by Lora Leigh
“What was it about her bracelet that impressed you?” she asked, ignoring his words of encouragement.
“The other two girls were wearing the same bracelet.”
She stared at him, searching her memory for details about Mary. She’d been in a bar and grill in the downtown area, not too far from Club Toro. Mary had looked like one of the hippies, a college girl, which was proven when her backpack was found where she’d been sitting before she collapsed and died. Mindy, on the other hand, was decked out in a mini skirt, wearing lots of makeup. Danny’s type of girl. The two women were young, both early twenties, but the two were very different types. She remembered that Mary wore diamond stud earrings because they’d reminded her of ones her grandmother had given her when she’d turned sixteen.
“Mary and Mindy were nothing alike,” she told Chase.
“You’re right. All three women were very different in where they hung out, how they dressed, giving every indication that the same man wouldn’t be attracted to all of them. Yet they all had the exact same bracelet on.”
“It couldn’t be the exact same bracelet,” she pointed out.
Chase made a face. God, he was gorgeous. “I stand corrected. They were all wearing a similar bracelet, a thin rope bracelet with knots on it.”
“I’ll check it out.” She fought not to write down what he just told her, remembering he wanted to be off the record. For some reason, she wasn’t anxious for him to go. She should be. She needed to sleep. Although now she was all wound up and had half a mind to head back down to the station to confirm his facts.
Ash took a long drink of her apple juice, suddenly wishing it was coffee, and then forced herself to stand. “Thanks for stopping by and telling me that,” she said, edging around him, then moving to the doorway leading to the living room. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
“You will,” he said. “And I’m not ready to leave yet.”
CHAPTER 3
CHASE NEEDED to get the hell out of there and leave Ashley Jones alone. If his supervisor got wind of him working with local law enforcement when he was supposed to be home, taking time off, and doing anything but searching for murderers, he’d hand him his head on a platter.
“Do you have any idea who is overdosing these girls?” he asked, when she turned around, appearing surprised and more than a bit leery after he’d informed her he didn’t want to leave. His supervisor would have a field day if he knew what Chase was doing right now. Hadn’t the reason for sending him home been to give him time to think about his actions, to understand that he couldn’t jump into situations without considering protocol, rules, and regulations?
“If I did, I wouldn’t be here anxious to crash.” Her hair was damp from her shower and the red highlights were more obvious. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but her rosy cheeks, probably from her hot shower, provided enough color. Ashley Jones didn’t need makeup. She was gorgeous without it.
He couldn’t count how many nights he’d gone without sleep, surviving on pure adrenaline and determination to catch a killer. “Do you want me to leave?”
When she didn’t answer at first, he knew he’d guessed right. Ashley was hot as fucking hell. The comfortable, worn-looking jeans she wore hugged her narrow hips and flat tummy. But it was her tank top, the spaghetti straps with no bra, that intrigued the hell out of him. If he didn’t know better he’d swear she’d put those clothes on intentionally, opting for no makeup so she wouldn’t appear obvious. He wasn’t the only one aware of the sexually charged energy between them.
“What else do you know about these three girls’ deaths?” she asked, instead of answering him. When she tilted her head, studying him, a strand of blond hair brushed over her cheek.
He stepped forward, reaching for it to see how she’d react. “The same man killed all three of them. They were all alone in a bar, a nightclub, or bar and grill,” he continued, doubting he told her anything she didn’t already know.
Ashley stepped backward when he lifted his hand to her face, wrapping her arms around her waist and hugging herself. She shook her head to move the strand, which only managed to make it outline the contour of her cheek. “They were alone as if they were waiting on someone.” Ashley turned, crossing her living room quickly and stopping at her front door. She was going to throw him out. Instead of opening it, though, she leaned against the door handle, her dark green eyes smoldering as she let her gaze travel down his body. “That, or maybe they were out alone because they were mad at someone.”
“Mad at someone?” He hadn’t considered that angle, but he imagined a woman might head out on the town alone, going to a place she might consider a prime pickup joint for what ever type of man she was looking for. “So each one of them was out on the town alone because they were looking for someone? Is that what you would do?”
“This isn’t about me,” she said firmly, pressing her lips together and frowning.
He really liked her pouty look. Chase also enjoyed how her eyes widened when he cleared the distance between them, trapping her against the front door. “Let’s make this about you,” he suggested, and continued when she opened her mouth to retort, looking surprised. “Let’s say you’ve got a boyfriend, someone you’re close enough to that he would give you jewelry, or a bracelet. But he’s pissed you off for some reason. Would you go out to a bar and let a stranger buy you a drink?”
“If I had a boyfriend and he pissed me off I’d kick his ass and get it over with,” she told him, puffing out her chest when she sucked in a breath.
Her nipples turned into hard peaks, stabbing against her shirt. It was cut low enough to give him a mouthwatering view of the swell of her breasts.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” he growled, again reaching for her.
She raised her hand to block him and he grabbed her wrist, holding their hands in midair between them.
