Forgotten Obsessions (The Love is Murder Social Club Book 1)

by Talia Maxwell

  It all made a lovely story, Derek realized, but he didn’t know anything about that night.

  The dead bodies, the blood—his sister’s room, her lifeless body in the bed, blood splatter across her pillow—those things he remembered.

  He knew how he got the bruise on his head and the black eye and his broken nose; he’d fought the man in the mask until he was knocked out. But he didn’t remember the shot that killed his sister or Ginny screaming or any of the things he heard about at trial. No, Derek’s memory retained snippets of before, and snippets of the aftermath, and nothing else.

  He pretended to remember, however, which was what the Love is Murder Social Club wanted from him. All those women knew his life better than he did and they wanted him to remember it anyway, like he had before. On talk shows and during TV interviews, and on the radio and in front of journalists, he was an asshole. An inoperative, messed-up asshole if he declined to answer questions. So, he tried not to decline until a decade ago when he quit. And now he was here, following around Maeve Montgomery, doing what he hated, what he loathed, and he saw how eager they were to know the truth.

  The truth was that almost everything he’d ever claimed was told to him time and time again by the people writing the script. Derek hated this dog and pony show.

  “Yeah, I don’t know if I’m going to talk about that tonight,” he said with a wince. “I…you know…my memories are well documented.”

  “Oh, please?” Rosie asked so plaintively that Derek winced again.

  He looked to Maeve, worried to catch a glimpse of disappointment. He didn’t. She’d applied a minimal amount of makeup, and she smelled divine—a fruity, vanilla scent that lingered in the air between them.

  While the crowd ebbed away, the prospect of a tell-all gone, the couple kept touching each other in small, flirty ways. When Holly asked her question, Maeve’s body slid over to his and she touched his thigh, sensing his anxiousness. She leaned in close, her mouth near his ear, her hand on his upper thigh, purposeful, poised. “You don’t have to do this,” she said. “I can create a fake emergency. We can just hit the road, drive to the beach, and never look back.”

  He smiled and pulled back to face her. “Wait,” he said, dipping his head forward so their foreheads touched. “You wanted to get me drunk and take me home. I’m on to you.”

  “Guilty,” Maeve whispered with a smile on her voice. “I’m in it for the free breakfasts, if we’re being honest.” She tightened her grip a bit and her thumb pinched the outside of his thigh, he moved into her instead of pulling away. Despite the circle of club members around them, they felt alone and invisible. Time meandered along for other people, but they had no notion of the seconds passing by.

  “That’s disappointing news,” he teased and slid off the barstool. He turned his body toward her when she stood, and he could feel her chest and hips brush against him. “I’m not just good at breakfasts. You should see my lunches and dinners. All three in one day would be pretty amazing. And make it an additional breakfast just for fun.”

  He could tell by her little shiver that she was thinking about the prospect. He was certain the people around them could bottle up their hormones and sell it as some sort of spell. Derek tried to push away the desire to unbutton the little snap at the top of Maeve’s skirt and run his hand over her pussy to see if he could make her all wet in public.

  It was a hot thought.

  Sex in public was his biggest fantasy. With people a few feet away, the threat of being caught, the forced quiet and contained inner explosions. He’d never fulfilled it, but he hoped to and often let his mind wander to all the what ifs. What if he bent her up over the chair and—

  God, he needed to stop. Because now he had the image of Maeve up against a wall, fully clothed, her skirt riding high, her thong underwear pushed to the side, riding him, and he suppressed a quickly rising erection that would no doubt be impossible to conceal. He took a deep breath and tried to recall the nastiest ER case of his career—motorcycle crash victim who was nearly decapitated topped the list—until the pulse in his penis diminished and he could be a reasonable human being again.

  He stepped away from Maeve and stretched, his shirt rode up and suddenly he felt Maeve’s hand across his skin.

  “Shit,” she mumbled, his shirt fell back down, her hand stayed on his stomach. The pulse quickened. “If you were my ER nurse, I would be too distracted to talk to you. Everyone’s expecting this overweight woman with facial hair you come in and…it’s sort of unfair.”

