening on his bare chest.
He spotted Claire the minute she came in. Slowly, he lowered his weights to the floor and stood up.
“Are you okay?”
“No.” She shook her head.
He crossed over to her, studying her drawn expression and wide, frightened eyes.
Neither of them said a word.
Claire reached behind her and shoved the door closed, turning the lock with a loud click. Then she took the few steps that separated her from Ryan and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Make it go away,” she whispered. “Just for a little while. Make the pictures stop.”
He tilted back her head, kissed her once, hard, and then lifted her off the floor and flush against him. Claire wrapped her legs around his waist and they stumbled across the room, dropping onto the futon they’d used more than a few times for this.
Claire let her body take over, let the feel, taste and smell of Ryan permeate her senses. Making love with him was an all-encompassing experience, leaving no room for anything else. Which was exactly what she needed right now.
They drew it out as long as they could—blocking out the world, losing themselves in sensation. Claire’s climax was explosive, and she cried out, feeling Ryan’s body jolt with his own release.
Afterward, they were quiet, both of them loath to let go of the moment and allow reality to creep back in.
When Ryan spoke, it was in a rough, gravelly tone. “Don’t cry.”
Claire blinked. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying. But her cheeks and lashes were wet, as was Ryan’s shoulder where her face had been.
“I’m sorry.” She ran her palm across his shoulder, then wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “It’s the emotional energy.”
Ryan nodded, his chin pressed against the crown of her head.
Another moment passed, and Claire could feel the ugly ghosts threatening to crowd their way into her mind. Unconsciously, her nails dug into Ryan’s back.
Ryan picked up on her panic.
“It’s after three in the morning,” he said. “We have to be upstairs in a couple of hours. For you to go home now would be ridiculous. Stay here.”
Now that was unprecedented.
What Claire and Ryan had was very complicated. They were polar opposites in so many ways. They debated hard, they bickered constantly and they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Ryan was gorgeous and charismatic, with those smoldering Black Irish looks and the charm to match—all of which meant he attracted women like a magnet.
None of that impressed Claire. She was very much her own person, gentle and ethereal, yet strong and honest, unwilling to back down when she thought Ryan was wrong. They were, without a doubt, each other’s weak spot, and despite their best intentions to the contrary and the fact that the two of them were like day and night, they continued to wind up in bed together.
They’d fast become a habit each of them was finding impossible to break.
After months of being involved, they’d relegated their sexual relationship to its own inexplicable but inescapable niche.
That niche didn’t include spending the night together.
Still, what Ryan was saying now made complete pragmatic sense. It was hardly a romantic step forward. Just a time-saver and a few extra hours of comfort—hours Claire badly needed. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t have the energy to move. And she didn’t have the mental strength to battle her demons.
Ryan didn’t wait for Claire’s reply. He rolled onto his side and reached for the fleece throw he kept at the foot of the futon. He settled Claire against him and covered them both.
“Go to sleep, Claire-voyant,” he murmured. “Shut down that out-of-control mind of yours. You can pick up where you left off tomorrow.”
Claire would never admit how relieved Ryan’s words made her feel, or how grateful she was not to be alone. She commanded her mind and her body to release the negative energy, and they complied. “I’m so drained,” she heard herself whisper aloud.
“I know.” Ryan lay down beside her, wrapping one arm around her waist, pausing only long enough to set the alarm on his watch.
By the time he put down his head, Claire was fast asleep.
* * *
Upstairs in her apartment, Casey was having no such luck.
She’d taken a hot shower to relax the tension from her body, plumped her pillows about twelve times and now lay on her back, one arm folded beneath her head.
She wished that damned voice on the phone hadn’t been disguised. But the fact that it was—did that mean she knew the person at the other end? He wasn’t threatening Forensic Instincts. Even if this was a personal vendetta against Casey’s entire company, he was zeroing in on her as his target. That in itself was unnerving. But what unnerved her most was how detailed the offender’s planning had been. He’d plugged into her current investigation and where she stood on it. That took time, patience and connections. He obviously had all three. And with regard to tonight’s rape and murder? He’d carefully chosen a victim whose description