Dark Obsession

His voice seemed to echo from a deep, dark well. His smile deepened when he saw her shiver. His eyes taunted her as he reached out and caressed her barren neck with one fingertip, tracing the invisible line of the cross. Erin shrank from his icy touch. Her stomach recoiled from the feel of his flesh against hers, and she thought her heart would thrash its way out of her chest.

She took a faltering step back from him. When he made no move toward her, she kept backing away until she felt the curb against her feet. Then she turned and dashed into the street.

A car screamed to a halt just inches from hitting her, and a horn blasted in her ears, but Erin didn’t stop. She raced across the street and only then, safely on the other side, did she dare to look back.

The man was gone, dissolved like smoke into the night. Had he been real?

She could still feel his icy finger on her skin. He’d been real, all right. The streets of New York were filled with crazies like him. He’d wanted nothing more than to frighten her. Erin supposed she should feel lucky. At least she still had her purse. And her life.

Another breeze gusted through the trees overhead, and for a moment, she thought she heard the sound of male laughter in the wind. She ran through the twilight, her heels clicking against the pavement.

Erin took the steps of the apartment building two at a time, dragged open the door and fled inside. At the top of the stairs, her numb fingers fumbled with the key to Megan’s apartment. With a muttered, “Damn,” she tugged off her glove with her teeth and tried the key again. Downstairs, she heard the front door open and close softly, then someone stepped into the corridor.

Erin’s heart jumped into her throat. Dear God, he had followed her home. Frantically she jiggled the key in the lock. “Come on,” she urged, casting a terrified glance over her shoulder. She could hear his footsteps on the stairs now, heard the telltale squeak as he reached the middle of the steps. Then the steps moved upward, toward the landing, where Erin stood trapped.

Her hands were shaking so badly she dropped the key. She heard it thump against the worn carpet, but in the murky light, she couldn’t see it. With a gasping oath, she dropped to her knees and ran her palms along the dirty floor until she felt the cool metal against her flesh. She jumped up and jammed the key into the lock so brutally she thought for a moment she might have bent it.

Then the key turned smoothly, and she could have wept with relief. But just as she pushed the door open, a cold hand closed over hers.

CHAPTER FOUR

A scream rose in Erin’s throat, but before panic had time to set in, she whirled, swinging her purse with all her might at the man’s head. The weighted leather connected with his right temple, and he swore viciously. Erin tried to strike again, but this time he was ready for her. His hand reached out and snared her wrist. She cried out as the purse—her only weapon—went flying from her hand.

“Damn it, stop struggling before I have to hurt you,” he ordered. It took a second for Erin to realize that the voice wasn’t the one she’d just heard on the street, but one that was more familiar. Maybe even more frightening. She shivered as she gazed up at Detective Slade’s stoic demeanor. “If I’d been the murderer,” he said, “you’d be dead by now.”

“Oh, yeah?” she said, rising to his bait, the adrenaline still kicking through her veins. “Then how come you’re the one who’s bleeding?”

His hand went to his temple. He touched the spot gingerly, then lowered his hand and gazed at the red smear on his fingertips. “Damn,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Erin said. “But you shouldn’t have sneaked up on me like that. I thought you were…someone else.”

One brow rose over the dark glasses. “Like who?”

“Like the creep I just saw on the street,” she said uncomfortably. “I thought he might be trying to mug me or…”

“Or worse?” he supplied coldly. “Where was this man?”

“At the corner, near the bookstore. I think he just wanted to scare me,” Erin said hastily, trying to take the edge off her fear. “He didn’t hurt me or anything.” But she shivered anyway, remembering the man’s frozen touch. She hugged her arms to herself as she gazed at Slade. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been trying to call you,” Slade said. “I was worried when you didn’t come back to the cemetery. Where’ve you been?”

“Walking.”

“All this time?”

His liquid voice flowed over her, cold and dark and oddly coercive.

“I didn’t feel like coming back here after the funeral,” she said defensively. In fact, she might have been glad to see him if he didn’t seem so unapproachable, so formidable. “You needn’t have been worried about me. I can take care of myself,” she assured him.

“Can you?”

There was something in his tone—a faint challenge?—that made Erin grow even more uneasy. She glanced around the darkened hallway. There was no one about. No one had even come out to investigate the commotion. She was completely alone with a man that made her tremble, with a man that made her think of moonlight and madness. Of secrets and whispers and promises that could only be told in the dead of night.

She looked at him, telling herself she couldn’t be feeling this pull, this strange attraction, for a man who seemed to embody her deepest fears…and her darkest nightmares. What kind of woman would be drawn to the thing that frightened her the most?

“He could come after you, you know.”

Her gaze shot back to his. For a moment she’d thought he was talking about the man on the street, then she said, “You mean the murderer? Why would he come after me?”

Slade took a step toward her. “You said you saw something that night.”

His face looked even grimmer in the dim hallway light. His eyes, as always, were hidden, masking whatever emotions he might have been feeling. Erin moistened her lips. He looked so tall tonight, so impossibly remote. The darker the night became, the more imposing he grew. “I didn’t see anything,” she protested. “Not really.”

“The murderer might not know that. Supposing he saw you?”

“You’re just trying to frighten me,” she said with false bravado. “I don’t even know what I saw. Those glowing eyes…it was probably just an animal…a cat or something. He won’t come after me. It would be too risky.”

“You’re assuming that he’s rational,” Slade said. “You’re assuming that he’s more than a coldblooded, vicious animal whose every instinct is to kill. Don’t underestimate him, or the danger. That could be a fatal mistake.”

“I won’t,” Erin said angrily, goaded by his tone and by her own fear. “But don’t underestimate me, either. I don’t have a death wish, Detective, but neither am I going to cower inside that apartment until he’s apprehended. I won’t let them scare me away this time.”

“Them?”

“Him. I mean him,” she said, turning to go inside. Slade’s hand reached out and stopped her. A tiny thrill raced up her backbone as his hand closed over hers.

“Let me go first,” he said, stepping past her and entering the apartment.

Erin retrieved her purse, then followed him inside, watching as he strode across the living room and tested the knob on the French door. She was amazed as always how he seemed to dominate the immediate area.

Maybe it was because he was so tall, well over six foot, with the kind of hard, muscular body that seemed to exude power and strength. Or maybe it was the long, black leather coat he always wore. Or the dark glasses. Or…was it something else about him that intrigued her?

What kind of woman would be drawn to the thing that frightened her the most?

“Well?”

His deep voice startled her. Erin’s hand fluttered to her throat, but once again she found only the empty space where the cross had once hung. “What?”

“I asked if you’d gotten this lock fixed?”

“No, not yet. The super was supposed to come by yesterday, but he never showed up.”