by Mary Burton
She refused to delve into Elijah’s motivations. Each time she did, she ended up with insomnia and a headache. “Okay, what do you want from me?”
“Talk to him. Figure out why he keeps sticking around.”
She set down her purse and swiped away an annoying strand of hair. “What makes you think he’d listen to me?”
Dark eyes narrowed. “You’re joking, right?”
“Why would I joke?”
Edith blew out an aggravated breath. “Everyone on the jury knew he had a thing for you. He barely looked up during his trial until you came in and testified. Then he could not take his eyes off you.”
She remembered how his intense gray gaze had reached across the room and all but wrapped around her. By then, she’d been married to Clarke and visibly pregnant. She had worn a large coat, hoping to hide her growing belly. “I can’t help that, can I?”
“He’s still here because of you. You do understand that, right?” The pitch of her voice rose with the color in her cheeks.
“I have no control over Elijah, and why do you care?”
“Because he scares me! He’s going to come after me.”
“Why?”
Edith gripped her car keys tighter. “I voted guilty. I sent him to jail for ten years.”
“Given the evidence, it was a logical choice. We all thought he was guilty.”
Edith’s lips pursed. “Well, he wasn’t, and now he’s out. And ten years is a long time to foster a grudge.”
“Has he made any threats?”
“He doesn’t have to. He has a way of looking at me that makes my skin crawl.”
“You had no way of knowing he was set up. You voted on the evidence presented to you.”
“I didn’t believe him. He said he was innocent over and over, and I thought he was a liar. I said as much to the media after I sent him to jail. And I’m afraid he’s going to come after me sooner or later.”
“I think you’re giving yourself too much credit.” Edith might have sent him to prison, but Ann was denying the man the truth about his child.
“How can you say that?” Edith shouted. “He’s coming after me.”
“He’s free. And he doesn’t want to return to prison. He’s not going to endanger his liberty.”
“Do us all a favor and find another place to live.” Edith gripped Ann’s arm in a tight hold. “You have a talent for picking troubled men, and we’re all suffering for it. God help us when Nate gets a little older.”
The rage that surged in Ann was instant. She ripped her arm free, feeling the scrape of Edith’s nails against her skin. Instead of retreating, she closed the gap between them. “Don’t you ever speak against my son. He is innocent.”
“How can he be? He’s already proven he’s smarter than any boy his age should be. It’s not natural, and it’s going to lead to trouble.”
“Get off my property!” Ann stepped so close the pizza box bumped the woman. “Get off now, or you won’t have to worry about Elijah. You’ll have to fear me.”
Edith took a step back. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise,” she warned as she jabbed the pizza box again into Edith, forcing her back several more steps. She kept pushing until the woman turned on her heel and got back into her car.
“I’m calling the cops!”
“Be my guest,” Ann said.
Ann did not budge from her corner of the yard until Edith’s taillights had vanished around the corner.
As she stood at the edge of her property, she gripped the pizza box so tightly that her fingers dented the cardboard. Her constricted chest muscles made it difficult to breathe, and she had to force herself to pull in air. A car door three houses down closed, and someone’s front door opened. She had become a spectacle for the neighbors. Terrific.
Ann retraced her steps, picked up her purse, and set it in the foyer before she slammed her front door. She carried the pizza into the kitchen and tossed it on the counter, her appetite gone.
She poured herself a full cup of wine. As she sipped, her temples pulsed. “Bitch.”
Her phone rang, and when she glanced at the display and saw Bryce’s name, she let it go to voicemail. He was a sharp enough cop to detect the stress in her voice if she spoke to him now.
She kicked off her shoes, walked to the window, and took another sip. There were elements of truth in Edith’s words. She had chosen men who lived in the shadows, men who kept secrets, and men who were dangerous. If she were her own patient, she would have suggested a convent.
Her phone beeped: 1 Voicemail.
Worse still, she was attracted to Bryce. He excited her in ways she had not felt in years. Alive, hopeful, sensual. She drank more wine. “Based on my history, he’s probably a serial killer.”
She pressed fingertips to her temple. And if he was not a murderer, he was at the very least better off without her. She took a gulp of wine and then played back the message.
“Ann, it’s Bryce. The Helena victim has been identified. You’re welcome to join me at the forensic center tomorrow in Missoula.”
She set the phone down and considered refilling her glass. However, at the rate she was going, she would end up with another hangover, and she needed to be sharp. Catching this killer might provide an outlet for her anger and frustration.
She grabbed a piece of pizza and took several bites. Her nerves settled a fraction, and she realized she wanted in on this case. She could not do anything about Clarke or Elijah, but she sure as hell could catch this monster.
Wiping her fingers, she texted Bryce: Give me a time and place, and I’ll meet you.
He responded immediately. I’ll pick you up. See you at 7:30 a.m.
Paul Thompson sat on the Deer Lodge motel bed as the muted television broadcast the local news. The room was decorated in a 1980s cowboy vibe with a picture featuring racing horses, wallpaper that mimicked the interior of a log cabin, and bedspreads that were a muddy brown with a white trim. This was traveling on a budget.
