Thread of Fear (22 page)

“No, you had your ears turned off again.” Fiona put her money on the bar and held out her hand, palm up. “I’m leaving.”

Aaron’s eyes narrowed. If Jack hadn’t been standing there, he probably would have called her a bitch. And she probably would have let it go because she was
that
determined not to let him get a rise out of her ever again.

Aaron reached into the pocket of his artfully torn jeans and yanked out a key chain. He shook his head as he
pulled off her apartment key and slapped it onto her palm.

Fiona dropped it into her purse. Then she pushed her way through the crowd and escaped out the door. The cold air lashed her cheeks, and she suddenly remembered her coat, draped over the bar stool. She turned on her heel and saw Jack walking behind her, the coat bunched under his arm. He stopped beside her. Without saying anything, he held the coat up and helped her into it.

“Thank you.”

They started down the sidewalk. Fiona focused on the cracks in the pavement. She was in her stiletto boots tonight, and it wouldn’t do to catch a heel.

Jack shoved his hands into his pockets. “Are you sleeping with him?”

“That’s not your business.”

“If you’re sleeping with me, it is.”

She stopped beside him. “Is this it? Are we having the relationship talk now? I’m not sure you want to do this tonight, because I’m tipsy, and you look mad enough to hit something.”

He glanced away from her. Then he looked down at his boots and took a deep breath.

“Fuck.” He raked his hands through his hair, then glanced up, apologetic. “Sorry. It’s been a shit week.”

The anger inside her softened. “Did you really get fired?”

“I really did.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

She could see him fighting to rein in his emotions. It had to be humiliating, getting fired from a job in your own hometown. Especially a town as small as Graingerville,
where gossip was served up like iced tea at every meal. And what would he do now? He’d been a cop all his adult life. It went beyond a livelihood for him. It was his identity.

Her father had been the same way. Fiona had been young, but she remembered. Vividly. The job had meant everything to him, even more than his family.

“Aaron and I are over,” she told him. “I just came by to get my key.”

Jack nodded. “Good.”

They started walking again. She wanted to ask him about Lucy. She wanted to know if he still loved her, if they still had a sexual relationship. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It would hurt too much if he lied to her again.

“You got your Ruger with you?” Jack nodded at her purse.

“Yes. Why?”

“I think our guy sticks to his comfort zone, but I don’t like his interest in you.” He stopped and turned to face her. “Keep your gun with you. Always. And don’t go out alone.”

Apparently, Jack didn’t realize the twine incident had terrified her.

“If you’re trying to scare me, don’t bother,” she said. “The FBI still has my art case. Santos says the blood on the twine in it belonged to Marissa. He thinks the killer planted it there to intimidate investigators. It worked. I’m intimidated.”

“You need to be vigilant,” Jack said sternly.

“I am.”

They resumed their pace, and she saw him glancing at her shoes again. “What’s your sister doing tonight?” he asked.

“You tell me.”

“Last I saw her, she was stocking up on beer and snacks with your gas card.”

Fiona closed her eyes and sighed. She never should have let Courtney move in, but she’d been powerless to say no. It was always like that. The more trouble Courtney got in, the more Fiona felt responsible.

“Why do you let her walk all over you?” Jack asked. “Just kick her out if she’s driving you nuts.”

“It’s complicated.”

“She said something about going to Jordan’s.” He stopped and tugged her around to face him. He brushed a lock of hair from her shoulder. “Does that mean she’s gone for the night? Because I really,
really
want to get you alone.”

Her stomach fluttered as she looked up at him. What was she doing, letting herself feel like this? Maybe it was the whiskey. Or maybe it was the man.

“That’s probably not a good idea.”

He pulled her against him, and she nestled into the warmth of his chest. Definitely the man.

“It’s a great idea.” He kissed the top of her head. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Sullivan crouched down beside the burgundy Mercury Cougar and peeled back the tarp. Keith Janovic stared up at him with empty eyes.

“Two to the chest?” Sullivan asked the officer in charge.

“That’s right.”

