to a calendar than to my own heart.”
Liza was going to bake that someone Dream Bars forever. “How do you look at me?”
“That’s two questions.”
“Indulge me. I’m . . .” Needy. Fragile. Vulnerable as hell. “I need to know.”
He pulled back far enough to meet her gaze, and in his she saw the truth laid bare. “I look at you like you’re the only thing I need to be happy. Is that enou—”
She pulled his head down and kissed him the way she’d always dreamed, hard and lush and a little indecent. Their mouths fit perfectly, their bodies aligning in just the right way.
Then his hands dipped lower, cupping her butt and lifting her off her toes like she weighed nothing at all. In three strides, he had her up against the wall, her legs wrapped around his hips.
He dropped his head to the curve of her shoulder and breathed her in. “Is this okay?”
She could feel him pulsing into her, and he was exactly how she’d fantasized. “Tell me this is real.”
He straightened, resting his forehead on hers. “It’s real. I promise.”
She took a moment to absorb the rush of emotions, the thrum of lust. “Then it’s better than okay. So much better.” And then she kissed him again.
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
SUNDAY, MAY 28, 7:05 P.M.
It really shouldn’t be this easy, DJ thought as he walked into Miss Stephanie Stack’s kitchen. She’d left her door unlocked.
People really should be more careful. Especially since she was now living alone. Her Facebook status was “Single,” and it was a new thing. An hour ago, she’d posted that she was planning to spend the evening “blissfully alone,” watching the TV shows that her ex had sneered at, then taking a bath with a glass of wine.
The soft sound of a laugh track floated through the air as he crept to the doorway to the living room. She was sitting on her sofa, watching TV, her back to him. On the table beside her were a half-empty package of Oreo cookies, a mostly empty glass of white wine, and a half-empty wine bottle. It appeared Miss Stephanie was getting a head start on the booze portion of the evening.
She was playing a game on her laptop. That her laptop was on would make this easier still.
He assumed that she’d have her class roster somewhere on her computer. Depending on where it was stored, he might not need her involvement at all. If it was part of a password-protected school-owned software package, he’d need to keep her around. If her list was a simple Word document on her hard drive, her assistance would not be necessary.
He’d planned for this, planned to keep her alive in case he needed her password. He had precut lengths of duct tape fixed to his jeans and his silenced pistol in his gloved hand.
A bandana obscured his face, except for his eyes. One of Smythe’s ball caps covered his newly bald head. He wasn’t giving the cops any more photos of him. The carpeted floor quieted the sound of his footsteps as he approached.
Miss Stephanie cried out once when he put the barrel of his gun to her temple, but he stifled what would have been a scream by slapping one of the pieces of tape over her mouth.
“Get up,” he said quietly.
She looked over her shoulder, eyes wide and petrified. She didn’t move, frozen in place. She was young, maybe in her midtwenties, with strawberry blond hair piled atop her head.
With his left hand, he took her laptop from her, placing it on the cushion at the end of the sofa. “Stand up. I don’t want to hurt you,” he lied. “Do what I say and I won’t.”
She finally obeyed, her body shaking like a leaf, her pleas muffled by the tape. Stowing his gun under one arm, he quickly taped her wrists behind her back, then pushed her to sit and restrained her feet.
He took a seat at the end of the sofa, gun in hand once again. Her laptop was new and shiny and weighed next to nothing as he rested it on his knees and opened her hard drive.
From the corner of his eye, he saw her start to wiggle, like she was planning an escape.
Sorry, sweetheart. It wasn’t her fault, of course. She was simply a teacher to the wrong kid. That wasn’t going to stop him from using her to get what he needed, though.
What he needed was access to Kowalski’s weapons stash, so what