by RC Boldt
Wait. Goddammit. Why do I suddenly care so much about his feelings? They’re irrelevant. The only thing that matters right now is getting justice for Jodi.
Watching him closely for any tiny micro-expressions that might clue me in to his motives, I confess, “I’ve regained access to my computer and all my files.”
His brows rise in surprise, intermingled with what appears to be relief. Huh. “That’s great news.” He walks over and sets one of the coffees beside me before taking his seat and taking one of them for himself.
“Jodi’s in with Chad right now, but she’s supposed to head our way in a moment.”
He takes a sip before nodding. “Okay.”
As if on cue, Chad’s voice carries down the hall. A moment later, he steps into view. In the doorway, a couple accompanies the young girl, concern etching their features. The woman’s hands rest on the girl’s shoulders.
The instant my eyes settle on Jodi, it’s as if I’ve been sucker punched by someone wearing brass knuckles. The photographs included in her file do her no justice, nor do they detail how petite she is in person. She reminds me so much of myself when I was her age.
My limbs feel weighed down as if I’m caught in quicksand, and I force myself to stand.
“Hello, Jodi. I’m Dr. Alexandre.” I strive to maintain an even tone. “I wish we were meeting under different circumstances, but I do have some positive news to share with you.”
She nods timidly before turning her shuttered expression to Landon. He surprises me by not turning on the charm. Instead, his countenance is solemn, his voice dropping to a gentle rasp.
“Jodi, I’m Agent Lattimer. I’m working with Dr. Alexandre.”
Her parents exchange a look before the mother ducks her head to speak softly to Jodi. “Sweetie, why don’t you go ahead and talk with them, and we’ll wait out front for you.”
The girl’s expression hovers between relief that her parents aren’t insisting on being present while we speak with her and palpable discomfort.
She murmurs a muted, “Okay,” to her mother while wrapping her arms tightly around herself as if she’s trying to prevent her insides from spilling out.
Tentatively, she steps inside the room, and Landon pulls the door closed behind her. Blanketing the three of us is the muted din of the heater kicking on.
“Would you like to have a seat?” A soft trace of a smile tugs at Landon’s mouth as he extends a hand to her. “My mother was born and raised in Decatur, Georgia, and she didn’t take lightly to me being less than a gentleman.”
In a mock whisper, he tacks on, “In fact, she’d break out the ole wooden spoon on my backside if I wasn’t.”
I watch in complete awe as Jodi’s lips quirk upward in the faintest semblance of a smile. “Really?” she asks timidly.
“Yes, ma’am. I even have a T-shirt that says Wooden Spoon Survivor, but I don’t dare wear it around my mother for fear it’ll give her any ideas.”
He pauses for a millisecond. “I’ve got a ton of stories to share. I’m down with telling you some after we chat for a few minutes, if that sounds good.”
Cupping his hand to the side of his mouth, he whispers, “I’ll tell you about the one time my mother chased me down the street in our neighborhood in front of all the neighbor kids because I snuck a piece of pecan pie she’d planned to enter in the contest.”
The girl’s shadowed expression gives a fraction of its landscape to a shaft of something lighter, and a tiny snicker erupts from her.
I watch as Landon’s eyes soften with gentle relief. “What do you say? Is it a deal?”
“Deal.” Slipping her small hand in his, she lets him escort her to the chair opposite us. Once she sits, the cushioned leather seems to swallow her small frame.
We both reclaim our chairs, and I can’t help but regard Landon differently. Not only has he permitted me to see another one of his layers, but I’ve also witnessed him in action with a victim. He didn’t treat her with kid gloves or with immense pity.
Landon’s demeanor never once came off as slimy or possess a disingenuous quality, like he was trying to get on her good side simply to extract information from her.
Exuding natural charm co-mingled with self-deprecation, he approached her as if she’s no different…when we both know she’ll never be the same.
The exchange between them has stirred up a multitude of emotions within me, bringing them to a rolling boil at the surface. One sentiment, though, spills over the edge, flooding through me.
I would’ve given anything to have had a Landon Lattimer back then.
Chapter 52
Landon
Kennedy’s making me nervous. I don’t know if her watching me so closely is a good thing or a bad thing. But I’ve got more important things to take care of right now.
One in particular. An adorable one.
I carefully slide the last to-go cup from the drink carrier and set it in front of Jodi. “Hot cocoa with whipped cream and crushed peppermint sprinkles.” I shrug when she peers up at me in surprise. “It sounded good, and it would’ve been rude of me and Kennedy to have something to drink in front of you.”
Her smile is tentative and shy. “Thank you.”
Settling in my seat, I lean back and glance at Kennedy, silently deferring to her to let her kick things off.
Meeting the young girl’s gaze, she addresses her gently. “Jodi, Chad said he mentioned to you the kind of work I do.”
She nods, brow slightly creased. “He said you compare vein patterns in hands?”
“That’s right. I won’t bore you with the specifics, but I’ve gone through the evidence and compared the hands seen in the video to photographs of the mayor’s hands."
