An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(46)

Grace was so distracted by work and the undercurrents between her and Smith, that she almost forgot about the danger she was in.

Until Lieutenant Marks called again.

She and Smith had just walked into the penthouse after attending a late-night gallery opening when the phone started ringing. As soon as she heard the Lieutenant's voice, the fear came back, vivid and awful.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'm just checking in. Have you seen anything unusual? Is Smith still with you?"

She felt a measure of relief as she sat down on the couch. "Yes, he is. And no, not really."

"Can you put him on?"

Grace called out to Smith. "Marks wants to talk with you."

As Smith took the phone, she watched him anxiously. She had no idea what they were talking about, all she heard were Smith's short replies. He hung up the phone and she was disappointed when he didn't say anything.

"Is anything wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"So what did you talk about?"

He shrugged and started to walk down the hall. She hurried after him.

"Tell me," she demanded as she grabbed his arm. His wrist was thick and warm under her fingers, reminding her of what it felt like to be against his body.

When he looked down at the contact, she took her hand back but stepped in front of him, blocking his way to his bedroom.

"Don't hide things from me," she said bluntly. "I'd rather know bad news than have to deal with what my mind can imagine."

Smith gave her a level stare before speaking. "The only thing they know is that the victims have been killed by the same person. They've DNA-tested blood samples and hair fibers found at the scenes and skin found under the victims' nails and it's a match. Other than that, they have no leads. No suspects. No motive."

She leaned her hip and shoulder against the wall, feeling sick as she pictured her friends scratching at the killer. And the fact that the police hadn't made much progress was daunting. In the back of her mind, she'd assumed that they were picking up clues and hints that would eventually make some kind of sense.

“I can't believe they've found nothing," she said, looking down at the fine nap of the hall carpet. She moved the pointed heel of her Manolo Blahnik in a circle, making a half-moon trail in the otherwise smooth, cream-colored surface. It was an attempt to avoid his eyes and some of the harsh reality they were discussing but the distraction only worked on the former. "Have they looked hard enough?"

"Marks has a good reputation and I know he runs a tight ship. The bastard who killed those women has just been lucky so far."

"Or he knows what he's doing."

Smith's voice was harsh. "He's an amateur."

She cringed, thinking of the photos of Cuppie's body. "What makes you say that?"

When he didn't reply, she looked up at him.

"Are you sure you want to be talking about this?" he said gruffly.

"I asked, didn't I," she shot back as pride's sting surged through her fear. She didn't want him to think she was incapable of rationally discussing something which so obviously affected her life. At the same time, her stomach had started to roll with nausea.

Smith still didn't answer and her body went cold.

"Talk to me, for Chrissakes," she said sharply. "This sphinx routine is getting on my nerves."

Smith smiled faintly. "I'd asked Marks to look for any connections between the husbands of the women in that article. He said that other than social ties, there appeared to be no commonality. I wasn't surprised."

"So what do you think? Why is this happening?"

Hanging in the air was, why me.

"It's personal. The connection is among you, not your husbands. Look, all I can tell you is that Marks is doing everything he can with what he has. He's a damn good cop. Something will turn up, eventually."

"But what happens until then? How many of us will..." Grace couldn't say the word that was bouncing around her head. Death was never easy to speak of, she thought, but it was damn near impossible to say the word die when you were thinking of yourself.

She wrapped her arms around her rib cage, missing the fog of security she'd been living in over the last few days.

"Grace. Look at me."

She lifted her head.

"You hired me to protect you." She nodded when he paused. "And that's what I'm going to do."



"I hope so. God, I truly hope so."

"Don't hope," he said. "Believe."

She stared into his eyes and saw self-confidence, power, control. It all seemed to promise that her faith in him would be rewarded.

When he reached out a hand to her, the gesture was unexpected.

"Let's go to bed."

Her eyes widened, but then she realized that he wasn't talking about sex. His words were a casual direction intended to get her to rest.

She took his hand, feeling his fingers wrap around her own, warm and strong. They walked down the hall together until they got to his room and then he broke the contact silently and left her.

She'd changed into a nightgown and was lying in bed in the dark when she heard him go into the bathroom. The sounds of water were muted and brief. Minutes later, he emerged.