“As a matter of fact, it is, but I’m more concerned with the woman you buried in the back field.”
Mike delivered the accusation in a smooth tone, watching as Paul’s forehead furrowed with confusion.
“Is that some sort of code?”
“What happened?” Mike continued. “Did she overdose and you had to get rid of her? If that’s what happened, then you need to tell me now. Disposing of a body is a lot different from first degree murder.”
It took a long time for the words to penetrate Paul’s drug-addled brain. Then, a dark red color stained his pockmarked face.
“No way,” he snarled. “I’m not going to let you pin some murder on me. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life.”
Mike gave a sad shake of his head. “It’s going to be a little hard to believe when a dead woman was discovered less than a mile from your meth lab.”
“Look, I don’t know who offed her, but it has nothing to do with me.” Genuine fear flared through the man’s eyes. “I swear.”
“Fine.” Mike leaned forward, offering a way for the man to escape the electric chair. “Maybe it was one of your buddies. Things get out of hand at parties,” he sympathized. “It could be that she didn’t feel like playing and your friend had to rough her up.”
“No.” Paul slammed his fist against the table. “We might be trash to most people, and it’s true we’ve all made our share of mistakes, but there’s never been anything more than a couple of scuffles in my house.”
Mike kept his expression unreadable, even as he instinctively doubted that this man had anything to do with the dead woman. Or the locket on Jaci’s door.
The man was too stoned to be capable of feigning such sincere outrage.
“Define scuffles,” he ordered.
“Some pushing and shoving.” He gave a restless shrug. “Maybe a black eye.”
Mike tried a new angle of attack. “If you’re so nonviolent, then why did you take a potshot at Rylan Cooper earlier today?”
The man gave him a blank stare. “Who?”
“He was driving past your place and someone shot out his back windshield.”
Paul threw himself back in his seat, his cuffs rattling as he glared at Mike with bloodshot eyes.
“This is bullshit,” he snarled. “Do you plan to try and pin every crime in the county on me?”
Mike drummed the tips of his fingers on the table. “I have the buckshot to prove that someone on your property was the shooter.”
“Well, it wasn’t . . .” The man’s words trailed away, as if a coherent thought had managed to form in the fog of his mind. “Wait. What time did it happen?”
Mike thought back to when Rylan had entered his office. “Around one in the afternoon.”
“Ha.” Paul sent him a smug smirk. “I wasn’t home.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “Of course you weren’t.”
“No, really,” the man insisted. “I had a meeting with my parole officer in Hannibal at one. You can call and ask her.”
Mike made a mental note to call the parole office. He wasn’t going to accept this man’s claims. Not without double-checking.
“Who was in the house?”
“No one. My old lady had to drive me,” he said. “When I left I had the place locked up tight.”
Mike released a slow breath, disappointment curling through the pit of his stomach. He’d hoped that he could at least clear up Rylan’s shooting.
“Have you noticed anything unusual?” he asked, more out of habit than any hope Paul might have some useful information.
“Whaddaya mean?”
“Anyone roaming around that shouldn’t be there?”
“I don’t pay much attention.”
Of course he didn’t. Mike’s lips flattened as he shoved himself to his feet.
“Don’t move,” he commanded, locking Paul in the interview room.
He was done interrogating the man for now. If he had more questions later he knew where he could find him.
This drug bust was strike three for Paul Richardson.
He was going away for a long, long time.
Entering the reception area, he glanced toward Carol, who should have gone home hours ago.
“Is the head of the task force here yet?”
Carol shook her head. “No, but they called and said they were on their way. They should arrive in the next fifteen minutes.”
“Would you tell them to keep me posted if they find any weapons during the search of the house?”
“Yep.” Carol pointed toward the door. “Now go home and get some dinner.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jaci sipped her wine as she watched Rylan polish off the last of his dinner.
It felt surreal.
She’d spent a good chunk of her youth fantasizing about having Rylan Cooper sitting at this table with her. Of course, back then her imagination rarely got past the idea of holding hands under the table, and sneaking kisses when her grandparents weren’t looking.
Now . . .
Now her mind was capable of conjuring all sorts of vivid images that included a naked Rylan, the kitchen table, and a bowl of homemade whipped cream that was waiting for her in the fridge.
Heat swirled through her, an ache deep inside making her shift uneasily on her seat.
Seemingly unaware of the chaos he was creating inside her, Rylan pushed aside his empty plate and regarded her with a warm gaze.
“Delicious,” he said. “I haven’t had homemade potpie in years.”
“It’s not very fancy,” she said, hoping he would assume the blush staining her cheeks was caused by his compliment and not the fact she wanted to rip off his clothes.
He gave a lift of his shoulder, his gaze sweeping down her body, which was casually covered by a gray sweatshirt and yoga pants that she’d changed into after coming back from her workshop.
“I don’t like fancy,” he said.
She rolled her eyes, remembering the blond beauty standing beside him in the magazine picture. She’d been the very definition of stylish glamour.
