“I don’t mind.” Bryce took her hand in his, rubbing his fingers against her smooth palms. “He’s handling it all pretty well.”
“I think so.” She took the seat beside his, taking comfort in just having him close. “And yet I worry.”
“Don’t.” He finished off the first slice.
“What have you found in Nena Lassiter’s car so far?”
“The techs pulled hair strands and fingerprints from the front seat. The hair samples have been sent to the lab, and it’ll take days at best. But Thompson’s fingerprints were pulled from the dashboard. He was in the car.”
“Did you find anything else? The pictures or facial skin? They would be the killer’s most prized trophies—tangible fragments of the victims. The killer keeps them close and in a safe place.”
“No to both. We’re checking the cameras from the surrounding businesses near the motel. I’m hoping to get a glimpse of the driver. If it’s Thompson, then the case against him gets really strong.”
“He’s not that stupid,” she said. “Why would he park the car near his room? Why would he give me his files to read if he killed those women?”
“Saying that’s true, who would want to set him up?” Bryce leaned back in his chair. “One of the Fireflies who didn’t like him asking questions. Or someone who didn’t appreciate him using Nate to get to you.”
“Have you found anything that links Elijah to the car?”
“No prints. Maybe there’ll be a hair sample. Again, the security cameras are going to tell more.”
“Elijah is too careful to leave prints behind.” She frowned. “Did you find anything attached to Judy Monroe?”
“I’ve placed calls to the Tennessee and West Virginia authorities. Should have pictures, maybe police records by morning.”
“Can you contact the prison and see if they copied any of Judy’s letters to Elijah?”
“I’ll call as soon as I walk out of here.”
“Good.”
“Why don’t you and the boys plan to come out to the ranch sooner rather than later? You could stay out there. There’s room enough for you all, and those pups can distract anyone from anything. Hell, at the rate my brother is going, there might be another one in the brood by now. And no one will get to either of you at the ranch.”
She smiled up at him, appreciating him for his kindness. “Nate has school and so do I. We can’t run and hide now.”
“A few days won’t matter, Ann, but it might give me time to find this guy.”
If it were just her, she would have refused, but she had Nate to consider. “Maybe tomorrow. We could drive out after school.”
He leaned forward and kissed her. “And tonight?”
She savored the taste of him. “We’ll be fine. Really. I’ll lock all the doors and windows. And won’t let in anyone I don’t know.”
“Even then, think twice about opening the door.”
Elijah sat at his computer, watching the feed from Ann’s living room. At first, he had been pleased to watch Nate talk to his mother about him and the book. He could see the tension straining her smile, but she had kept her cool. She was trying to keep the boy’s world calm. But that was what Ann did. She kept cool.
They had mentioned Judy Monroe, and he thought back to the letters she had written him. She was highly intelligent, and he found her mind worked much like his. The pictures she had sent him were of a tall, athletically built woman with dark hair, gray eyes, and olive skin. Not his type, but she was clever enough to make him not care. Where was she now?
He hit “Rewind” and replayed the moment Bryce leaned in and kissed Ann. Her body melted into his. There was a familiarity between them. They had shared intimacy. Secrets.
He closed his eyes, trying to imagine what it had felt like when she’d kissed him. Her lips were soft. Her scent sweet. Her hair like silk.
He looked again at the frozen image of Ann and Bryce. The one thing those two did not share and would never share was Nate. Elijah and Ann had created the boy, and he was all theirs.
A man claimed what was his, and that was exactly what he intended to do.
It was 1:00 a.m. when Ann leaned back in her office chair and stretched the strain from her muscles. She had read through the transcripts of the interviews, and one theme had become clear. The women Thompson interviewed believed that by attaching themselves to Elijah Weston, they, too, would touch fame.
Writing to a man in prison also offered them a thrill that they had never experienced before. Elijah seemed to know and understand them like no one else. They said it was like reading their own real-life suspense novel that allowed them to safely savor the thrill of fear. Elijah’s sharp good looks had also fueled sexual fantasies that the women had talked freely about to Thompson.
Danger. Sex. Fame. It was a heady cocktail that—for women who lived simple, ordinary lives—was impossible to resist.
When her doorbell rang, she glanced at her phone and realized it was after one. Rising, she moved to the window and looked outside.
Maura was standing on her porch. Her eyes were red, her shirt ripped, and her hair tousled as if she had been fighting.
Ann unlatched the door and opened it. “Are you okay?”
Maura blinked back tears. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” She stepped to the side. “Who did this to you?”
Maura shook her head and dropped her gaze as if she were gathering her thoughts. “I was stupid to trust him.”
“Trust who?” Ann asked.
Tears welled in her eyes before she swiped them away. “Elijah.”
Ann’s blood chilled. She had always feared what Elijah was capable of doing. “What did he do to you?”
Again, Maura was silent, and for a moment she looked broken.
Ann reached toward her. “What did he do? Did he hit you?”
Maura took a step back, shaking her head. Her voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “He can’t ever love me. His heart is taken.”
Ann drew back, glancing toward her phone, readying to dial 911. Whatever was going on with Maura was wrong, and she needed more help than Ann could provide. “I don’t understand.”
Maura looked at her, the sadness gone from her gaze. In its place was a haunted, dark look. “He can’t love me because I’m not you.”
Ann took several steps back as she tightened the grip on her phone. “I don’t understand.”
Maura closed the distance. “Every time he fucked me, he whispered your name in my ear: Ann, Ann, Ann.”
“What are you talking about? You were with Elijah?”
“Several times. The Beech Street house was a favorite location. But he doesn’t want me—he wants you!”
Ann took a step back from the anger tightening Maura’s features and the wildness in her eyes. “I have nothing to do with Elijah.”
Her eyes widened with a madwoman’s intensity. “You’re everything to him.”
Ann realized she had been a fool to trust this woman. She had allowed her into her home and close to her son. “Who are you?”
“You haven’t guessed?”
It did not matter who this woman was now. She was unbalanced. Ann, knowing she needed help, looked at her phone, ready to call 911.