“You have me at a loss, a situation I don’t enjoy being in. Call it the perks of my former profession.” Her short answers also intrigued me. “I’m curious. You marked various passages in the book. Do you mind telling me why?”
“Maybe because I was checking to determine how truthful the parallel was to the actual case.”
“From what you’ve said, which has been minimal, it seems you know quite a bit about the actual case. Is there a new investigation involving the murders I’ve yet to be told about?”
Why was the sound of her laugh so bitter? “You could say I know a great deal about the case from years ago, although reading your book, even though fifty percent fictional, was eye-opening. No one seems to care any longer about Samuel Wells or the victims’ families and the horrors they’ve been forced to endure through the years.”
“An atrocity in the act of providing justice. That’s something I can easily admit. Does this interest in the case and the victims revolve around your claim Wells is set for execution?”
Alexia appeared uncomfortable. “As I mentioned before. What if the wrong man is being put to death?”
I sat back, still trying to ascertain her angle. As an attorney, she knew better than to try to undermine a case, even a closed one. There was no doubt the beautiful lady was highly intelligent and I sensed intuitive. Then what was her angle? I was more than intrigued. She was skilled in the art of tossing out crumbs one by one, knowing a man with a devious, creative mind would lap them up like crack cocaine. “Let’s not mince words, Alexia. You sought me out for a reason. While details regarding the victims, the methods the killer used, details about the case, the hunt, and the subsequent arrest were all altered, I penned words keeping the integrity of the investigation. DNA was found. Various clues led up to the discovery of the killer’s identity. There were difficulties in identification based on the elements in the Everglades. However, at the end of the book as with the actual case, I made certain the evidence pointed to the correct killer.”
Every time she allowed her heated gaze to fall ever so slowly from my face to my chest, it seemed as if she was undressing me with her eyes. It had been a long time since I’d had a woman do that so blatantly. How could a man not enjoy a blip in time of being appreciated?
Enough so I was thankful to be sitting behind a table. That’s how rock hard my cock had become.
“Yes, you used magnificent detective skills, some of the best I’ve encountered in my career.”
However stunning the woman’s exterior beauty, she was cunning, refusing to trust anyone including the FBI agent involved. Did she believe I had bad intent in mind? Or was she simply fishing for information? If she really had read the book, any of my books, she’d know I stood behind my integrity in both professions. I’d never do anything to undermine a case or the memories of the victims.
“Why don’t we cut to the chase, Alexia. If you have some evidence that Samuel Wells isn’t the Python Killer, then you need to provide this information to the police. Anything otherwise and you could lose your right to practice law.”
“Are you threatening me, Mr. Callahan?”
“I’m not in the habit of threatening anyone.” The game of cat and mouse, or maybe she was merely trying to determine if she could trust me, was becoming irritating. Even if it had also been a very long time since I’d enjoyed a simple cup of coffee with a woman.
“Ah, you’re a man who makes promises.” The playfulness was unexpected, which only served to keep me both interested and in casual discomfort.
I shifted across my seat in hopes of relieving the constant twitch in my dick. “When the situation calls for doing so. Or when I deem it acceptable.”
Her laugh was a joyful sound. “You’ve always been a formidable man.”
Always. The single word suggested previous knowledge or perhaps my reputation had preceded me. Somehow, I had a feeling we’d crossed paths before. “Have we worked on a case together?”
“Once. A very long time ago.”
She couldn’t be more than twenty-eight while I was in my forties. There wasn’t a chance we’d worked together on a case. Not since I’d retired almost nine years before.
“What would you do if you learned Samuel Wells was an innocent man?” Her question was even more pointed than before.
A thought that had crossed my mind several times over the past few days. “Then as a former officer of the law, in deference to the oath I took the day I joined the FBI, I’d do my best to find a way to prove his innocence.”
“Even if it meant placing your life in danger?”
Where in the hell was this going? “Alexia, the Python Killer murdered twelve young women. Twelve. He did so without thought to anyone but his twisted, perverted needs, a psychopathic predator with no regard for human life. No remorse. No conscience. No soul. If there’s any chance the man prepared to spend of eternity in hell where he belongs is innocent, then yes, I’d risk my life.”
Little did she know the lengths I’d go to protect and serve justice.
My vehemence obviously caught her off guard. Her eyes opened wide, a slight tic disturbing the stunning pout of her luscious lips.
“I believe you.” Her words were little more than a stilted whisper. Instead of providing the reason behind her unusual rhetoric, she pulled herself away from the conversation, a line of sight I followed only to find nothing behind me but blank space. “Almost thirteen.”
“I’m sorry?”
“He kidnapped thirteen. A baker’s dozen.”
She was experiencing a memory.
