The baby squealed and grabbed Clay’s nose. Clay laughed. Jake’s kid was a damned cute one. Bailey came back for the baby and took him from Clay. “It’ll only be about ten minutes. Then I’ll feed him and put him down for the night.”
“No hurry.” It was only about eight o’clock. “I have the day off tomorrow.”
“Me, too. But I don’t want to let too much time go by.”
“Don’t let it consume you, Bailey. There will be other cases.”
“I know.” She snuggled the baby and turned away.
Clay just watched them walk out of the kitchen, thinking how it had felt to actually be greeted by someone when he walked in a door after a hard shift at the TSP.
The table wasn’t set yet. He’d practically grown up in this house; he knew where the plates and glasses were. He got to work, then checked the oven. Whatever casserole was in there was going to be damned good.
Bert was a kitchen genius and always had been.
When Bailey and the baby returned, Clay had everything ready.
Dinner was a quiet few minutes that felt so awkward Clay could cut through the tension with the damned butter knife. His own fault, no doubt.
Bailey was obviously using Liam as a barrier between them. Clay didn’t mind. He actually enjoyed watching her with the little guy. The soft side of Bailey was his favorite side. Seeing her with Liam just reinforced that.
Finally, though, she had rocked the baby to sleep and snuggled him in his crib.
Then she was Clay’s.
He tried not to think of that in the literal sense.
Bailey grabbed them two sodas from the kitchen and motioned for him to follow. He didn’t need a guide; he knew exactly where he was going.
Bailey had obviously taken over Bert’s study for the time being. She was a visual thinker; he had seen that for himself before. Every note Bailey took would be taped up where she could see it. Think about it. Connect it.
He’d long admitted to himself that he found her mind just as fascinating as he did her body.
“I’ve made it through half the box. Kevin Beck was very thorough.”
“Have you found anything?”
“Not really.”
“Then let’s get started.” Clay grabbed the desk chair and rolled it out. He motioned to it. “Sit. I’ll get out the rest of the photos.” He tossed a pink legal pad—apparently Bailey liked the color pink—into her lap. “You take notes. We’ll tackle this together.”
She just nodded while chewing on her bottom lip. Clay manfully tried not to be distracted.
He was there to work.
Not drool over his favorite deputy.
***
They had fifty photos, spanning five years and four crime scenes. To Bailey, it didn’t look like much. They’d separated the photos out into four groups—one for each crime scene. Then she’d taped them up to the paneled walls. Bert had told her once that paneling handled the tape better, back when he used to do the same thing.
Clay worked in much the same way. No doubt because he’d seen Bert work before. They shared that in common. “It isn’t much, Clay.”
“It’s more than we had before.”
He was looking at the photos of the women’s faces. Kevin Beck had managed to ID all four of his victims, even if he’d never found their killers. But what those photos showed were four women with very little in common.
Just blond hair and slim-to-average builds. They ranged in age from eighteen to fifty-seven. Three had families. One had had no one.
That eighteen-year-old girl was the one who resonated with Bailey the most.
She so knew what it was like to be that alone.
Liam fussed through the monitor, then gave the familiar snuffle sound he made before he settled back into sleep.
She wasn’t alone any longer. She had a family, even if it was one she’d just fallen into by luck.
Who did their killer have? What had connected him to these four women?
Another real possibility existed—the latest dump site that they knew about was at least eight to ten years old. Was their killer still killing? Had he moved on to some other part of the country?
Was he dead?
Or heaven help them, was he still out there and they just haven’t found his victims?
She shivered.
A warm hand landed on her shoulder. She looked up at the man behind her. “They’re all blond. That’s the only similarity so far.”
“So—if they are even connected, which we don’t know yet—there’s a possibility they were all victims of opportunity. He saw a blond he liked, and acted.” Clay was looking at Bailey’s hair. Staring at it. “Got them alone somehow. Maybe with a ruse. None really had any signs of restraints.”
“So it’s possible they could have gone with him willingly.” It sickened her. “Trusted him.”
Women were far more vulnerable to attacks than men, yet so many still went willingly with men they had no business trusting. Or even some they should have been able to trust. How was a woman supposed to know who she could trust and who she couldn’t?
Dangerous men wore all sorts of costumes—poor, wealthy, in between. Religious. Not. Outwardly violent, seething anger. Or just cold, ruthless greed.
Clay tapped a series of photos. “There’s almost a controlled aspect to this one. Step by step.”
“What does that mean?” Bailey wasn’t a profiler, but she’d taken a class or two. Enough to follow his train of thought. “That he wasn’t in a rage?”
“That’s exactly what it means. And he took his time. He wasn’t rushed. He wasn’t afraid he’d get caught. They were alone somewhere he could be assured no one would interrupt.”
“You think he has a home base where he actually kills them?”
“I think it’s highly likely.”
“But where is it?”
“Where was it is a better question.” Clay turned toward her. He’d loosened his collar and rolled up his sleeves two hours ago. He looked at the county map framed on Bert’s wall, where it hung next to the Texas state map. “We’re talking ten to twenty-five years here, honey. He could have moved on years ago.”
