Dead Ringers Read online

  Dead Ringers

  By Dee Fossen

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright©2013 by Delores Fossen

  Cover Design: Copyright © 2013 by BFD

  About the Author

  USA Today best-selling author, Dee Fossen, has sold over 60 novels with millions of copies of her books in print worldwide. She's received the Booksellers' Best Award for romantic suspense, the Romantic Times Reviewers' Choice Award and was a finalist for the prestigious Rita ®. In addition, she's had nearly a hundred short stories and articles published in national magazines. You can contact the author through her webpage at www.dfossen.com.

  "Run your fingers through my soul." author unknown

  Dead Ringers

  Dallas, Texas

  March 14th

  She was already dead.

  And he should know.

  He’d killed her once.

  Yet, here she was again. Alive. Breathing. Pulsing with life.

  He could feel her heartbeat thudding against his chest. Could see the absolute terror in her dust-gray eyes. Eyes that begged him for mercy that he had no intentions of showing her.

  “Where’s your soul?” he taunted.

  Because of the generous dose of barbiturates he’d shot into her shoulder blade, she couldn’t respond other than a few muscle twitches and some guttural sobs. Not that she’d have the right answer anyway. She probably didn’t know she was a freak. An abomination.

  But he knew.

  It was up to him to make things right. He was doing the world a favor by eliminating her, and he would continue to eliminate her until she no longer existed.

  “Where’s your soul?” he repeated.

  He squeezed his hands harder around her throat. Increasing the pressure a little at a time. He watched the life drain from her eyes, heard the gravelly death-rattle that let him know his work here was done.

  Well, almost.

  He shoved up her dress and ripped off her panties. He was already rock hard but took the time to put on a condom. No need to leave that kind of evidence behind. Besides, some people would call this perverted. Fucking a dead woman. But he had to do this. Had to take what should have been his.

  It didn’t require much. Just a few thrusts inside her—already dead and dry--and he felt the release. The completion.

  He stood. Hurrying now.

  Because she wasn’t the last.

  Thanks to the list of names in the letter, he now knew where they all were, and he’d already chosen the next ones to die.

  Dana McNeil and Jack Cain.

  “Soul mates,” he spat out like profanity.

  Yeah, right. Hard to be soul mates without souls. They were shells. Just blood, bones and breath, and it was up to him to send them back to their maker.

  This was only the beginning--again.

  Chapter Two

  San Antonio, Texas

  March 15th

  Dana McNeil gasped, unable to catch her breath.

  Judas flippin' Priest.

  Not again. It was the third time this had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

  Her throat clamped shut. It felt like a Harley was revving up in her chest. And then there was fear. Oh, yes. Lots of fear. Everything inside her was spiraling out of control.

  Where’s your soul?

  Like the fear, the words came out of nowhere--again. A sort of mental Tourette’s that Dana couldn’t control. The words hadn’t made sense yesterday, and they sure as heck didn’t make sense now. Her soul was where it’d always been.

  Wasn’t it?

  God, along with her mind, had she managed to lose that, too?

  With the rain and wind swiping at her, Dana tried to unlock the door of her bar, the Purple Longhorn. Her hands were shaky, and the gob of keys slipped and clattered on the concrete steps. To stop herself from clattering right along with them, she slapped her hand against the lacquered door, squeezed her eyes shut a moment.

  It didn’t help.

  Her breath just wouldn’t come, and that sick feeling crawled through her. A feeling that she’d lost something important. No. It was more than just important.

  Like she’d lost herself.

  Great.

  More crazy thoughts.

  Maybe another full blown panic attack was in the works as well. Much more of this, and she’d be making a repeat trip back to the San Antonio Mental Health Hospital. It was a tidy name for the loony bin where they would medicate her mind to a foggy haze and smother these maddening words right out of her head.

  “You okay?” someone asked.

  Despite her lack of breath and the crushing weight on her chest, Dana whirled around toward the man.

  It’s you, she thought.

  A truly stupid thought because while he looked familiar, he wasn't. She didn’t know him.

  Dana reached down, blindly fumbling for her keys and the tiny can of pepper spray attached to the ring. She couldn’t let this panic attack put her in the position for a real attack.

  “Go away,” she managed to say to him. She snatched up the keys and stood so she could glare at him. “We don’t open for lunch. You’ll have to come back tonight at six.” And since that was four hours from now, it should have gotten him moving.

  He didn’t budge an inch. He stood, staring at her. And Dana found herself staring back.

  “I got the same feeling,” he tossed out there.

  “What feeling?”

  His left eyebrow lifted a fraction. “Like the one you’re having now.”

  Dana didn’t know what scared her more--that he might indeed know what she was feeling or that he, too, was in need of a nearby nuthouse.

  “You know nothing about what I’m feeling,” she mumbled.

  But he only countered that with a grunt of disagreement.

  The grunt actually helped her refocus and tamped down the pulse that was crashing in her ears. It also helped with the new surge of fear inside her. Not from a panic attack but from the real possibility that this man had come to kill her.