The lights on the nearby patrol car gave Janovic’s skin a freakish hue—red, blue, red, blue. The colors coupled with the wide-eyed stare made him look like some morbid cartoon, almost animated.

But the man sprawled out on the frontage road was very dead. And whatever knowledge he’d had stored in his twisted brain would go with him to the grave.

Sullivan stood up. It was a miserable ending to a miserable case. Annie Sherwood had spent nearly three weeks agonizing over her daughter’s whereabouts, and now the one person who could have brought her closure was gone.

“How’s the patrolman?” Sullivan asked, referring to the cop who had pulled Janovic over on a bad taillight.

“Made it to the ER,” the officer reported. “He’s in surgery now. We’re waiting to hear.”

A seemingly routine traffic stop had gone awry when the officer had asked for a driver’s license and then turned to take it back to his vehicle. Janovic had climbed out of the Mercury and pulled a gun, resulting in the exchange that left Janovic dead and the cop severely wounded.

No such thing as a routine traffic stop.

Sullivan peered inside the car, which had already been searched for clues. Several had been found, including a girl’s hair band beneath the front seat and a disturbingly large bloodstain on the carpet lining the trunk.

Like the other silent, stone-faced cops working the scene tonight, Sullivan knew that the blood likely belonged to Shelby.

The door of the vehicle stood open. It had a gray cloth interior, with trash and newspapers littering the floorboards. Sullivan reached a gloved hand inside and carefully picked up the McDonald’s bag sitting on the passenger’s seat. Thirty minutes ago, he’d been coming off a twelve-hour shift with no break. He’d been ravenous. Now just glancing
at the half-eaten burger inside the bag made his stomach lurch.

“Interesting order,” he said.

“What’s that?” The cop walked over and shone a flashlight into the bag.

“Big Mac. Large Coca-Cola. Two medium fries.”

“Yeah, so?”

Sullivan looked up. “What’s the largest size available at Mickey D’s?”

The officer shrugged. “Hell if I know. My wife never lets me eat there. Hypertension.” He patted his gut.

“You see
Supersize Me
?”

The officer stared at him blankly.

Sullivan replaced the bag on the passenger’s seat and stepped away from the car.

Eighteen days.

It had been eighteen days since anyone had seen Shelby Sherwood alive. A week ago Janovic had paid cash for a motel room in Meridian, Mississippi. The next day his face had been all over the news, and he’d skipped town. Every witness account had him driving a burgundy sedan and traveling alone. Janovic’s last known cell phone call had been to a personal psychic three days ago. It was picked up by a cell tower in Shreveport.

Sullivan crunched across the gravel and stepped into the grass. He smelled pinesap from the towering trees lining the highway, a two-lane road that snaked south from Shreveport through eastern Louisiana. Had Janovic been heading for Mexico? The coast? Sullivan didn’t like the combination of a child predator and several million acres of swampland.
He wondered whether the perp had picked Louisiana, or if he was just passing through.

So many questions remained, but the one concerning his location had finally been answered.

Sullivan pulled his cell phone from his coat pocket. Acid roiled in his stomach as he stared down at the display.

He couldn’t do it.

It was cowardly to postpone the inevitable, but he wasn’t ready to call Annie Sherwood. He needed a friendly voice first, someone who could ease him into the task that was the very worst part of his job. There was only one person he knew who fit the bill, and he scrolled through his directory until he found her number.

Jack started undressing her in the elevator. Underneath her coat, which was interesting.

He jerked her shirt up, unclasped her bra and shoved it aside, and by the time the doors dinged open, Fiona was so dizzy she could barely stand.

“She’d better be gone.” Jack pulled her coat together and tugged her into the hallway.

“You don’t seem to like my sister much.”

He towed her down the corridor and cast a glace over his shoulder. “I like her fine.”

“But…?”

He stopped in front of the door and backed her against it so he could kiss her neck some more. “You smell good.”

Fiona pushed against his chest. “Out with it. What have you got against Courtney?”

He tipped his head back and groaned. “Can we talk about this later?”

“Did she come on to you?”