“What if you weren’t the confident woman that you are?” he whispered, stepping closer and holding her hand before him in spite of her trying to release it. “Maybe you’re seeing a guy and the relationship isn’t stable. So you go out to drink him off your mind. You’re distracted, not paying attention, when someone slips something in your drink.”
She searched his face, not saying anything for a moment. Then her gaze dropped as she sucked in her lower lip and chewed on it, as if something just occurred to her.
“If that’s the case,” she said slowly, focusing somewhere on his chest. “Then the only way to know who drugged these girls is by interviewing those who would have been around them that night.”
“There’s no way of knowing who was in those bars each of those nights.”
“True.” She relaxed her hand, fisting it but no longer trying to get free. “But there is a way to talk to the bartenders who were working those nights.”
Her eyes glowed like rare jewels when she lifted her gaze to his.
“We need to get you to bed then, so you can start your interviews tomorrow,” he said, his voice lowering to a rough growl as he pictured her stretched out in bed, naked, with her large breasts exposed above the covers.
“You need to leave,” she whispered, and ran her tongue over her lips, moistening them and making them look even fuller, a feast for a starving man.
He let go of her hand, but when she tried pressing it against his chest, pushing him away from her so she could open the door, he grabbed it again. Ashley tried yanking her hand back, but he was faster. Moving with a speed that matched the need he couldn’t restrain any longer, Chase gripped her arm once again, this time pinning it to the door next to her head, and pressed his body against hers.
“This time,” he whispered, lowering his head until his lips were a fraction of an inch from hers. “Next time I think I’ll stay.”
Whatever words she planned on spewing at him turned into a groan when he pressed his mouth over hers. Her lips were soft, moist, and full. He dipped inside, taking advantage of her parted lips, and delved deep into her heat.
She moved against him, rubbing her body over his like a cat. Chase growled, impaling her mouth with his tongue while letting go of her hand and grabbing her shoulders. Her skin was smooth, soft, yet she was toned and firm. He slid his hands down her arms, feeling the small bulge of well-defined muscles. She kept in shape. But then he’d already noticed her quick wit, her sharp tongue, and it only fit she’d be just as fine-tuned physically.
Chase put his hands between them as he tilted his head, moving his mouth over hers and then nipping at her lip as she grabbed his forearms. He doubted she was a tease. She wanted him, and if she did, she would have all of him. He wasn’t a chaste-kiss kind of guy.
When he gripped her breasts, her nipples stiffened, growing and rubbing against his palms, making his blood boil and immediately drain to his cock. Ashley hissed in a breath, every inch of her stiffening and her fingers digging into his arms, before she exhaled and moaned into his mouth.
She definitely wanted this as badly as he did. And that knowledge would torture both of them, as well as provide him with an insurance policy. He’d already told her he was an ass-hole. Hopefully she would never find out to what extent.
“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he growled into her mouth. “I sure hope you have sweet dreams.”
“What? Huh?” She blinked, licking her lips, when he ended the kiss and straightened, enjoying watching her recover. “Oh, okay, fine.”
He’d give her this, she was quick at bouncing back. Stepping around him, and he didn’t stop her this time, she yanked at her tank top, allowing him an even better view of ripe cleavage. Her nipples were hard as stones when she cleared her throat, looked down, and then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Are you always this nonchalant when a man kisses you?” Chase knew he was pushing her, but he liked the way her green eyes glowed a dark, alluring shade when emotions ran strong in her.
She shot him a look to kill, her long dark lashes hooding those glowing orbs. “I don’t have a set behavior for something that doesn’t usually happen,” she snapped.
“Good. I like knowing other men aren’t kissing you.” He tapped her nose before she could slap his hand out of the way, and then reached for her door. “Keep it that way,” he told her, then let himself out before she could utter a crude comment in his direction.
ASH PARKED HER car in front of Club Toro, opting for door-to-door ser vice instead of pulling into one of the many empty stalls in the large parking lot in front of it. Her mind was spinning after a day of discovery, and although she’d received all the credit, it nagged at her that she didn’t deserve any of it.
After comparing notes on each case down at the station with her captain, they’d confirmed all three girls wore thin, rope bracelets, each with several knots in them. The knot pattern didn’t match, but they were all hand designed out of hemp, and each girl wore hers on her right wrist.
Otherwise, each victim was as different as night from day. The autopsy on the first two confirmed the drug that killed them was the same, and of a very high dosage. ISIS, the street name of the drug put in each drink, otherwise called “Instant Slut in Ser vice,” was not only incredibly illegal, but not easy to find. It was a despicable drug, and just thinking about the kind of people who would create such a life-threatening concoction, and then give it an even more disgusting name, brought bile to her throat.
Men who viewed women as objects, who cared nothing about life, and who were willing to drug a woman and use her as they pleased, knowing she’d been poisoned and would die, such men needed to be shot on sight. No, they needed to be tortured and abused as they had done to their victims, their cries for mercy ignored, until they met a painful death.
Shaking the unpleasant thoughts from her head, she parked and shut off her car. Ash had several leads to follow up on; the first was talking to the bartenders who were working the night each girl died.