His phone chimed with a text, and he was a little surprised to see the sender’s name.
Nena: Keep thinking about our interview.
Paul: What about it?
Nena: You kept asking me about why I had a thing for Elijah. Now I know why.
Paul: Why?
Nena: It was comforting to know he was locked away. I was his link to the outside world. I was in control.
Paul: You like control.
Nena: Yes, very much.
Paul: How did it feel to know there were other women?
Nena: Maddening.
As he fluffed the pillows behind his back, he changed the channel to the other news station. He was waiting for the reporter to say something about the fire near Anaconda. Back in Nashville, a story like that would not have been big news, but out here, where the land could be drier than tinder, everyone paid attention.
And he made note of fires because he was here to interview Elijah Weston.
Nena: I’d like to see you again.
Paul: Why? We covered it all in the interview.
Nena: There’s more I want to tell you.
Paul: What?
Nena: Only in person.
Paul: I’ll get back to you.
Paul used this phone exclusively for interviewees, because he never knew when he might end up with a crazy one. Tossing it aside, he reached for his personal phone and scrolled through the texts. Nothing from his ex-girlfriend, thankfully. She had been a pain in the ass after the breakup. And nothing from his agent, who thought he might have a line on sponsorships for the Weston podcast.
A smile tugged at his lips. He had known he’d struck gold from the moment he had heard about Elijah from an old girlfriend. He had spoken to six of the Fireflies, and as soon as he scored interviews with Ann Bailey and Elijah Weston, he would have all the audio he needed.
He had leverage, which he was certain would force Ann to talk to him.
Elijah rose from his booth in the Italian
restaurant when Maura walked in. She was wearing not the blue dress but a sleeker black jumpsuit that dipped down between her breasts. Rhinestone earrings dangled from her ears, and Ann’s scent lingered around her. He grew hard and this time was glad they were in public and there was not a bed five feet away.
He wondered whether Ann had worn the jumpsuit and hoped it had not been selected for Clarke’s benefit. “You look great.”
She squirmed into the booth and, when the waitress came, ordered a red wine. “Thanks.”
Courtship was proving harder than he imagined when all he wanted to do was strip her naked. “You been in town long?”
“A few weeks. It’s a nice town.”
“I suppose.”
“You suppose? If you don’t like it, why are you here?”
“It serves a purpose for now.”
“I saw you talking to that Edith lady at the university.” She blushed and then, as if revealing a dark secret, said, “I snuck back and watched.”
He said nothing.
“She seemed pretty unnerved to see you. It made me wonder about you, like if you had done something bad, so I did an internet search.”
“And you found out that I’d done nothing.”
Maura smiled as she raised the glass to her lips. “That we know of.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.
Her grin widened. “Just kidding. Honestly. Don’t be so sensitive.”
“Ten years in jail has that kind of effect,” he said carefully.
Amused, not chagrined, she tapped her finger against the side of her glass. “Grumpy?”
“Not at all.”
She leaned forward, clearly knowing he would get a better view of her breasts. “When’s the last time you got laid?”
“Excuse me?”
“Come on, no judgments. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Not as long as you think.”
She sat back, regarding him as she held the glass up to her lips. “How long?”
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked.
“I thought you were hungry,” she said.
“I am. But not for pasta.”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
He reached in his wallet and tossed two twenties on the table.
“It’ll have to be your place,” she said. “I’m kind of living out of the truck right now.”
“As long as you can handle a mattress on the floor.”
“You would be amazed what I can handle.”
Fifteen minutes later, he pushed open his front door and pulled her inside. She closed the door behind her with a kick. Slowly, she ran her fingers through her hair and moistened her lips. She smelled like lilacs.
In the dim light, she looked like Ann. Not the sweet Ann, but the woman who had let him into her house all those years ago and allowed him to put her against a wall and take her. In that moment, the darkness in Ann had reached out to him.
Maura let the purse dangle from her fingertips before she gently dropped it. “You’ll have to get the zipper in the back,” she said.
She turned toward the wall and scooped her hair around, exposing her neck. He traced his fingers over the nape and then tugged on the zipper until it stopped above her bottom.
He slid his hands under the fabric, reaching around and grabbing her breasts. They were soft, supple, and almost the right size. She hissed and arched toward him.
He pushed the top of the jumpsuit down over her shoulders, and then she grabbed the fabric and wriggled out of it. She stood naked, glancing over her shoulder. “What are you waiting for?”
His erection throbbed. “You in a rush?”
She faced him and reached for his belt buckle. As her breasts brushed the cotton fabric of his shirt, she unhooked the top of his pants and reached for him. “Always. Now are you going to do this or what?”
He turned her toward the wall, separated her legs, and, grabbing her hips, shoved into her.
“That’s better,” she said. “But it’s not enough.”
He thrust hard several times. “What do you want?”
