Or maybe, the person helping him was someone else, someone who’d been living in the same city with Slater for years without ever knowing the man was there, even after they’d killed his girlfriend together years before. Liam said that he and Slater had a falling out in college, but what if they hadn’t? What if Liam had been working with Slater all along?
She straightened, the thought going through her like being splashed with cold water.
Various things began to tick into place.
Her first confrontation with Slater after his escape? Well, Slater had gotten away, and Liam hadn’t really tried to stop him. And then, later, during the second confrontation in the bunker, Liam had gone to Slater willingly. Maybe the two men had lured her there together. Hell, maybe Liam had even kissed her on purpose. Maybe he was seducing her, all in service of preparing her for something worse.
What had Slater said?
You may have realized that Liam and I are a package deal.
And Slater, he wanted Liam to kill her in that bunker. What if all of this was some elaborate game between the two men? What if they were playing with their prey before they struck, and what if she was that prey?
“You okay?” said Hernandez.
“I think that’s enough for the night,” she said, shaking her head.
* * *
The following night, Liam’s phone was silent, though that didn’t reassure Liam. He couldn’t sleep at all, no matter how much liquor he drank, and he found himself thinking of that night years ago, of the way Finn had smoothed his hand down his spine, of the way Finn’s body had invaded his own, of how he had felt—helpless, pained, terrified. But worst of all, betrayed, he supposed.
He should have realized what Finn was before—no, he had realized what Finn was. He hadn’t seen his roommate with three unconscious women and not known. The first time, he could have passed it off as a crime of opportunity. Finn had found himself in bed with a girl who’d passed out and taken advantage of the situation.
Liam knew that Finn had some weird fascination with unresponsive bodies, so Liam could tell himself that Finn simply couldn’t help himself.
But then, when it was a pattern…
He’d known.
It was only that he thought, for some stupid reason, that Finn thought of him differently, that there was some kind of special connection between him and Finn, and in the end…
Near midnight, Liam left his apartment.
He was too drunk to drive, so he took off on foot. There was a gay bar called the Dock that he could walk to from his place, but it took him nearly twenty-five minutes to get there. When he arrived, he felt almost sober, as if he’d walked off all the bourbon he’d already drunk.
He wasn’t sure why he was here or what he wanted.
He’d long ago sworn off this kind of hook-up culture as a young man’s game. At this point, coming to a bar like this, he was likely only to run into men that were far too young for him, men who still saw sexuality as a youthful conquest—an adventure. Liam had decided that he didn’t want that anymore, and then he’d settled down. With a woman.
Because I’m bisexual, he thought defiantly. Being bisexual means that I can do that. It doesn’t mean I somehow turned my back on my gayness. I was always bisexual. I’m still bisexual.
Why he had to repeat this to himself, he didn’t know. He supposed that it was easy for other people’s opinions to get to him, and there was a prevalent attitude amongst gay men that bisexual men had it easier, because they could choose to be “normal,” and then they didn’t get the same abuse. There was even some truth to it, he supposed. There was nothing so threatening as being part of a male-male couple, for whatever reason. When he had a boyfriend, he could always feel it when he walked down the street holding hands with him. He could feel the way people looked, how they were startled and uncomfortable, even if they didn’t mean to be.
He supposed male sexuality always had an undercurrent of threat, anyway. He knew it rather well himself. It was one of the differences between a hook-up with a man and a hook-up with a woman. The tiny thread of a threat that wound underneath being with someone who might be physically stronger than him? It turned him on.
So, now, he surveyed the bar, looking around for someone, for the right sort of someone, a man who might have that vague amount of threat to him. Maybe this was the real reason he’d sworn this off. It was hard to feel threatened by men who were ten years younger than him. God, did they get younger every year? Half of the men in this bar must be in their twenties, and they looked like babies to him.
He thought of Madison and his stomach clenched.
Maybe a drink. Maybe he only needed a drink. Maybe he would get good and drunk and have some conversation and then walk home and go to bed alone. Maybe he didn’t need some other experience to wash Finn away.
Then, he recognized a man at the bar.
Liam strode over and sat down next to him. “Hernandez.”
Hernandez turned to Liam with a wide grin. “Well, well, well. Liam Emerson. You can call me Ricky. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Just… I live nearby.” Liam gestured in the vague direction of his apartment. “You come here often?” Then he cringed. “I did not just say that. I didn’t mean it like that, anyway.”
“No, I know.” Hernandez laughed. “I come sometimes. I had a weird conversation with Detective Dawson tonight about Slater. And, I don’t know, with him being out there and free, it gives me the creeps. I couldn’t go home and be all alone.” He shrugged. “I know, I’m a pathetic wimp.”
“You’re not,” Liam assured him. “He gives me the creeps, too.”
“Yeah,” said Hernandez. “I can imagine.” He cocked his head to one side. “Wait, do you come here often? Do you know that this is a, um, a gay bar?”
Liam chuckled. “I, uh, yeah, I was aware.”
“But you’re…” Hernandez settled back on his chair, sucking on the swizzle straw in his drink. “I guess I thought you liked girls and the thing with Slater was just some kind of transgressive thing.”