Climbing out of the car, she squinted against the afternoon sun at a dark SUV idling ahead of her alongside the building. Dark-tinted windows made it too hard to see if anyone sat inside. Ignoring it, she headed to the club doors. Once these interviews were done she needed to figure out how a killer could have gotten his hands on a not-so-accessible drug.
“What are you going to ask them?” Chase’s deep baritone did a number on her insides.
The driver’s side window wasn’t rolled down the first time she checked out the SUV. Approaching it, making note that Chase Reed drove a black Navigator, she also made a mental note to research this guy further. The average FBI agent didn’t make the kind of money it would take to drive one of these babies.
“Probably the same thing I asked at the last two clubs,” she told him, stopping when she stood inches from his car door. “Do you want to come in with me?”
“Nope,” he said, not hesitating. “I’m a ghost and we’re going to keep it that way.”
She hadn’t mentioned him to anyone down at the station, but didn’t tell him that. “Maybe you should have told me that last night.”
“I knew last night you wouldn’t bring up my name.” He lifted his arm off the rolled-down window and ran a finger down her arm.
Ash had half a mind to back up out of his reach. She didn’t want him torturing her and making it hard to stay focused. Nor did she want him thinking she would be his piece of ass while he decided to hang around. He’d told her he lived here and didn’t work here. FBI wasn’t assigned to this case. And neither of those facts explained why he was suddenly coming around.
“I’ve got a job to do,” she told him, taking a step backward.
He let his hand fall back over the open window of his car. “I’ll be by your house at seven.”
“No,” she told him. She’d be insane counting the minutes until seven and that wasn’t how she planned to spend her early evening.
“Fine.” He turned from her, grabbing a pen and jotting something down. It crossed her mind to walk away from him, but he handed her a business card before she managed to move. “Meet me at my house at seven. I want to hear what your bartenders have to say.”
“I’m not sure about this,” she mumbled, staring at the block letters. He’d written down a street address and phone number.
“I am,” he told her.
She shot him a quick glance and his sober expression didn’t reveal his thoughts. But his dark blue eyes held her captive, stealing her breath with silent promises of more than discussing a case. Men didn’t just saunter into her life with hints of sexual rendezvous and erotic experiences she’d never have otherwise. Her life was full, her job keeping her so damn busy that eight hours of sleep was a rare commodity. And she loved it like that. No man around simply meant no drama.
Ash opened her mouth to tell him she wouldn’t be there. But Chase accelerated, raising his hand in good-bye, leaving her standing there watching him drive off.
“Son of a bitch,” she complained, glancing down at his card.
There wasn’t time to dwell on him. Stuffing his card into her pocket, she entered the dimly lit nightclub, which at this time of the day was empty, and headed over to the bar. An hour later, having heard answers from the people working at Club Toro similar to those she got at the other two establishments she’d visited today, she headed back to her car feeling frustrated. No one remembered anyone in particular, and none of the people working could ID anyone who sat next to her victims.
Learning who might have gained access to ISIS would be an even harder task. Ash got out of her car back at the station, and slid her hand in her pocket, fingering Chase’s card without pulling it out. He said he didn’t work in Wichita, which meant he wouldn’t have any connections here. Damn shame. She needed a really good street source. Someone who would know the drug deals, how they went down, and where. Maybe one of the narcotic cops could help.
“The last big bust we had was Phillips,” Dan Hartman, one of the detectives who’d been on the force about as long as she had, explained. He slouched in his chair, his th
ick long legs stretched out in front of him, with one cowboy boot crossed over the other. Hartman did a lot of undercover work, and as a result, he got away with the shaggy, unshaven look. Possibly he was a good-looking man if he weren’t so loyal to the lazy-bum look he’d been affecting for years now. “That was almost a year ago, though.”
“All three of my victims died from an overdose of ISIS,” she explained, fiddling with her ballpoint as she sat across from him in one of the upright wooden chairs that faced his desk. “My perp got his hands on the shit somehow.”
“Bad stuff, too.” Hartman shook his head. “I’ll keep my ears to the ground for you, Ash,” he promised.
“Where did Phillips do most of his trafficking?”
“Inner city mainly. It’s possible one of his runners could have tried picking up where he left off. But Phillips dealt heroine and coke, some pot and pills, but nothing like what you’re looking for. Believe it or not, most drug dealers have some level of ethics. ISIS is a lowlife’s drug. I couldn’t see Phillips messing with it.”
“Well, someone is,” she said, grunting and feeling a hot shower was in order. Just thinking about the kind of person who would purchase such a piss-poor drug premeditatively made her skin crawl. “And I need to know where he’s getting it.”
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
She nodded, pushing herself to her feet and forcing herself not to look at the clock on the wall to see what time it was. Ash prayed it was after seven, that way she wouldn’t feel antsy waiting for that hour to arrive.
Maybe talking to Chase would help. He was FBI, after all. Even if he didn’t work this town, he might still have some connections. And right now, any lead at all would help. The more time that passed, the colder these cases would get and she’d never find her perp.
