Her world was so different from his. He should have known better than to go down that path. He should have recognized that she was only using him.
August’s words echoed.While little Sarah hid in the closet or under the stairs waiting for Mommy to finish up and find her.
Kale could only imagine what Sarah’s childhood had been like. How difficult growing up with that past must have proven. And then to have it publicly dashed in her face by this asshole.
Kale didn’t like this guy. Didn’t like his smug face. Didn’t like his fancy suit. Kale didn’t even like the way he walked or talked.
The truth was, he had no real reason not to like the man. Except for the emotional intensity Kale had just witnessed between him and Sarah.
The two had a history.
August knew all her secrets. Secrets she hadn’t seen fit to disclose in any capacity to Kale despite what they had shared.
Frames of last night’s frantic sex in her car flicked one after the other in front of Kale’s eyes.
She’d meant it when she’d said it was only sex.
Kale stared in the direction Sarah had disappeared. Would she come back?
Maybe. Maybe not.
Two young girls were dead. Their killer was out there somewhere.
Finding that monster had to be top priority.
Sarah liked to brag about how she could take care of herself.
He hoped like hell she was right.
25
8:30 p.m.
Sarah wasn’t about to allow Lex August to send her running for cover.
Better men had tried.
Yeah, he’d gotten to her. But when she’d cooled off, she had focused her energy on the investigation. The open road had always worked wonders for her attitude and to clear her head. Allowed her to regain perspective and to analyze things more clearly. So she had spent the day on the road. First a trip to Bangor, then to Portland. She’d perused the archives of the newspapers looking for anything on the murders in Youngstown, old and new. She hadn’t found anything earth-shattering, but she had discovered one very interesting factoid.
Jerald Pope had graciously covered the funeral expenses for the two young women murdered twenty years ago. Just as he’d helped the Gerard family this time.
Did his generosity make him a suspect or a saint?
There had been only one way to find out.
“Here you are, Sarah.”
She accepted the glass of wine. Jerald Pope was a perfect host. Charming. Entertaining. And vastly interesting. As was his wife, Lynda. Dinner had been exquisite.
Beautiful home. Beautiful people.
The empty place setting at the table had been the one glaring imperfection in the evening thus far.
Their daughter hadn’t shown.
“I apologize again for Jerri Lynn’s absence,” Pope said as if he’d read Sarah’s mind. “I can’t imagine what detained her.”
“You know teenagers,” Lynda explained, dismissing his concerns. “They can’t appreciate grown-up get-togethers.”
