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  He caught her moan with a hot kiss. Then reached between her thighs. “You hide these soft sexy legs, just like you hide the real you, don’t you, sweet Sophie?”

  Sweet Sophie. For the first time in her life, she actually liked hearing that expression on someone’s lips. She wasn’t entirely sure why. But perhaps it was because he didn’t make it sound like an expectation. Or a half-condescending nickname.

  “I like the way you call me that,” she admitted. “Because I know you don’t mean superficial sweetness…”

  “I mean how sweet your little whimpers sound to my ears,” he said as he nibbled her throat. “How sweet your skin tastes. Right…here.” He lowered his lips to her breast and suckled her nipple, sending hot sensation charging through her body.

  Then he pulled away to look into her eyes. His were dark, intense, full of passion. “How sweet and wet and hot you feel against me.” This time, he moved his fingers between her legs and plucked at the flesh there, making her whimper and jerk. “This is incredibly sweet, Sophie.” He groaned as he slid one finger deep inside her, his thumb remaining on the explosive little bud of sensation that swelled at his touch. He kissed her neck, his rough cheek feeling so incredibly good against her soft skin, his whispered words driving her wild. “And I’m looking forward to tasting you there, to see just how sweet.”

  Waves of pleasure washed over her in a warm, electric pulse, her orgasm brought on as much by his words as by his touch.

  “Sweet Sophie,” he whispered again, watching her climax.

  That was it. That was why. From him, the term sounded like both a sensual demand and a carnal acknowledgement. He knew her intimately enough to call her sweet for all the right reasons.

  “You can call me sweet Sophie any old time you want,” she managed to say between breaths as she slowly returned to sanity.

  He kissed her again, deep and long and wet. And when he pulled away, she knew she had to have him inside her, had to be joined with him as deeply as humanly possible.

  “Now, Daniel, please,” she whispered.

  Not even removing his clothes, he sheathed himself, and pulled her down so her legs circled his hips. Then he slid into her with one long, deliberate stroke. She stayed still, savoring the fullness, the overwhelming connection. The completion.

  As he began to move, holding her, cradling her, rocking against her, Sophie felt another climax wash over her in waves.

  “I won’t be far behind you this time,” he said. “I’ve been wanting you for weeks, since the first time I saw you.”

  “We’ve got all night,” she told him, holding onto his broad shoulders as he backed her against the refrigerator and drove into her again and again.

  And finally, after he threw back his head and groaned at his own powerful orgasm, he said, “That was the sweetest thing ever.”

  10

  DANIEL WOKE UP first the next morning, after a long, endless night of lovemaking in Sophie’s bed. And he woke up sure, absolutely certain that, for the first time in his life, he’d found the woman he loved. He loved her sense of humor, her naughty wit, her innate goodness, her sassy comebacks. He loved looking into her eyes when he was buried deep inside her body.

  Loved the way they’d connected. From the very beginning.

  She barely moved as he sat up and checked his watch. “Sophie, we need to get moving.”

  “Mmm?” she mumbled.

  Her cat jumped up onto the bed, sending a glare in Daniel’s direction that said exactly what the cat thought about having his spot in the bed usurped the previous night. Then he ruined the effect by walking in circles and making himself a comfy bed…right in Daniel’s lap.

  “I think your cat likes me.”

  “He’s not the only one,” she whispered with a big, satisfied yawn.

  “You really awake?” he asked, seeing her eyes drift closed again. “It’s a workday. Miss Hester’s gonna pull out the whips and chains if you’re late.”

  “Miss Hester can…”

  “Ahh-ahh…that’s not very sweet of you.”

  “I’m never sweet in the morning until I get my coffee.”

  He bent over and pressed a light kiss on her nose, then her lips. “Coffee it is. How do you take it?”

  “Loaded. Double cream, double sugar. And don’t use the skim milk, that’s just for tubby Mugs here.”

  The cat sniffed and looked up. Daniel wondered again if the creature understood what was being said.

