Don't Look

by Alexandra Ivy

“You didn’t think Randi Decker was a misstep?” he inquired.

  The blush returned to the pastor’s cheeks. “It wasn’t something I planned.”

  “What did you plan?”

  “As a single man I’ve found it easier to meet women online,” he reluctantly admitted. “It’s anonymous and it prevents any confusion with the women who attend my church.”

  Kir hid his smile. Online dating opened a whole smorgasbord of options. Phone sex. Fetishes. Easy hookups. “And?”

  A shadow drifted over Bradshaw’s face. Grief? Maybe regret.

  “Last summer I started chatting with a woman I found fascinating. She was fun and witty and . . .” He glanced away, obviously embarrassed by the conversation. “Sexy. I wanted to meet her in person, but I wasn’t going to risk another disaster. So I did some research on her.”

  “You didn’t recognize her from her profile?”

  The pastor snorted. “No one uses real names or pictures on those sites.”

  Kir frowned. He didn’t blame the man for his caution. The girl might be underage or, just as likely, a dude from Africa who was trying to catfish him out of his life savings. But his words set off Kir’s inner alarms. “How could you research her? I thought you said it was an anonymous dating site?”

  “You’re not the only one who learned unsavory tricks when you were young. My older brother was a computer genius who taught me how to hack into systems before he went straight and left home to attend MIT,” he admitted. “It wasn’t that hard to discover I was chatting with a woman named Randi Decker from Pike, Wisconsin.”

  Kir wasn’t convinced. “That seems like an unlikely coincidence.”

  “Not really.” Bradshaw shrugged. “The app I was using was specifically designed to pair you up with someone within a hundred miles of your location. It makes it easier in case you decide you want to meet.” He grimaced, as if recalling his reaction to discovering who’d been on the other end of the computer connection. “Of course, I didn’t expect her to live in Pike. And I certainly didn’t expect her to be married.”

  “But that didn’t stop you.”

  The man stiffened, instantly defensive. “I tried. I stopped chatting with her online, and even joined a new dating site. But I couldn’t get her out of my mind.” His gaze grew distant, as if he was being sucked into the past. “I knew she was the president of the PTA, so I set up the food drive at the school. It was harmless enough. I could create a pantry at my charity shop, and it gave me an opportunity to see Randi in a public area.”

  Kir arched a brow. It might have seemed harmless to the pastor, but no woman would be happy to discover she was being manipulated so a strange man could ogle her. Even if it was in public. “That’s the same reason you ordered the weekly flowers and insisted Randi personally deliver them?” he demanded.

  Bradshaw nodded. “After she started dropping the food from the school in the outside bin, I knew I had to find another way to see her.”

  Kir hid his shudder of distaste. It wasn’t the creepiest thing he’d ever heard, but it was . . . disturbing. “Did she know that you were the man she’d been chatting with?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.” Bradshaw’s lips twisted into a humorless smile. “To be honest, I think she was already getting tired of our conversation,” he admitted. “Before I deleted my profile on the app, she mentioned someone else she’d met online. I could tell she was more interested in her new man.”

  “Convenient,” Kir murmured. If he was trying to convince people he hadn’t killed the woman he’d been stalking, the first thing he’d do was imply she had another stalker. “When did you stop chatting online with Randi?”

  The pastor thought for a moment. “Late summer. I remember the charity shop was busy with customers looking for back-to-school clothes.”

  Kir considered the possibility that the man was telling the truth. And that Randi had found a new man to flirt with online. What was the possibility that it was the killer?

  “What was Randi’s username in the app?” he asked. He had a friend who was a computer whiz. He might be able to track Randi’s online activities.

  “Roses4ever,” Bradshaw answered without hesitation.

  “And the name of the app?”

  “Local Lover.”

  Kir tucked away the information. He would call his friend later, but he knew it would take time for any answers. He wasn’t going to sit around waiting for something that might be a dead end. Instead he tried to discover more about the dead woman, and what she’d been doing before she was murdered. “When was the last time you spoke with Randi in person?”

