I nodded, becoming exasperated even though I’d used these same arguments on myself countless times. “Let’s assume the possibility for just a second. What if the real killer does it again?”
Maverick’s sigh was deep and heavy. “While you lived through an experience that no one should ever be forced to face, I studied serial killers for years. The Python Killer wasn’t my first rodeo nor was it my last. Very few simply disappear for any length of time. They will kill again. I’ve checked over the years. The Python hasn’t struck again.”
“I understand perfectly well that serial killers are creatures of habit. What if he’s altered his methods?”
“Then red flags would have gone off in several law enforcement agencies. All the information about the case, including the processes used, is stored in a central database. Any similarities would have been flagged.”
“What if he changed his system entirely?” Yes, I was pushing and I had good reason to do so.
Now I sensed he was getting exasperated with me. “Okay. Yes, it’s possible. I’ve read about it before. Often killers will refine or alter slightly, but generally speaking, there are telltale signs of similarity. This is obviously very important to you and I’m not going to lie that I’m somewhat surprised. You have your entire life ahead of you. Why take this on this case unnecessarily?”
“Let me tell you something about myself. Since I was a little girl, I was a fighter. Always. My biological dad was an asshole who beat on my mother. I was the little girl who fought him with my fists. When I was twelve years old, I threw him out of the house at knife point.”
Maverick was both genuinely shocked and impressed. “I’m sorry you had to go through something else so horrible.”
“While I feel terrible for my mouther, I’m glad I knew what to do. After my kidnapping, I said enough was enough. Now, I fightfor victims’ rights every day. My work is my passion, the only passion in my life and that’s fine with me. At least for the most part. While my clients were on the receiving end of horrible acts of violence, I could no longer look myself in the mirror if I didn’t ensure the right man was behind bars. When a friend told me about your books, I was floored when I read the story. My story. You captured the essence of everything I went through, the terror of being stalked then kidnapped, of befriending other girls only for them to disappear. The way you depicted the violence and their screams was so…”
“You relived the horror all over again.”
“Exactly.” I was a little too vehement in my answer, once against crowding his space. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not committed to discovering the truth.”
“Your passion to the cause is very admirable, Alexia. You remind me a lot of myself in my younger days. How do you think I can help you work through this?” His bitterness at the system continued to shine through.
“The book you wrote highlights doubt about the killer. Yes, I know the characters were fictional and maybe I’m the only person alive who noticed there was a blip of uncertainty in the book’s conclusion, but I know what I read. I’m right. Aren’t I?”
His hesitation was all I needed. Without thinking, I reached across the table, placing my hand on his. As soon as I did, a combination of sensations washed from my fingertips to every muscle and tendon, moving with lightning speed into my core. The heat between my legs was a flourish of electric vibrations and desire that crossed one too many lines yet was completely undeniable.
I sensed that he was experiencing the same thing by the hardening of his features and the way his eyes narrowed. The connection was brief, but long enough I was thoroughly embarrassed by my reaction. As soon as I curled my fingers, slowly pulling my hand away, he reversed the hold, taking my fingers into his.
We shared a moment, a brief but undeniable chemistry that surprised us both. I was suddenly transfixed by the soulful look in his eyes even more than his powerful hold. He was studying me the same way he’d done on that fateful morning so long ago.
Fearful I’d fall apart.
I hadn’t then and I had no intention of doing so now.
“What are you asking of me, Alexia?” There was a stern hint to his tone, the different inflection creating another wave of warmth between my legs. While being attracted to him was one thing, being enthused by his more dominating characteristics was as unexpected as it was concerning.
I’d all but ruled that my life would remain passion free.
What few men I’d dated had tainted my view of men in general.
While it took some effort, I shoved the thoughts aside. “I know you kept your notes on the case. I’m only asking you to go through them with me. Maybe you’re right and I need to satisfy some morbid curiosity. I don’t have the ability to do so. You were there. You lived the case just like I did. Not the attorney. Not the judge. No one else but you. As you said, I want to satisfy the nagging I’ve fought since hearing about the date of the execution.”
“It’s a lot of what-ifs with thirteen-year-old evidence, most of which is locked away in a storage facility maintained and operated by the FBI, an organization I stopped working with years ago. Plus, I’m no longer that man.”
“What kind of man are you?”
He sipped his drink, even more thoughtful than before. “The kind who doesn’t play nicely with rules any longer.”
Why did I find his answer sexy as hell?
“Maybe that’s what I need in a partner. What if I’m right and the bastard starts killing again?”
Only then did I realize his hand was still wrapped around mine, the hold possessive. Yet as he leaned over, his earlier look of amusement had shifted into an expression of knowing.
As if the man could see right through me.
“A partner, huh? What aren’t you telling me, Alexia? And don’t lie to me. One of my finest attributes that came in handy during my time with the FBI is knowing the difference between truths and falsehoods.”