  He grabbed his pants off the floor and pulled them on, shivering in the cold January morning. Padding barefoot into the kitchen, he checked the thermostat on the way by. They hadn’t noticed the lack of heat during the night. Now, however, it was at the very least uncomfortable.

  He found her coffee and put a pot on, then opened the refrigerator to look for milk. Skim only. “Sophie, you’re out of your milk. You want Mugs’s?”

  She didn’t reply. “Don’t go back to sleep!”

  Again, no reply.

  Chuckling, he grabbed the skim, figuring he’d add a little extra sugar to compensate. Closing the fridge, he noticed a note-sized piece of paper under a magnet—a grocery list. Seeing a pen on the counter, he grabbed it to add milk to Sophie’s list.

  Then he paused. Stepped closer. Took a really good look at the handwriting on the list. And recognized it.

  He’d been studying it for four days. First in the notebook. Then in the note left at the police station overnight.

  Sophie had written this list. “And the notebook. And the note.”

  He swallowed hard, accepting all the implications as they flooded his mind. She’d threatened herself? Then canceled the threat with her note?

  She’d never been in any danger. There’d never been any stalker or imaginative novel writer. It had all been Sophie. Always Sophie.

  “Why?” he whispered.

  What possible reason would she have for doing it?

  Though he’d been speaking to himself, she answered him from the doorway to the kitchen. “Why what?”

  He turned, the list still in his hand, and looked at her. She was clad only in a long sleep shirt, with her hair wildly tangled around her face. Her lips were reddened and swollen from a night full of erotic kissing. Her cheek was pink where his had scraped against it. Her eyes were dreamy and satisfied. She looked like a well-loved woman.

  Until a few minutes ago, when he’d seen the shopping list, he would have said she was. But could he really be in love with a woman who’d do something like this? Then lie to him about it?

  “Why’d you do it?” he asked, holding up the note.

  “Uhh…because I’m out of laundry detergent?”

  “I wasn’t asking why you started a shopping list. I’m talking about the notebook. The note.” He waved the paper and it made a soft fluttering sound. “The handwriting’s the same.”

  The color faded from her cheeks and she sucked her lip into her mouth. Her eyes grew wide. She reached out one hand in supplication. “Daniel, I’m sorry, it’s not…I didn’t mean to cause any of this trouble.”

  He leaned against the kitchen counter, stunned by her admission, even though he’d already figured out the truth. “So you really did it. You wrote the notebook and left it to be found.”

  “No,” she insisted. “I didn’t leave it intentionally. It must have…”

  “But you wrote it,” he pressed, not even letting her finish. “What I want to know is why.”

  She looked away. “I can’t explain.”

  “You’re going to have to. We opened an official police investigation into this matter, Sophie. This isn’t just about you and me.”

  “You and me?” She sounded wary as she obviously began to grasp just how furious he was.

  “Yeah. You, lying to me, and me trying to make sense of it.”

  She stepped closer, again reaching out her hand, but he just couldn’t bring himself to take it. He turned away and he grabbed a mug, then poured himself a cup of coffee. Sipping at it, he
inhaled the steam, hoping the hot liquid would clear his head.

  He still couldn’t wrap his brain around it. But he did venture one guess that had leapt into his mind. “Since I’ve moved to this town, I’ve been given pies. And I’ve had fake calls about Peeping Toms. I’ve saved kitties from trees for their scantily dressed owners.” He shook his head, remembering some of the nutso schemes some of the single women of Derryville had invented to try to get his attention. “Were you trying to get my attention? Christ, Sophie, you had that from the minute I saw you.”

  She began to shake her head, denying it. “No, no, not that.”

  “Then what? You want to tell me this note thing was the truth? That you sit home at night and think of sick and twisted ways to kill people in your spare time because you wanna be famous? The next Stephen King?”

  She stiffened, but kept her lips set in a tight line.