“Or just gotten more sophisticated at hiding the bodies.” Bailey hopped from her seat and started pacing. Problem was, Bert’s study was a bit too small for that.
Especially with a man like Clay in the way.
She masked her agitation by heading down the hall toward the baby’s room. Just to check.
Clay was a yard behind her. She peeked in at Liam, who was kicking his feet in his sleep, then pulled the door half-shut.
When she turned around, Clay was still there.
With barely a breath of space between them. “Clay?”
His hands went around her waist before she could even think of taking a step back. “Shhh. You’ll wake the baby.”
She nodded, then whispered. “He’s a light sleeper.”
“He’s a cute kid. Too cute to be Jake’s.”
“He’s hard to deny, though. He looks just like his father.”
Why were they standing there, whispering about the baby?
Bailey leaned back to look up at Clay. Her head brushed the wall; she leaned back that half-millimeter, and rested against the cool blue plaster.
She could feel Clay’s heart beating so close to her. His heat surrounded her. “Clay?”
“Don’t let what we’re doing eat at you. Try to distance yourself from it before it gets in there and won’t leave you alone.”
She bit back a retort. “I’m not stupid, Clay. But I want to find the answers. Those women died alone. They deserve someone to find out the truth.”
His hands slipped around her waist. His fingers were hot and strong around her. “You are not alone. Don’t forget that.”
She rested her head against his chest for just a second, wondering why his arms felt so different from Jake’s.
Bailey stayed right where she was—until Bert came through the front door.
Bailey jumped back like she was scalded.
Chapter 32
Bert knew by the guilty look on Clay’s face that the boy had probably been about to put his hands on Bailey in a way that her pseudo-father didn’t need to know about. Bert cursed his own timing; it was well past the time for Clay to act on the attraction he obviously felt. And it was time for Bailey to come out of the dark that had covered her for four months and get back into the world.
The two needed each other. But now they were both there staring at him. Bert didn’t want to talk. Not tonight.
He’d seen Veri in town tonight at the diner. She’d been with a man, one he’d known for years. A widower with three grown sons, Gerald Harmon was a nice guy. He’d treat a woman like Veri the way she deserved to be treated.
The way Bert should have.
That night between them would always be something he regretted. Veri had been a friend back then. He hadn’t meant to use the information she’d let slip to him when he’d first found the corruption within his post, but he had. She hadn’t forgiven him for that—and definitely not from the night he’d done something completely stupid.
He’d just...needed someone that night. And she’d been there.
Almost two decades had passed between now and then. Veri still blushed and looked away whenever he got too close.
She’d always been a sweet, kind, stubborn woman. Sometimes he just wanted to grab that woman and shake her for how stubborn she’d been. If she would just let him explain.
Instead, she just ran. Every time he got close.
Frustrating.
But he hadn’t mean to ruin her date.
“Bert!” Bailey was embarrassed. To be caught in Clay’s arms? She shouldn’t be.
Bert understood better than anyone else how alone being the sheriff could make a man feel. And when that sheriff actually was alone? It was easy to make the wrong decisions. Decisions that could cost a man those who mattered.
“Hey, honey. Baby sleeping?” He knew Liam was, but he wanted to give the girl a way out of the awkward position she was in.
“Yes.”
“Then...I could really use some coffee tonight. Clay?”
He looked at the other man, a man he considered as close as family. Clay got the hint.
Clay nodded, then stepped away from Bailey. Put some distance between himself and temptation, no doubt.
Yes, Bert understood exactly what the boy was feeling.
He’d once felt it himself.
Chapter 33
Glen read the newspaper. Old-fashioned of him, he knew, but he didn’t care. Weeks-old newspapers were sometimes all a man could find in a prison to read that hadn’t already been read. Prison libraries weren’t exactly filled with the latest best sellers.
He’d learned about what had happened to Clay Addy’s deputy and some FBI woman that way. He’d even put it together with the idiot who’d shared Glen’s cell for more than two years, eight years ago.
Louis Moore hadn’t changed much in those years since.
But the knowledge that stupid ol’ Lou had been responsible for almost killing his own daughter had been rich. The guy was such a pussy. Any little scuffle on their block and Lou was the first one to turn tail and run.
Unless he was beating up on guys smaller than him, that was.
Guys like Glen.
If it hadn’t been for that badass Pete Holte and his whiny little prick ass-buddy Jennson, Lou would have been killed his first week on the block.
He waited.
The woman he’d met at the bar on Boethe Street a few nights ago was meeting him for a second date later that night.
Glen had always been a patient man. He’d spent eight years waiting for his freedom, after all. Toeing the line, behaving himself. Becoming the prison librarian, even. Making himself into a good little boy for the warden.
It had paid off in his favor, gaining him his freedom two and a half years earlier than expected.
Patience that was the name of the game.
Finally, the time came. He showered carefully. He liked a clean body before dates. It made him feel confident. Prepared. Glen shaved.