“Right.”
“It’s true.” With a smooth motion, Rylan was on his feet. “Go make yourself comfortable. I’ll take care of the dishes.”
Jaci lifted her brows as Rylan stacked the plates and headed toward the sink.
“You?”
“I’m not completely helpless,” he assured her.
Pushing herself out of her chair, Jaci moved to lean against the counter next to the sink.
“Do you have a housekeeper in California?”
His lips twitched as he squirted a dollop of soap into the deep farm sink and filled it with water.
“Will it make you think less of me if I say yes?” he demanded.
“Does what I think of you matter?” she asked as he efficiently washed the plates and put the pie pan in the water to soak.
He grabbed a dish towel, wiping his hands before turning to face her with an oddly somber expression.
“More than I ever imagined possible.”
There was a fierce intensity in his gaze that sent a tiny flare of panic through her.
“I should—”
“Kiss me,” he interrupted, stepping closer until she could feel the hard brush of his body.
She tilted back her head to meet his brooding gaze, her mouth going dry.
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“Are you sure?” he said, bending his head to brush his mouth over her brow.
She jerked. Had she been struck by lightning? It felt like it.
“Pretty sure.”
“Hmm.” The searing lips moved over her temple and over her cheek. “That’s what you should say,” he assured her.
“According to you?”
“Yep.”
An exhilarating fervor heated her blood, igniting sparks of lust. Her hands lifted to grasp his shoulders.
“Arrogant,” she said.
He laughed. “We’ve establishe
d that on several occasions.”
She swallowed a low groan, a shiver racing through her. God, he smelled good. Soap and warm male skin.
She wanted to bury her face against his chest and just breathe him in.
“And no doubt will on several more,” she said.
“No doubt.” He pressed a soft kiss on her lips before tracing the line of her jaw with the tip of his tongue.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders. She felt like she’d been caught in a current and was being swept away by an unstoppable force.
The sheer ferocity of the sensations was frightening.
“I told myself I wasn’t going to do this.”
“We aren’t doing anything,” he said, whispering in her ear. Like the serpent in the Garden of Eden. “Just two friends sharing dinner and a glass of wine.”
Was he kidding? She was on fire. Her entire body was clenched with a need that he’d stirred to life the minute she’d seen him walking across her yard.
And the danger that had thrown them together had only amped up her sizzling hunger.
“It feels like more than dinner,” she told him.
He nuzzled a tender spot just below her ear. “Consider it dessert.”
Jaci released a burst of laughter. His words were just so corny she couldn’t help herself.
“Does that line ever work?”
Lifting his head, his golden eyes sparkled with amusement. “It was a first try. Is it working?”
“I haven’t decided,” she lied, her heart melting. Was there anything sexier than a man who could laugh at himself?
He returned his attention to seducing her with the brush of his lips down the curve of her neck. His hands spread over her hips, tugging her against the hard thrust of his arousal.
“Will you let me know when you’ve reached your conclusion?”
She tilted back her head to give him better access. “Maybe.”
He nipped the skin at the base of her throat. “Tough crowd.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” she said before she could halt the revealing words.
He stilled, his lips brushing against her skin as he spoke. “What?”
It was too late to stop now. “Being part of a crowd,” she admitted, cringing at the knowledge that she sounded as if she was expecting far more from this man than just a night or two of great sex.
He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands tightening on her hips. “There’s no one but you, Jaci,” he said, his voice harsh with a shocking sincerity. “Just you.”
She licked her lips. “I—” Whatever she was about to say was forgotten as she felt something buzz against her lower stomach. It took a minute for her to figure out what was going on. “You’re vibrating,” she said.
“Damn straight, I am.” He nuzzled a path of kisses back up her neck, his hand slipping beneath her sweatshirt so he could cup her breast. “You make me shiver all over.”
Jaci was doing her own share of shivering. “Your phone,” she managed to say. “It’s vibrating.”
He said a curse, his thumb stroking over the hard tip of her nipple. Pure bliss jolted through her.
“Ignore it.”
She wanted to. Her body was aroused to the point of near pain. But even as she arched closer to his enticing warmth, she felt another buzz.
“It might be important.”
He groaned, rubbing his hardness against her. “Nothing is more important than this moment.”
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
“Rylan,” she said.
“Christ.” Stepping back, he yanked the phone from his pocket and pressed it against his ear. “What?” he barked. His brows snapped together. “Now?” He listened, his frown deepening. “Fine. Give me directions.”
A minute later he was sliding the phone back into his pocket and studying her with open regret.
He was leaving.
She could see it etched on his beautiful male face.
Disappointment washed through her.
“Your partner?” she asked, briskly stepping back as if her entire body wasn’t consumed with need.
“No.” He grimaced. “O’Brien. He said he’s received some evidence he wants to talk to me about.”
Her heart missed a beat. Good news or bad? Rylan’s expression was impossible to read.
“What kind of evidence?” she demanded.