Liam shrugged. “Maybe. But I also like boys, so there’s that.”
Hernandez laughed. “Well, all right, then.”
“I’ll buy you a drink,” said Liam, waving at the bartender.
“You don’t have to do that,” said Hernandez, but he sucked down the rest of his drink and set it on the bar.
“Two of those,” Liam said to the bartender, pointing at Hernandez’s empty glass.
“It’s very fruity,” said Hernandez, waggling his eyebrows.
Liam grinned. “That’s not a bad thing.”
“I don’t know if you can handle it,” said Hernandez.
“I think I can handle it,” said Liam, and then his gaze caught the other man’s. He forced himself to look away. Not Hernandez. He hadn’t come here to do anything with Hernandez. Sure, he’d thought the other man was attractive before, but that had only been a passing thought.
Hernandez was too young for him. He couldn’t even be thirty. He was not threatening in the least. He even had the hint of a lisp occasionally when he spoke. And not to mention, Liam was sort of working with him sometimes, and that was messy. And then there was Dawson, who he’d kissed.
No, Liam had not meant buying the man a drink to mean anything, and nothing was going to happen.
An hour later, he was on his knees on the floor of the passenger seat of Hernandez’s car. Hernandez was sitting in the seat, which he’d pushed back all the way and leaned back as well, so Hernandez’s head was practically in the back seat.
Liam was working on Hernandez’s belt buckle. “I am way too old for you.”
“You’re not that old.” Hernandez was drunk. He was slurring his words.
“And this is going to make working together weird.” Liam had the belt unbuckled. He undid Hernandez’s button.
“We don’t really work together,” said Hernandez. “Neither of us work there.”
“I migh
t have a thing with Dawson,” said Liam, unzipping the other man.
“What?” Hernandez lifted his head.
“I can be a little slutty.” Liam lowered his lips to the other man’s skin.
Hernandez groaned.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Liam muttered.
“This slutty thing of yours works for you,” Hernandez said in a labored voice.
Liam chuckled, or he tried to. His mouth was full.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dawson stopped short outside her door. It was late, very late. She’d spent far too much time at work doing an exhaustive search, using police resources, for anyone named Lola Gem. Of course, she’d come up with nothing. Now, she was half-dead on her feet, and maybe that was why she hadn’t noticed the light in her apartment was on as she came up the steps.
Her apartment was only a few blocks away from the ocean. It was a one-bedroom that was typically rented out for vacationers, and she was paying through the nose for it. She kept promising she was going to move and yet never quite getting around to it. There was no bottom floor. Instead, the house was up on stilts in case of a high-water situation. She had to climb a set of wooden steps up to the front door, and there was a wrap-around deck up here as well.
Maybe the deck had blocked her view from below. Maybe that was why she hadn’t seen the light.
Her heart started to pound.
She got her gun out of its holster and made sure it was loaded and ready, no safety.
She approached the front door slowly.
When she tried the knob, the door opened obligingly. She knew she’d locked it. Someone was in there.
She burst inside, swinging the gun around, looking for the intruder.
The first thing she saw was that there was a spread of fast food out on her breakfast bar, which divided the kitchen from her living room. It was a collection of fried foods. French fries, onion rings, chicken nuggets, tater tots smothered in chili and cheese…
She stopped.
Well, this was a page out of Slater’s playbook.
In the center of the food was a note. I might have a thing for you myself.
It was something Slater had said to her when she was on the phone with him in Delaware.
“Slater?” she called, and she was pleased that her voice didn’t waver. “You want to see me? Come on out.”
There was no answer.
Cautiously, she moved away from the breakfast bar, leading with her gun. In her living room, the lights were off, and everything was shadowed. She could only see the outlines of her furniture, and darkness pooled in the corners of the room.
She flicked on the light switch, bathing the room in bright light.
She walked over to her couch. Using the barrel of the gun, she nudged one of her curtains out of the way so that she could see in the area between the wall and the back of the couch.
Empty.
She straightened, turning around, putting her back to the wall.
There was an easy chair across the room, but she didn’t think it was large enough for Slater to be hiding behind.
She walked over there anyway, making sure.
Nothing there.
Taking a deep breath, she made her way to the downstairs bathroom. It had been decorated when she’d rented the place. She’d rented it furnished since it had been a vacation rental. She’d never bothered to change any of the decoration.
The bathroom was like someone had vomited seashells everywhere.
There were seashells glued to the toothbrush holder, a seashell for a soap holder, and seashells glued to frames that surrounded pictures of the sun rising over the ocean, which hung on the wall.
She used the gun to push aside the seashell shower curtain, but the shower was empty.
Maybe he wasn’t even in the house.
Maybe he’d left the food and the note to fuck with her head. Even so, it was worrying. It meant that he could get into her house whenever he wanted, and that she wasn’t safe. She was going to have to have the locks changed.
No, she was going to have to move. She kept saying she was going to move, because she couldn’t afford to stay here. It was time to actually do something instead of simply talking about it.