He was blessed with a boyishly young-looking face. The woman he was dating tonight was still in her thirties. He suspected she thought he was younger than he was.
She didn’t have the greatest teeth. He also suspected his sweet little blonde liked meth a bit too much. But it didn’t matter.
He didn’t anticipate her being a part of his life for very long.
Glen combed his hair and then grabbed his bag. It was time.
He felt like a brand-new man.
Chapter 34
Bailey wasn’t going to let a man like Clay Barratt Addy tell her how to live her life. The man spent all of his time either on the job or alone in that house of his. And what did it matter that she was going out with a man she actually liked?
Clay was her boss at the TSP, and that was it. The big jerk. She didn’t understand why he didn’t see that. Someone knocked.
She called for them to enter. Jake rolled in. “Hey, I came to give you the ‘boys-are-pigs’ speech and remind you that if you need to call me and Dad to pick you up, we’ll be waiting for you.”
“I’m taking my own car.”
“That’s a good idea.” He grinned. “So...does Dad need to have a quick birds-and-the-bees talk with you? Safe sex?”
“Jake, you are a complete idiot.”
“So...what are you going to wear? Can I help you with your makeup? I’ll do your hair, too.”
“Did you do this to Kyra?”
“Every chance I got. There was this one time she was going out with Luke Sandoval—Lamar’s brother—and I even followed her. She was only seventeen, and I had just started driving again. Except, I couldn’t get out of the truck. So I sat outside the diner and watched her. Well, the handicapped parking spot was right by the window table. She was furious.”
Bailey snickered. “You were an awful big brother, weren’t you?”
He grinned again. “Don’t you know it. I should go. I’ll get a table, be there if you need me.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve been on dates alone plenty of times.”
“Not in a dress like that, I hope. I’m already having heart palpitations imagining it. You’re too hot, Bailey Moore, for a normal man’s breathing ability.”
“Go. Your son is calling. And you’re full of bologna. Do these kinds of lines work on all the girls?”
“I don’t know? Are they working on you? Because I’m not feeling the least bit brotherly toward you right now. I like hot blondes.”
“Like Celia Lake, perhaps?”
“What can I say? She’s a hot blonde. Very skittish, though. I’m going to behave myself.” He grinned again. “Maybe. Go. Clay’s waiting.”
“Kurt. Clay Addy can go soak his head in a bog hole somewhere the east side of Mars, for all I care.”
“That’s the way the wind’s blowing? He being a butthead again? Surprise, surprise.”
“He was born a butthead.”
“Naw. He’s a victim of nurture versus nature.”
She sent him a look. Jake’s tone had turned so serious. “What do you mean?”
“Someone was searching old obituaries at the library today. I ran across Clay’s dad’s. Talk about a mean sonofabitch. I’m surprised Clay survived, kiddo. It’s made him a bit untrusting.”
“Of me?”
“Of himself. But...that’s a conversation for another time. You need to shimmy into that dress there. I’ll be glad to stay and watch the show.”
“Go. Perv.”
“Not a perv. Just a healthy male—who likes blondes.”
Chapter 35
Sometimes, he hated being a Barratt cousin. Most of those times came when it was the annual board meeting. Clay's mother had been a Barratt daughter. She and Handley Barratt had been first cousins, though they hadn't been close.
As her only child,
Clay had inherited shares in the Barratt corporations on her father’s death. His shares totaled around six percent of the Barratt companies. Enough to require his presence once a year.
It was a handy addition to his salary as sheriff, but he put the money back. He’d retire from the TSP eventually. The money would come in handy then. Clay had vague ideas of buying himself a small ranch somewhere in the county and just sitting on the porch.
Maybe he’d take up photography or painting. Something where he didn’t have to deal with human failings at all.
He wished he could skip the annual board meetings as well. But his cousins weren't about to let that happen.
Still, this was not how he’d wanted to spend his day off. He’d finalized the arrests in the robbery cases and the DEA had taken over the recent drug busts two days ago.
Now the only pressing cases they had were Bailey’s cold cases.
He’d finally cashed in his comp time and had plans for it.
Tomorrow.
He had to get through this damned meeting first.
A baseball game, a beer, and a hamburger had been his primary wishes.
There was a lot of Barratt BSing that went on during the meetings.
Most of the meeting went about like he thought it would be. Houghton droning on and on. His second cousin wasn't much of a public speaker.
Hell, he was even worse than Clay.
Clay spent most of the meeting keeping Powell from shooting rubber bands at Houghton when the man would turn from the table.
Powell always had had problems with behavior.
When the meeting was over, Clay tried to make for the door, but it didn't happen. His cousins weren't about to let it.
Instead he ended up in the dining room at the largest table, right in the center.
He was trying not to roll his eyes at his cousin Turner when she walked in.
Like an idiot, he spilled his drink.
Tucker, the youngest of the cousins, snickered. "You always did have the table manners of an ape."
"Better the manners of an ape than to be an ape. Or look like one," Clay shot back.
Holding the Truth Page 10
