Killer Season

Fiona rubbed her chest, the memory of her mom’s words aggravating the now-permanent ache behind her breastbone.

A late-in-life “miracle baby,” Fiona was an only child. Her father, a police officer, had been killed when she was ten. He was shot while responding to a domestic disturbance call, and while the Houston police department had rallied to support Fiona and her mother, they couldn’t fill the void left by her dad.

The loss of her father made Fiona feel even closer to her mother. “It’s you and me, kid,” Christine liked to say. “Together, we can get through anything.”

And for thirteen years, they had. Until that unusually cold March afternoon, when Christine’s doctor had called to tell her there was an abnormality with her latest mammogram.

Fiona had been twenty-three when her mother was diagnosed with cancer. What she hadn’t known—what the doctors hadn’t been able to predict—was that it would take her mother five long, agonizing years to die. Fiona had worked a string of part-time jobs while acting as a caregiver, an exhausting schedule that brought home just enough money to pay her tuition and stay afloat. Being a clerk at the convenience store was the best-paying job she’d had yet, which was why she’d decided to stay on after her mother died. She could go to school in the afternoons and work at night, and with the notes she’d compiled so far, she was getting ever closer to finishing her master’s degree.

While she wouldn’t trade the time she’d spent with her mother for anything, she did feel a sense of longing when she saw couples out together, laughing and having fun, or pushing a baby stroller. She hadn’t dated since college and, given her schedule now, there wasn’t a lot of room for a man. That was okay, though. She needed to focus on finishing school, and starting a relationship would only delay that.

Despite her self-imposed single status, Fiona could still appreciate a handsome man. Like Nate. She let her thoughts drift, pulling up the image of his face. She liked knowing his name now, though she’d have to get used to calling him Nate instead of Hot Guy. She’d been attracted to him before tonight, of course. Her fingers tightened on the coffee cup as she imagined him in his dress uniform. His golden skin would look amazing against a black starched shirt, and she was willing to bet he had a lot of shiny medals to pin against his broad chest.

Medals probably earned for stupidly brave actions that could have gotten him killed, her practical side pointed out. She remembered her dad and his friends—adrenaline junkies, all of them. And their exploits weren’t limited to the job. Her father had had a string of affairs, no-strings-attached flings with the women who liked to hang around the precinct, looking to date a cop. “Badge bunnies,” her mother had called them.

The thought darkened her mood a bit, pulling her back into reality. There was a reason she didn’t try to date cops, no matter how sexy they were.

But, her libido responded, he’d been deliciously solid on top of her, and she wished the circumstances had been different so she could have actually enjoyed lying underneath him. It had been a long time—too long—since she’d felt the weight of a man, and unless she decided to throw her plans out the window, she wasn’t likely to feel it again anytime soon. And even though she was hesitant to date a cop, maybe they could have a little fun before they went their separate ways? Nate was going to drive her back to the store, so maybe she could trip and pull him down with her...

She shook her head at the wild fantasy as Officer Rodriguez—she just couldn’t call him Steve after such short acquaintance—walked back into the room. He caught her gesture and gave her a concerned look. “Everything okay?”

Fiona felt her face heat. “Um, yeah,” she stammered, grasping for something to tell him. She settled for holding up the coffee cup. “I was debating taking another sip, but decided I was better off just holding it for the warmth.”

He gave her a sympathetic wince. “Sorry about that. We drink so much of the stuff around here, you’d think we could make it better, but no one ever seems to have the time.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said with a smile. “Bad coffee and police stations are supposed to go together. I’m pretty sure there’s a rule about it somewhere, kind of like peanut butter and jelly.”

Officer Rodriguez laughed. “I suppose you’re right.” He sat across from her and tapped the pages he’d been carrying into order. “I just have a few things for you to sign, and then you’re free to go.” He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and slid it across the table.

“First up is your statement,” he said, passing a stapled collection of pages to her. “Just review it for accuracy, and if you’re satisfied, initial at the bottom of each page and sign on the last page.”

