Page 14 of Half the Summer's Night
I jerk away and move to run back upstairs. Fuck Kaplan. There’s got to be one cop in this town who’ll do their fucking job.
But I don’t get far. I make it maybe two strides before a gloved hand wraps around my mouth.
I shriek into the soft, supple leather as fear ripples through my body. My attacker drags me backward, into the examination room, and I flail against him, the familiar space suddenly overwhelming and terrifying. For a moment, I’m sure he’s going to toss me onto the examination table, but he pulls me past it.
Then he throws me into my office.
I slam against my desk and whirl around as he kicks the door shut, enclosing us together.
For a moment, I just suck in deep breaths of air, staring at him. He looks like he’s wrapped in shadow: Dressed in head-to-toe black, including the black leather gloves. His head iswrapped in a hideous, black rubber mask that hides his face and his hair. The only thing I can see of him, really, is the cruel glint of his eyes.
“I called the police,” I spit out. “They’ll be here any second.”
“No, you didn’t.” His voice is low and graveled, soft behind the latex of the mask. I don’t know what it’s supposed to be, all that black rubber twisted into a sneer. If it’s a horror movie character, it’s not one I recognize.
I squeeze my hands around the rim of the desk, chest tight. I don’t think this is a burglar.
“Wh-who are you?” I stammer out, even though I’m pretty sure I know.
It’s him. The killer I’ve been looking for.
He tilts his head, studying me from behind that twisted, leering mask. He doesn’t have a weapon that I can see. No gun. No knife.
But none of his victims were killed with guns or knives, were they?
“What are you doing here?” My voice shakes, and I squeeze the desk tighter, flicking my eyes around, as if I might find some escape out of this coffin of an office.
“What have you been doing here?” he counters, his eyes sliding off me to the map of Rosado County on my wall. “It seems you’re hunting something, little detective.”
I bite back a whimper of terror. “It’s for my work,” I say shakily. “It’s?—“
He moves on me, faster than I would have thought possible. His gloved hands wrap around my wrists, and his thigh slides up between my legs to pin me against the desk. My nightgown bunches around my hips. I cry out, too terrified to move, as his dark eyes drink me in from behind the mask.
“It’s not for your work,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking along my wrist, making me shudder a little.
With fear, I tell myself.He’s making me shudder with fear.
Even if there’s a soft coil of heat forming in the place where his leg meets my pussy.
“It’s nothing,” I whisper, staring at his masked face.
He tightens his grip on my wrists.Liar, the gesture says, and I cry out again.
“Tell me what it is,” he growls, leaning closer. The movement makes his thigh shift against me, the rough fabric of his jeans evident through the flimsy cotton of my panties.
“A m-map,” I whisper, his leering mask centimeters from my mouth. “A m-map of Rosado.”
“And what do you have pinned on that map of Rosado?”
I flutter my eyes shut, as if he’ll disappear if I can’t see him. But he’s still there. Still squeezing my wrists. Still pressing his leg, ever so gently, between my legs.
“M-murders,” I whisper.
He sucks in a sharp breath. “I knew you would see me,” he murmurs. “I knew you would get my message.”
My eyes fly open, and he’s still there, dark eyes boring into me.
“You’re him,” I say before I can stop myself.
