The last person on earth, besides maybe her shrink, she wanted to talk to again in this lifetime.
At least before eight.
She dropped the phone and sat up.
If she had a cigarette she would smoke it.
Even after two years of nicotine abstinence.
That damned vibrating hum started up again.
She glared at the screen.
If she didn’t answer, he’d probably just show up at her room. Then she’d probably want to drag him into her bed.
He definitely didn’t need to show up here.
She pushed the hair out of her face and accepted the call. “Newton.”
“I’m waiting for you in the parking lot.”
The mere sound of his voice prompted an instant recap of last night’s lapse into temporary insanity.
“I’m not interested in breakfast, Conner. Call me in a couple of hours.”
“Sarah.”
She stilled. He rarely called her by her first name.
“We have to get down to the chief’s office.”
The silence that followed made her gut clench.
Then she knew. Oh, hell no.
“Alicia’s body was found this morning,” he said flatly, confirming the conjecture squeezing the air out of her nicotine-deprived lungs.
“I’ll be right down.”
Sarah slammed the phone back onto the table.
Fury detonated deep, deep in her belly.
“Son of a bitch!” She grabbed the same jeans she’d had on yesterday. Tossed through the drawer for her hooded sweatshirt, dragged it over her head.
“Son of a bitch.” She tugged on socks and her Converses.
When she’d grabbed her phone and her bag, she hit the door.
“Damn it all to hell.” She took the stairs two at a time.
She didn’t slow to see if the innkeeper’s daughter, Melody, might be at the registration desk. Later.
Barely out the door, the wind hit her head-on, sending her body temperature plummeting.
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. She’d forgotten her damned coat.
“Screw it.”