Fiona started to glance over the text but was interrupted by the appearance of another form. “Next, we need your updated contact information. And finally,” he said, handing her yet another piece of paper, “you need to sign this form indicating your desire to press charges against the assailant.”

“Do you think he’ll be convicted?”

Officer Rodriguez shrugged. “I doubt he’ll make it to trial—his public defender will probably try to plead him out.”

Fiona nodded. “Good.” She grabbed the pen and prepared to sign, but a disturbing thought made her pause. “Will he know my name?”

The officer frowned. “The perp? If it goes to trial, then, yeah. That will be a matter of public record.” He watched her set the pen down and rushed to add, “But you don’t need to worry. I’ve never seen a case where the witness was harmed for testifying.”

That was reassuring news, but Fiona still felt uncertain. What if he got out on parole? Wouldn’t he be angry with her for sending him to jail in the first place?

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Officer Rodriguez offered her a reassuring smile. “In my experience, once the trial is over, the victims are able to move on with their lives.”

“So you don’t think he’d come after me if I decided to press charges?”

The officer shook his head. “It’s not worth it. If he contacted you, he’d be in even worse trouble. Criminals are dumb, but they’re not stupid, know what I mean?”

Not really, but his confidence went some way toward calming her nerves. This was the right thing to do—if she didn’t press charges, the man who’d attacked her might get away with it, leaving him free to rob again. And the next time, there wouldn’t be a police officer there to save the day.

On a sudden burst of conviction, she signed the bottom of the form and pushed it across the table. There. It was done. No going back now.

Officer Rodriguez collected the papers and gave her a smile. “You’re doing the right thing, ma’am.”

She nodded as he left the room. Now what? She’d given her statement, answered all their questions and signed the necessary paperwork. Was there anything left for her to do here?

“I want to go home,” she muttered, swirling the dark brew around the cup.

“That can be arranged.”

She jumped at the voice, spilling the now-lukewarm coffee down the sides of the cup and over her fingers. Shaking her hands to dry them off, she turned around to find Hot Guy—Nate, she reminded herself firmly—leaning against the doorjamb. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, and his long legs were crossed at the ankle as he regarded her with those mossy-green eyes.

“Sorry.” He smiled at her, the expression transforming his face from watchful to beautiful in a heartbeat. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He stepped into the room, and Fiona fought the urge to lean back in her chair. He was just so big, his presence impossible to ignore in the interview room. It hadn’t seemed like a small space before when Officer Rodriguez had questioned her, but now she felt the walls were closing in on her, the room shrinking down to her and Nate.

“It’s okay,” she replied, wiping her still-damp hands on her pants. “I’m just a little jumpy tonight.” She offered him a weak smile as he took the chair across from her.

“Understandable,” he said, leaning forward to place his forearms on the table. With his hands linked together loosely, he could be mistaken for a man at rest. But as Fiona took in his pose, she could tell by the set of his shoulders and his alert gaze that he was anything but relaxed.

Why was he here? She was happy to see him, but she really did want to go home. Officer Rodriguez had made it sound as if she could leave soon, but with Nate settling in across from her, she now wondered if there had been a delay—maybe there were more forms to fill out, more questions to answer.

“When can I leave?”

“Should just be a few more minutes. I came to keep you company while they’re wrapping things up, and then I’ll take you back to the store so you can get your car.”

She shivered, dread washing over her at the thought of going back to the store. She didn’t want to be there, at least not tonight. She wanted to go home and soak in a hot bath, to wash the events of the night off her and rebuild her defenses before facing the store again.

Nate noticed her reaction, his eyes narrowing slightly while he watched her. “Is there someplace else you’d rather go?”

“I’d rather you take me home.” She felt her face heat as the boldness of her words registered. “Um, I mean... I don’t feel up to going to the store now, if that’s okay.”

