His mouth curved. “I can do that. But fair warning. My methods involve pasta, wine, a hot shower, and being thoroughly distracted by your fiancé.”
“You have ulterior motives.”
“Always.”
For the first time today, her smile was genuine. “Now, I have ulterior motives.”
He laughed and reached for her hand. “I think we’ll both enjoy this lesson.”
Chapter 9
Thursday morning dawned gray and rainy. Their third interview took them north to Fort Lauderdale, to a woman named Celeste who had been listed among Mara Andrews’ personal contacts.
The apartment complex sat behind a wrought-iron gate, surrounded by dripping palms and hibiscus battered by the weather. Celeste lived in a garden apartment on the second floor, secured by half-a-dozen locks. Her cat perched on the far end of the couch, eyeing them with distinct disapproval.
Celeste did not cry. Whatever tears she had left had long since become anger.
“Mara was responsible, not reckless,” she said before Gaby finished the first question. “I know that’s what people think when a young woman disappears. They start judging her actions. Mistakes she made. Risks she took.”
“We’re not assuming anything,” Gaby said, exchanging a glance with Rhys.
Celeste snorted, folding her arms. “So you say, but I’ve heard it for two years.”
Rhys shifted forward slightly, enough to show he was engaged. “Tell us about her.”
Hesitation crossed Celeste’s face. “How much do you know?”
Neither answered immediately, which seemed to tell Celeste what she wanted to know.
“So, not much.”
She reached down absently and scratched behind the cat’s ears. “We met through a lifestyle group.”
Gaby’s pen paused over her notebook. Rhys went still beside her. Not visibly, but Gaby knew him well enough to recognize it.
“You know,” Celeste continued, “BDSM. The group provided education, held events and social gatherings.”
“What kind of events?” Rhys asked.
“Nothing illegal or particularly salacious, despite what the media likes to imply. Munches, mostly. Meet and greets. Parties at members’ homes.” Her mouth tightened before she clarified, “Mara was submissive.”
Anna Bellamy’s black lace collar flashed through Gaby’s mind. The receipts. The hidden life her parents hadn’t known about.
Two of four missing women could be a coincidence. Except her instincts were whispering otherwise.
“Did Mara ever mention any clubs she went to?” Gaby asked.
Celeste’s eyes widened. “She went to The Underground clubs sometimes. I went with her once but didn’t feel comfortable. It didn’t seem… authentic. Why? Is her murder connected?”
“We don’t know that,” Rhys cut in evenly. “We’re just trying to get some leads.”
“She preferred smaller groups, but when she was lonely, she went where she knew someone would talk to her.” Celeste looked toward the window. “That sounds sadder out loud.”
“Loneliness usually does,” Rhys said.
Celeste’s eyes shifted to him. “She was careful,” she said again, softer this time. “That’s what makes me so angry. Everyone acts as if being cautious means you’re safe. It doesn’t. It only means people blame you a little less afterward.”
Gaby wrote Mara’s name beneath Anna’s, adding some of the words Celeste had used for her. Careful. Responsible. Cautious. Neverasking for itbut still gone.
