Unspeakable (15 page)

“You think too much, Elaina.”

He nipped her shoulder right where the muscle was tightest, and her breath caught. Her heart hammered as the gentle bite turned into a feather-light kiss that trailed up to her jaw. Slowly, he turned her around and slid his hands up to cup her face. She knew he was giving her
one last out. When she didn’t take it, he tipped her head back and dove in.

Heat speared through her body as he licked into her mouth. He tasted like lust and beer and everything she’d tried to resist her whole life. He tasted
good.
Her fingers dug into his jeans, and she heard a little sound in her throat. His hands slid down to her waist. His lips were firm and strong, and he kept kissing her, tasting her, and the warm pressure of his thumbs seeped through her shirt. She wanted the shirt gone. She wanted the breeze, his heat. She wanted… so many things, it made her dizzy. She arched into him, keeping one hand planted on his hip while the other combed into his hair. She curled her fingers and pulled him closer.

His palm settled on her rib cage, and she realized he’d untucked her shirt. His hand glided over her skin and she started to say something, but he covered her mouth again and swallowed the words and his hand moved up to cup her bare breast. He made a low sound of approval as he stroked the tip of it with his thumb, and she pressed closer.

What was she doing?

She was in a hotel room with a man she wasn’t even dating. His body pressed against her, heavy and solid, and all she could think of was how
right
it felt, and how completely natural, and she couldn’t believe she’d denied herself one of life’s basic pleasures for so long. His hand moved down again, and she shivered and kept kissing him, somehow aware of the buttons of her shirt being plucked open, one by one. And then the breeze tickled over her skin, and a cold wave of panic hit her.

He must have felt her stiffen because he stopped and
looked down at her. She glanced around briefly, but the couples strolling the beach didn’t even seem to notice them up here.

“Let’s go in,” he said.

He knew she wasn’t comfortable. She wasn’t going to get naked with him right here on this balcony. She drew some air into her lungs and shook her head.

He didn’t move. He just watched her closely.

“Not tonight,” she whispered.

He eased back, let his hand drop away. The wind moved between them, and the moment disappeared.

And her phone vibrated in her pocket, just to obliterate the mood even more completely. She gazed up at him, and it vibrated again.

“That’s probably my boss,” she said, refastening her buttons.

Troy didn’t move.

“I told him to call me back tonight, no matter how late.” She glanced down. Her buttons were askew, so she simply tied the shirttails together. Now she looked about as idiotic as she felt. “I need to go in and take care of this.”

“I know.”

She watched him. She’d expected guilt. Or at least some attempt at persuasion.

Instead, he slid open the door for her. As she stepped into the dimly lit suite, her phone vibrated again, telling her someone had just left a message.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said, and he was already at the door. She couldn’t read his expression.

“Lock up behind me,” he said, and walked out.

•  •  •

The morning shrimp boats were chugging up to the wharf, trailed by a noisy flock of scavengers, when Brenda pulled into the driveway. She got out of her car and heard the sound of news radio. He wasn’t asleep yet? That wouldn’t be good.

Instead of going inside to fall into bed, she tentatively approached the garage, where her husband had been spending so much time lately. She smelled gun oil and cigarette smoke as she stepped through the doorway.

“Hi,” she said.

He was at his workbench, hunched over a pistol, and he didn’t look up.

She went farther into the room, sidestepping a crate of the MREs he liked to take on his camping trips. “Guess what happened tonight.”

No response. His hands moved briskly, disassembling, reassembling.

“I met a real FBI agent. She’s staying with us. She’s been there since Friday, and here I didn’t even know till now. It’s a woman, but still. I knew you’d get a kick out of it.”

Not a word. Only the click and slide of the parts coming together over the sound of the radio. He dropped the pistol on the newspaper in front of him and jabbed a finger at the stopwatch.

Damn, he’d been timing himself.

He glared up at her.

“She showed me her badge and everything,” Brenda said, trying to distract him. “She’s here investigating those murders. Knows Chief Breck. She said she’d help keep an eye on things at the inn.”

Elaina McCord hadn’t said that, but she may as well
have. What sort of law enforcement person would stay at a place and not help guard it? Plus, Brenda had given her the honeymoon suite.

He picked up the gun and aimed it at her. A chill went straight to her heart.

“Put that away. You know I hate those damn things.” She stared into the black hole. “Do you even have the safety on?”

He watched her steadily, his eyes expressionless, like a shark. She hated it when he looked that way.

Snick.

She jumped slightly, and he laughed.

“No bullets,” he said.

Brenda backed out of the room. She couldn’t talk to him when he got like this.

He touched the stopwatch again and started taking the thing apart.

CHAPTER 9
 

The headline screamed out from the stack of newspapers sitting beside the counter:
PARADISE KILLER STRIKES AGAIN.
Mia lifted a paper from the stack and put it beside the register.

“And something to drink with that?”

She glanced up at the cashier. “Yes, I’d like a tall nonfat—”

“Just the paper, thanks.” An arm reached around her and slid a bill across the counter.

She turned around.

Ric Santos held up a cardboard cup. “Tall nonfat latte?”

“Your change, sir.”

“Thanks.” He scooped the change off the counter, tucked the newspaper under his arm, and led Mia away from the coffee bar. “I got you some breakfast, too,” he said, depositing a small brown sack on a nearby table. He pulled out a chair and looked at her expectantly.

“How did you get here?” Mia asked.

“Drove, same as you.”

“But how’d you get
in
?” She stared at him, taken aback by his appearance at this coffee shop on the ground
floor of the Delphi Center. This lab had tighter security than most military bases.