  “Look at you being a stereotypical asshole. Whatever,” Derek replied with a smirk and a laugh. She removed her hand and crossed her arms. A few more of the TCSC people left, and a few lingered. “Usually people in the ER are not looking at nurses. They’re in pain or a loved one is in pain. They don’t notice. But, also, those overweight women with facial hair are fucking heroes. Don’t disparage.” He smiled.

  “They notice you,” Maeve said with a shrug. “They do. Pain or not. You’re out of your precious simple- mind if you think they don’t see you are gorgeous.” Then Maeve leaned close again and tugged on his shirt to pull him closer. “Okay, true confessions. I know patients have come on to you, but…ever dated one?”

  “Never,” Derek answered with quick authority. He knew he looked affronted, but, no, never.

  “Not dated,” Maeve then said. She leaned in. “Fucked?”

  “A patient? Are you out of your mind?”

  “Another nurse? Family member of a patient?”

  “No and definitely no.”

  “A doctor?” Maeve asked and drew back to watch his face.

  He was quiet.

  Maeve giggled and stomped her feet giddily on the floor. “Of course. Look at you, of course…a doctor.”

  For being a lifelong liar he was remarkably bad at keeping any kind of poker face. Derek grimaced and shrugged and doled out a few details as she waited with her eyes twinkling, mouth open in surprise and awe.

  “She asked me on a date and everything. It’s not like you’re imagining. Nothing’s all hot and heavy in the ER.” He thought that was enough dirt, but Maeve motioned for him to go on. Spilling details of his sexual past wasn’t always met with understanding. “Look. I don’t have a problem telling you anything. If you ask, I’ll answer. So, I’ll only ask once,” he said slowly, “and then I won’t ask again…and you’ll have to tell me if you don’t want to know things—”

  “You mean about the people who came before me?”

  And before Derek could say anything, Maeve realized what her question implied. That there was a her. Before her was only a time because there was a present time with Maeve. And he couldn’t help but think, yeah, there’s a Maeve.

  Derek nodded and kissed her cheek. Instantly, he could feel someone’s eyes on him and he turned and caught a glimpse of Gloria. Her disapproval was sharp and he caught it immediately before she wiped it away and smiled.

  “Yeah,” he said to Maeve. “There are people before. Everyone has a story and a place.”

  “Hey,” Maeve blushed a bit and she pulled back, scrunched up her nose. “We can promise to never lie about our story.” She said. And then she popped up and kissed him on the nose. “I’ll settle up the tab and meet you outside. Drive you over to my place?” she questioned, but she didn’t sound like she was asking. Derek said okay and watched as she walked down to the end of the bar to catch the bartender. It was impossible not to watch her ass as she walked away. He tried not to think about how badly he wanted to tug the clothes off of her.

  Derek tried to draw out the evening in his mind. There was a chance she’d invite him to stay the night. If that happened, he knew he may not even want sex. He wanted sex—it felt distracting and necessary—but he also wondered if his thoughts were too focused on his dad and the future he was building to give her his all.

  Then he imagined tucking Maeve up into him, her ass on his crotch, the smoothness of her legs intertwined with his, spooned into a half
-moon on a big king size bed, the sheets a mess around them. His cock would just rest there and she’d fall asleep curled up, his breath on her shoulder. And it seemed kinda perfect in every way.

  It was impossible not to compare Julie to Maeve—his mind went there, especially since it was still so early and he had so little to compare her to, but his ruminating never ended in Julie’s favor. All of his ex-fiancé’s attributes melted away as he recast them next to Maeve.

  He tried to remind himself how he and Julie felt in the early weeks and months of their budding romance, but, even then, Derek knew something was off; he was tolerating someone he should have loved. Julie and Derek made sense on paper, but they lacked confidence with each other. He couldn’t open up to her and she spent so much of her time angry at him, and the more he thought about it, he realized he didn’t laugh once during their first date. She wasn’t humorless, but she was serious, and Derek grew tired of her stoicism. From their second date, the duo settled into an old-couple routine—too tired to talk or change their ways, content to settle for sex as payment for harder acts of intimacy.

