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“Any pattern among the victims as to location, physical appearance, anything?” Lucky asked.
“If there is, we can’t find anything other than that the victims are all females between the ages of eighteen and forty-three, and the attacks all took place in either San Felipe or Coronado,” the detective replied. “I’ll get you the complete files first thing in the morning. You might as well try searching for a pattern, too. I don’t think you’re going to find one, but it sure beats sitting around waiting for this guy to strike again.”
Bobby’s pager went off. He glanced at it as he shut it off, then stood. “If that’s all for now, Lieutenant…”
Lucky gestured with his head toward the pager. “Anything I should know about?”
“Just Wes,” the bigger man said. “It’s been a rough tour for him. Coronado’s the last place he wanted to be, and he’s been here for nearly three months now.” He nodded at Sydney. “Nice meeting you. See you later, Luce.” He turned back. “Do me a favor and lock your windows tonight, ladies.”
“And every night until we catch this guy,” Lucky added as the chief headed for the door. He stood up. “I’m going to take off, too.”
“See you tomorrow.” Syd barely even looked at him as she turned to Lucy. “Are you in a hurry to get home, detective? Because I have some questions I was hoping you could answer.”
Lucky lingered, but aside from a quick wave from Lucy, neither woman gave him a second glance.
“I did some research on sex crimes and serial rapists and serial murderers,” Syd continued, “and—”
“And you’re thinking about what I said about the level of violence escalating,” Lucy finished for her. “You want to know if I think this guy’s going to cross the line into rape-homicide.”
Oh, God, Lucky hadn’t even considered that. Rape alone was bad enough.
Lucy sighed. “Considering the abuse the perp seems to enjoy dishing out, in my opinion, it could be just a matter of time before he—”
“Heads up,” Syd said in a low voice. “Barbie’s coming this way.”
Barbie?
Lucky looked up to see Heather heading toward them. Her body in motion made heads turn throughout the entire room.
She was gorgeous, but she was plastic. Kind of like a Barbie doll. Yeah, the name fit.
He wanted to stay, wanted to hear what Lucy and Syd had to say, but he’d saddled himself with Heather, and now he had to pay the price.
He had to take her home.
With Heather, there was always a fifty-fifty chance she’d invite him up to her place and tear off his clothes. Tonight she’d made a few suggestive comments at dinner that led him to believe it was, indeed, going to be one of those nights where they engaged in a little pleasure gymnastics.
“Ready to go home?” Heather smiled at him, a smile loaded with promise. A smile he knew that Syd had not missed.
Good. Let her know that he was going to get some tonight. Let her know he didn’t need her to make fireworks.
“Absolutely.” Lucky put his arm around her waist.
He glanced at Syd, but she was already back to her discussion with Lucy, and she didn’t look up.
As Heather dragged him to the door, Lucky knew he was the envy of every man in the bar. He was going home with a beautiful woman who wanted to have wild sex with him.
He should have been running for his car. He should have been in a hurry to get her naked.
But as he reached the door, he couldn’t stop himself from hesitating, from looking back at Syd.
She glanced up at that exact moment, and their eyes met and held. The connection was instantaneous. It was cracklingly powerful, burningly intense.
He didn’t look away, and neither did she.
It was far more intimate than he’d ever been with Heather, and they’d spent days together naked.
Heather tugged at his arm, pressed her body against him, pulled his head down for a kiss.
Lucky responded instinctively, and when he looked back at Syd, she had turned away.
“Come on, baby,” Heather murmured. “I’m in a hurry.”
Lucky let her pull him out the door.
THE PICKUP TRUCK WAS following her.
Syd had first noticed the headlights in her rearview mirror as she’d pulled out of La Cantina’s parking lot.
The truck had stayed several car lengths behind her as she’d headed west on Arizona Avenue. And when she’d made a left turn onto Draper, he’d turned, too.
She knew for sure when she did a series of right and left turns, taking the shortcut to her neighborhood. It couldn’t be a coincidence. He was definitely following her.
Syd and Lucy had talked briefly after Navy Ken had taken his inflatable Barbie home. She’d stayed in the bar after Lucy had left as well, having a glass of beer as she wrote her latest women’s safety article on her laptop. It was far easier to write in the noisy bar than it would have been in her too-quiet apartment. She missed the chaos of the newsroom. And being home alone would only have served to remind her that Lucky O’Donlon wasn’t.
Miss Vapid USA was, no doubt, his soul mate. Syd wondered rather viciously if they spent all their time together gazing into mirrors. Blond and Blonder.
Lucy had volunteered the information that Heather was typical of the type of women the SEAL fraternized with. He went for beauty queens who were usually in their late teens, with an IQ not much higher than their age.
Syd didn’t know why she was surprised. God forbid a man like Luke O’Donlon should ever become involved with a woman who actually meant something to him. A woman who talked back to him, offering a differing opinion and a challenging, vivacious honest-to-God relationship….
Who was she kidding? Did she really imagine she tasted integrity in his kisses?
It was true that he’d protested admirably when she’d accused him of trying to steal his XO’s wife, but all that meant was that he had a line in his debauchery that he would not cross.
He was hot, he was smooth, he could kiss like a dream, but his passion was empty. For indeed, what was passion without emotion? A balloon that, when popped, revealed nothing but slightly foul-smelling air.
She was glad she’d seen Luke O’Donlon with his Barbie doll. It was healthy, it was realistic and just maybe it would keep her damned subconscious from dreaming erotic dreams about him tonight.
Syd took a right turn onto Pacific, pulling into the right lane and slowing down enough so that anyone in their right mind would pass her, but the truck stayed behind her.
Think. She had to think. Or rather, she had to stop thinking about Luke O’Donlon and his perfect butt and focus on the fact that a sociopathic serial rapist could well be following her through the nearly deserted streets of San Felipe.