His lips twitched, his eyes warming as he took in her blush. Rubbing a finger along his lower lip, he nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” His voice, deep to begin with, seemed to drop another register. Fiona lifted her gaze from his mouth to his eyes, seeing a flash of heat there. Was he flirting with her? No way. She mentally shook her head. Handsome men like Nate didn’t bother to give her a second look. The stress of the evening was making her hallucinate, had her hearing and seeing things that weren’t there. All the more reason to retreat to her house and regroup.

She opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door as Officer Rodriguez returned. He caught sight of Nate and drew up short, surprise registering on his face. “Oh. I didn’t know you were in here.”

Nate leaned back and propped his hands behind his head. “They finished up with me, so I thought I’d keep Ms....” He trailed off, cut his glance to her and raised a brow inquisitively.

“Sanders,” she supplied helpfully.

He winked at her, making her heart thump double time. Then he looked back to Officer Rodriguez. “Like I was saying, I decided to keep Ms. Sanders company. She was looking lonely.”

The other man looked at Nate, then swiveled his head to look at her before turning back to Nate. Fiona blushed again, feeling suddenly shy in the face of his perusal. “Uh-huh,” he said, his tone making it clear he didn’t buy Nate’s story for a minute.

Fiona cleared her throat, interrupting the men’s impromptu staring contest. “Can I go?”

Officer Rodriguez gave her a small smile. “Yes, ma’am. Thanks for your help tonight.”

She stood, collecting her purse and the half-empty cup of coffee. “Thank you,” she said. “I really appreciate what you guys did for me.”

Nate got to his feet, as well, and placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her out of the room. The barrier of her shirt was no match for the heat of his skin, and she felt his touch like a brand. He steered her past Officer Rodriguez and into the main room, which was surprisingly busy given the lateness of the hour.

Fiona paused at the doorway, taken aback by all the activity. Nate leaned forward to whisper in her ear, the gesture intimate despite the crowd. “It’s okay—just keep moving.”

“I didn’t expect it to be so busy in the middle of the night.”

He shot her a grin while he walked her to the door. “Lots of trouble happens after dark, trust me.” A rude shout accompanied his words, and Fiona’s eye was drawn to the man in a cage on the far side of the room. He staggered to his feet and lumbered over to the bars, screaming obscenities at the officers seated nearby. The police officers didn’t even blink, but kept their heads down while they focused on their work.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Nate followed her gaze. “Probably just drunk,” he replied, shrugging as if the matter was of little consequence. “It’s a full moon, which usually makes for a crazy night.”

She glanced up at him to gauge if he was pulling her leg. He wasn’t. His expression showed no trace of humor or sarcasm. “You’re serious about the full moon, aren’t you?”

He held the door for her as they stepped into the chilly night air. “Oh, yeah. It’s a well-known fact that the crazies come out in force on a full moon. A few years ago, it was a full moon on Halloween.” He shuddered as he unlocked the car door for her. “Took me weeks to get over that.”

Fiona smiled while she climbed in. “I can imagine,” she said, picturing him on patrol, a shiny badge affixed to his chest.

Just like Dad’s.

The unsettling thought left her as soon as she caught a whiff of his enticing smell when he settled behind the wheel of the car. Her muscles relaxed, her body instinctively recognizing she was safe in his presence even if her mind was reluctant to surrender. Her hands began to lose the cold numbness that had settled over her after the attack, and she let her head rest on the seat back, taking a deep breath for the first time that night.

The car started with a low rumble. “All right,” Nate said, flashing her a quick smile as he worked the gearshift. “Let’s get you home.”

Chapter 4

Nate frowned as he pulled into the driveway of the small, old house. Fiona lived here? He glanced up and down the street, noting the lack of lights and the general air of abandonment. The homes in this part of town appeared to be decently maintained, but there was an overall feeling of neglect, as if this once prosperous neighborhood had been left behind.

“This is it?”

She nodded. “It was my parents’ house. I inherited it after my mom died.”

He noticed the omission of her father. Either he’d died long ago, or he hadn’t been in the picture. “How long have you lived here?”

“I grew up here, but I’ve only had it to myself for two years.”

Not that long, then. “You took care of your mom, didn’t you?”

