Don't Look
Page 8
Lynne considered his words. Nash could be lying, but for the moment she was prepared to believe his explanation. “Who was the customer?” she asked.
“He didn’t give his name. It’s a cash-only business.”
“Did your cousin recognize him?”
Nash rolled his eyes, assuring her that it was a stupid question. “No, he didn’t recognize him. In fact, my cousin said the creep gave him the willies and he was glad he never came back even if he was willing to splash around his money.”
Lynne blinked. “What could cause a drug dealer to get the willies?”
“He told me that the buyer was covered from head to toe,” Nash explained. “He even had his face hidden by a scarf despite the fact it was warm outside. And he insisted they meet in a dark alley. My cousin assumed the dude must be an assassin. Why else pay a fortune for an animal tranquilizer and lurk in the shadows?”
Or a serial killer, Lynne silently added. Out loud she asked, “Your cousin was sure it was a man?”
“Why would he have called him a dude unless he was a man?” Nash pointed a finger in her face. “That’s all I know. Screw with me again and I’ll make you very, very sorry.”
She reached to open the back door. “Go away, Nash.”
With a sour expression, Nash turned to storm out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him. A second later, Kir strolled into the kitchen.
“Very nicely handled.” He slipped off his leather jacket and hooked it over the back of a wooden chair.
The tension that had clenched her muscles into tight knots began to ease. It wasn’t just because Nash was gone. It was having Kir standing next to her. As if his solid presence was providing her with a sense of peace.
Like her own personal Xanax. Only this one came with a gorgeous face and a firm, sexy body she wanted to get her hands on.
Resisting the urge to lean forward and breathe deeply of his warm scent, Lynne wiped her damp palms on her jeans. “I’m glad I’m a vet and not a detective. It’s harder than it looks,” she admitted. “Plus, I feel like I need a shower after having Nash in my house.”
His mouth curved into a slow, enticing smile. “I could scrub your back.”
Lynne had zero trouble envisioning standing in a shower with the man, the hot water pouring over their naked, entwined bodies....
Her mouth was suddenly as dry as sandpaper. “Very generous of you.”
He took a step closer, as if sensing the awareness sizzling through her. “I’m a generous guy.”
Lynne swallowed, eager to distract him. “You shouldn’t tell me that. I run an animal sanctuary at my grandparents’ farm and we’re always looking for donations.”
“Count me in for five thousand,” he said without hesitation.
She blinked. “Dollars?”
“Not enough?”
It was the largest donation she’d ever received. Well, except for her grandparents, who’d donated the farm in their will.
She narrowed her gaze. “Are you doing this because you feel sorry for me?”
He looked genuinely puzzled. “Why would I feel sorry for you?”
“Because my ex-boyfriend is a slimy creep who not only slept with my receptionist but stole drugs from me?”
He shrugged. “We all have creepy exes.”
“Even you?”
“I dated a woman who asked me to have a DNA test after our second date.”
“Why?”
“Her mother was impregnated by a sperm donor and she wanted to make sure we weren’t related before we had sex.”
“Yikes.”
He reached to brush away a stray piece of straw clinging to her ponytail. She hadn’t taken a shower since she’d come home from the sanctuary. With shattering ease the image of her and Kir together in the steamy shower once again seared her mind.
“I give to charities on a regular basis,” he assured her in soft tones. “My offer was nothing more than that.”
Lynne took a step back, hoping Kir didn’t notice the blush staining her cheeks. “Thanks. We can use the money.”
“Let’s make ourselves comfortable. You look exhausted.” He pulled out a chair for her before he took a seat. Lynne readily dropped onto the chair. She wasn’t offended by his observation. He was right. She was bone-deep exhausted. He watched in silence as she settled across the table. “Do you believe the jackass?”
She knew exactly which jackass he was referring to.
Nash Cordon.
“Yeah.” She didn’t have to consider her answer. “He might be more involved in the sale of the drugs than he claimed, but I believe a stranger offered a lot of money to get their hands on Telazol and that Nash was greedy enough to steal it.” She made a sound of disgust. “That’s probably why he seduced Chelsea. Just so he could get in the storage room.”
His brow arched, no doubt wondering why Nash hadn’t tried to get her into the storage room for some afternoon delight instead of Chelsea. Thankfully, he was a well-mannered adult who didn’t enjoy embarrassing people with crude jokes and innuendos. Unlike Nash.
“So the question is whether this was all some huge coincidence or if the drug was stolen deliberately from your clinic,” he instead said.
“Wait.” She held up a hand in protest. “We don’t even know if it has anything do with those poor women.”
“Sheriff Hancock wouldn’t have been at your clinic if she didn’t think there was a connection. You’re the only vet in the county.”
“Nash said his cousin sold the drugs to someone in Grange.”
“Which is only fifteen miles away.”
Lynne battled her instinct to continue the argument. As much as she wanted to deny any connection, there was the possibility the drugs Nash stole had ended up in the hands of a lunatic. She shuddered.
“It’s awful to imagine that something from my clinic could be involved with the murders. Like I’m responsible.”
