He shook his head, wishing he could tell her all of it, and in so doing wipe the images from his mind. Knowing it was impossible to do so. He leaned his cheek into her hand, taking what comfort he could from her touch. "It was the worst I've ever seen," he whispered raggedly. "God, Jenna."

She caressed his cheek. "I'm so sorry, Steven. For you, for that girl's parents."

"For the next victim."

She shook her head. "You'll catch him. You have to."

He shook his head again, harder this time, trying to scramble all the pictures in his mind like a child's Etch-A-Sketch toy. It didn't work. He picked up her book, looking for a dis-traction, and found it. "Captain Underpants?' He laughed softly. "Why are you reading this?"

"Because I'm trying to sleep," she said ruefully. "But it doesn't help." She ran her fingertips over his lips. "Isn't there anything I can do to take your mind off your troubles, Steven?"

He leaned in and kissed her gently. "Yes, there is one thing."

"Name it."

"Make love with me."

"You don't have to ask," she said, but he shook his head and captured her face in his hands.

"No," he murmured and watched her eyes soften, heat. For him. "Tonight I want to make love to you. Slowly, like I haven't done before."

"Steven, I-"

"Sshh." He pulled her nightshirt over her head and dropped it off the side of the bed. "Just lay back and let me love you. Please. I need to love you."

He covered her lips with his, and pushed her gently to the pillows, following her down. Covenng her body with his. Treasuring her mouth as if he had all night to just kiss her. She arched against him and he pressed her back down. "No, not fast. Not tonight."

He ran his lips down the side of her neck, pausing at the much smaller Band-Aid she now wore. He kissed her throat, an inch from where some crazed teenager had nearly taken her from him over a damned game. He kissed the swell of each breast, wishing he had a lifetime just to pleasure her there. He ran his tongue along the underside of one full breast, then the other, and she arched against him again. Minutes later she was writhing under him, her nipples wet and pitted hard from his suckling mouth. He looked up to find her staring at him, her violet eyes almost black.

"Steven," she began, but he cut her off.

"Sshh. Let me love you, Jenna."

He kissed his way down her stomach, gently, slowly, thoroughly until he got to her lace panties which he worried with his teeth.

"Steven, please," she gasped, then moaned, almost silently, when he lapped at her through the lace. She was already wet, which made him want to groan. Instead he kissed her there, softly. Promising. Her hands fisted in the blankets, twisting as she moaned again. He rolled away only long enough to slide the panties down her long, long legs and she was totally bared to him.

Totally vulnerable. Totally his. Mine, mine, mine.

He took his time, licking and lightly sucking until she whimpered, arching, pressing her softness closer to his seeking mouth. But he didn't want it to end. Not yet. Where before they'd shared explosive passion, tonight he wanted something more. He wanted… reverence. Gently he pressed her hips back into the mattress with his hands and held her there, imprisoned, and resumed until she drew in a tight breath, her body going taut, and waves of shudders racked her.

She cried out, muffling the sob of her passion with her hand.

He kissed her then, the soft folds that still quivered from the power of the orgasm he'd given her. Then he pushed himself up on his knees and watched her face relax by degrees as she came back to earth. To him. She was beautiful, and his.

Tonight. Forever.

Her breasts rose and fell as she struggled to breathe, one of her hands still clenching the blanket, the other lying slack on her pillow. Slowly she opened her eyes and he saw what he hadn't taken the time to see before. Wonder. Lust. And something much, much more.

He shuddered out a ragged breath of his own and pushed his sweatpants aside, then thrilled as her eyes slid lower and darkened as she took in the sight of him. He knew when her eyes reached his throbbing erection because she swallowed hard. Licked her lips.

Made him yearn. She reached out and took him in hand, her eyes rising to meet his.

"What do you want, Steven?"

"I want you to look at me in fifty years the way you're looking at me right now."

Her fingers teased his length, making every muscle in his body clench. "And how is that?"

"Like you'll never, ever get enough of me."

Her eyes flashed. "I won't. Please, Steven, I need you now."

She'd said please. So without taking his eyes from hers he sheathed himself, then entered her in one smooth stroke that made them one.

She shuddered, one hand still clutching the blanket. With the other she caressed his face.

"Steven," she whispered.

"I wish I could feel you against my skin," he whispered back and nearly convulsed at the power of the image. "I wish you were pregnant with my child."

Her eyes flared and she rocked up against him, tightening her muscles as she slid back, torturing him with the tight fist of her body. "I wish that, too," she said and he lost it.

Gone was the gentleness he'd intended, the consideration he'd planned. Instead he felt himself falling into rushing water, being drawn into the current, dragged under until he couldn't breathe. He rocked against her, into her, harder and faster until she moaned and convulsed around him and he knew he could no longer keep the words inside. They came in a torrent, matching the thrust of his hips as he sought to make her irrevocably his.

"I love you," he groaned and came so hard the world went black. He collapsed, hearing the thunder in his head, feeling his heart beat like he'd conquered the highest mountain. She was stroking his back, kissing his shoulder, the side of his neck, and he needed to say it again. "Love you, love you, love you." The words kept coming as his body quivered and shook. "Love you."

She waited until he was breathing again, saying nothing until he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. And saw her response before she uttered the words.

"I love you, too," she murmured.

He knew he'd found in her the strength to face anything.

Wednesday, October 12, 12:45 A.M.

She actually thought she had a choice. He sat outside her house in his car, so angry his hands shook. He'd almost had her. Almost had her in his clutches. But no. She had to listen to that idiot Thatcher's sermon at the school today. The SBI had been out in force, talking to every young girl in the county. Telling them all to stay home, to not even trust their own boyfriends until the killer was caught.

Like Thatcher had a prayer of catching him. Thatcher and his friends were probably still heaving up their breakfasts after stumbling across pretty little Alev. She wasn't so pretty anymore. And a good deal littler. Certainly more compact. It had felt so damn good, arranging the scene. Imagining Thatcher's distress. Wishing he'd be able to see it himself. He needed it again, that rush, the exhilaration of the kill. Of knowing he'd bested the famous Special Agent Thatcher. Be-fore it had been a game, but now it was personal. He wanted Thatcher to pay, and pay he would.

He'd had a setback with Miss Marshall, but he would watch and wait for the next opportunity. He would get her, then Thatcher would experience his brand of terror truly firsthand.

He couldn't wait for the true fun to begin. But he had needs to fulfill in the meantime. He was hungry. And not for food. He scowled and gritted his teeth.

He'd almost had her in his clutches, the little cheerleader with the big smile. Too bad she turned out to have a brain, too. He'd called her, told her to meet him, like they'd planned. But at the last minute she refused.