Page 170 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Two

“No biting until the shower.” She started to back up.

He grinned and kept stalking toward her, picking up hispace.

“I’ll beat you in tonight.” She started toward their room.

He ran ahead, stripping as he went, but stopped quickly tolock up his weapon.

She was right behind him and caught hold of his waist,pushing him back and then hurrying ahead of him. He laughed, catching up as sheshed the last of her clothing, secured her weapon, and stepped into the shower,turning the water on to a delightful downpour of muscle-soothing heat.

He hopped in behind her.

She turned to him, laughing.

“I won.”

“You cheated.”

“What?”

“Less clothing.”

“You’re just a sore loser.”

“You think? Just for that, I am going to bite your neck.”

She laughed and was quickly in his arms. He teasingly nippedat her neck, then half-bit and half-kissed her shoulder. Then their mouths wereall but glued together as they stood beneath the hot spray, letting the heatand the water work out the tension of the day and the soreness in them,allowing them to forget. And to want nothing more than each other.

Jackson knew he was lucky.

He had intense days.

But he also had these times when love and the beauty of thenight cleared the soul of the evil men could do.

Chapter 9

Angela knew Jackson was watching her as they drove tothe hospital the following morning.

“You’re feeling guilty about the kids?” he asked.

“Yes, and no. I can’t help but feel that this case, this particular one, needs us. And I know we have Mary, and thekids will have a great time no matter what. It just seems to be something,somewhere, every Halloween.”

“True. But sometimes, other agents, those without kids, getto handle the lunatics. I am the field head of this case, and I can—”

“No, Jackson. We need to stay on it. I still can’t explainwhy I feel like I’m missing something at the cemetery, especially at the tomb.And even in the woods. The fellow who designed the tomb—Gervais Conte—wasremarkable for his day. When he designed houses, they had primitive alarms,bells attached to doorways and windows. He had escape routes for those inmansions. Who knows what he might have built into that mausoleum?”

“Well, we can either reach out to those with a higherpaygrade and try to get a way to legally maneuver ripping up the place or tryto get permission from Benjamin Robertson.”

“We should start by asking. But I am bothered by all thebits and pieces we’re getting along this grisly trail of murder,” Angela saidand turned to him. “Regardless, I think you’re right. I believe this involvesdrugs. Both our still-unidentified shooter in the woods and Officer Whittakerwere dosed with fentanyl—either intentionally or not. Patrick was right onthat, I’m certain.”

Jackson nodded. He’d spoken with Patrick that morning.Officer Whittaker had been given an opiate laced withfentanyl. The killer—or killers—had probably assumed he would die from it andstuffed him into the trunk of the tree to rot there where no one could everfind his bones.

“He’s come to a few times, but so far, he has no idea ofwhat happened to him,” Jackson said. “Patrick believes as Whittaker recoversand the drugs get cleared from his system, he may start to remember. But hedoesn’t know for sure. He said the last thing he remembers is watching his teamon television. He has no recollection of anyone at the door or a window. Hedoesn’t recall hearing any noise, nothing. He was just there, and then he wokeup in the hospital.”

“What about our shooter?”

“Still in a coma. I don’t think we’re going to be able tospeak with him today, but we’ll go on in, look at both men, and make sure we’vegot agents tag-teaming to watch over them.”

She nodded.