Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,75

could exist in her life, that she could be with someone, loving the taste and feel and scent of him and the way he felt against her, and also know that she dared lie with him through the night.

He kissed her sweetly, wetly, hot as he touched her lips, traveled her body. The feel of being with him, so desperately wanting more and more...as if they could all but inhabit one another’s flesh.

Lying beside him...breathing. Just breathing.

“This is...amazing,” he said.

She rested her face against his chest, wriggling her nose a bit as she shifted, and his chest hair teased her.

“Yes.”

“I mean the sweeping, mind-blowing, ripsnorting, sheer nirvana climax part is so damned great, but man, this is amazing, too.”

She laughed.

“Ripsnorting? My, my, Special Agent Wallace, you do have a way with words.”

“Well, you know what I mean. At least I think you know what I mean.”

“Exactly,” she assured him, leaning up on his chest, lowering to kiss his lips, slowly, and lingeringly.

She felt her need for him swell again, but by then, they were mentally and physically exhausted.

Soon enough, she was asleep.

And thus, back in the room.

The room clouded with fog or haze, thick and dark, smelling and feeling like evil.

She couldn’t place where she was; she only knew that the killer was there, and the killer knew that she was there as well.

And the victim.

She couldn’t see the victim; she didn’t know where she was.

She didn’t even know if she herself was the intended victim.

But she did know something of the killer’s mind. This time, there would be no neat strangulation. Difficult as strangling another person could be, it required great strength in the hands when done manually, without any type of garrote to aid in the deed.

This time, he wanted blood. A knife slashing in the air. No hesitation, but slow enough. And the mutilation would go and on and on...

The organs would be preserved. That, after all, was what sanctioned the carnage. He was prepared. And he would do it as he knew to do it, keeping every needed organ as pristine as he knew how. Yes, yes, but then...

The slashing of the throat—hard enough so that the blood loss would render his victim powerless...but not enough to kill instantly. He wanted to see this victim squirm and squeal and, yes, even choke out a few screams. He wanted to see her eyes, as she knew that death was imminent.

Close, close...closer.

The victim knew that he was there—and that he had come for her...

Who is it, who is it? Something screamed inside her.

But the fog was so dense and gray, the miasma so great.

The knife, even against the blinding depth of the fog, was glistening, high in the air, ready for the first strike.

A scream of terror broke free...

* * *

Keenan held her, smoothing back her hair, whispering her name and shaking her just slightly, gently.

The scream faded; her eyes opened.

“Keenan...”

“You’re okay. You’re with me.”

She stared at him wonderingly. “I’m so sorry; you’re sleeping with a freak!”

“You’re not a freak. You’re amazing. I’m so sorry that you being so amazing has to be so painful for you as well.”

“It helps that...that you’re here with me.”

He held her quietly and waited, and she sighed with frustration.

“I can’t see his face; I can’t even see his victim’s face!”

“You will.”

“But when?”

“In time,” he assured her. And he waited again; he let her go through her own thoughts and put them into words without pressing her.

“Okay. I did learn something. It’s one person who commits the murders. I still don’t know if he’s really medically trained, or if he’s been shown exactly what to do. It was as if I could slip into his head. Keenan, he couldn’t wait to rip her to shreds! He was thinking about the organs... He must have help. Because he was thinking that his indulgence in the terrible killing was sanctioned by someone—the someone who wanted the organs, I imagine. More than one person is involved, but...who I don’t know.”

“But we know what we’re looking for,” he told her.

“You think it really makes a difference?”

“A tremendous difference.”

“I’m still sorry. I don’t get enough sleep—and I make you not get enough sleep.”

As if it had been paying attention, the alarm clock blared suddenly.

“See? We got plenty of sleep!” he told her. “Up and at ’em, as they say. We have a date with—”

He paused, wincing.

“With?”

“Some incredible people and...a medical examiner and a few corpses.”

Thirteen

Stacey thought that she would have recognized Axel Tiger as a law-enforcement officer of