If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

too … Jared—the bastard. And that was why she’d been popping those pills, because she’d been thinking about him, missing him, thinking about calling him.
    But he wouldn’t want her back … miserable thoughts that only made her more miserable, which made her pop more pills, and now she was out here, struggling to breathe, struggling to see, to think, to function.
    She would have given anything to be back home, listening to her mother tell her,
You shouldn’t dress that way … you should try to find a nice boy, Kathleen … not
those
kinds of boys. Kathleen, please …
    Would have given anything to be back with Jared, where she felt safe …
    She tried to scratch, tried to bite, but her attacker just laughed. And he slammed into her, brutally—what had felt so good, even if a little wicked a few minutes ago, now hurt and tore and burned and she moaned, tried to pull away. Tried to think past the pain in her head, between her legs. Tried to think past the fear—
    She needed to get away from him. Needed to scream for help.
    But she could barely breathe. The gag. She tried to spit it out but that didn’t work. Tried to pull her hands away from his, but his grip was brutal, merciless. Whimpering, she stared at him, tried to beg him silently to let her go.
    And then he dipped his head, gave her one of those sweet, tender kisses, pressed lovingly against her neck even as his body tore into hers. When he lifted up and smiled down at her, Kathleen struck out at him with her head, slamming her forehead against his. But he evaded, as though he’d known exactly what she was going to do. Slumping against the wall, tears trickling down her cheeks, she shuddered and tried to twist away when hestarted to touch her again—this time gently. Even as pain was ripping through her.
    NO NO NO NO …
    He was fucking
laughing
at her … turning her body against her.
    Bastard—
    Fucking bastard …
    Through a red haze, she glared at him and with a strength she didn’t know she had, she wrenched against his hold. Her wrists, slippery, slick with her sweat, twisted and she got one free. Blindly, she swung out, driving her fist into his neck, then again into his nose.
    He snarled and swore, but didn’t let go. He fisted a hand in her hair, slammed her head back against the wall again, harder this time. A second time. A third.
    By the fourth time, she was no longer even aware of what he was doing.
    By the fifth time, she was unconscious. There was a sixth … a seventh … an eighth time. She never knew.
    Kathleen died of a brain hemorrhage before he was even done using her.
    “Cunt,” he muttered, kicking her side as he let her fall to the ground. His throat still ached from the jab and his nose was tender, puffy. Not broken, thankfully. That would have been harder to explain away. But the little slut had gotten a few good blows in.
    Swearing, he knelt and wished he had the time to let her wake up. He’d do it all over again, but this time, he’d make her hurt more. There was no time, though. Closing a hand around her mouth and nose, he squeezed. A few seconds passed before he realized she wasn’t breathing.
    Swearing, he jerked his hand away, stared at her face. Her eyes were closed. Her face slack. Shit.
    He lifted one lid. Stared at her pupil, stunned when there was no reaction.
    Lifeless.
    Still not processing it, he rested his fingers on her neck, searching for a pulse that wasn’t there.
    Nothing.
    Disgust rolled through him as he realized he’d been fucking her corpse.
    Swearing, he grabbed her shoulder and rolled her over, and that was when he saw the back of her head. Saw the damage. It was all pulpy and misshapen, the bones of her skull pulverized.
    Fuck …
    He surged to his feet and cast a quick glance around the alley. Although every instinct screamed for him to get the hell away, he needed to be careful. Very careful. Shit. He’d screwed up. Screwed up bad. Had let his anger get the better of him, had been in too big a hurry, hadn’t taken his time, hadn’t been
careful
. That was the bottom line—he hadn’t been careful. Then, when she’d managed to get a hand free and hit him, fight back, she’d caught him off guard.
    He’d fucked up.
    When the cops found her, he knew they’d examine her.
    Would they realize penetration had happened after her death? Or while she died? Shit, he wasn’t a fucking necrophiliac. She’d been alive when he started on her. Fucking cunt. Damn