Their Summer Heat (8 page)

“Actually, she was knifed several times, but she died from a broken neck.”

“Well, that action suggests either a strong, highly trained woman or just a strong man,” she offered.

Both detectives arched a brow.

“And how do you figure that?” asked Bates.

“It takes lots of force to break a neck, and you’d either have to be a highly trained and exceptionally strong woman or just a strong man. I think the movies miss-portray this act.”

The detectives regarded her as if she were a mental escapee spouting nonsense.

“Sorry, I’m a psych major with an emphasis on criminal psychology. And if I wasn’t a suspect, I’d ask to see the crime scene to get a feel for it.”

“Yes, well, that’s out of the question,” said Connors. “Did either of you know Miss Swenson or date her?”

“I took her out to a movie and dinner about three months ago,” replied Logan, “We dated, I guess, but only for a couple of weeks.”

Summer didn’t peg Logan for a liar, but Margo expected Logan to bid on her, so Margo must have been extremely optimistic or tremendously desperate.

The sound of something vibrating broke the silence. Bates fished his phone from his inside coat pocket and answered. A frown wrinkled his forehead then he grunted.

“Send it to me,” he said. After disconnecting the call, he asked Summer, “Do you know Francis Montello?”

“I believe she was one of the ladies auctioned off at the gala Friday.” Summer remembered hearing the name but couldn’t actually paste it to a face.

Bates spun toward Max and Logan. “How about you two?”

“Yes,” they both replied in unison.

“Either of you ever date her?”

“I did,” said Max. “Last year. Why do you ask?”

Bates pulled up a photo on his phone and turned it around. “This was left on Miss Montello’s bedroom wall.”

You’re not Summer Heat!

Summer’s heart fell like a rock. This couldn’t be happening. This was about her? Staring at a spot on the floor, she fought the urge to wrap her arms around her waist and fold into herself. She understood emotions more than most, but at this precise moment, she didn’t have the brains to conquer her feelings, hoped focusing on the puzzle would help.

“Same M.O.?” asked Max.

Bates nodded.

“This has now turned in to what’s called a spree murder, which, accordin’ to the FBI, is two or more murders committed by an offender or offenders, without a coolin’-off period.” Her voice quivered when she delivered this gem of knowledge.

Was she supposed to have been the third victim?

Bates eyed her as if she had a second head, but spouting facts had seemed like a good idea before she actually heard the words.

The crime lab people came and headed straight to her bedroom.

“I need to get some clothes when they are done.”

“I’m not sure you have anything left, Miss Heat. All the clothes I picked up are damaged,” said Bates.

So someone didn’t like her clothes? What psychosis was this?

“How long have you known the Prestons, Miss Heat?” asked Connors.

“I met Max in court Friday and Logan at the gala Friday night.” Of course, they already knew that if they’d been anywhere near a newspaper or a TV.

“And do you always sleep with men you’ve known for less than twenty-four hours?” asked Connors.

“Don’t answer that.” Max glared at the detective.

“I won’t,” she replied. “Because my promiscuity is irrelevant.”

“According to the news, you work a 900 sex number,” said Bates.

“I do.”

“Could any of your
clients
be responsible for this?”

The way he emphasized clients made it obvious he thought she was a prostitute.

“No. My phone number is not published, I use a call sign, and I’ve never offered any personal information to the callers.”

“According to the paper, these two bid $100,000 each for you, and you were supposed to be the one having dinner with the Prestons, not Miss Swenson.”

“That is correct.” Before they could ask, she forged on. “I asked Miss Swenson to take my place because I had to work.”

And how all this was connected—because she believed it was—she didn’t know.

“Why would you squelch dinner with two of New York’s most eligible bachelors, which, by the way, is not the term I’d use for them?” sneered Connors.

“I already told you. I had to work, and when I’m not workin’, I’m studyin’. My life is fairly simple, Detective Connors.”

Connors shrugged as Bates turned to Max and Logan, both of whom appeared relaxed, despite the inquisition.

“And how did you feel when Miss Swenson showed up instead of Miss Heat.”

“Amused,” grinned Logan.

Connors arched a questioning brow.

