Tall, Dark And Deadly. Suzanne Brockmann

stairs.”

      “Kevin Manse,” Syd said. Her eyes were still tightly shut, but her voice was strong and clear.

      “That’s right,” Lana said. “He reminded you of Kevin Manse. Can you see him, Syd?”

      Sydney nodded. “He nearly knocks me over on the stairs. He’s angry. And drunk. I know he’s drunk. I’m drunk, too. It’s my first frat-house party.”

      “What the—”

      Lana silenced Lucky with one swift motion. “How old are you, Sydney?”

      “I’m eighteen,” she told them, her husky voice breathless and young-sounding. “He apologizes—oh, God, he’s so cute, and we start talking. He’s an honors student as well as the star of the football team and I can’t believe he’s talking to me.”

      “Now it’s more than ten years later,” Lana interrupted gently, “and the man on the stairs only reminds you of Kevin.”

      “I’m so dizzy,” Syd continued, as if she hadn’t heard Lana. “And the stairs are so crowded. Kevin tells me his room’s upstairs. I can lie down for a while on his bed. And he kisses me and…” She sighed and smiled. “And I know he doesn’t mean alone.”

      “Oh, God,” Lucky said. He didn’t want to hear this.

      “Sydney,” Lana said firmly. “I need you to come back to the present day now.”

      “I pretend not to be nervous when he locks the door behind us,” Syd continued. “His books are out on his desk. Calculus and physics. And he kisses me again and…”

      She made a soft noise of pleasure, and Lucky rocketed out of his seat. “Why won’t she listen to you?”

      Lana shrugged. “Could be any number of reasons. She’s clearly strong-willed. And this could well have been a pivotal moment in her life. Whatever her reasons, she doesn’t want to leave it right now.”

      Syd moved slightly on the couch, her head back, her lips slightly parted as she made another of those intense little sounds. Dear God.

      “Why don’t we see if we can get to the end of this episode,” Lana suggested. “Maybe she’ll be more receptive to moving into the more recent past if we let her take her time.”

      “What,” Lucky said, “we’re just going to sit here while she relives having sex with this guy?”

      “I’ve never done this before,” Syd whispered. “Not really, and—Oh!”

      Lucky couldn’t look at her, couldn’t not look at her. She was breathing hard, with a slight sheen of perspiration on her face. “Okay,” he said, unable to stand this another second. “Okay, Syd. You do the deed with Mr. Wonderful. It’s over. Let’s move on.”

      “He’s so sweet,” Syd sighed. “He says he’s afraid people will talk if I stay there all night, so he asks a friend to drive me back to my dorm. He says he’ll call me, and he kisses me good night and I’m…I’m so amazed at how good that felt, at how much I love him—I can’t wait to do it again.”

      Okay. So now he knew that not only was Sydney hot, she was hot-blooded as well.

      “Sydney,” Lana’s voice left no room for argument. “Now it’s just a little less than a week ago. You’re on the stairs, in your apartment building. You’re coming home from the movies—”

      “God.” Sydney laughed aloud. “Did that movie suck. I can’t believe I spent all that money on it. The highlight was that pop singer who used to be a model who now thinks he’s an actor. And I’m not talking about his acting. I’m talking about the scene that featured his bare butt. It alone was truly worthy of the big screen. And,” she laughed again, a rich, sexy sound, “if you want to know the truth, these days the movies is the closest I seem to be able to get to a naked man.”

      Lucky knew one easy way to change that, fast. But he kept his mouth shut and let Lana do her shrink thing.

      “You’re climbing the stairs to your apartment,” she told Syd. “It’s late, and you’re heading home and you hear a noise.”

      “Footsteps,” Syd responded. “Someone’s coming down the stairs. Kevin Manse—no, he just looks for half a second like Kevin Manse, but he’s not.”

      “Can you mentally push a pause button,” Lana asked, “and hold him in a freeze-frame?”

      Syd nodded. “He’s not Kevin Manse.”

      “Can you describe his face? Is he wearing a mask? Panty hose over his head?”

      “No, but he’s in shadow,” Syd told them. “The light’s behind him. He’s got a short crew cut, I can see the hair on his head sticking straight up, lit the way he is. But his face is dark. I can’t really see him, but I know he’s not Kevin. He moves differently. He’s more muscle-bound—you know, top-heavy from lifting weights. Kevin was just big all over.”

      Lucky could well imagine. God, this was stupid. He was jealous of this Kevin Manse guy.

      “Let him move toward you,” Lana suggested, “but in slow motion, if you can. Does the light ever hit his face?”

      Syd was frowning now, her eyes still closed, concentrating intensely. “No,” she finally said. “He swerves around me, hits me with his shoulder. Sorry, bud. He turns his face toward me and I can see that he’s white. His hair looks golden, but maybe it’s just brown, just the reflected light.”

      “Are you sure he’s not wearing a mask?” Lana asked.

      “No. He’s still moving down the stairs, but he’s turning his head to look at me, and I turn away.”

      “You turn away,” Lana repeated. “Why?”

      Syd laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I’m embarrassed,” she admitted. “He thought I was a man. It’s happened to me before, and it’s worse when they realize they’ve made a mistake. I hate the apologies. That’s when it’s humiliating.”

      “So why do you dress that way?” Lucky had to ask.

      Lana shot him an appalled “what are you doing?” look. He didn’t give a damn. He wanted to know.

      “It’s safe,” Syd told him.

      “Safe.”

      “Lieutenant,” Lana said sternly.

      “Back to the guy on the stairs,” Lucky said. “What’s he wearing?”

      “Jeans,” Syd said without hesitating. “And a plain dark sweatshirt.”

      “Tattoos?” Lucky asked.

      “His sleeves are down.”

      “On his feet?”

      She was silent for several long seconds. “I don’t know.”

      “You turn away,” Lana said. “But do you look back at him as he goes down the stairs?”

      “No. I hear him, though. He slams the front door on his way out. I’m glad—it sometimes doesn’t latch and then anyone can get in.”

      “Do you hear anything else?” Lucky asked. “Stop and listen carefully.”

      Syd was silent. “A car starts. And then pulls away. A fan belt must be loose or old or something because it squeals a little. I’m glad when it’s gone. It’s an annoying sound—it’s not an expensive part, and it doesn’t take much to learn how to—”

      “When you’re home, do you park in a garage,” Lucky interrupted, “or on the street?”

      “Street,” she told him.

      “When you pulled up,” he asked, “after the movie, were there