As if the cops would want me involved. I’d done everything but fake my own death.
Sighing, I tilted back my head, staring at the ceiling. If I’d admit that there was a copycat using Samuel’s upcoming execution for further grandstanding, I’d save myself a lot of heartache.
Sadly, the what-if moments continued. Had Maverick’s interest been piqued? You bet it had. But enough that he’d be willing to help me? And do what if he would? I had not worked this through very clearly, which wasn’t like me. I was a by-the-book kind of girl… who’d purposely gone searching for the oneman who could provide clarity. The same man who’d obviously forsaken everything he’d been taught to believe.
So I’d left without giving him a chance. Maybe I’d been scared to face reality, the fantasy of the man that much better. But I’d be lying to myself.
My nipples ached and as soon as they shifted against my shirt, my entire body followed suit. He had that kind of hold on me. Damn it. Somehow, he’d seen right through my perfectly crafted façade, knowing I preferred dominating men.
Sometimes I couldn’t understand myself after what I’d been through. My mind shifted to all the sinful acts of filth, the naughty images leaving me quivering. God. I needed to stop doing that to myself. Whatever was going on, I had a stalker to deal with, and things could escalate quickly.
Leaving Maverick alone and sleeping, the scent of our passion lingering on the sheets, had been the right thing to do.
Then why was I rolling my eyes?
Plus, I’d wanted to spend some time going over what details I could find on the disappearance of Ashley Boudreaux. She’d taken her car to a park to go for a jog and had disappeared during her run. Granted, I hadn’t seen a copy of the police report, but from what little I’d gotten out of Jessica, there hadn’t been any signs of a struggle. No blood. No scuffle marks. Nothing disturbed along the path. It was as if she’d gone off with someone.
Someone who’d earned her trust.
That was entirely possible since three separate parking lots flanked the park. Plus, it was close to the beach, which meant someone could have taken her on a boat.
In the days she’d been gone, there hadn’t been any reports of her using her credit cards or any sightings. I’d sent an email to a friend of mine at the police force who could tell me if any other disappearances matched the circumstances, but my instinct was also telling me the Python Killer was just getting started.
After taking another sip of coffee, I was no longer interested in doing nothing. I placed the mug on the coffee table and rose to my feet. It had been a very long time since I’d wanted anything to do with my past. I had to face it. Whoever the bastard was who’d called me wanted me to remember. If this was a game to him, the bastard had no idea what I was made of.
One thing I’d learned through the years was how strong my resolve was. More so than a huge percentage of women I’d worked with. But I’d done my best to help them achieve the same goal.
Maybe I’d pushed them too hard, but I knew what doing nothing meant. Failure.
I headed into the second of three bedrooms, the one I used as an office and storage for my wildly eclectic collection of books. What I also kept hidden in the closet was something everyone in my life had told me to toss out. Maybe I’d needed to keep what the psychiatrist had called a shrine of death to remind myself how lucky I was to be alive.
I threw open the closet door, flicking on the light and dropping to my knees. As with any home, space was limited. I stored everything inside the closet from my old skiing gear, as if I’d evergo skiing again, to my old law books, which needed a bookshelf of their own. Another promise made to myself I hadn’t kept.
Then there was the huge brown box at the back. It took me a full ten minutes to be able to dig it out.
Once it was in front of me, I blew hair that had fallen into my face and stared at the writing on the lid. In red. Do Not Open.
Who’d I been kidding?
Packing tape was everywhere, so much of it that I had to run and grab scissors from the kitchen. I tore into the box, finally wrangling the lid free a few minutes later. The scent of old newspaper clippings and a strange fragrance of cigar smoke hit me first. Where had that come from?
I sat where I was, cross-legged and doing nothing more than staring at the contents while the clock ticked away.
With my hand shaking, I finally found the courage to pull a few things from inside.
Articles I’d found in every newspaper across the country. Reports from the police after using every contact I had. Notes I’d taken in the dead of night when I hadn’t been able to sleep. Pictures that I’d drawn from memory. And a couple that had been taken on sight of where I’d been found.
And the pièce de résistance?
The article including photographs of Maverick’s and Max’s heroic deed.
I’d been drawn to him since the beginning. We’d been brought back together and I had a feeling I knew why.
To save another life.
Maybe more.
A series of creepy-crawlies swirled into my system after only a few minutes of reading my notes. Needing a break, I rose to my feet and headed toward the window. After peering out at the beautiful sparkle of sunlight, a glint caught my attention. Shielding my eyes, I scanned the road.