She’d written an article dealing with this very subject just minutes ago.
If you think someone is following you, she’d said, do not go home. Drive directly to the police station. If you have a cell phone, use it to call for help.
Syd fumbled in her shoulder bag for her cell phone, hesitating only slightly before she pushed the speed-dial button she’d programmed with Lucky O’Donlon’s home phone number. It would serve him right if she interrupted him.
His machine picked up after only two rings, and she skipped over his sexy-voiced message.
“O’Donlon, it’s Syd. If you’re there, pick up.” Nothing. “Lieutenant, I know my voice is the last thing you probably want to hear right now, but I’m being followed.” Oh, crud, her voice cracked slightly, and her fear and apprehension peeked through. She took a deep breath, hoping to sound calm and collected, but only managing to sound very small and pitiful. “Are you there?”
No response. The answering machine beeped, cutting her off.
Okay. Okay. As long as she kept moving, she’d be okay.
And chances were, if she pulled into the brightly lit police-station parking lot, whoever was following her would drive away.
But what a missed opportunity that would be. If this were the rapist behind her, they could catch him. Right now. Tonight.
She pressed one of the other speed-dial numbers she’d programmed into her phone. Detective Lucy McCoy’s home number.
One ring. Two rings. Three…
“‘Lo?” Lucy sounded as if she’d already been asleep.
“Lucy, it’s Syd.” She gave a quick rundown of the situation, and Lucy snapped instantly awake.
“Stay on Pacific,” Lucy ordered. “What’s your license plate number?”
“God, I don’t know. My car’s a little black Civic. The truck’s one of those full-size ones—I haven’t been able to see what color—something dark. And he’s hanging too far back for me to see his plate number.”
“Just keep driving,” Lucy said. “Slow and steady. I’m calling in as many cars as possible to intercept.”
Slow and steady.
Syd used her cell phone and tried calling Lucky one more time.
Nothing.
Slow and steady.
She was heading north on Pacific. She could just follow the road all the way up to San Francisco, slowly and steadily. Provided the truck behind her let her stop for gas. She was running low. Of course a little car like this could go for miles on a sixteenth of a tank. She had no reason to be afraid. At any minute, the San Felipe police were going to come to the rescue.
Any minute. Any. Minute.
She heard it then—sirens in the distance, getting louder and deafeningly louder as the police cars moved closer.
Three of them came from behind. She watched in her rear-view mirror as they surrounded the truck, their lights flashing.
She slowed to a stop at the side of the road as the truck did the same, twisting to look back through her rear window as the police officers approached, their weapons drawn, bright searchlights aimed at the truck.
She could see the shadow of the man in the cab. He had both hands on his head in a position of surrender. The police pulled open the truck’s door, pulled him out alongside the truck where he braced himself, assuming the position for a full-body search.
Syd turned off the ignition and got out, wanting to get closer now that she knew the man following her wasn’t armed, wanting to hear what he was saying, wanting to get a good look at him—see if he was the same man who’d nearly knocked her down the stairs after attacking her neighbor.
The man was talking. She could see from the police officers standing around him that he was keeping up a steady stream of conversation. Explanation, no doubt, for why he was out driving around so late at night. Following someone? Officer, that was just an unfortunate coincidence. I was going to the supermarket to pick up some ice cream.
Yeah, right.
As Syd moved closer, one of the police officers approached her.
“Sydney Jameson?” he called.
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you for responding so quickly to Detective McCoy’s call. Does this guy have identification?”
“He does,” the officer said. “He also says he knows you—and that you know him.”
What? Sydney moved closer, but the man who’d been following her was still surrounded by the police and she couldn’t see his face.
The police officer continued. “He also claims you’re both part of a working police task force…?”
Sydney could see in the dim streetlights that the truck was red. Red.
As if on cue, the police officers parted, the man turned his face toward her and…
It was. Luke O’Donlon.
“Why the hell were you following me?” All of her emotions sparked into anger. “You scared me to death, damn it!”
He himself wasn’t too happy about having been frisked by six unfriendly policemen. He was still standing in the undignified search position—legs spread, palms against the side of his truck, and he sounded just as indignant as she did. Maybe even more indignant. “I was following you home. You were supposed to go home, not halfway across the state. Jeez, I was just trying to make sure you were safe.”
“What about Heather?” The words popped out before Sydney could stop herself.
But Luke didn’t even seem to hear her question. He had turned back to the police officers. “Are you guys satisfied? I’m who I say I am, all right? Can I please stand up?”
The police officer who seemed to be in charge looked to Syd.
“No,” she said, nodding yes. “I think you should make him stay like that for about two hours as punishment.”
“Punishment?” Luke let out a stream of sailor’s language as he straightened up. “For doing something nice? For worrying so much about you and Lucy going home from that bar alone that I dropped Heather off at her apartment and came straight back to make sure you’d be okay?”
He hadn’t gone home with Miss Ventura County. He’d given up a night of steamy, mindless, emotionless sex because he had been worried about her.
Syd didn’t know whether to laugh or hit him.
“Heather wasn’t happy,” he told her. “That’s your answer for ‘what about Heather?’” He smiled ruefully. “I don’t think she’s ever been turned down before.”
He had heard her question.
She’d spent most of the past hour trying her hardest not to imagine his long, muscular legs entangled with Heather’s, his skin slick and his hair damp with perspiration as he…
She’d tried her hardest, but she’d always had a very good imagination.
It was stupid. She’d told herself that it didn’t matter, that he didn’t matter. She didn’t even like him. But now here he was, standing in front of her, gazing at her with those impossibly blue eyes, with that twenty-four-carat sun-gilded hair curling in his face from the ocean’s humidity.
“You scared me,” she said again.
