Dark Obsession. Amanda Stevens

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.”