Jodi’s hands tremble as she wraps her fingers around her cup of hot cocoa before taking a shaky sip. “Did they…not match?” Eyes bouncing between Kennedy and me, her shoulders bunch tensely.
I’ve observed this demeanor countless times before. Jodi’s body holds the telltale signs of fear and self-doubt.
Fear that no one believes her account of what happened, and self-doubt that she somehow made an error and her mind fabricated the entire thing.
Doubt that a man in the mayor’s position did such a thing. That a man in his position would do such a thing.
Because good people don’t violate others—least of all innocent children—the way she was.
“It was a match.” Kennedy’s voice is muted but no less confident.
Jodi’s eyes grow wide, lips parting on a stuttered breath. “It was?”
Kennedy nods. “It was.” She pauses before continuing. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I wanted to see if you could think back and tell me if there’s anything else that stuck out in your mind from that evening.” Her voice turns gentler. “Reliving the horror of that moment isn’t something I relish asking you to do, Jodi.”
Splaying her hands atop the table, she draws in a deep breath. “I’ve helped put away many monsters for others in your position. And I do have the evidence that proves Mayor Paulson is guilty, but if there’s anything else you can tell me…” She trails off but holds Jodi’s gaze.
Jodi remains silent, hesitation written on her face, and Kennedy laces her fingers together.
“I’ve dealt with monsters who raped a four-year-old girl so brutally that she had to have surgery to repair her genitalia.”
My eyes almost bulge out of my sockets. What the fuck? The poor girl doesn’t need to hear this. I part my lips to stop Kennedy, but Jodi’s timid voice chimes in. “What happened to them?”
Kennedy’s eyes frost in a way that sends a shiver down my spine. “I made sure they would never again violate another person.” Expression fierce and unwavering, she tips her head to the side. “I can do the same for you, Jodi. I just need to know if you remember anyone else being in that room with you.”
Jodi swallows audibly. “I don’t know if I imagined it or not, but I think there was someone else there.” Averting her
eyes, she traces a finger along the lid of her to-go cup. “Everything was so distorted, but I think there was another voice. A man’s voice.”
She closes her eyes, brow furrowing in concentration, and Kennedy studies her while we sit in silence.
“Wait.” Jodi’s eyes flash open, and her words are rushed, as if there’s a sense of urgency to get them out. “Another man was there, and I remember he said something that seemed…gross.”
“What was it?” Kennedy asks gently.
Jodi winces, discomfort evident in her expression. “The man said something like, ‘Have her call out to Daddy.’” She averts her eyes, frowning in concentration. “And something else…something about me looking like her.”
Wondering what the hell to make of this, I cut my eyes to Kennedy and find her face pale, as if she’s seen a ghost. I reach beneath the table, grazing her knee with my fingertips.
Her eyes snap to mine, and for the briefest moment, she looks haunted. Then her expression shutters, and the usual no-nonsense persona falls into place.
“That’s all I can remember.” Jodi lifts her eyes to us. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Kennedy offers one of those tiny smiles. The ones I’ve come to hate even more now that I’ve seen the real thing. Even so, this smile from Kennedy is kind, and I know it comes from a good place.
“You’ve given me more to go on, and that means I can dig a little deeper. We already have compelling irrefutable evidence against the mayor.” Kennedy’s voice turns steely with determination. “If I’m able to determine the owner of the voice in the background, that will help a great deal.”
Jodi peers at Kennedy, eyes filling with tears. “You really think he’ll be punished for what he did?” Her voice wavers, and if I didn’t think I’d scare the shit out of her, I’d hug this poor girl.
This is what kills me—seeing kids hold the weight of the world on their shoulders because some sick-as-fuck asshole stole their innocence. Witnessing moments like this made me into the rabid dog I am when it comes to hunting these fuckers down.
Kennedy leans in across the table, tipping her head to the side. “Jodi, not only will he be punished for what he did to you, he’ll never do anything like that again.”
Her tone is arctic and brooks no argument. I can’t help but stare at her and wonder how she can promise that. Because once it goes to trial, there are no guarantees.
She taps the capped end of her pen on the table, keeping her eyes trained on Jodi. As if she hears my silent doubts, Kennedy reiterates in a tone so compelling, it practically has me convinced.
“I always stay true to my word, Jodi.” She pauses, letting her words sink in. “He’ll never do that again.”
Chapter 53
Kennedy
Landon and I leave Chad’s office and head to the Library of Congress once again.
“You were amazing back there.”
Confusion washes over me, and I slide him a questioning glance as we venture down the sidewalk. He’s not looking at me, though. His eyes continuously scan our surroundings, likely searching for any sign of a threat.
Although I’m confident in my ability to protect myself, his vigilant stance comforts me in a way I’ve not felt in quite some time.
“I didn’t do anything amazing.”
“You might not realize it, but you did. You put her at ease.”
I let out a derisive sound. “That was you, not me.” My voice turns softer. “You were great with her.”
We come to a bottleneck on the sidewalk, and Landon moves in front of me as if to shield me with his body. Reaching back with one hand, he lightly grasps my arm as if he needs the contact to ensure I stay safe and within reach as we thread through the crowd single-file. The simple touch sends a surge of electric awareness searing through me.
