Ghostwalker 07 - Murder Game

drew back, something inside him shaken from the touch of fingers on his skin. It wasn't sexual. He responded to women sexually as a rule and this was something altogether different and he didn't trust the feeling at all. "Yes." His voice came out more gruffly than he intended.

    Emma let out a small sigh. "I'm sorry you were hurt."

    "Emma," Jake said softly, "what matters is that you and the baby are safe." He regretted pulling away from her when she'd voluntarily reached out to him.

    Chelsey opened the door and popped her head in. "You need anything, Emma?" she asked, but her gaze devoured Jake.

    Emma's face closed down, her eyes going vague. When she didn't respond, Chelsey frowned and looked at Jake. He rose and patted Emma's limp hand.

    "I'll get you a few things from your apartment, Emma," he said deliberately. "I'll be back this evening." He nodded toward the hallway and Chelsey followed him out. "I'll need her key and the address," he told the nurse.

    "I don't want to get into trouble," Chelsey said.

    Jake stepped closer, leaning down as if to keep their conversation totally private. His voice was low and compelling, but he knew the heat of his body and the scent of his cologne enveloped her. Chelsey inhaled and a small shiver of awareness went through her. "I wouldn't let you get into trouble. Emma has to snap out of this and if she has a few things familiar to her, it may help. You're just helping her friend and you saw that she didn't object."

    Chelsey nodded and hurried away, to return with the key and small piece of paper with the address on it.

    "You're a good friend to Emma," Jake said as he pocketed the key and walked quickly away before she could change her mind.

    He found the building with little problem. He stood in the doorway and surveyed the small apartment. Small? Hell, it was tiny! The furniture was old and worn with use, the china was chipped and cracked. The couple had nothing. He stalked thorough the four rooms. This entire apartment would fit into his master bedroom. Frustration grew with each step and he paced back and forth, prowling like the caged cat he was. There was something here he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something he needed to ABC Amber LIT Converter
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    understand, had to understand. It was a burning drive in his gut and Jake Bannaconni was a tenacious man.

    Everything was very neat and clean, so much so that he found himself throwing out the dead roses in the little vase; they seemed an obscenity in the atmosphere of the apartment.
    He paced restlessly again, quick, fluid steps of sheer power. There was a key but he was missing it! He halted abruptly. The pictures. Pictures were everywhere—on the walls, the desk, the small bureau, and there was an album sitting on a coffee table.

    He studied one of the photos. The couple was looking at one another, as they seemed to be in every other picture, as if they had eyes only for each other. Their expressions were genuine, love shining brightly between them until it was almost tangible.

    Jake traced Emma's lips with a gentle fingertip. He had never seen two people who looked so happy. It was in their eyes, it was in their faces. Emma took his breath away. In most of the pictures, she wore little or no makeup.

    She was very small, almost too slender with an abundance of flaming red hair framing her fragile heart-shaped face. He had never had the slightest attraction to skinny women, he preferred lush curves, but he couldn't stop staring at her face, her eyes. He touched her picture again, tracing the outline of her face, his other hand gripping the cheap frame until his knuckles were white. Abruptly he put it down.

    The kitchen was filled with baked goods, even bread, obviously made from scratch. The bathroom held two toothbrushes, one white, one blue, side by side in a container. There was a pregnancy test kit right next to the small soap dish. In the corner of the mirror, someone had written "Yes!" with lipstick.

    In the bedroom, without a qualm, he went through their clothes. Andrew's shirts were a bit threadbare, but every button was in place, every tear neatly repaired. Every shirt was clean and ironed. He found a jacket with tiny embroidered stitches on the inside seam.
    'Someone loves you.' He stared at the words, feeling a yawning chasm of emptiness welling up inside him.

    Jake Bannaconni was elite. He