“Seems like another dead end?”
With a heavy sigh, I slide my empty mug next to Kendrick’s mostly full one. “Yeah.” He welcomes me into his arms, easily taking my weight in his lap. “We’ll keep digging. We’ll find it.” Veronica and Irene’s killer is out there, and we’ll find them; it’s what we do. We can’t officially pin Veronica’s murder on anyone and having an official police investigation into Irene’s murder complicates things, but if we can get him for that, we can still get him locked away for a long time. We have enough police officers and lawyers in our pocket to ensure that the verdict goes the way we want it to, and that the sentence is hefty enough to be satisfying.
Even if Sebastian’s busy, Kelly, the defence lawyer we have in our back pocket in Melbourne, has been making noise about boredom, and I bet he’d be happy to come visit to fuck someone’s day up. Might even do it for free if he’s really that bored.
“I made an appointment for tomorrow at three, to visit Reid Fuller in prison. I think it’s worth it to have a chat, see what he has to say for himself.”
The killer in the original murder. Who’s either innocent or has a copycat out there emulating his work. Both ideas leave a lump in my throat that won’t dislodge. I can’t decide what’s worse: an innocent man rotting in jail and the real killer still out there, or someone who admires a killer enough to copy his work. Neither are comforting outcomes.
Kendrick’s curls are getting longer, and they cover his forehead, almost obscuring his eyes. He hasn’t gone in for a cut for a while. I like them this way. Unruly and taking over. Soft when I run my fingers through them. The loops attach themselves to me, twining around like they’re trying to suck me in and become one with me. I’d be alright with that.
Kendrick’s large hands settle on my hips. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that you’re hot.” His stubble caresses the back of my hand as I slide down the warmth of his check, down to the curve of his chin and his throat. “And that I love your curls. I loveyou.”
He licks his lips, the corner twitching. “Spence, I—”
I kiss him before he can answer. I don’t need to hear the words, as fantastic as they are. I prefer feeling it, prefer when hemakesme feel it. Actions taste better. The mix of him and chocolate, with a hint of the marshmallow sweetness, is enough for my entire body to sing.
He tightens his hold and pulls me closer, angling his head so I can get deeper. Until there are no gaps between us, only heat and connection. Not enough for my dick to get hard, or for me to want to do more than this, but enough for me to feel complete. Perfect.Home. It’s everything I need to fulfill me.
He cups my cheek, thumb sliding across my jaw. “You’re missing your show,” he says with a chuckle against my lips.
“Ah, fuck.” Whipping my head around, I can see Luke and Penelope talking, making plansfor their future. They’re each asbad as the other, and I can’t decide who to root for. None of them. All of them? Who gets to decide who deserves happiness and who doesn’t? I don’t feel qualified to toss that around.
“Dinner will be ready in about half an hour.” Kendrick kisses me once more and then helps shuffle me sideways on his lap, going back to massaging my feet while I take strength from being in his arms. If we could end every day like this, life would be perfect.
Chapter twenty
Kendrick
Reid Fuller is nothinglike I expect. Cold-blooded killers may not have a specific look or any identifying features, but there’s always something. Even if that something is merely a gut feeling that a person isn’t quite right.
Fuller’s pushing forty, with dark-blond hair, laugh lines, and cynical brown eyes that don’t match the rest of his face. I’ve seen pictures of him before he was convicted and sentenced to life for the murder of Leah Anderson. He’s not the same person. They never are.
But whatever he is now, he’s not the killer. He never was.
Which puts us back at square one, chasing our tails. For fuck’s sake.
“What are you, cops?” he asks suspiciously, his shoulders up around his ears. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“No need for a lawyer,” Spencer says casually, leaning back in his chair. He pulls the sides of his jackets inward and does upthe middle button. It’s not often I get to see him all dressed up in a suit. He’s more a “shorts and T-shirt” kind of guy. Makes the experience even better when it happens. “We just want to have a chat.”
“Right. That’s what the last cop said. Now look where I am.”
“Sounds like they weren’t wrong to have a chat with you.” His gaze flits to me at that, anger sparking. There’s still some life in there. Along with resignation. He’ll be in here for a long time, for something he didn’t do, and he knows it. The assumption that we consider him guilty is deep-seated. Itiswhat got him here, after all.
“If you’re looking for a confession, you’re not getting one.”
No, we’re not. Being found guilty after pleading not guilty meant a longer sentence for Reid. No plea bargain. No lenient sentence. Sebastian’s summary of the case came through earlier today, filled with a lot of unflattering comments and an offer to appeal on the basis of ineffective legal representation. Something to keep in our back pocket for later if needed. If we can find the real killer, and put them behind bars, then he has a free ticket out.
“And why’s that?” Spencer asks, raising an eyebrow. “Court ruled you guilty.”
“The court was wrong. I didn’t touch her.”
An interesting word choice. Not “I didn’t kill her,” but “I didn’ttouchher.” Deliberate. Something else is going on here. “What was your relationship with your victim?”
“She’s not my victim,” he growls. “What the hell is this? Who the hell are you? I don’t have to talk to you.”