His brows arched. “She
told
you?”

“No.” Fiona poked through her purse for her key. “She does that with everyone. She’s not serious. It’s just her way of screening my boyfriends.”

“
Screening
your boyfriends? She practically threw herself at me.
Twice.
Does she have any idea how dangerous—”

She jerked his head down for a kiss. After a few scorching moments, she pulled away. “Later. The lights are out and the music’s off, so I think we’re good.”

Jack’s hand stayed under her shirt, fondling her breast, as she turned the key in the lock and shoved open the door.

Score!
Empty apartment. His thoughts must have been the same, because before she knew it, he had her on her back on the sofa. He wrestled her coat off, then his, and tossed them on the floor.

“Did you lock it?”

“Yeah.” He kissed her. Half the work was already done, so it didn’t take him long to get rid of her clothes. Her shirt landed on top of her coat. And then her bra.

He pushed up on his palms and looked down at her. The only light came from a fixture in the kitchen, but she could see his expression. Lust again. With something else she hadn’t figured out yet.

“I’m pacing myself this time.”

She smiled.

“I mean it,” he said. “Don’t bother with your tricks. I know what you’re up to.” He knelt beside her and slid down her stretchy black skirt until she was left in just underwear and boots.

“Excuse me?” She covered her breasts with her hands. “My
tricks
?”

He ignored her breasts and dove for her navel. “I love these boots. These can stay.” He kissed a path down her abdomen, and she squirmed.

“Wait.”

He wasn’t listening, so she sat up.

“No fair. I’m the only one naked here.”

He smiled slowly as his gaze moved over her. Then he sat back on his heels so she could pull his shirttail from his jeans. She took her time undoing the buttons, following her hands with little kisses and nips. She loved his chest. She loved his body. She loved the way he smelled, the way he moved—everything.

And she wouldn’t think right now about how stupid that made her.

His shirt joined hers on the floor, and she stifled the whimper in her throat that would have told him how absolutely beautiful she thought he was. A man with a body like his didn’t need compliments.

“That’s it for now,” he said, easing her back against the cushions.

“Why?” His chest hair rasped against her skin, and she pulled him closer. He felt warm and good.

“You rushed me last time. I’ve been walking around with a wounded ego for days.” He settled in for a long, deep kiss, and when he finally stopped, she smiled up at him.

“Not too wounded.” She arched her hips, and the flare of desire in his eyes made her feel giddy.

He tucked one of her knees up by his hip and took her
mouth again. She lost herself in the heat of it, in the way his body fit against her and made her throb everywhere. She felt what she’d felt the first time, this aching pull that she couldn’t get enough of.

“Fiona?”

“Hmm.”

“That’s you.”

She opened her eyes. “What?”

He gazed down at her in the dimness. “The phone. It’s yours.”

She glanced over at the pile of coats and heard her ring-tone.

“I’ll turn it off.” She reached over and burrowed into her pocket. But when she pulled out the phone to silence it, she saw a familiar number on the screen.

“Hello?”

Sighing, Jack sat up.

“Fiona, it’s Garrett.”

“What happened?”

The silence stretched out, and she knew. She reached for the throw on the sofa arm and wrapped it around her shoulders while she listened to him talk. She heard him out and managed to give him a brief pep talk before he got off the phone with her to call Annie.

Fiona glanced at Jack. She’d expected him to be annoyed, but he simply sat there, watching her.

“That was the agent I worked with in Atlanta.”

“I caught that.”

She turned off her phone and tossed it on the coffee table. “Not good news.”

A shiver moved through her, and she gathered the blanket closer. Jack tried to slide an arm around her shoulders, and she popped up from the sofa.

“Excuse me.”

She walked over to her bed. The problem with a loft apartment was the lack of privacy. It was the main reason she hadn’t wanted Courtney here. She sank onto the bed with her back to Jack and went to work on her boots, which were a pain to get out of. Finally, she yanked them off and tossed them into the corner. She dropped her blanket on the bed and stood up to pull on her green satin robe. She hoped Jack would get the message.