  “Sophie, talk to me.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t, Daniel. I can’t tell you everything that drove me to write the notebook. All I can say is that it must have fallen from my pocket accidentally Thursday when the dog knocked me down. I never meant to cause trouble. The note under the door was just a desperate attempt to try to make the whole thing go away.”

  “And it never occurred to you to just come clean? To trust me enough to tell me the truth?” He closed his eyes, sucking in a shaky breath to try to regain his composure. Because when it came down to it, her lack of trust in him hit harder than any damn notebook or handwriting sample.

  Even after last night, she still didn’t trust him.

  That hurt. Big time.

  He walked past her toward the bedroom. She didn’t try to stop him.

  “You’re leaving?” she asked softly, not even turning around.

  “Yeah. I’m leaving.”

  SOPHIE WATCHED HIM DRESS, watched him go, and didn’t say a word to stop him. How could she? What was she supposed to say? Oh, no, Daniel, I’m not some stupid, manipulative female who wanted to try to trick you into needing to protect me because I was hot for your body. No, she was much worse, in his book, wasn’t she? She was the one with the twisted mind who thought up ways to kill people. Even if the bad guy always got caught, even if the police or P.I. always triumphed.

  Her books held a lot of blood. A lot of violence. A lot of what she’d once prided herself on as incredibly unique ways to commit murder. Which he’d find revolting.

  She almost wished she could say she’d been just a lovelorn, lonely woman seeking out the new cop in town. It would probably be a little more palatable to him. But there had been enough lies between them. Her lies.

  It wasn’t until after he left that she began to cry. Big, fat tears fell from her eyes as she lowered herself to the bed they’d been sharing less than a half hour before.

  He hadn’t said goodbye. Hadn’t said he’d see her soon. Hadn’t said they’d talk later. He’d just given her an even, assessing look, then walked out her front door.

  “Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered, punctuating each word by slamming her fist on the bed.

  Good old Mugs, so intuitive, seemed to know she needed some comfort. Instead of his snooty cat response, he came over and crawled up her front to give Sophie little kitty kisses on her face. He purred as she rubbed her fingers in his fur, offering an instinctive animal kindness that she gratefully accepted.

  “You’re an angel, honey, but you can’t help me with this one. I don’t know if anybody can.”

  But eventually, as the morning wore on, she realized there might actually be someone who could help. So she picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number.

  “Jared?” she asked, when he answered the private line in his office at the Little Bohemie Inn. She said a silent thanks that he’d returned from his weekend away.

  “Hey, Soph. What’s up?”

  “I need you.”

  And within thirty seconds, she stopped crying. Because he’d told her he was on his way.

  DANIEL RECOGNIZED THE handwriting on the envelope the minute Carol brought it into his office that afternoon.

  “Kid delivered it to the desk.”

  He nodded his thanks. She didn’t leave, waiting expectantly for him to open it. “Well?”

  “Thanks, Carol, you can go back to whatever you were doing.”

  He didn’t want anyone watching him open the note. Because the whole subject of notes and Sophie’s handwriting brought him right back to the state of disappointment and anger that he’d finally shaken off after half a day.

  The anger surged back. The disappointment had never left.

  Finally, unable to resist, he opened the envelope and drew out the single sheet of paper. “Sophie Winchester is really in trouble this time. Please come back.”

  He shook his head, not surprised by her gutsy move. No fiddling around with weepy phone calls or sappy e-mails. She’d gone right back to the source of their problems.

  Her notebook. The threat against her.

  “No can do, babe,” he muttered. He wasn’t ready to go talk to her. Oh, he intended to, he’d planned to do that even before he got the note. No way was he letting this relationship go. He’d walked out this morning to give them both a chance to cool off and regroup. She hadn’t been ready to talk. He hadn’t been ready to be brushed off with weak explanations and apologies.

  But that didn’t mean he hadn’t planned on going back tonight. For the first time in his life, he’d fallen in love with a woman. He damn sure wasn’t going to let that go without a fight. Until he got her to admit the truth about what was going on, he wasn’t giving up on them.