She arched her back, cupping her breast. “I’ll let you know when I’ve decided.”
The light caught her hair in just the right way, and Maura was transformed into Ann. The last ten years melted away, and they had found their way back together. “Ann.”
Her mews and moans grew louder, and if she had heard him, she did not seem to care. His pace quickened, and when he came inside her, there was a split second of utter bliss.
Control had always been important to him. Even in prison, he had mastered his world and the people around him because he understood the value of self-containment. But Maura had momentarily stripped away that control. And for now, he allowed it to drop.
I do not like to hurt people.
I like to make people feel better.
But there are those moments when there is a need inside me that is so powerful it blurs the lines between good and bad.
I am outside Ann Bailey’s new house, watching her as she paces among the unpacked boxes. Finally, she chooses a bookshelf kit, opens the end, and dumps out the pieces. As she reads the instructions, a frown tugs down the edges of her lips. Poor Ann. Too smart to decode a set of instructions. As if sensing someone watching, she moves to the window and closes the drapes.
She is the kind of gal who has lots of books and loves to read, so she will need a lot of shelves. It is too bad that I cannot knock on her door and help. I am pretty handy with most household tasks, and I could volunteer and help for an hour.
But Ann clearly would not like knowing that I have been watching her. She would want to know why, and I would have to tell her that she is on my list.
It has been days since I checked the last woman off my list. My thirst should be quenched. But it is not.
I know I have to wait. And I will. For now. But it will not be long before the next one.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Missoula, Montana
Saturday, August 21
7:15 a.m.
When Ann stepped outside her house, Bryce’s dirt-dusted vehicle was parked in her driveway. He was behind the wheel, reading his phone when she walked up and knocked on his window. He smiled and motioned for her to get in. As she moved toward the passenger-side door, she sensed he was watching her. And she liked it.
“You’re early,” he said as she opened her door.
“You’re earlier,” she said.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
She clicked her seat belt, not sure how she fit into this investigation but ready to be a part of it. “You said you have an identity on the Helena victim?”
He put the SUV in reverse, backed out of the spot, and headed away from the neighborhood. “Her name was Dana Riley. Doc pulled DNA from her molars when he did the autopsy in July, ran it, and we finally got a hit in the CODIS system. Dana Riley did a year in a Maryland prison for stealing.”
“What brought her to Montana?” Ann asked.
“Don’t know yet. Hoping to get a line on where she worked and stayed. I need coffee. You?”
“Always.”
He pulled into a drive-through and ordered two coffees with extra cream and sugars. He handed her a cup, settled his in the cup holder, and drove.
She pried off the lid, savoring the scent. “Bless you.”
“Looks like you didn’t sleep too well last night.”
She opted to treat herself and poured the two creams into her coffee. “I was up late trying to put together a bookshelf. I’m fairly certain the Swedes designed the unit to drive me insane.”
Out of the parking lot, he wound his way through town. “What happened to the extra sleep you were going to grab while Nate is out of town?”
“Best-laid plans.” She dumped in the sugars. “Turns out, I don’t sleep well when Nate’s not home.”
Out of habit, she pushed up her sleeves, inadvertently revealing the scratches left behind by Edith.
>
“What happened to your arm?” Bryce asked.
“I got into it with a woman who works at the university,” she said.
“She grabbed you?” His voice deepened with annoyance.
“She confronted me when I arrived home. She thinks I should leave town. I suppose she thought she was emphasizing her point.”
A muscle in the side of his jaw pulsed. “Why? You have every right to be in Missoula.”
“She thinks Elijah Weston is hanging around town because of me, which he is not.” She sipped her coffee, wondering why she was being so candid.
“Has Elijah Weston given you any trouble?” he asked carefully.
“Nothing explicit.”
“Meaning?”
“He has a way of showing up. He left a friendly note in my mailbox.”
“He was on your property?” Bryce’s jaw tightened.
“Yes. And he’s taken a volunteer job at the university. I’ll be seeing more of him.”
“You weren’t on his jury.”
“No, but I testified against him at the trial.” She blew on the hot coffee. “I’d rather talk about Dana. Do you have a picture of her?”
“Nice deflect.”
“I’m tired of worrying about me.”
He scrolled through his phone and pulled up Dana Riley’s mug shot. “Not the most flattering.”
Ann settled her cup in the holder, took the phone, and studied Dana’s picture. She had pale skin and light-brown hair. Her light eyes were downcast and her cheeks hollow. She handed the phone back to him. “When was that taken?”
“About three years ago.”
On a hunch, she opened the latest and greatest social media app on her phone. She had several, not because she enjoyed posting, but to stay abreast of the culture and trends, which some serial killers used to find victims. She searched for Dana Riley. None of the images attached to the accounts resembled their Dana.
“We get lots of seasonal workers that come to the state,” Bryce said. “Dana could have been working at a local bar for tips. The sheriff is talking to the area bars and restaurants first.”
“I’d also like to see where her body was placed,” she said.