Her head jerked up and she met his gaze for a moment, her eyes wide. Then she nodded. “How did you know?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged. “You seem like the type of person who takes on a lot of responsibilities.”

Fiona nodded, bowing her head to stare at her lap. Great. He’d upset her. Real smooth, Gallagher.

Searching for something, anything, to say to change the subject, he fired off another question. “Any problems in the neighborhood?”

Fiona frowned, and he realized he had entered into cop mode and was interrogating her. He smiled to soften the question. “I don’t see any streetlights, so I’m wondering if there have been any issues with burglary or vandalism.”

She shook her head, and he caught a whiff of her scent. Lemons, underlain by a soft sweetness that was appealing. He’d been too focused on keeping her safe before to really register her smell, but now it wrapped around him like a silk rope. He found himself leaning forward, wanting to get closer to the source.

“I haven’t heard of any problems, but I’m not around much. Between classes and work, I’m usually only here to sleep.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Sounds like my life.”

“Being a police officer must be pretty demanding.”

“It can be.”

An odd expression crossed her face, as if she wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. He decided not to press her—she’d already had a rough night.

They were silent for a moment while Nate continued to study the house. It looked decent enough, he decided, even though the grass was a little long and the shutters could do with a fresh coat of paint. The garage door appeared to fit securely, and the front door looked solid. There were a few windows facing the front yard, and he wondered how many were in the back, and what the backyard looked like. Was there another house behind hers, or was it an easement? What kind of fence enclosed the property? Wood, or something easy to climb in a hurry, like chain link? Did she have a lock on the gate?

His musings were interrupted by the sound of Fiona clearing her throat. “I should probably head inside. I’m sure you’re tired and want to get home.”

“Let me walk you in.”

“Oh, no, that’s really okay,” she stammered, apparently taken aback by his offer.

“I insist,” he said, quietly but firmly. “You’ve had quite the adventure tonight, and I just want to check the house to make sure everything is okay.” When she paused, he smiled. “You’d be doing me a favor—I’ll sleep so much better knowing that you’re safe.”

She laughed, and the rich sound made his heart thump against his breastbone. “Fair enough,” she told him, opening the car door. “Truth be told, I’ll sleep better too, knowing you’ve gone through the house.”

He was pleased to see her pull a small flashlight from her bag as they walked up the front steps, and some of his worries eased when he saw she had two dead bolt locks securing her door. Of course, the bad guys could always come in through a window...

She flicked on a light as she walked in, illuminating the small living room. A floral-print couch sat along one wall, the middle sagging a bit from years of use. Crocheted doilies decorated the end tables and coffee table, and a faded recliner completed the tableau. The room had a preserved feel to it, as if Fiona hadn’t bothered to redecorate after inheriting the house. Or maybe she couldn’t bring herself to change it.

She gave him a shy smile as he completed his perusal. “It’s not much, but like I said, I grew up here.”

“No siblings?” It was something he’d meant to ask earlier after hearing about her mother, but he hadn’t wanted to upset her further.

“No. I was an only child. Mom was forty-five when she had me—I was a bit of a surprise.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but a thud from the next room interrupted him. Moving quickly, he drew his gun and pulled Fiona over to the front door. “Go wait in the car,” he whispered. “Lock the doors and get low.” He spied a portable phone on one of the end tables and grabbed it, pressing it into her hand. “Dial 911. Tell them there is an intruder in your house, and an officer is on the scene and requests backup.”

“Nate—”

“Go.” He ignored her as he pushed her through the door and closed it quietly behind her.

He moved through the living room and into the kitchen, clearing the small space before heading down the hall that presumably led to a bathroom and bedroom. It had been months since he’d had to draw his gun in the line of duty, and tonight he was holding it for the second time. What where the odds? He shook his head as he stepped softly down the hall. When it rains, it pours.

More important, though, why was Fiona in danger yet again? He didn’t believe in coincidences, and tonight’s activities made him think she was being targeted. But who would want to hurt her? She didn’t seem the type to have enemies, but then again, he didn’t know her all that well.