  This time Bradshaw didn’t have to consider his answer. “Last Sunday when she delivered the flowers.”

  “Did you have a conversation?”

  “It was brief.” He shook his head in a sad, slow motion. “She seemed distracted.”

  “Was she scared? Nervous?”

  “No. She seemed . . .” Bradshaw struggled for the right word. “Excited. As if she was expecting something wonderful to happen. I even asked her why she had a sparkle in her eyes.”

  Kir wasn’t expecting that. He blinked, trying to shift his mind from a woman who was being hunted by a madman to one who had a sparkle in her eyes.

  She certainly wouldn’t have been excited if she thought she was in danger. Which meant the killer hadn’t tormented her. Odd. Why would he torment Lynne with that picture, but not try to terrorize Randi?

  And why was she excited?

  “Did she answer you?”

  “Some nonsense about her teenage daughter returning to school. At the time I didn’t think anything about it. Now . . .” He deliberately paused. Was it for dramatic effect? “Now I think she was excited because she’d started a relationship with someone else.”

  “At least you hope she had,” Kir said in dry tones.

  Bradshaw’s expression hardened to stone. He looked like a man who was done with the conversation. “I don’t know who killed Randi or the other woman,” he told Kir in harsh tones. “It had nothing to do with me. I just don’t want any trouble.”

  Intending to press until he’d determined whether the man was guilty or innocent, Kir was interrupted by the vibration of his phone. Pulling it out he read the text that flashed across the screen.

  Can you come to the clinic?

  His heart missed a beat. It was from Lynne. He’d put his number in her phone last night, insisting she promise to call if she needed anything.

  Any interest in continuing the confrontation with Bradshaw was forgotten. He did, however, point a finger in the man’s pale face and deliver a warning.

  “I wouldn’t leave town if I was you.”

  Chapter 16

  Nash was enjoying a deep, alcohol-induced sleep when the pounding on his door shattered his dreams. He groaned, pulling the covers over his head. What sort of monster disturbed a man before noon on a Monday? There was a law against that, wasn’t there? If there wasn’t, there should be.

  He tried to recapture the darkness that had offered him a temporary peace, but the pounding continued with a ruthless determination. Whoever was outside wasn’t going to leave.

  “Christ.” Climbing out of bed, Nash pulled on a pair of jeans he’d tossed on the floor and headed through the cramped front room. He was currently stuck in the renovated garage behind his mother’s house. If she heard the commotion, she’d scurry across the backyard to poke her nose into his business. “Keep your pants on. I’m coming,” he yelled, his head pounding.

  How much had he drunk last night? A full bottle of vodka? Pulling open the door, he winced. The morning was gloomy with fat gray clouds hanging low, but it was still bright enough to make him narrow his eyes.

  “Morning, Nash,” a short woman with a bright red coat wrapped around her full figure said as she brushed past him.

  “Shit, Chelsea.” He slammed shut the door and whirled to face his unwelcome visitor. “Do you kn
ow what time it is?”

  She shrugged. “It’s almost nine o’clock.”

  “On a Monday.”

  “I came by after lunch yesterday. You said you’d be here.”

  Nash had a vague memory of Chelsea cornering him at church. As if he was going to discuss their sex antics in front of his mother. Stupid bitch.

  “I was at the Bait and Tackle fixing the toilets.” He shoved his fingers through his tangled hair. It wasn’t a lie. He’d spent hours choking on sewer gas before he’d managed to unplug the clogged lines. “That damned place is sucking the life from me.”

  She unzipped her coat and shrugged out of it. No doubt to show off the cashmere sweater that hugged the luscious swell of her breasts. With a casual motion she threw it on the threadbare chair that was piled with empty pizza boxes. The entire place was a pigsty, but he didn’t have the energy to clean it, or the interest. Maybe it was time to invite his mom in for dinner. She’d take one look around and start scrubbing.

  Chelsea studied him in confusion. “I thought you loved the bar?”