“Yeah, I get it.” He leaned across the table to grab her hand in a comforting grip. “It’s giving me nightmares to think that my father was being harassed by the killer. And I told him to ignore the letters. Maybe if I’d accepted there was a threat, we might have prevented the deaths.”
They shared a glance of mutual frustration. It was impossible to say with a hundred percent certainty that the letters sent to Rudolf or the drugs stolen from her clinic or anything else was linked to the killer. But it felt as if they were being sucked into the evil spreading through town.
Another shiver raced through her. “Did you tell the sheriff that your father’s weapon had been stolen?”
“I did. Along with the letters. I also told her about the list of initials.”
“I’m guessing she wasn’t interested.”
“She’s going to write up a report on the gun.” He shook his head in disgust. “She didn’t want to hear the rest.”
Lynne heaved a sigh. “Two women dead.”
“And a killer still out there.” Kir glanced toward the back door. “Could Nash be involved?”
Lynne hesitated, shuffling through her tumultuous memories of Nash, from the day he’d pushed her into a mud puddle when she was five until the day that she’d told him their brief, tumultuous relationship was over. “My first impulse is to say no. Nash is a vain, selfish ass who has more ego than brains,” she finally said. “On the other hand, he’s immoral, cunning, and capable of manipulating people.”
“I have a vague memory of him in school. He played football, didn’t he?”
“The star quarterback who took the team to state. He told that story every night at the bar.” Lynne rolled her eyes. “He might be thirty-one years old, but he never left high school.”
“Glory days,” Kir said in dry tones.
“Something like that.”
Kir absently stroked his thumb over the tender skin of her inner wrist. The casual caress sent delicious shock-waves through her body.
“He would have plenty of strength to kill the women.”
She struggled to concentrate. What were they discussing? Oh yeah, Nash being a serial killer. “It wouldn’t take much strength if the women were unconscious.”
“True,” Kir readily agreed. “He wouldn’t have to risk stealing a tranquilizer if he could overpower them.” He furrowed his brow. “Unless that was the point.”
“What point?”
“Using the drugs taken from your clinic,” he said. “Nash could involve you in his sick game. Just like he involved my father with those letters.”
The breath was jerked from her lungs at the mere thought. “God.”
Kir gave her fingers a tight squeeze before he was abruptly rising to his feet.
“I’ll make us some dinner.”
Chapter 8
Kir hated the pallor of Lynne’s face, and the knowledge that he’d been partially responsible. Unfortunately, they couldn’t risk denying the possibility that there was a killer in Pike who’d used the drugs from her clinic to kidnap the two dead women.
Efficiently whipping up two ham and cheese omelets and toasting English muffins, Kir pondered the possibility of Nash being responsible.
The creep didn’t seem the type. He was a typical blowhard who lived in his past because he couldn’t face a future of mundane obscurity. Even worse, he obviously measured his manhood by how many women he could get naked. Just like a dozen other men in this town.
Then again, did serial killers have a type? They could be quiet, arrogant, a loner, a beloved family man. A woman . . .
With a shake of his head he slid the perfectly cooked omelets and muffins onto plates before returning to the table. They ate in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, there was an ease between them that made it seem as if they were lifelong friends. Or lovers.
Once they were done, he loaded the dishwasher and studied Lynne’s face. She still looked exhausted, but the color had returned to her cheeks. He was discovering that she had a kind, giving heart that was easily hurt, but also possessed a spine of steel. She might never forgive Nash or Chelsea for their betrayal, especially if it turned out the drugs had fallen into the hands of a killer, but she wouldn’t let them defeat her.
“You’re kind of handy to have around,” she murmured.
Kir strolled to stand directly in front of her. He’d done his best during dinner to ignore the awareness vibrating in the air. This wasn’t the time or place. But then, nothing had been the right time or place since his return to Pike.
He intended to enjoy the sensations that she stirred to glorious life. He hadn’t felt such a potent attraction since ...
Actually, he’d never experienced such an intense need.
It wasn’t just lust, although there was plenty of that. It was the way she intruded into his thoughts, and the urge to seek her out no matter how busy he was, and the growing fear that she might be in danger.
He reached out to grasp her hand and pulled her slowly to her feet. “I have several skills.”
She tilted back her head to meet his gaze. “Do you?”
“Mmm.” Tugging her close enough for the warmth of her body to seep through his sweater, Kir lowered his head. Gently he brushed a kiss over her mouth. A groan rumbled in his throat. Her lips were pure temptation. Soft and sweetly willing. He deepened the kiss, allowing his tongue to dip between her lips. She trembled, as if she was as shocked as he was by the passion that instantly blazed between them. Kir lifted his head to gaze down at her flushed face. “Wow. That was . . .”
“Dangerous,” she said.
“Yes.”
Long ago Kir had been an adrenaline junkie. There was no dare he wouldn’t take, and no risk that was too great. But after moving to Boston he’d focused his energies on creating his business. He’d outgrown his addiction to danger.
Until this woman.
