“I kept thinking about it on the plane,” he said, taking her silence for acquiescence. “You aren’t a suspect, you’re a witness. In fact, you’re the only witness we have. We have no leads, no evidence, no idea who we’re looking for. Two earlier possibilities turned out to be dead ends. I’m not saying I buy into this paranormal stuff, but I’m willing to investigate any leads you can give me. For instance, can you give me a description of the guy?”
She shook her head, ignoring the dismissive way he said “this paranormal stuff.”
“Nothing at all? C’mon. You described the murder scene down to the smallest detail.”
“But I saw it from his eyes. I saw… everything else. Not him.”
“Did you see his hands?”
A memory swam into focus, that of a hand reaching for a knife, holding the knife, slashing—
“Yes.” The word was a whisper of sound.
“Good.” Her eyes had gone slightly unfocused. Dane made his voice as soothing as he could, not wanting to startle her. “What color was his skin? Light or dark?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think, Marlie.”
“I don’t know! He was wearing gloves. Surgical gloves. And he had long sleeves.” She paused, looking inward again. “His clothes were dark.”
“He didn’t pull off the gloves even when he raped her?”
“No.”
“Okay, then let’s work on his height. We know how tall Mrs. Vinick was; how tall was he in comparison?”
Marlie silently marveled at how his cop’s brain worked; she hadn’t thought of height at all. Her head tilted in concentration as she tried to focus the mental images.
“When he first grabs her, in the kitchen, he holds her close, with one hand over her mouth and the other holding the knife.” Marlie lifted her hands into the positions she described, pantomiming the action. “The hand over her mouth is … like this. Even with his shoulder.”
“So that’s the level of her mouth. That puts him around six feet. We can’t know how long his neck is—he may be an inch shorter or taller—but at least that’s something. What about his voice? Do you remember anything about it?”
She closed her eyes. “Nothing that stands out. It was just a man’s voice, not particularly deep or high.” His actual voice hadn’t mattered; it had been overwhelmed by the raging violence, the hatred, of his emotions.
“How about an accent? Can you distinguish an accent?”
“Not southern,” she said promptly, opening her eyes. “Big deal. This is Orlando; half the population, including me, is from somewhere else.”
“Can you narrow it down any more than that? There are a lot of distinctive accents: New York, Boston, Ohio, Chicago, Minnesota, the western accents.”
She was shaking her head even as he rattled them off. “Nothing that I can pin down. He didn’t actually say that much, or maybe I didn’t pick it up.”
“Then let’s move on to something else. Did you get an impression of his body?”
Utter revulsion crossed her face.
“I mean his weight,” Dane said hastily. “Was he thin, average, or heavy?”
She gave him a dirty look. “Average, I think. And strong. Very strong. Maybe it was anger, or the adrenaline, but she was helpless against him. He gloated about it. He loved it.”
She leaned back, suddenly very tired, and discovered that sometime during their conversation he had draped his arm behind her, so that when she sat back she was all but in his arms. She bolted forward, only to find that heavy arm around her shoulders and herself being urged back once more, and his face was very close to hers.
“Shhh, don’t panic,” he murmured in a dark, soft voice. “You’re still holding my hand, and the other one’s behind you. You’re okay.”
She glared at him. “I am not holding your hand,” she snapped. “You’re holding mine!”
“Minor detail. I’m going to kiss you, Marlie—”
“I’ll bite you again,” she swiftly warned.
He shrugged. “I always have had more guts than sense,” he said, and very gently brushed her mouth with his.
It was only a fleeting contact, lighter than a whisper, but laden with a tantalizing hint of his taste. Her pulse leaped again, but he was drawing back before the expected fear could materialize. A tiny frown drew her brows together.
He released her hand, finally, and cupped her chin in his palm. The rough pad of his thumb traced the fullness of her lower lip, his gaze focused on the movement.
“Any bad thoughts?” he asked. His voice was even darker, softer.
“No.” Her response was a whisper.
“In that case…”
This time his mouth lingered. He wasn’t holding her; she didn’t feel constrained, but was somehow helpless to move away. His lips were firm and warm, but tender in their pressure even as they moved, and shaped her own lips to accommodate him. Marlie closed both hands around his thick wrist, and her eyes fluttered shut.
The gentle pleasure of the kiss made her dizzy. She hadn’t expected such tender consideration from him, or the flood of sensation that rushed through her. She made a little sound of confusion, and he lifted his head immediately.
“Are you okay?”
“Y-Yes,” she stammered, her eyes blinking open.
“Good.” He bent his head to her again, and resumed the kiss. His tongue slipped into her mouth, not thrusting deep but inviting her to taste him. Marlie didn’t know what to do; what was happening was so opposite to what she had expected that she couldn’t think. The most stunning fact was that she wasn’t afraid. This was nothing like—no, she wouldn’t even think his name. The shimmering pleasure she was feeling was too precious to destroy.