Page 46 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

“Grave Robber Strikes, Baffles Police.”

Oh, yeah!

Though he was tired, The Survivor tingled inside as he smoothed page one of the Savannah Sentinel on his table. Carefully, making certain that he was cutting in a perfectly straight line, he sliced the article from the rest of the page and discarded the remainder of the paper. The clipping would go in his scrapbook with the pictures. His televisions were all glowing bright, anchormen and-women mouthing words in hushed voices since he kept the sound down until he heard something he wanted, then he’d up the volume. His tape players were recording every segment of the news, cable stations from all over the country. Later, after a few hours of sorely needed sleep, he would edit out all the unwanted pieces before adding to his personal tape library.

The Grave Robber.

Nikki Gillette had come up with a name for him, as if she’d anticipated that he would strike again. If only she knew how close she was to the truth, to him. Humming softly to himself, he walked to one amplifier on the long wall and upped the volume…nothing…she must’ve already gone to work. No matter. He had last night’s tape. He pushed the play button, heard the mini tape rewind and then Nikki Gillette’s voice, clear over the sound of the talk-radio program. He’d marked the part he liked, the precise moment when she’d read the note.

“What? What’s done?” her voice screeched.

Again, The Survivor tingled, felt an erotic heat warming his blood, but pressed the pause button. He walked to the bureau and reached into the second drawer. There, he withdrew a pair of lacy black panties, barely more than a thong. Oh, Nikki was a naughty girl. He smiled and rubbed the sheer scrap of fabric against his cheek, hearing his beard stubble catch on the fine silk. She didn’t even know they were missing. He’d purloined them far too early, he supposed. Taking them wasn’t part of his usual ritual; she was, after all, still very much alive, not yet locked in a coffin with a corpse. Nonetheless, he couldn’t resist stealing her personal, sexy piece of lingerie.

He clicked on the recorder again. It began to play. A gentle hiss of the tape, then, as he fondled Nikki’s panties, she began to talk to him directly, not knowing that he’d planted a tiny microphone in her bedroom, that anything she said or did in that room would be recorded…just for him…. He waited, heard her moving through her apartment, felt her fear as she reentered the bedroom. Licking his lips in anticipation, he listened as the antique four-poster bed creaked under her weight. He imagined she was climbing into her bed, stretching upon the silky blue sheets and thick duvet. The spit dried in his mouth as he called up the image. Oh, yes…he remembered running the tips of his fingers over the smooth fabrics that smelled faintly of her. It had been erotic then and was doubly so now. He imagined her flesh. Hot. Wanting. Feeling like silk beneath his fingertips.

His blood pounded in his ears, his cock rock-hard in anticipation as he listened hard, hearing her change of movement as she second-guessed herself, her footsteps retreating. “That’s it, baby, talk to me,” he said, unzipping his pants and seeing his disjointed reflection in the splintered mirror.

Soon, Nikki would speak to him. Directly. In an angry hiss. He held his breath for a second, the flimsy lace touching his erection as lightly as a moth’s wings, toying and teasing with his dick as he waited. “Come on, Nikki, talk to me. Come on.” He could barely hold back. His breathing was ragged, his heart hammering, pumping blood through his veins.

Finally, just when he thought he might explode, her voice filled the room.

“Bastard!” she hissed from the recording.

He let go.

Filled her panties with that special part of him.

CHAPTER 9

“Call the caretaker for Heritage Cemetery. See if there’ve been any disturbances.” Reed was already reaching for his jacket. “If so, send a unit to secure the scene.”

“You’re off the case, remember?” Morrisette reminded him as he yanked open the door and started through the cubicles and desks where computers hummed, phones rang and prisoners in handcuffs sat insolently in chairs at desks while officers took statements and filled out reports.

“How could I forget?” But he didn’t break stride and hurried down the stairs. Morrisette was at his heels. “I’ll drive.” He shouldered open a side door and they stepped into a gray day. The rain that had been threatening all morning was falling in thick drops that puddled on the pavement and ran from the gutters.

Before Morrisette could put up any kind of protest, Reed claimed the steering wheel. As he pulled out of the lot, Morrisette was on the phone to the dispatcher then the caretaker of the cemetery. She managed to light a cigarette and juggle the receiver as he turned on the lights and sped through the town, turning onto Victory Drive, passing palm trees and shivering azaleas as they headed toward the old graveyard situated on the outskirts of the city.

The police band crackled, traffic hummed, the wipers slapped raindrops off the windshield and Morrisette worked the phone. “…that’s right,” she was saying. “Okay, have the officer secure the scene. We’ll be there in ten, maybe fifteen.” She hung up and glanced at Reed through a cloud of smoke. Her face was set. “You’re right. Someone messed with a grave last night. Visitors saw it this morning. Alerted the city, which found the caretaker who called in the situation just before we did. A unit was only two blocks away and should be on the scene by now.”

Reed’s jaw clenched. “Damn it all to hell.”

“Looks like ‘the Grave Robber’—or whoever you want to call him—is back in action. Serial?” She lifted an eyebrow and drew hard on her Marlboro Light.

“Could be.”

“Jesus, we’ll have to call the Feds.”

“Okano probably already has.”

The contents of the note echoed through his brain.

ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR…

SO, NOW, DON’T YOU WONDER HOW MANY MORE?

Reed hated to think.

“So, why has this guy singled you out? Why the messages to you?” she asked, flicking ash out the window she’d cracked.

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