“Miss Heat doesn’t like to be manipulated,” he added.

Summer smiled. “Wow, you actually get it.”

Logan’s mouth quirked, and Max beamed, showing his beautiful white teeth. God, she’d never get enough of those boyish grins.

“Can you look around and see if anything is missing,” asked Connors. “Don’t touch anything. If you need something moved, let me do it for you.”

She nodded and headed straight to the kitchen, but she didn’t need Connors’ help. “My laptop’s missin’ from the table.” Lucky for her, she had all her research backed up on a thumb drive in her purse. “The thing is seven years old, so they either didn’t know what they were stealin’ or they didn’t care.” She looked through the rest of her stuff in the living room, but as far as she could tell, everything or pieces of everything was accounted for, though the items were taking up space on the frayed carpet instead of in their orderly spots.

Twenty minutes later, she and Connors went to her bedroom, which was clearly where the worst of the violation took place. The crime techs still snapped photos and took samples. Her clothes were scattered about the room.

“Can you pick up everything and see if I have anything left to wear?” On a normal day, she would be embarrassed at the cheapness of her clothes, but she was way past normal.

Connors sent her a weak smile of pity even though she clearly was high on his suspect list. But she didn’t have a motive for killing the ladies. What motive did the Prestons have?

The only thing she was certain of was that all three were each other’s alibi, putting them in the same pot in the detectives’ minds.

Ten minutes later, it was obvious she only had the clothes on her back. Hell, even her white all-purpose underwear was nothing but tattered strips of cloth. She didn’t have the funds to buy seven days’ worth of clothes. Even if she had money, her favorite thrift store didn’t open until tomorrow.

But something
was
missing in here. Letting her gaze sweep the room again, she gasped as realization punched her in the gut. “Detective, the black dress, black high-heeled pumps, and the underwear I wore at the gala are gone.” No doubt taken by a sexual pervert.

“The outfit you were wearing in the picture of you in the paper?”

She nodded. Summer followed the detective back into her living room. “Will I be able to move back in today, or is this still considered a crime scene?”

Bates opened his mouth, but Max cut him off. “You’re not staying here. You can stay with us, or we’ll put you up in a secure hotel.”

Summer wanted to get angry, defy his commanding comments, but she was out of options and out of fight.

“Detective Connors says the creep destroyed all your clothes. We need to go shopping,” said Logan.

Somehow, she didn’t think Logan was talking about a trip to the local Target.

Logan glanced around and then back at her. “What do you need to take with you?”

Summer knew he didn’t see anything worth taking, and he was right. “I just need my books from the kitchen table.” Her apartment was a testament to her impoverished life.

“Don’t worry about how much it costs,” said Logan.

The three of them sat in the back of the limo, and it was well past nine. Summer was tired, somewhat upset, but Logan couldn’t tell if her mood was because of her stalker or because she didn’t accept gifts gracefully. She was so independent; it was enough to make a grown man slit his own throat.
“I’ll pay you back.”
If she’d said it once, she’d said it a hundred times. He had to lock his back teeth together to keep his mouth closed.

She hadn’t protested too much about them replacing her laptop, but only because she had to have it for school. A necessity. But nice clothes? Not.

The iPhone was another item not needed, according to her, because she’d survived four years in New York without one. He and Logan couldn’t imagine what would happen if she were hurt and needed to call 9-1-1.

The Apple store on Fifth Avenue had been busting at the seams, so Logan had called Lord and Taylor to arrange for the employees to stay after hours. The brothers had generously compensated the associates in women’s clothing, shoes, and intimates for staying past closing. Logan agreed with Max that shopping without other patrons was an excellent experience—no lines and things went a lot faster.

Of course, she wouldn’t do a lingerie fashion show, but he and his brother had managed to sneak a few sexy things into the pile while she was in the dressing room. She’d picked plain, white cotton panties—they would never do. He wanted nothing but silk on her beautiful skin. Hell, he and his brother had more money than anyone deserved, and buying her stuff would be their new hobby.

They were staying at Max’s place because he had a normal penthouse. Logan’s employees might think it a little weird if they saw Summer going up to his place. Not that he and his brother gave a shit, but she would buckle under such scrutinizing pressure.

