A smile tugged at his lips. He had known he’d struck gold from the moment he had heard about Elijah from an old girlfriend. He had spoken to six of the Fireflies, and as soon as he scored interviews with Ann Bailey and Elijah Weston, he would have all the audio he needed.
He had leverage, which he was certain would force Ann to talk to him.
Elijah rose from his booth in the Italian restaurant when Maura walked in. She was wearing not the blue dress but a sleeker black jumpsuit that dipped down between her breasts. Rhinestone earrings dangled from her ears, and Ann’s scent lingered around her. He grew hard and this time was glad they were in public and there was not a bed five feet away.
He wondered whether Ann had worn the jumpsuit and hoped it had not been selected for Clarke’s benefit. “You look great.”
She squirmed into the booth and, when the waitress came, ordered a red wine. “Thanks.”
Courtship was proving harder than he imagined when all he wanted to do was strip her naked. “You been in town long?”
“A few weeks. It’s a nice town.”
“I suppose.”
“You suppose? If you don’t like it, why are you here?”
“It serves a purpose for now.”
“I saw you talking to that Edith lady at the university.” She blushed and then, as if revealing a dark secret, said, “I snuck back and watched.”
He said nothing.
“She seemed pretty unnerved to see you. It made me wonder about you, like if you had done something bad, so I did an internet search.”
“And you found out that I’d done nothing.”
Maura smiled as she raised the glass to her lips. “That we know of.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.
Her grin widened. “Just kidding. Honestly. Don’t be so sensitive.”
“Ten years in jail has that kind of effect,” he said carefully.
Amused, not chagrined, she tapped her finger against the side of her glass. “Grumpy?”
“Not at all.”
She leaned forward, clearly knowing he would get a better view of her breasts. “When’s the last time you got laid?”
“Excuse me?”
“Come on, no judgments. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Not as long as you think.”
She sat back, regarding him as she held the glass up to her lips. “How long?”
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked.
“I thought you were hungry,” she said.
“I am. But not for pasta.”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
He reached in his wallet and tossed two twenties on the table.
“It’ll have to be your place,” she said. “I’m kind of living out of the truck right now.”
“As long as you can handle a mattress on the floor.”
“You would be amazed what I can handle.”
Fifteen minutes later, he pushed open his front door and pulled her inside. She closed the door behind her with a kick. Slowly, she ran her fingers through her hair and moistened her lips. She smelled like lilacs.
In the dim light, she looked like Ann. Not the sweet Ann, but the woman who had let him into her house all those years ago and allowed him to put her against a wall and take her. In that moment, the darkness in Ann had reached out to him.
Maura let the purse dangle from her fingertips before she gently dropped it. “You’ll have to get the zipper in the back,” she said.
She turned toward the wall and scooped her hair around, exposing her neck. He traced his fingers over the nape and then tugged on the zipper until it stopped above her bottom.
He slid his hands under the fabric, reaching around and grabbing her breasts. They were soft, supple, and almost the right size. She hissed and arched toward him.
He pushed the top of the jumpsuit down over her shoulders, and then she grabbed the fabric and wriggled out of it. She stood naked, glancing over her shoulder. “What are you waiting for?”
His erection throbbed. “You in a rush?”
She faced him and reached for his belt buckle. As her breasts brushed the cotton fabric of his shirt, she unhooked the top of his pants and reached for him. “Always. Now are you going to do this or what?”
He turned her toward the wall, separated her legs, and, grabbing her hips, shoved into her.
“That’s better,” she said. “But it’s not enough.”
He thrust hard several times. “What do you want?”
She arched her back, cupping her breast. “I’ll let you know when I’ve decided.”
The light caught her hair in just the right way, and Maura was transformed into Ann. The last ten years melted away, and they had found their way back together. “Ann.”
Her mews and moans grew louder, and if she had heard him, she did not seem to care. His pace quickened, and when he came inside her, there was a split second of utter bliss.
Control had always been important to him. Even in prison, he had mastered his world and the people around him because he understood the value of self-containment. But Maura had momentarily stripped away that control. And for now, he allowed it to drop.
I do not like to hurt people.
I like to make people feel better.
But there are those moments when there is a need inside me that is so powerful it blurs the lines between good and bad.
I am outside Ann Bailey’s new house, watching her as she paces among the unpacked boxes. Finally, she chooses a bookshelf kit, opens the end, and dumps out the pieces. As she reads the instructions, a frown tugs down the edges of her lips. Poor Ann. Too smart to decode a set of instructions. As if sensing someone watching, she moves to the window and closes the drapes.
She is the kind of gal who has lots of books and loves to read, so she will need a lot of shelves. It is too bad that I cannot knock on her door and help. I am pretty handy with most household tasks, and I could volunteer and help for an hour.
But Ann clearly would not like knowing that I have been watching her. She would want to know why, and I would have to tell her that she is on my list.
It has been days since I checked the last woman off my list. My thirst should be quenched. But it is not.
I know I have to wait. And I will. For now. But it will not be long before the next one.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Missoula, Montana
Saturday, August 21
7:15 a.m.
When Ann stepped outside her house, Bryce’s dirt-dusted vehicle was parked in her driveway. He was behind the wheel, reading his phone when she walked up and knocked on his window. He smiled and motioned for her to get in. As she moved toward the passenger-side door, she sensed he was watching her. And she liked it.
“You’re early,” he said as she opened her door.
“You’re earlier,” she said.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
She clicked her seat belt, not sure how she fit into this investigation but ready to be a part of it. “You said you have an identity on the Helena victim?”
He put the SUV in reverse, backed out of the spot, and headed away from the neighborhood. “Her name was Dana Riley. Doc pulled DNA from her molars when he did the autopsy in July, ran it, and we finally got a hit in the CODIS system. Dana Riley did a year in a Maryland prison for stealing.”