  It wasn’t reasonable.

  Most women didn’t think killer thoughts about a man they’d seen on the sidewalk outside their place of business. But she wasn’t most women, and she hadn’t been in a very long time.

  “Better now?” he asked.

  He stood there, still staring at her while the storm stirred the bottom of his calf length black coat and his hair. Also dark. The color of a pint of Guinness. It fell fashionably disheveled halfway down his neck. Brown eyes. Olive-tinged skin that hinted of some Mediterranean blood. Lots of angles and a solid square jaw.

  He seemed out of place in a weird sort of way, like an Ann Rice vampire who’d stepped out for a daylight stroll. Or a bite.

  He was memorable.

  No. Not just memorable.

  Unforgettable.

  Sheez. She was chocked full of crazy thoughts today, wasn't she?

  Staying beneath the meager cover of the awning, she turned fully toward him. Their gazes locked. And he took a single step closer.

  “Dana McNeil,” he said.

  It wasn’t a question.

  She continued to look him over, trying to pick out something, anything, about him that she recognized. When nothing came to mind, Dana went with the direct approach. “Do I know you?”

  “I don’t think so.” He waited a moment, not sounding completely sure of his answer. Dana knew exactly how he felt. The entire world suddenly seemed a little unsure and off-kilter. “I’m Jack Cain.”

  Dana wanted his name to trigger a memory like--oh, you’re the customer who was in the Purple Longhorn last week. Or you’re the guy from my algebra class back at Mercy Cross High.

  It didn’t.

  But his name did trigger a much more recent m
emory.

  Jack Cain was one of the five other beneficiaries named in the letter that she had tucked inside her purse. The letter from a rich dead doctor that the lawyer, Abel Jenkins, had given her just an hour earlier when he showed up at her apartment.

  The man extended his hand, and she hesitantly accepted that greeting, latching onto to him much harder than she’d intended. Why, she didn’t know. But Dana suddenly wanted to know how he felt.

  And boy, she found out.

  One touch, and she jerked back. Not a static shock, but it sure as heck was something. A jolt that caused her nerves to zing.

  Dana felt herself go warm. And damp. Much to her disgust, the dampness wasn’t from the March rain. This dampness radiated like fire from the center of her body.

  Sweet mercy, where had that come from?

  And better yet, how could she make it go away?

  Two and a half years ago, she’d rid herself of lust and pretty much every other unwanted feeling, and she wasn’t about to go back to that place. Because that place would mean a repeat trip to the loony bin.

  “What just happened?” she asked--the question meant more for her than for Jack Cain.

  “To hell if I know.” He glanced uneasily up at the sky. “Lightning, maybe.”

  “Lightning?” Dana mumbled. And because she really, really wanted to believe that, she nodded.

  To give herself a couple of moments to regain her composure, she took a step back, folded her arms over her chest and tightened her grip around the tiny pepper spray container on her key chain.

  “Let’s go inside so we can talk,” he suggested.

  He would suggest something like that. After all, she had at least a dozen questions about the rich dead doctor’s letter, and this lightning-attracting man might just have some of the answers. Still, Dana stayed put. Because it was safer to be outside in a storm than inside and alone--with him.

  “How’d you find me?” she asked.

  He let out his breath, and it conveyed more than a tad of displeasure. Probably because she hadn’t readily unlocked the door to the pub and let him in. “An attorney delivered my copy of the letter early last night. Since then I’ve made it my business to learn whatever I can about you and the others that Dr. Cornelia Hartwell named as her beneficiaries.”

  Dana couldn’t fault him for that. She’d intended to do the same thing as soon as she got into her office.

  “You found me fast,” she pointed out.

  He shrugged. “I own a security company in Houston. I have access to a lot of information.”

  No doubt a thriving business. That explained the expensive suit and his polished appearance. However, it didn’t really explain the visit. A phone call would have been much faster since Houston was nearly three hours away.

  He made a sweeping glance around the street. “We shouldn’t be standing out here in the open.”

  Dana retraced his glance. “You mean because of the…” It took her a moment to decide how best to finish that. “Lightning?”

  Jack Cain stared at her. Cursed. Stared some more. And then without warning, he hooked his arm around her waist. He got her moving off the steps and into the narrow alley that divided the Purple Longhorn and Jimenez’s Diner.

  Just like that, Dana's heart dropped to her knees, and her entire body revved up for another round of that panic attack.

  “Let go of me,” she warned.

  “Not until I’ve made you understand.”

  Fighting off the dread and the fear, Dana did a quick assessment of this situation. There were no diners coming in or out of Jimenez’s. No sign of any customers seated at the window booths, either.

  No one close enough to hear her scream.

  Not that Jack Cain gave her a chance to scream or voice her protest. He clamped his other hand over her mouth and forced her deeper into the alley. Dana didn't go easily. She struggled--pulling, fighting, wrenching herself from his grip.

  Temporarily.