Tomorrow, Max would make some calls and get a security detail in place. He and Max didn’t understand Summer’s connection to the murders, but they weren’t taking any chances. It disturbed Logan that they actually knew the women sexually. The murders were a conundrum. The facts were too weird to be coincidental. Everything was connected—Logan, his brother, Summer, and women he and Max had dated.

The limo pulled to the curb outside Logan’s building, and they all got out. Summer stifled a yawn.

“Sorry. Sunday’s usually my day to study and catch up on sleep.” When they were out of earshot of the driver, she whispered, “And I didn’t get much shut-eye last night.”

* * * * *

Max wasn’t planning on her getting any tonight, but he recognized her slumped shoulders and not-so-spunky walk.

The door attendant helped with the packages. “Jim, this is Miss Heat. She will be staying with me. Please make sure she has anything she needs.”

“Certainly, Mr. Preston.” Jim touched the brim of his hat and then followed them upstairs.

When the elevator doors opened, Max ushered her into the foyer and down the hallway. “Why don’t you take a hot shower, and I’ll make us some sandwiches.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely.”

He showed her the bathroom. “When you get out, I’ll have what I want you to wear on the bed.” His plan was to take her mind off the mess.

She arched a lovely brow and smiled, before closing the door. It was all he could do not to follow her.

When Max got back to the kitchen, his brother handed him a beer and he downed half of it.

“Who knew shopping could be so fun,” said Logan.

“I agree,” said Max. “I like buying her things, and I’ve got a couple of ideas.”

“So do I. I’ll have some stuff sent here. Something sexy.”

“That’s good. I think I’ll order her some eveningwear. We’ve got the Wounded Warriors gala next week and the Help for the Homeless the week after. I want to show her off, let her experience being the belle of the ball.”

“And she needs some jewelry. Emeralds to match her eyes,” said Logan.

“Good. She would look lovely in a green gown. And a blue gown with matching sapphire gems.”

“My dick’s getting hard just thinking about her,” said Logan.

Max understood. It would be fun to dress her in jewels and naughty nothings and exclusive gowns. “I hate galas, but now, the knowledge I’ll be able to peel off her evening gown at the end of the night will make attending them worth it.”

After the bathroom door opened, Max tracked her soft steps to the kitchen. He turned and leaned on the counter.

“Wow,” he said. “You look lovely.”

She sported a black, lace-up, stretch bustier with garters and fishnet stockings. No panties. The little red nest at the juncture of her thighs was cute as hell.

“I don’t remember pickin’ this out.”

“You didn’t, sugar,” said Max. “I did. And I must say I have exceptional taste.”

“You want a beer or some wine?” asked Logan.

“Sweet wine, if you have it.”

“What do you want to eat?” asked Max. “I have ham and cheese or Mrs. Mattie’s famous chicken salad.”

“Plain ham with lots of mayo would be great.”

Max made a mental note to have Mrs. Mattie prepare dinner for three and always have a dessert. He handed her the sandwich and then made one for him and his brother.

“So,” said Logan. “When we’re here by ourselves, we’d like for you to wear something sexy or nothing at all.”

She scrunched up her brows. “Really? It’s kinda chilly in here.”

“I’ll adjust the thermostat,” said Max.

“Okay.”

He could tell she was skeptical, but she had to learn the Prestons did what they said they’d do.

“So, what’s your schedule for tomorrow?” asked Logan.

“I have a nine o’clock class and then one at eleven. Then I’ll drop by the deli, turn in my notice, and work my shift.”

“No. We don’t want you to work,” said Max.

“I’m not leavin’ Mr. Benny high and dry. Neither of you would want someone to quit without givin’ a two-week notice, would you?”

Max had to admit she had him there. He didn’t tolerate discourtesy from his employees. There was no doubt in his mind that if any other woman was in Summer’s shoes, they probably wouldn’t even show up to give a notice. And he admired her for that reason.

But, selfish bastard that he was, he didn’t want her working another day.

“Besides, I don’t want to burn the bridge. I’ll need the job when this experiment is over.”