  “I love being a bar owner.” His lips twisted. “I hate owning a bar.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  He snorted. His fleeting attraction to this woman had nothing to do with her brains. A good thing, since she didn’t have any. “Not many things make sense to you.”

  She stuck out her bottom lip in a childish pout. “There’s no need to be mean.”

  “This is how I am at nine o’clock on a Monday morning.”

  She wrapped her arms around her waist. As if protecting herself from a coming blow. “We need to talk.”

  Nash groaned. The only thing worse than being hauled out of his bed when he was nursing a hangover was being harassed by a jilted lover. “Why?”

  “Because I have a right to know if you seduced me just to get your hand on those drugs.”

  “Seduced you?” He laughed. “You’ve been trying to get into my pants since I started dating Lynne. If anyone was seduced, it was me.”

  An ugly flush stained her cheeks. There was no way she could deny the accusation. She might be younger than Nash, but she’d been aggressive in her attempts to capture his attention.

  “That didn’t answer the question,” she instead accused.

  “You don’t want me to answer it.”

  Her flush darkened. “You used me.”

  “Bull. It was a mutual exchange.”

  Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you kidding?”

  Nash’s head throbbed and his gut was queasy. He’d gone past the age when he could drink all he wanted without repercussions. The knowledge only intensified his anger at having to deal with the ridiculous woman. “You were panting to get a good, hard banging and I needed some extra cash,” he told her in harsh tones. “Win-win.”

  He heard the breath hissing between her lips. As if she’d taken a physical blow. “Everyone said you were a pig. I heard them warning Dr. Gale that you weren’t good enough for her, but I didn’t believe them. I thought . . .”

  “What?” he demanded as her words trailed away. “That I was a bad boy with a heart of gold?”

  “Yeah, something like that.” She sniffed, jerkily wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I’m an idiot.”

  Against his will, Nash’s heart twisted with regret. What was happening to him? He’d always been arrogant. And selfish. But he’d also been fun-loving, charming, and the life of the party. Now he felt old and bitter. As if he’d squandered his life despite the fact he was still in his early thirties. “Crap. I’m sorry, Chelsea. I didn’t intend to be a jerk,” he muttered. Then he sighed. “I didn’t intend a lot of things.”

  “What things?”

  He waved an impatient hand to indicate the shadowed room. “I’m not one of those freaks who worries about being ‘in touch’ with my feelings, but it doesn’t take a genius to know my life didn’t turn out like I expected,” he said in sour tones.

  “What did you expect?”

  “I was going to play Division One football. Maybe even go pro.”

  She furrowed her brow. “You went to college, didn’t you?”

  Nash shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. It was hard to remember the eager young man who’d packed his bags and headed off to become rich and famous. “For a semester. Then I got caught cheating on a test and they cut me from the team.” He’d been shocked when the coach had called him in to clean out his locker. No one had cared in high school when he cheated. It’d been bogus to be cut because of one stupid test. Still, he’d known his college days were over. If he wasn’t playing football, there was no point in staying. “About the same time my dad died so I came home to help my mom. Worst mistake of my life.”

  “Pike isn’t that bad.”

  “It’s a shithole, but I didn’t have the money or the skills to land a decent job, so I was stuck.” He shook his head in self-disgust. “I’m still stuck.”

  She pursed her lips in disdain. As if she was judging him. “I don’t know why you think you’re stuck. You’re still young, single, and free to do whatever you want,” she said in peevish tones. “It’s not like you have a kid depending on you. Why not sell the bar and move away?”

  It was a question he asked himself a dozen times a day. Chelsea was right. He could sell the bar, pack a bag, and walk away. But he didn’t. He stayed. Day after day after day.

  “And go where?” His voice was equally peevish. “A different shithole in a different state? Besides . . .”

  “What?”

  He hunched his shoulders. “Nothing.”

  “What’s really keeping you here, Nash?” Chelsea asked, stepping toward him as she searched his face for some hint to his inner motives. “Oh my God,” she finally muttered. “It’s the vet, isn’t it?”