All too soon, the crowd thins, and he steps back into place beside me as we approach the library in silence. Once we sign in and get the key to the viewing room, Landon pushes the door open, gesturing for me to precede him.
I step inside, and he follows, immediately cinching my wrist in a gentle hold, drawing me to a stop. Tossing him a curious glance, I wait in silence while the door falls closed behind him, and he backs up against it. Gently, he gives my wrist a light tug to steer me closer.
Brown eyes search my features while hesitance lines his expression. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I mimic softly.
His tongue darts out to wet his lips, brows slanting together. “I know what we agreed on, but I’ve got to be honest with you.” Eyes searing me with intensity, they drop briefly to my lips in a caress all their own. “I can’t stop thinking about that night.”
A strained chuckle works its way loose from his throat, and his thumb sweeps over my pulse point in a lazy motion that sends shivers down my spine. “And I really want to do it again.”
The fact he’s not forcing himself on me means more than he could possibly imagine. He releases my wrist, letting it settle at my side, moving so slowly, giving me ample time to speak up or move away.
I do neither.
One of his hands settles at my waist while his other grips the strap of his briefcase like it’s the only thing holding him back. Palm rasping down my hip, his long fingers tighten and immediately send my mind back to Friday when he held my ass firmly while I rode his tongue.
And then him.
His head descends, and he speaks in a hoarse whisper against my temple. “I’m an asshole because I can’t stop thinking about putting my mouth on your pussy.”
He must be intent on unraveling me further, because he adds, “And then I came harder inside you than I ever have.” His voice deepens, sounding guttural. “I can’t stop wishing I could’ve done it over and over the entire night.”
When I step closer, bringing our bodies flush against one another, those brown eyes darken, his nostrils flaring slightly. Knowing that I have this power over him emboldens me.
In my heels, I’m tall enough to raise my chin a notch and dust my lips along the edge of his jaw. He drags in a deep breath, and his eyes fall closed as if he’s savoring my touch.
This man is dangerous.
The thought strikes me lightning-quick with its ruthless truth. He poses more of a danger to me than anyone else because he’s awakened something inside me: a yearning I wasn’t aware I still held.
His eyes flash open, and he rasps my name. “Kennedy.” When I lower my head and gently nip at his throat before soothing it with my tongue, he grits out, “Fuck. You have no idea how badly I want you right now.”
When I ease back to peer up at him, heated lust licks through my veins, and I nearly voice my question, Then why don’t you act on it?
His mouth presses thin in restraint, a muscle in his jaw flexing. He lets out a groan, lowering his head to rest his forehead against mine, eyes closed.
“I’d have you on that table with my cock buried in that sweet pussy of yours faster than you could blink.”
My panties grow exceedingly damp, and my nipples draw tight as my mind fast-tracks to how good he’d feel.
A pained sound spills from his lips. “We said it wouldn’t spill over into our jobs, and I’m fucking up already. But I swear I’ll get my shit together. It’s just…with what happened to you this morning…”
He trails off with a rough exhale. “I’m sorry. I’m a man of my word, and I told you I wouldn’t let it mix in with our jobs. I’ll keep my hands off you. So…yeah.” Another harsh breath falls from his lips. “I stand by it. No matter how badly I want to go back on it.”
My throat grows tight with emotion I never imagined I’d experience. A flutter erupts in the center of my chest as if my heart is attempting to revive itself.
In another life, Landon Lattimer would’ve been the kind of man I would count my blessings to have found.
A man of his word. A man who admits to his faults. One who respects others and enforces self-control even when faced with temptation.
It makes m
e wonder if maybe he could understand me on a deeper level if I let him. If he’d still feel the same once he knew the real me.
Images flash in my mind in technicolor, snapping me from my delusions of grandeur, reminding me of who I am now.
What I am now.
I’m a murderer, and there are no happy endings for people like me.
Chapter 54
Landon
I feel like an asshole for saying anything—for even touching her because that alone had me feeling like a damn caveman.
But after what happened this morning and having to shove it aside to talk with Jodi, I’m overrun with the need to touch Kennedy and reaffirm that she’s okay.
I should’ve known just getting close to her and touching her in the simplest way wouldn’t be enough. I’ve never wanted a woman so fucking bad before in my life.
When she eases back, I brace myself, expecting her to rip me a new one. Fuck knows I deserve it. But she just drops a quick kiss on my cheek.
Turning, she heads to the table and tosses over her shoulder, “We need to get to work on isolating the audio component of those videos.”
It takes me a moment to snap out of it and hustle over to the table. She’s already setting up her laptop by the time I pull mine from my bag.
Minutes later, she’s adjusted the volume to isolate the background noise, and we listen intently while the video plays.
She clicks her mouse, stopping the feed and dragging the dial back. My brow furrows, and I glance at her, but her attention is glued to the screen. “Listen. At the one-minute-twenty-five second mark, you can hear it.”
As it replays, ambient noise—air-conditioning puffing through the vents—sounds first before there’s a shuffling of movement. Then I hear it. It’s difficult to decipher at first, like the person’s attempting to disguise their voice.