Of course, maybe Slater was upstairs in her bedroom.
Her nostrils flaring, she came back out. She surveyed the ladder, ready to climb to the loft.
But there was a streak of movement.
She brought up the gun, ready with the trigger.
A figure leaped down from overhead, hurtling down from the loft.
She pulled the trigger, but she knew right away her aim was off. The figure was moving too fast.
And then she realized—too late—that the figure was falling directly on her, and she tried to lunge to one side, but she wasn’t fast enough.
She went painfully down on the ground, slammed into the floor, the figure landing on top of her.
It was Slater. He wrapped his hand around her wrist and squeezed. “Let go of the gun, Haysle.”
She did not let go. She spat in his face.
He tore it out of her grasp and tossed it across the room. He wedged one of his knees between her legs and put pressure at the apex of her thighs. “Now, now, how are we going to get to know each other if you’re always being so hostile?”
“I’m hostile?” She laughed. “What do you call this, what you’re doing?”
Slater lowered his face closer to hers. He ran his nose over her jawline. “Am I being hostile now?”
She shuddered. “Get off me.”
“Your voice…” Slater lifted his head, grinning down at her. “Your voice is so deep. At first, it was jarring, but it’s kind of growing on me.” He pressed his pelvis against her as if to emphasize this point, but Dawson decided not to think about that.
She couldn’t let herself think about any of the implications of this situation. Slater killed women and raped women, and if she thought about that, she was going to be piss-her-pants-deer-in-the-headlights fucked up. She forced the thoughts from her mind. She forced herself not to tense. “That a compliment? Am I supposed to be flattered or something? I think you have a higher opinion of yourself than is really warranted.”
Slater smirked. “You think insulting me is a good play, Haysle?”
She shrugged. “I don’t guess it matters. Are you planning on killing me?”
“Maybe,” said Slater. His hand at her wrist went gentle, a caress. He ran his fingers up her arm. “Maybe I’m jealous of the hold you have on my Liam. Maybe I want him back and you’re in the way.”
“Oh, trust me,” she said, “there’s nothing that could shake your hold on Liam, especially not me.” And she cursed herself, because maybe there was bitterness in her tone. Her hand was free. She clawed at Slater’s face.
He plucked her fingers away and slammed them back down against the floor. “Don’t be a bitch,” he snarled.
She struggled, bucking against him.
To her surprise, he let go of her, getting to his feet in one fluid movement.
Clumsily, she struggled to her feet as well.
Slater was already across the room, scooping up her gun. He unloaded it, tossing out the bullet in the chamber onto the floor, shoving the magazine into his pocket. He tucked the gun into the waist of his pants.
She was backing into the kitchen. She had knives in there—
He caught her, wrapping an arm around her and tugging her body against his. He bent down and put his lips against her ear. His voice was velvet. “I want you to eat for me.”
She was revolted. “Never.”
“It’s not poisoned or anything,” he said. “Maybe it’s a little cold, but that’s your own fault for coming home so late.”
“I know what happens to women after you watch them eat,” she said. “So, no thanks.”
Slater pressed his body more firmly against hers. He was hard all over, and he was stronger than her, and she was afraid.
No, can�
�t be afraid. Can’t afford it.
She pushed the fear down.
“How about this, Haysle?” He pushed her hair away from her neck, and his lips moved against her skin. “How about if I promise not to do anything else to you as long as you eat for me, hmm? Would that make it better?”
Her skin crawled. “Are you really known for keeping your word, Slater?”
“Ouch,” he said, pulling back, looking wounded. “Is that fair? Really? When have I ever lied to you?” He gave her a shove in the direction of the breakfast bar.
She stumbled and then caught herself, grabbing the lip of it to right herself.
He was right behind her. He pulled a stool over and pushed her down on it. “I can feed you if you want,” he murmured.
“Gross,” she said.
“Careful,” he warned.
If Slater was going to kill her, it wouldn’t matter whether she ate the stupid food or not, she supposed, so it wasn’t a matter of safety that was causing her to deny it. It was instead simply a matter of power. Giving in to his demands gave him power over her, and she didn’t want to do that. She also didn’t want to give him pleasure, and she knew he derived gratification from watching people eat.
But maybe that would distract him. Maybe getting him a little hot and bothered was exactly what she needed to do in order to get out of this situation.
Grudgingly, she snatched up a container of French fries and popped one in her mouth.
Ugh. It was cold. Greasy and cold and horrible. She nearly gagged but managed to swallow it.
Slater took the fries from her. “God, don’t eat that, then. Do not throw up, please?”
She gave him a nasty smile. She wished she could throw up on command.
He handed her the chicken nuggets. “These’ll be better cold.”
She sighed but accepted them. She put one in her mouth and chewed. The cold chicken was actually delicious. She hadn’t had much of a dinner earlier. She’d been distracted by thinking about the case. She found herself eating the nuggets hungrily, stuffing them into her mouth and chewing and swallowing.
Slater sucked in an audible breath.
She looked up at him, and she stopped chewing. Oh, God, the look in his eyes was awful.
The Temptation of Silence Page 5