  Nash jerked, his face heating with embarrassment. “What the hell are you babbling about?”

  “Dr. Gale. Do you love her?”

  Nash started to deny any feelings for Lynne, but the words stuck in his throat. “I don’t know,” he grudgingly conceded. “When I first hooked up with her, I was hoping she had some extra cash to invest in the bar. She seemed like an easy touch.” He shook his head at his stupidity. He’d been stressed from having to replace the roof, and looking for an easy way out of his troubles. But it hadn’t taken long to realize Lynne didn’t have the funds to pay his bills. Still, he’d continued to date her. Why? It was a question he’d refused to consider. He shrugged. “I suppose I got used to us being together. She wasn’t like anyone else I ever dated. She cares about everything and everyone.” Regret twisted his heart. “Even me.”

  Chelsea took a step back, as if his words had hurt her more than his betrayal. “So why sleep with me? Or steal the drugs from her clinic?”

  “Just a few weeks after we started dating, I could sense her pulling away,” he admitted with a rare burst of honesty. It’d been a subtle shift in their relationship. She’d always been busy with her stupid animals, but she started making more and more excuses why they couldn’t get together. And her habit of texting him funny pictures or stories during the day had slowed to a trickle. “I knew she was going to dump me.”

  Chelsea sent him a jaundiced glare. “You wanted to punish her?”

  Nash sucked in a sharp breath as she hit the nail on the head. “I didn’t really think about it, but yeah, I wanted to punish her.”

  That was why he hadn’t felt guilty when he’d been screwing Chelsea in the storage room or stealing the drugs to sell. He’d been . . . vindicated. He’d gotten Lynne before she could get him.

  “And now?”

  “I’m realizing I only punished myself.” He narrowed his eyes as Chelsea suddenly released a shrill laugh. “What’s so funny?”

  “I came here because I was pissed you used me. Now I pity you.”

  Nash stiffened his spine. How dare she laugh at him? He was Nash Cordon, high school football star and the town’s favorite son. “Aren’t you suppose
d to be at work?” he snapped. “Or did you get fired?”

  Her amusement faded, at his harsh words. “I called in.” She looked faintly sick. “I’m not sure I can stay there now that Dr. Gale knows what we did.”

  Nash knew he’d acted badly, but he didn’t have much sympathy for Chelsea. She’d not only been Lynne’s employee, but she’d claimed to be her friend. Yet the younger woman hadn’t hesitated to betray her.

  “Looks like we’re both screwed,” he drawled.

  Chelsea brushed her fingers down his bare chest. “It could be a sign we belong together.”

  He slapped her hand away. “It’s never gonna happen, Chelsea. You need to move on.”

  She blushed a bright red, whirling to snatch her coat off the chair. “Maybe you should take your own advice,” she growled, pulling on the heavy garment and heading for the door.

  “Maybe I should,” he agreed, watching her leave with a flare of relief.

  Hopefully, the woman had gotten the message. He was done with her. End of story.

  Pressing a hand to his aching temple, Nash headed toward the bathroom. He was going to piss and go back to bed.

  He was standing in front of the toilet with his pants around his ankles when a cold chill prickled through the air. Dammit. Had Chelsea returned to try and convince him to give her another chance? About to turn, Nash grunted as a sharp pain hit him in the middle of the back.

  “Now what?”

  Trying to reach over his shoulder, Nash’s lips went numb. Then his knees went weak. He placed his hand flat against the wall. What was wrong with him? This wasn’t just his usual hangover. Could it be a heart attack? His father had been in his early forties when he’d had his first one.

  Leaning against the wall, Nash tried to bend over. If he was going to die, it wasn’t going to be with his pants down. But even as the horrifying thought flared through his mind, a dizziness made it impossible to focus. He wildly made a grab for the jeans, but even as his fingers wrapped around the waistband, he swayed to the side and hit his head on the corner of the vanity.

  Pain exploded through his brain. Then nothing but a vast darkness.

  * * *