Yet her distress was wrapped solidly in a solid sheet of impenetrable armor. The electric current from before lingered, a pull to the woman that was both unexpected and exciting. Not once in my author career had I invited a reader out for coffee or a drink, but I wasn’t ready for her to walk away.
So I broke out of my comfort zone. “Alexia, you have a fascinating take on the profession.”
“Which one?”
Half laughing, I rubbed my fingers across the two-day stubble on my face, left since I’d been late getting out of the house. “Maybe both. This shindig should be over in about fifteen minutes. Would you like to grab a cup of coffee so we can discuss further? There’s a cool little shop down the street. They have some of the best brews in town.”
Her eyes lit up, shimmers of luminous gold dancing around her irises. “You mean Moxie’s?”
“You know it?”
She rolled her eyes. “I spend way too much time and money in there. The coffee is fabulous and I would love to.”
“Excellent. Just hang around.”
“I will.”
I was thankful for being able to sit behind a table since as soon as I planted my ass in the chair, my cock stiffened.
Fifteen minutes turned into an hour. By the time the store employee snapped the rope in place, I was exhausted and needed something much stronger than coffee.
Immediately, I scanned the oversized room that had held the signing.
“You want to grab a beer?” Carter asked. “We can go over the new contract and save a step.”
I was ready to let him know I had other plans until I realized Alexia had disappeared. Why did I have a feeling our paths would cross again?
Jesus. I was disappointed as hell.
“Sure, Carter. Sounds good.”
And why did I have a terrible sense that when we did, more than just sparks would fly?
CHAPTER 3
“You asked for miracles, Theo. I give you the F.B.I.”
—Alan Rickman as Hans Gruber, Die Hard
Maverick
I tapped my pen against my desk, the quote the first one that always popped into my mind when starting a new book. Given I was halfway finished with book number twenty-one, the reason the line from my favorite movie lingered in the forefront of my mind was entirely different.
Brutal visions had taken front and center of my mind, images so gripping I’d had difficulty sleeping the night before.
Why was I questioning a case that had been closed almost thirteen years before?
Because the incredible beauty had challenged me as if playing a game?
Maybe. Or maybe because all the old emotions had popped into my mind. Samuel Wells was a heinous monster. There was no denying that he deserved to die. So why was I revisiting aspects of the case in my mind?
In the two days since the signing, I’d thought about Alexia more than once. She’d sought me out for a completely different reason than to meet a famous author. The realization had nagged me enough I’d pulled out my old notes used in writingGone Before Dawn. Technically I didn’t have the actual case files, as agents of the FBI were forbidden to bring work home for fear of tainting the case. However, I’d had thorough notes, sketches, and late-night scribbled thoughts kept on paper and my personal laptop during my investigation into the horrific case.
When I’d sat down to pen my first book based on the heinous crime, I’d separated out fact from fiction. While the monster behind the serial murders was behind bars, I’d been very careful with what I’d written so some gung-ho junior defense attorney didn’t take it upon himself to try to declare a mistrial.
However, that hadn’t meant the crux of the crimes, the horror of being unable to save all but one hadn’t eaten away at the decent man inside.
Now, as I moved from screen to screen on my computer while ceremoniously shoving scraps of paper involving the case around on my desk, I realized I had no clue why I was delving into it again. I’d lived, breathed, and suffered through the months of horror. I’d barely slept, ate on the run, and had consumed way too much alcohol during that year.