“That’s what I’m about to find out.” He brushed a light kiss over her mouth before he was moving toward the mudroom. “Lock your door and keep the monsters inside with you.”
She rolled her eyes as he pointed toward the dogs, who were sound asleep beneath the table.
“Yes, sir.”
He halted in the doorway. “One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
He flashed a wicked smile. “This is just a temporary postponement. Don’t forget where we left off.”
She released a shaky breath, her palms damp.
As if she could ever forget.
Rylan wasn’t happy.
It wasn’t just the fact that he’d finally had Jaci in his arms. Or that he’d intended to spend the evening slowly and methodically chipping away her refusal to trust him.
It was the fact that he was leaving her all alone in her isolated house with a crazed killer on the loose.
Pulling into the long, tree-lined drive, he studied the small house that was built on the edge of town. Hidden from the road by a high hedge, and surrounded by empty fields, it was painted white with fading blue shutters. He climbed onto the postage stamp–sized porch, not surprised when the door was pulled open before he could knock.
Mike had sounded edgy on the phone. And not in a good way. It didn’t take a psychic to know something had spooked him.
Entering the narrow hall, he allowed Mike to lead him directly into the small kitchen at the front of the house.
“Isn’t this the old Hillman place?” he demanded, glancing around as Mike halted in the center of the chipped linoleum floor.
There was an attached dining room that was currently being used as a study, with a desk piled with file folders and a bookcase stuffed with binders and law books.
No surprise that he was a man who brought his work home.
They might not be BFFs, but he didn’t doubt for a second Mike O’Brien was a dedicated lawman.
Turning his gaze back to Mike, he took in the man’s jeans and sweatshirt. The lawman had been home long enough to change out of his uniform.
“Yeah,” he said. “I bought it a couple years ago. I intended to do some remodeling, but—”
Rylan gave a short laugh. “A sheriff never has spare time.”
“Nope.” He offered a tight smile. “Beer?”
“Sure,” Rylan agreed. He’d only had a few sips of wine with his meal.
“Have a seat.”
Rylan pulled out a chair, watching Mike as he grabbed the beers out of the fridge and took a seat across the table.
“Is there a reason you wanted to meet here instead of the courthouse?” he asked.
Mike pushed one of the beers across the table before twisting the top off his bottle and taking a long drink.
“I got some information I’m not ready to officially share,” Mike told him. “Besides, I didn’t want to be interrupted.”
“Tell me.”
“I had a message from the medical examiner’s office.”
“They identified the body?”
“The skull.”
Rylan lifted his brows. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting.
“That was quick.”
“Her dental records were already in the system.”
Ah. That always cut down the time it took to identify a victim.
“Who was it?”
Mike took another drink. “Angel Harper.”
“I know that name,” Rylan said. There was something teasing at the edge of his mind. A recollection of when he worked part-time at the sheriff’s office. At last he released his breath on a low
hiss. “The runaway.”
“Yep.”
Rylan shook his head, trying to piece through his memories. It’d been almost a dozen years ago. And, he hadn’t personally known the young girl who’d been in the area for a few months before she disappeared. But he had seen her around town on occasion. She’d been pretty, with long, red hair and green eyes, although she’d plastered her pale face with too much makeup. And she’d worn clothing that looked like it’d been through a wood-chipper. Ripped jeans, a shirt that was torn to show her belly, and gloves with no fingers.
“I was afraid something bad had happened to her,” he said.
Mike leaned his elbows on the table, his face shadowed with weariness.
“I barely knew the girl at school, and she went missing before I started working for the department,” he said. “What can you tell me about it?”
Now he understood why Mike had called him over. Rylan sipped his beer, trying to dredge up any information that might help.
“Angel was fifteen when she ran away from her aunt’s house,” he said.
Mike slowly nodded. “Her aunt was Teresa Graham, right?”
“Yeah. Angel was sent there by her mother, who was living in Kansas City. From what Teresa told us, it seemed that Angel had been in trouble with drugs and skipping school.”
Two habits that followed her to Heron, Rylan recalled. They’d caught her a dozen times at parties with alcohol, and twice they’d received tips that she was sharing ecstasy with her fellow classmates, but they’d never caught her with the drugs.
Mike absently wiped the beads of sweat off his beer bottle. “What happened when she disappeared?”
“It was one of her teachers who contacted the sheriff’s office to say that Angel hadn’t been in school for almost two weeks,” he said.
“Did you talk to the aunt?” Mike asked.
“Yeah.” Rylan shuddered. “The sheriff called her in and she said Angel had taken off. She assumed the girl returned to her mother in Kansas City.”
Mike looked predictably confused. “She didn’t call her sister to check?”
“I was there when she was talking to the old sheriff.” Rylan had stood in the corner, growingly disgusted with the thin, bitter old woman who’d been vitriolic in her condemnation of being hauled to a police station over something so inconsequential as the disappearance of her niece. “My sense was that she was too happy to be rid of her niece to care. The last thing she wanted was us to find Angel and drag her back.”
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