Yet.

He approached the doorway to the bedroom cautiously, focusing hard to pick up any stray sounds from the room. There was a soft rustle from somewhere within the room, faint at first, but then louder. It took him a few heartbeats to realize the noise was coming toward him.

“Don’t move,” he commanded. “Houston police. Come out with your hands up.”

The noise stopped, as if the source was considering his words. Then the sound started up again.

Nate moved back, retreating down the hall a few steps before assuming a shooting stance, his gun up and pointed at the doorway. He took a deep breath. “Last chance,” he warned. “Put your hands up or I will shoot.”

A high-pitched meow answered him, followed shortly by the appearance of a massive gray cat. The portly feline saw him and drew up short, clearly surprised to find an intruder in his home. Nate could only stare back, baffled. This was the source of the noise? Not a burglar but an overweight cat?

Feeling sheepish, Nate lowered his gun. The cat, deciding he was of no consequence, plopped down in the middle of the hall and began to lick his nether regions with a vigor that belied his size.

Holstering his weapon, Nate decided to check the bedroom, for form’s sake. He sidestepped the bathing feline and poked his head into Fiona’s bedroom, grateful, if mildly embarrassed, to find it empty.

Marshaling his pride, he returned to the front door and pulled it open to find Fiona, leaning against the doorjamb with a smile playing on her lips. “All good?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.

He swallowed, determined to remain serious. “Everything seems to be in order.”

She stepped past him into the house, treating him to another whiff of her lemony-sugar scent. “I take it you met Slinky?”

“Ah,” he hedged. That massive fur ball was named Slinky? “I met your cat, but I don’t know that I’d associate him with the word slinky. He seemed rather stocky to me.”

Fiona shot him a mock glare. “He’s just big boned. Besides, I named him when he was a kitten. He’d contort himself into such impossible positions—Mom and I got a real kick out of watching him play.”

The cat in question chose this moment to enter the living room, his belly swaying ponderously with each step. He rubbed against Nate’s legs on his way to Fiona, apparently forgiving him for the earlier intrusion. She knelt to scratch behind his ears, and the cat plopped down and rolled to his back, exposing his stomach for her touch. Fiona obliged, and he closed his eyes into slits of blissful appreciation, emitting a loud purr. Nate could sympathize—he wouldn’t mind having her hands on him, either.

He cleared his throat, trying to distract himself before he let that particular line of thought go too far. “Well. Everything seems to be in order here, so I’ll just head out.”

Fiona rose, offering him a shy smile. “You don’t have to go,” she said. His heart leaped into his throat—was she really offering what he thought she was offering?

A blush spread across her cheeks, and her eyes went wide. “Um, I mean,” she stammered, apparently recognizing her double entendre. “It’s late. You’re welcome to stay on the couch if you don’t want to drive home. That’s what I meant to say.”

He was tempted to take her up on the offer, but there was no way he would get any sleep on that lumpy couch knowing she was only a few feet away, warm and soft in her bed. Better for him to drive home, take a cold shower and come back tomorrow morning so he could take her back to her car.

“That’s a kind offer, but I think I’d better leave. Wouldn’t want to put you out.” Nate winked at her, which only deepened her blush from a soft pink to red. Something in his chest relaxed at the sight of her, and he felt a strong urge to pull her close and wrap his arms around her. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her, and he certainly didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable around him.

“What time should I pick you up in the morning?” he asked, hoping a change in subject would put her at ease.

“How about nine thirty? Or is that too early for a Saturday?”

“That’s perfect. I’ll see you then.” He smiled at her, studying her carefully for any sign of distress. She seemed to be okay, but he knew from experience that the shock of a traumatic experience sometimes took a few hours to set in. He didn’t want to leave her alone to process everything that had happened tonight, but at the same time, he didn’t want to crowd her.

Fiona walked him to the door. The dark circles under her eyes revealed her fatigue, but her expression was otherwise untroubled. Maybe her breakdown in the bathroom had been enough to release the stress from her attack. He hoped she was that lucky.