“Sit down.” He nodded at the chair.

She sank into it and looked at what was spread out before her on the table. A newspaper, two coffees, and a paper bag containing—she peeked inside—chocolate almond scones.

He sat down in the chair beside her and leaned forward on his elbows. Those brown-black eyes pinned her, and she was suddenly self-conscious about her white lab coat and messy ponytail. She’d put in two hours already this morning before coming downstairs for her nine o’clock coffee break.

Mia’s gaze narrowed as she took in the details of his appearance—the starched white shirt, the rolled-up sleeves, the dark slacks.

The gun and badge plastered to his hip.

He was dressed like all the homicide detectives she worked with, and she realized he’d been a bit vague when he told her he was a cop.

And she also realized it was no accident he’d wandered into this particular coffee shop on the ground floor of her office building at nine o’clock sharp.

“You’ve been checking up on me. You found out my schedule.” She nodded at the cardboard cup in front of her. “You even found out my coffee preference, what I like to
eat.
”

He leaned back in his chair now and looked at her. “Does that bother you?”

“Actually, yes. And what bothers me more is that you came here in person. I told you to call me. Don’t you think this is a little presumptuous, Detective Santos?”

“Ric.”

She arched her brows, waiting for an answer.

“Let me ask you something,” he said. “How many detectives call you in an average week?”

Dozens. They’d all managed to get the number of her direct line somehow. And they all wanted updates on their lab work. She didn’t fault them for their dedication, but if she answered every one of their phone calls, she’d never get any work done. For this reason, she had all outside calls directed straight to voice mail.

“I needed to talk to you,” he said simply. “I thought I’d have better luck doing it in person. I’ll forget your coffee preference, though, if it makes you feel better.”

She shook her head, feeling foolish now. He’d bought her breakfast, after all. And at least he’d had the courtesy to catch her on a break, instead of having her called down from the lab.

She picked up the latte and took a sip. One Splenda. His detective skills were impressive. “So what is it you want from me?”

He let the question hang there, and for a moment she was back at the bar, flirting with this man and thinking he was flirting with her, too.

“Rumor has it you’re the best DNA tracer they have working here. I’ve got a cold case.” He tapped a long brown finger on the newspaper in front of her. “I think it might be related to what’s happening on Lito Island.”

“Why don’t you talk to the investigators down there about it? I saw on the news that they’ve got a task force put together. Even the FBI’s involved.”

“I called them already. Man in charge—police chief by the name of Breck—he’s not interested in my theory.”

Mia tipped her head to the side and watched him. “It’s pretty shaky, I’m guessing?”

“Not shaky, just unsubstantiated,” he said. “That’s why I need you.”

“How cold is your cold case?”

“Five years.”

Mia sighed. “And I assume you’ve got DNA evidence?”

“I think so, yes.”

She waited for him to elaborate. So far, this was sounding shaky to her, too.

He leaned forward now on his elbows. “You ever been out to Devil’s Gorge?” he asked. “Rugged country. About ten miles west of here. Some of the best views in central Texas.”

“I’m not much of a hiker.”

He nodded. “’Bout five years ago we had two college girls go missing from there. Separate incidents. They went out hiking and were never seen again.”

“Never seen at
all
? Not even their remains?”

“Nothing.”

“So where’s your DNA evidence? Do you have the suspect’s clothes or something?”

“We don’t have a suspect,” he said. “At least nothing solid. Just some flimsy leads that never went anywhere.”

“And what is it you want me to analyze?”

“In both cases, the victim’s clothing was found in a trash bin not far from the trailhead. I don’t believe those girls undressed themselves.”

Mia watched him. Her talk months ago in front of an audience of police officers had alluded to the JonBenet
Ramsey case and how DNA from the girl’s tights was used to eliminate her father from the suspect list.

“Touch DNA,” Mia stated. “That’s what you’re looking for, right?”

Ric’s gaze locked with hers, and she recalled why she’d been so taken with him back at the bar.

“Mia, I’ve got two missing college girls, and not a lead in five years. I’ve got no bodies, no suspects, and no budget. If you want to know the truth, what I’m looking for is a miracle.”

Elaina pulled into the driveway and double-checked the address. This couldn’t be it. She’d expected a beachfront fortress, some sort of architectural wonder built to withstand hurricanes and make a statement about its owner’s wealth.

This place made a statement all right, just not the one she’d expected.

She stepped out of the car and onto the cracked driveway. She slammed the door and gazed up, marveling at the spindly-looking stilts. The modest wooden bungalow perched atop them looked as if it would blow away in the next tropical storm.

The black pickup was parked under the house, beside a closed garage. She eyed the line of dusty windows. If she wiped the grime away and squinted through them, would she see a Ferrari 360 Modena housed inside?

Her gaze was drawn to the sand dunes just beyond the house. She heard the crash of waves and the distant screech of seagulls, and over all of it, the faint sound of country music.

“Troy?” she called out, walking past the pickup.

No answer.

She followed the music and was halfway up a flight of wooden steps when her breath caught.

“Wow.”

Emerald-green water. Sugary white sand. The coast stretched out before her, and she stood there a moment, letting the wind tangle her hair and wondering what it would be like to wake up to that view every day.

“You lost?”

She glanced around but didn’t see him. “Where are you?”

“Down here.”

She descended the creaky steps and spotted him beneath the shadow of a tall palm tree. He stood beside a primitive wooden fish sink with a green hose rigged to it.

“I didn’t see you,” she said, approaching him.

But she saw him now. Shirtless and sun-browned and slick-skinned, he looked like an ad for cologne.