  Was it possible to already love Maeve for being the anti-Julie?

  Was that even fair?

  The moment the thought crossed his mind, he felt guilty and remorseful. He had loved Julie once—loved her enough to put a ring on her finger and at least imagine getting down on one knee. And he’d lied to Julie. He lied to her the entire time. He’d never loved her enough to tell her the truth about his memories and that was the reality of every relationship before.

  But now his dad was dead and Julie was gone. The link that fused his silence and collusion severed and he could no longer be punished for his role. For a fleeting moment, Derek felt giddy at the thought of allaying the burden of his guilt. His dad was dead—his dad was murdered—and amid the shock and grief and fear, he felt lighter and released. Didn’t that prove what he already knew? Something about the Woodstock Killer case didn’t add up all these years later. He knew it. And he was pretty sure the pretty redhead with the color-coordinated folders knew that, too.

  Maeve was new.

  She was exciting. More importantly, he already knew she was worth being himself for. He stole one more glance at his dark-haired beauty and assessed the curve of her hips and ass, and had to fight off the growing hunger of arousal again. ER flashback to druggie vomit or dog-bite victims.

  These women could help him figure out his own crime.

  Maeve could.

  If he paused to imagine her mouth on him, he’d have to hide his cock all the way back to her apartment. Like an awkward teenage boy, he shuffled away. Derek focused on the décor of the Alibi, his thoughts consumed by both sex and murder.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Maeve considered herself an out-of-work future forensic pathologist or criminologist who only worked at restaurants to pay her exorbitant Portland rent. Her budget was an itemized list of things she absolutely had to pay, and when everything was left over, she was lucky to have fifty bucks in the bank. But somehow Maeve ended the night with seven additional drinks on her tab. She was certain two of those cocktails were additional drinks for Derek—which she could see in his glassy eyes and rosy cheeks, a subtle shine in those blue eyes that told her he was buzzed and undressing her or thinking of something inappropriate to whisper in her ear.

  Or at least that’s what she hoped he was doing.

  It was hard not to notice all the women pining over every inch of him as he sat there, uncomfortable with his celebrity status among the single ladies.

  She paid the tab without blinking an eye. If there was a price to be with Derek, she’d pay.

  Maeve was certain Derek Shelton liked her and nothing was going to take away the joy she felt at spending the night next to him. His attention didn’t waver from her all night and she felt a swell of pride in her body making her buoyant and light—she wanted to shout: that’s right, he came to drink because of me. She said come to this place, and he went and he wrapped his arm around her waist and made her mind go fuzzy with primal attraction for him. So, she hadn’t imagined attraction brewing—she hadn’t mistaken his signs.

  Lost in a daydream, Maeve didn’t notice Gloria sidle up beside her, gearing up to talk.

  “So, you got the golden boy of true crime to appear tonight,” Gloria said over the bar din and Maeve jumped and clutched at her chest. “Impressive.”

  “You scared me,” Maeve said. She took back her credit card and signed the slip—she tipped well because, of course.

  “Derek Shelton called me a few days ago, week after the club, trying to hunt down your number. So, I suppose I don’t need to ask how that turned out,” Gloria said with a steady-gaze. If Maeve had been talking to Mille there would be innuendo and a wink, but Gloria’s face didn’t convey the same.

  Maeve didn’t feel an ounce of shame for flirting with Derek or even dreaming about dating him. But the bottom line was that Gloria was a stranger whose opinion mattered very little. Or was she the matron of a club she really liked and whom she wanted to impress? She didn’t know.

  “We have been hanging out,” Maeve said with a matter-of-fact head nod and a steady stare right back at the woman who’d brought her into a place where she felt comfortable and accepted—she couldn’t just ignore that.

  “I’m old enough to be your mother,” Gloria said, changing tactics like a good mother would. “That’s where you tell me…” she paused, “that there’s no way I could be your mother because I’m too young and amazing.”

  “My mom is pretty young and amazing,” Maeve answered kindly. “Look,” she sighed. “We can tone down the affection if it’s too much.”

