He’d been tempted to park his car near Daisy’s house and wait for her to come out, but the Neighborhood Watch kept a lookout for cars that didn’t belong to the residents. Dog walkers were kind of ubiquitous, but Mutt was tired.
So am I. He’d worked yesterday, brought Zandra home, and taken care of Trish Hart. Plus his evening with Sydney, he thought with a shudder. At least taking care of Trish had loosened up his mind. He could think clearly now.
And, thinking clearly, he’d begun Operation Overthrow the Old Man. With Manilow crooning in the background, he sat on his bed, studying the photos and documents he’d been sorting between walks with Mutt. He’d been collecting proof of his old man’s dalliances for years. Years. But even more powerful was the evidence of the old man’s association with the drug cartels. He had pictures and letters and even a few taped conversations from the times he’d bugged Paul’s phone, all proving the old man had used his charter planes to transport drugs. He was confident that there was something among them that would give Paul pause. Something that would be enough to save his job.
But what he really wanted was for Paul to fulfill his promise—that if he worked hard, he’d someday own the place. The company should be mine.
He needed the salary. He needed the planes. Without flying, how would he keep his abductions under the radar? Nobody had noticed him. Nobody knew that he brought his guests home. His abductions, spread across time and numerous cities, hadn’t raised any flags, but if he was forced to hunt locally, he’d quickly establish a pattern for law enforcement to follow. And he’d likely be caught.
He tidied the piles of paper, putting each one into a Ziploc bag so he wouldn’t have to sort them again. Then he put the bags into a box and slid it under his bed. He needed to find out if the sale of the company had been finalized and, if not, when it would be. That would tell him how long he had to act.
He’d catch a few hours’ sleep before walking Mutt again. If he couldn’t catch her coming out of the house, he’d see her at the pet store later. However he did it, she needed to be silenced. She was the worst kind of loose end—vocal and articulate.
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 6:30 A.M.
Bracing his arm along the back of the sofa, Gideon leaned in to see Daisy’s laptop screen, his beard brushing against her cheek. Sitting with her in the quiet darkness was . . . intimate. He drew in her scent and let it settle his agitation as she clicked on a browser tab.
He squinted at the small picture of a bare-chested man showing off his new tattoos. “Expand it, please.” She did so and he slowly exhaled. “Oh my God. Judah.”
“You know him?”
He nodded. “He was younger than me by a few years. Closer to Mercy’s age.”
“I found this photo on the tattoo artist’s Instagram.” She pointed at the fire-breathing dragon on the younger man’s right pec. It was aiming its fire at the Eden tattoo. “We can contact the tattooist. This is a pretty unique tattoo setup and it was only a few months ago, so he’ll probably remember the tattoo itself. We can ask if he remembers the client.”
A few months ago. He hadn’t searched for tattoos like his in at least six months. “If he’s willing to talk to us.”
“That’s a big one,” she allowed. “He might not talk to you, but he might talk to me.”
“Why you?” He frowned, afraid he didn’t want to know the answer.
“You look like a cop, and I don’t. And I have an unfinished tattoo. I can ask about it.”
His brows shot up, as did something else he’d rather have stayed down. But the idea of a tattooed Daisy was hot as hell. “What and where?”
Her cheeks dimpled. “Brutus and none of your business. Focus, Gideon.” She clicked on the second photo. “I’m less sure of this one because the tattoo is not exactly the same.” She brought it up and enlarged it.
Focusing, Gideon shook his head at the young man’s photo. “Never seen him before. And you’re right, the tat is different.”
“This photo comes from an article on the swim team of a university in SoCal. His name is Lawton Malloy. He’s only nineteen, so if he did come from Eden, he would have been a toddler when you left and it makes sense that you wouldn’t have known him.” She zoomed in on the tattoo. “See, the praying children look different and the olive tree only has ten branches.”
“A copycat, then.” Gideon stared at the tat. From a distance it would look very close to the real thing. “But if so, he would have had to have gotten the idea from someone. Maybe he’ll tell us who.”
“I was thinking that.”
He frowned. “But . . . why wouldn’t these guys have spoken up?”
“Maybe they’re afraid. Or maybe they had the same bad experience that you did with abuse and it’s just as hard for them to talk about it. It’s hard enough for you and you’re trained as an investigator.”
“You could be right. I guess we’ll find out when we talk to them. Did you find any more?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. But I’ll keep looking.”
“Please do. I’ll call this in to my boss.” He needed to tell her about the second wedding photo anyway. “This will be enough to increase staffing. She can have a search run using recognition software—for lockets and tattoos.”
They sat in silence for a long moment that seemed to grow even quieter with each beat of his heart. Her scent filled his head and his body abruptly kicked into overdrive, his erection throbbing to the point of being painful. He needed to do something or he was going to combust. Stay or go? Move away or closer?
If she turned her head the smallest bit, their lips would brush, but she sat staring at her laptop, so still that he wondered if she was holding her breath. He needed to know what she was thinking. What she wanted.
“Daisy,” he whispered. “Look at me.”
She turned her head then and, just as he’d thought, their mouths were just a breath apart. She looked up at him and he saw the same thing in her eyes that he was sure filled his own. Desire. Need. And a yearning for something more.
If he kissed Daisy Dawson, it was with the full awareness that it would be more than one kiss. It would mean more than a quick hookup. He knew without asking that she’d want it to last longer than one night.
So did he.
Slowly he lowered his head to hers, giving her time to pull away. But she didn’t. Her eyes closed as she leaned in, and then he was kissing her, softly and far more sweetly than he wanted. What he wanted was to drag her against him, to lay her down on the sofa and plunder. He wanted to touch her soft skin all over. Wanted to know if she smelled so good everywhere. Wanted to see her eyes go dark with lust and heavy with satisfaction. He wanted to mark her so that pricks like that reporter would know she was his.
But she’s not yours. Not yet. So he kept his touch gentle, his kiss chaste, even though his body vibrated from the effort of holding back.
She smiled against his lips. “I won’t break, Gideon,” she whispered, shattering his self-control. He shoved his hands into her hair and yanked her closer, the kiss becoming instantly hot, rough, and hard. Her arms circled his neck and she hung on, humming against his mouth, opening to him when he licked at her lips.
Yes. This. This was what he’d wanted, what he’d longed for, what he’d dreamed about as he’d slept on the sofa. Her. Just like this.
Blindly he put her laptop on the coffee table next to his gun and pulled her onto his lap so that she straddled his thighs. He sank back into the cushions, carrying her with him, not breaking the kiss.
Her mouth was soft, her curves lush under his hands as he slowly caressed from her hips up her sides. She whimpered in the back of her throat and he had to grip her sweater in both fists to keep from taking what he wanted, because at some point in the two hours that she’d been awake, she’d taken off her bra. The only thing between him and skin was a thin layer of soft cashmere.
She ripped her mouth away from his, breathing hard. “Yes,” she whispered. “Please.”
Please. Delivered in that husky voice, it was like an engraved invitation to everything he wanted. But he needed her to be perfectly clear. He wanted no mistake. “Please what?” he asked hoarsely.
“Touch me.” Reaching behind her back, she tugged his fists free from her sweater and brought each one to her lips, kissing his fingers, then opening his fists to kiss his palms. First one, then the other. Holding his gaze, she placed his palms on her breasts. “Please.”
His heart was thundering in his chest as he cupped her breasts, testing their weight, the way they filled his hands just right. Even with the sweater in his way, she was perfect.
“You’re perfect.” The words came out as a growl.
Her shiver was impossible to miss. “I watched you sleep,” she confessed, flattening her hands against his chest. “I wanted to touch you like this.”