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again. Longer and slower and deeper. Until the world melted away and nothing else existed.
“Kir.” Lynne pressed her hands to his chest.
Kir lifted his head, struggling to leash his hunger. He wanted to spend the rest of the night tasting Lynne’s honeyed passion. Instead he gave in to the curiosity that had been nagging at him all afternoon.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
He felt Lynne’s muscles tense, as if she was preparing for a blow. “Okay.”
“Why Nash Cordon?”
“Oh.” She grimaced, but she thankfully didn’t look angered by his prying. “A momentary insanity. And an inbred need to rescue strays.”
“You thought Nash was a stray?”
She shrugged. “He’s lost. In his past. In his ego. In his inability to become an adult.”
He nodded. That made sense. But that wasn’t the entire reason she’d chosen a loser like Nash. “And he wasn’t any threat to your obsession with your career,” he suggested.
She narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t lived in Pike for years. How could you know if I’m obsessed with my career?”
“When we were still in grade school I watched you run into the road to rescue a bird with a broken wing,” he said in dry tones. “I doubt you have changed since then.”
Her lips pursed at the reminder of the day she’d stormed off the playground to carefully scoop an injured bird off the pavement and place it beneath a nearby tree. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight at the time. Kir had watched her mad dash with astonishment. Not even he was willing to boldly march directly into traffic.
“Jimmy Schultz threw a rock at it,” she said as if her actions had been perfectly reasonable. “I had to do something.”
“I remember your teacher was furious.”
“Ms. Randall nearly jerked off my arm dragging me to the principal’s office,” Lynne said. “I didn’t care. I got the bird off the road and after school my dad drove me back so we could take it to the clinic.”
“See? Obsessed.”
“Passionate about my career,” she corrected in firm tones, tilting her head to the side. “Aren’t you?”
That was a question Kir had been asking himself lately. Certainly he’d been passionate about creating his business. And he would forever be grateful for the financial security he’d achieved. But there were days when he found himself pacing his office, unable to concentrate on the stacks of paperwork that made him feel like he was being buried beneath his own success.
“Actually, I’ve had an offer to buy the business,” he said. “A very, very generous offer.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you considering selling out?”
“That sounds like an insult,” he teased.
“You know what I mean. I thought by the way you talked about building your business that it was your baby.”
“It is. But it might be time for a new adventure.” It was the first occasion Kir said the words out loud and he was shocked by how right they felt.
She searched his expression, perhaps trying to decide if he was being sincere. Then she nodded. “You were always restless.”
“If I keep moving, the demons can’t find me.”
Lynne smoothed her hands over his chest in a gesture of comfort. “I’m sorry.”
Kir shrugged. He wasn’t interested in the past. He had enough to deal with in the here and now. The reminder forced him to lower his arms and take a step back. “But first I intend to discover whether or not some crazy-ass killer was tormenting my father.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist. Was she missing his touch? The mere thought satisfied him on a deep, primitive level.
“Kir, it’s dangerous. Really, really dangerous,” she protested. “Maybe we should leave this to the sheriff.”
“I don’t intend to intrude into the sheriff’s territory,” he promised.
Years ago he might have been willing to sneak around the cold, dark streets in search of a serial killer. Like Batman, without any of the cool toys. Now he understood that he was more likely to get himself killed than to expose the madman.
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“Then what are you going to do?”
“Visit the Bait and Tackle for a drink.”
“I should go with you,” she immediately decided. “I know everyone there.”
His blood ran cold at the mere thought. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t go,” he protested. “They won’t talk in front of you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re the ex-girlfriend of the owner.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m as involved in this as you are.”
“I know.” He allowed his gaze to drift over her delicate features. “The thought is giving me an ulcer.”
“It’s not your job to protect me.”
“That’s not how it feels.”
“Kir.”
Kir swallowed a sigh as he watched her jaw tighten with annoyance. She was a woman accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. If he treated her as if she was incapable of taking care of herself, she would kick his ass out the door and slam it in his face.
“I promise this has nothing to do with your gender, Lynne. I just want to find out if Nash was working last night. And if he has any connection to the dead women.” He cautiously leaned forward to brush a kiss over her forehead. “I’ll call you in the morning and let you know what I discover.”
She didn’t shove him away.
He was going to take that as a good sign.
“Lock the doors and don’t let anyone in.” He held her gaze. “Not anyone.”
* * *
Madeline Randall finished washing her dishes before spraying the countertop with bleach and scrubbing away any stray crumbs. She wasn’t OCD. Not clinically. But after working for forty years as a third-grade teacher she had a phobia about touching sticky, grimy things.
She’d hoped retirement would ease her nervous habits, and at long last she could enjoy her life. Unfortunately, the decades of being exposed to the whiny, screaming monsters had taken its toll.
Even after two full years of being away from the school, she was in a constant state of anxiety.
The truth was, she should never have become a teacher. She’d wanted to marry her childhood sweetheart, Donny Burman. But her mother had warned her that Donny was a lowlife who would run off and leave her with a pack of squalling kids.