  Before she could break into a run, he caught onto her shoulder, reeled her around to face him and shoved her back against the scarred brick wall of the pub. He didn’t stop there. He pressed his body against her. To pin her in place. And in doing so, he got so close that she caught his scent.

  He smelled expensive.

  Beneath that black cashmere coat was an equally pricey Italian suit. As were his understated leather shoes that were getting splashed on by the rain.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he informed her.

  Dana stripped his hand from her mouth, hiked up her chin and spoke through clenched teeth. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Because he said it with so much confidence, Dana stilled.

  A bad involuntary reaction.

  She counteracted it with something she’d learned in one of her many self-defense classes. She brought up her knee to ram his balls all the way into his eye sockets.

  It certainly seemed like a good idea.

  Until her kneecap grazed the exact reproductive organs that she’d considering ramming.

  Because they hadn’t taken their gazes off each other, she saw his reaction. A slight grimace. A tightening of his jaw. Followed by a manly grunt that came from deep within his chest. Not a sound of pain.

  But a sound of pleasure.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, lowering her knee. Just a fraction. “But you asked for it.”

  “I didn’t ask for that.” His answer had not come easily, and it took a moment more to continue. “Look, we need to go somewhere safe so we can talk.”

  “So you’ve said. But I have this phobia thing about being alone with men, and that means there’s no place we can go where I’ll feel safe.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry, but this can’t be helped. There are things you need to know.”

  “And I have to know these things while you’re holding me hostage?”

  He blinked and looked genuinely offended. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  She almost blurted out a resounding yes!, but something had her rethinking her response. Dana glanced down at the body contact. His rock-solid abs right against her stomach and with one of her legs wedged between his. Other parts of them were aligned as well.

  Not a good alignment either.

  If they moved around even a little, it might cause an accidental orgasm or two.

  Which sounded very appealing to her.

  Disgusted with herself and her suddenly overactive hormones, Dana shook her head. “I don’t understand what’s happening here.”

  He gave his own head a shake. “Neither do I.”

  So, they didn’t have a label to put on it. But that didn’t diminish the effect. Whatever this was, it was strong and it didn’t seem interested in a hasty exit.

  She looked up at him at the exact moment Jack Cain looked down at her.

  Breath met breath.

  Dana could almost taste him. Much to her disgust, she wanted to taste him. To feel him touch her. To have him take her. Right then, right there.

  Her body did more of that involuntary reaction stuff. It sizzled, preparing itself for something it wasn’t going to get. And it wasn’t going to get Jack Cain.

  Or was it?

  He lowered his head. Inching even closer. Their bodies adjusted. Moving. Dana moved, too. She couldn’t stop herself. She leaned into him, so that her sex touched his.

  Oh, mercy. The sensation shot through her.

  She felt her eyelids flutter down and fought it. Dana fought everything. And would have almost certainly lost…

  If it hadn’t been for the lightning.

  The real honest-to-goodness lightning.

  It stabbed across the sky, and the deafening thunder followed it. The sound seemed to rattle the buildings that sandwiched them. It rattled her as well.

  She had too many things to deal with right now. Too many things were coming at her. First, that letter. Then, the bizarre lust attack. Now, the flashbacks.

  God, alwa
ys the flashbacks.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and fought the images that invaded her mind.

  Fought and lost.

  It’d been storming the Sunday morning when her former boyfriend had stabbed her seven times and left her for dead in her perky sunshine-yellow PJs. Violent behavior, violent weather. The connection wasn’t logical, but she had a theory--a brush with a violent death either made a person turn defender-of-the-universe and become something like a cop.

  Or it made a person come up with neurotic associations and carry pepper spray.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  Dana opened her eyes and forced her breathing to level, but she did more than that. She pushed away those brutal images of that other storm, that nightmarish morning, and she concentrated on the man standing in front of her.

  One battle at a time.

  And he was indeed a battle to be fought.

  Right now, she needed to find out why Jack Cain was creating a frenzy with her primal instincts and the rest of her body.

  Damn him.

  She bracketed her hands on his chest, shoved hard, so that she’d have enough room to maneuver, and she stepped away from him. Almost immediately, she felt the loss of his body heat, and her rain-soaked clothes chilled her all the way to the bone.

  “Let’s cut to the chase.” She folded her arms over her chest to stave off the shivers and maneuvered herself closer to the sidewalk just in case she had to make a run for it. “My hormones can’t take any more of this. I can’t take any more of this. Just tell me why you’re here and then leave.”

  “You know why I’m here.” He let that hum between them for several moments. “It’s about the letter.”

  Yes. The letter. Dana had had a really bad feeling about it when the lawyer handed it to her, even though he’d said it was her lucky day. Her bad feeling had gotten significantly worse when she’d taken the letter from the sealed envelope and read it. And that bad feeling was continuing to snowball into an epic-size avalanche.

  Lucky was in the eye of the beholder.

  “How well do you know this Dr. Cornelia Hartwell, the woman who named us in her will?” she asked. And Dana prayed for a good explanation.