  “It’s not that. Look, Maeve, you joined our club not that long ago. My club. A club that has worked with law enforcement and the media to do good things for this area and for true crime. And you come for one meeting and…you know, I am just hoping it wasn’t specifically to hook up with Derek Shelton. Because people have tried that before.” Maeve raised her eyebrows. Gloria continued. “Oh, please. Don’t act so surprised. A Portland Social Club that caters to true crime and Timothy Shelton was a known guest? We get all sorts of people with all sorts of fantasies…you’re not special.”

  Maeve felt a quick desire to clarify that she did not attend the club for Derek. It was an affront to everything she loved. She’d attended the club and the universe dropped Derek in her lap.

  “Hold on,” Maeve said. “That’s not why I came.” She loathed the idea that the woman questioned her intentions. “And Derek is not a fantasy,” she said with perhaps more bite than she intended. “We are just hanging out. We get along.”

  If Gloria was offended by her tone, she didn’t show it.

  The woman frowned and said, “Couple things and then I’ll leave you alone and let you live your own adult life. One, he is a fantasy darling. He is gorgeous and he is the center of a scandal. But everyone learns it in the end. What you know of him from the media is not him.” Maeve rolled her eyes. She wasn’t stupid. Still. The idea had been planted: Derek Shelton is dangerous. Could Gloria have called her to issue that warning? “If you came here to really sit down with us and pour over cold cases and stare at crime scene photographs until your eyes bleed, then why is he a draw for you? You went to school for what, criminology? Use your brain. Because. Two, Derek was always a possible suspect. If you know the case, you know that many people think the facts align better with the evidence that Derek was the cause of this.”

  “Come on.” Maeve felt bile rise and the thought of he’s dangerous. “You can’t reasonably think...”

  “…we all love this genre because we’re puzzle solvers, darling. And Derek Shelton is a puzzle. Who wouldn’t love the chance to crack it?”

  “I’m not…”

  “It’s none of my business,” Gloria offered as a final statement, but certainly she’d hoped to make it her business.

  The suggestion that Derek was a suspect, even though Maeve couldn’t pretend
it hadn’t crossed her mind, seemed worse coming from Gloria. And it felt like a betrayal to a person she barely knew. If she took a step back, and she tried, she knew she’d see the situation as fraught with possible deal breakers, but she believed in her own intuition.

  “You had Timothy here as a guest for years and he was always a possible suspect, too. How is this different?” Maeve asked. She craned her neck to see if Derek had left or was still lingering. A quick scan revealed nothing.

  “Not the same thing. Timothy and I never dated. Nor did he date any of my girls,” Gloria offered. “Not that he wouldn’t have tried if he’d ever been single at the same time as me.”

  “God rest his soul,” Maeve added.

  “Sure,” Gloria nodded. “I’ve met that man a lot. Let’s go with, God rest his soul. And you…” she pointed at Maeve and smiled. “So, your mom is young and amazing and so am I, and as a mom, I’m just saying, feel free to ignore me…the dangerous boy thing is a phase. Okay?”

  “He’s not a dangerous boy, Gloria,” Maeve replied. But now she wasn’t so sure she believed it. She took a step back and waved quickly. She’d talked to him for hours, slept on his chair, lost to him at a game of chess. Was he a bad boy? “I love this club even if you think I’m only here for…Derek’s cock.” Maeve’s crassness made Gloria cringe. “But you can stay after the next meeting and lecture me then because I’ll be back. And I’ll prove to you that you have no reason to worry. When it comes to crime…I’m legit, Gloria.”

  When she approached, Derek was on the phone.

  He was hunched over, cupping his hand around the mouthpiece with one hand and plugging his open ear with the other. He noticed Maeve and put up his hand, motioning for her to stop. She obeyed.

  “How long ago?” he asked brusquely and then growled low and loud. “I’m on my way.”

  “What’s up?” Maeve asked. She could see from his expression that the plans had shifted.

  “I gotta get back to my property,” Derek said and briskly walked to his truck parked on the street. “One of the neighbors on the other side of my property called me…I’ve got a fire of some sort.”