  Another note came an hour later. Same routine. Carol’s eyes were round as she watched in curiosity. He again ignored her until she finally left his office, closing the door with a huffy sigh.

  “We’re talking life-threatening danger here. Sophie Winchester is in real peril,” the note read. He shook his head, this time almost laughing at her melodrama. After stuffing the note in his drawer, he went back to his paperwork on a petty theft case.

  The third note, which arrived at three, was more blunt. “Get over here or I won’t be responsible for what happens to Sophie.”

  Sweet Miss Sophie had an impatient streak, did she? This time he did laugh, wondering what the residents of this town would think of sweet little Sophie being so insistent. He sat back in his chair, remembering ways she’d been insistent the night before. No, she wasn’t a selfish lover, far from it. His pulse sped up just thinking of some of the ways she’d wanted to give and receive pleasure.

  She definitely hadn’t been the innocent virgin type in bed. She’d been wild. Insatiable. A perfect match for him.

  When Carol walked into his office an hour later with yet another familiar-looking envelope, he couldn’t wait anymore. He wanted to know the truth, wanted to hear from Sophie’s own lips what had happened.

  He steeled himself for the worst as he drove over, but even as he did so, he knew it couldn’t be too terrible. The woman he loved might think it was. But no matter what, it wasn’t as bad as not having her in his life.

  When he arrived, he found another note on the front door. “Let yourself in,” he read aloud. Testing the handle, he found it unlocked. That old police instinct kicked into gear, making him cringe. He hadn’t left his door unlocked since he’d had his own tree house when he was seven.

  “Sophie?” he called out.

  She didn’t answer. But he saw a few more pieces of paper on the floor, making a trail. On the first one was the word “follow” written in large block letters.

  He followed, until the single-word notes led him right to the closed door of her secret room. The second bedroom she’d been so anxious to keep him from entering the other night.

  He sensed it was all connected.

  Half wondering if she had an insane first husband locked in the room, he reached for the knob, twisted it, and entered.

  “An office. It’s just an office?”

  He steppe
d inside. That was when he saw the posters. Blown-up book covers, as it turned out. All with books by the same author. One of his all-time favorites, in fact. R. F. Colt books had been popular stuff back at the station in Detroit. Mainly because the guy made the cops out to be intelligent and effective. Unlike some others who preferred to paint the police as bumbling modern-day versions of the Keystone Kops.

  He froze, looking around again. Colt books filled a couple of shelves on a bookcase against the wall. Multiple copies of each one. Along with police procedurals, Gray’s Anatomy, criminal exposés.

  On top of the computer monitor was a little statue of Lucy from the old Charlie Brown comics. The sign above her head said, “The author is in. A nickel a story.”

  And he finally got it.

  SOPHIE STOOD OUTSIDE in the hall, watching Daniel survey her office. She knew he’d figured things out when he dropped his head back and muttered a nearly inaudible, “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” she whispered.

  He whirled around. “It’s you.”

  She nodded, nibbling her lip, praying he’d understand. Jared had sworn that he would. Her cousin had told her more about his relationship with Gwen, how unsure he’d been that any woman would really love a guy who was so fascinated by serial crimes, dead case files and the like. It had sounded so much like Sophie’s situation that she’d finally listened to him.

  Jared hadn’t suggested the notes. He’d told her to march right into Daniel’s office and get the whole story off her chest. But Sophie didn’t have quite that much courage. So she’d gone back to the heart of the thing with her notes.

  Daniel didn’t look angry, or confused. Merely serious. “You’re R. F. Colt.”

  “Yes, I am.” She looked away, staring out the front window, like she did when she was writing and was stuck on a particularly tough scene. “I’m the one with the twisted mind who thinks up new and ingenious ways to murder people.”

  He shook his head. “Sophie, I didn’t mean…”

  She held up a hand to stop him. “You did. You said what you felt. I didn’t take offense. But you see, don’t you, why I couldn’t, just couldn’t, tell you right away?”