“Aren’t you respectable and trustworthy?” I asked, taking in the vast sanctuary. A glow from the streetlights outside streamed in through the colored glass windows, casting just enough light for us to navigate the aisle without running into a pew.
Noah’s eyes flashed back at me. “Most of the time.”
Our footsteps echoed through the room, slowing as we neared the front. “Am I to imply from that cockeyed smile that this is one of those times excluded from that ‘mostly’ condition?”
Noah’s hand slid up my back, twisting into my wet hair. “Yes,” he confessed, drawing me to him more abruptly than gently.
“What are you doing?” My eyes went to the doorway, half expecting to find a priest or a sister standing there, gaping at us while making the sign of the cross.
He unknotted the scarf tied around my neck, letting it fall to the floor as he guided me back until my calves bumped into a pew.
“Letting my darkness out,” he answered, picking me up with the kind of ease that suggested a fathomless breed of strength.
It wasn’t until he laid me on the front pew, his body folding over mine that I understood.
“Here?” I protested, even as my legs wound behind him while he fisted my skirt up my legs.
Lifting up, he pulled off his sweater and tossed it toward the altar. Whatever protests were rising within me came to a succinct halt when his finger hooked beneath my underwear, ripping them aside as he fit himself to me. His hand found my neck again, fingers dragging down it, both holding back and letting go.
My mind was foggy, comprehension hazy, only thickening when his body entered mine. The man possessing me in a dark church was not the one I’d spent seventeen years married to. Or maybe, possibly, I was finally getting a good look at the man he truly was beneath the façade of dull and distant.
“Who are you, Noah Wolff?” I whispered as he lowered himself over me, his weight holding me in place as his hips cradled against mine, drawing my surrender to the surface.
His mouth settled outside of my ear. “You know who I am.”
Sixteen
The path to reclaim one’s life was riddled with hurdles and landmines, stumbling blocks and barriers. Some days, I felt like I was blindfolded and walking a tight rope—one wrong step, and everything would come careening down. Other days were more challenging still.
As I fought to salvage some control of my life, I accepted the burden that accompanied it. Nursing myself off of the pills, the booze, and the haze of oblivion I’d created as a means of coping didn’t come easily or without sacrifice. Yet I knew that in order to get better, I had to be better.
Several weeks had passed, and the task force weekly update meeting was scheduled for tonight at seven. If anything, we felt further away from catching our serial killer than we had at the beginning. The more we learned, the more we accepted we were dealing with a level of intelligence, bordering on genius, rarely found in the criminally prone.
As was typical for a Friday, the office was basically empty when I left a little after six, two briefcases in my hands: one for work and one for my “advisory” status on my dad’s task force.
“Good to know I’m not the only one haunting this place late on a Friday.” The familiar voice came from behind me as I waited at the elevators.
“I don’t think I ever stop haunting this place.” I drew a smile before glancing back at Dean, approaching the elevator with his briefcase in hand, giving no indication I should feel as unsettled as I did right then.
Ever since the double date disaster, I’d succeeded in keeping my distance from him unless work or passing required it. He’d returned the favor, no longer popping into my office at odd hours or casually inviting me for drinks after a long day. I wasn’t as convinced as Noah that Dean had any interest in me that extended beyond that of an esteemed colleague, but I did acknowledge that I welcomed the attention more than a married woman should have.
“Something tells me that even after we die, our spirits will haunt this damn place.” Dean stopped beside me, eyeing the handful I was carrying. “Let me take one of those for you.” Before I could argue, he’d maneuvered one of my cases into his free hand. “This thing is twice as heavy as mine. What have you got in here?”
“A bunch of information that leads nowhere basically.” I punched the down button again, wondering how busy the elevators could be this late on the cusp of a weekend.
“Still no closer to figuring out who this bastard is?” When I shook my head, he continued, “Don’t feel bad. No one is, including our own boys in blue investigating the most recent homicide.” He nudged me before holding the door once it opened. “How does your dad feel about finally meeting his match?”
“He’s close to breathing fire, that’s how he feels.” I confined my smile when a picture of my dad’s face radiating red at last week’s progress meeting popped to mind.
“Is it bad that I’d rather shake this Huntsman’s hand than put him behind bars?” Dean asked, punching the lower level parking garage button.
“I think you’d be in the majority actually.”
Leaning into the wood-paneled wall of the elevator, Dean narrowed his eyes in concentration. “You know, this guy must have an understanding of the law and police procedure. He has to know what will and won’t be checked when a death is ruled a suicide. He’s gotten away with killing this many people over this many years and no one knew he even existed until last month. We still wouldn’t know if it wasn’t for an over-eager noob medical examiner.”
“The possibility of him being in law enforcement has been brought up,” I mentioned as the elevator doors chimed open.
Dean waved me out first. “But who else knows about standard police procedure?”
“Anyone who tunes into CSI reruns every Sunday?”
Our footsteps echoed through the concrete parking garage, our vehicles the last ones remaining on this level.
“Attorneys,” he said after a moment. “We know the ins and outs of the whole spectrum of a crime, from forensics to inter-department communication, or lack thereof.”
Pausing beside my SUV, I rubbed my forehead. “You think this guy could be an attorney?”
“I think there are worse conclusions.”
My shoulders dropped when I exhaled. “Shit. You’re right.” Making a mental note to bring up the possibility at tonight’s meeting, I reached to open my car door.
Dean beat me to it. But he didn’t open the door.
He held it closed, his body skimming closer to mine from behind.
“I need to leave.” I maintained a clear, level voice, despite the apprehension bubbling up from within.
“We never got a chance to discuss that night. The one where your husband made a spectacle of asserting his ownership of you.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. And I’m not an object Noah owns.”
Dean’s grip tightened around the door handle when I reached for it. “Does that imply your disapproval of the notion itself, or your displeasure of the man in current possession?” Dean’s body rippled against mine. “Because not all men are created equal.”