Suddenly, a giggle left her lips as she tried to imagine explaining this to Brit. Oh, hell, what was she going to do?
Maybe what she needed to do was just toss them and then tomorrow when she got her car, go buy him another pack. She envisioned doing that, and her face heated up and she started laughing again.
~
Five minutes later, toothbrush hidden in a drawer and condoms pushed all the way under the bottom cabinet, she went back to the bedroom. Every few minutes, a nervous giggle would erupt. She still wasn’t sure how or if she was going to tell Brit.
On the way back to bed, she passed the dresser and bumped into some files resting on top. They fell to the floor and papers scattered. Kneeling, she gathered the items. A photograph caught her attention—a dead man, sprawled out on concrete, blood marking his forehead. His eyes were open—empty.
The nervous giggles vanished and she stared at the image as she may have an accident on the side of the road—horrified, yet drawn to the horror.
Another photo from the second file floated to the floor. Her breath caught. Stan. Trembling, she slipped the mug shot back inside, rose, and set the files back on the dresser.
She took one step, then stopped and glanced back at the files. Maybe if she read everything Brit knew about Stan, then she’d believe him about him killing someone.
Making up her mind, she picked up the file that contained Stan’s photo, and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was after midnight when Brit pulled into his driveway. He’d stopped off at the precinct and lost himself going over Keith’s and Anderson’s old cases, hoping to find something that tied them together. If he could just find that piece of the puzzle, he was sure the rest would fall into place.
When it hadn’t surfaced, he’d gone to Quarles’ desk and spent the next hour combing through the new information that had come in on Humphrey and the other band members. He’d digested it and then re-digested it because it was his job and he’d needed to know.
He’d told himself that working on his night off had nothing to do with avoiding Cali, or the fact that she was at his house, maybe in his bed. It was then he’d given up and headed home.
Getting out of his SUV, he noticed the home’s dark windows staring back at him. Only the porch light waited up for him. Letting himself inside, his gaze went to the sofa, and he felt relief that Cali hadn’t insisted on sleeping there. The pricey piece of furniture sat well, but slept like a torture chamber.
The cat’s meow called out to him. He opened the laundry door. Mama Cat sat on the dryer. She looked ready to hiss then she stopped, jumped down, and bumped his leg with her gray face.
“You over being mad at me?”
Two of her kittens staggered from behind the washer. Brit knelt down. Mama hissed. Frowning, he stepped out and shut the door.
The dark hall greeted him. Stopping, he peeked into the extra bedroom where Susan slept when in town. The sight of her sprawled across the bed, garbed in Disney flannel PJs, brought on a smile. Leaning against the doorframe, he stared at his sister. He’d been a lousy host to her this time, and he should try to turn that around.
Taking the next few steps down the hall, he felt his blood begin to thicken. Memories of Cali dancing against him sang through his mind and hummed a sexy tune on his body.
He eased open his door and slipped inside. Cali hadn’t shut the blinds and the street light washed over her in a silver glow. She lay uncovered, on her side, and curled up. She looked so small in his bed. A smile brushed his lips when he noted she wore a pair of Susan’s flannel pajamas. Mickey Mouse PJs. He grinned and recalled she’d been wearing a Mickey Mouse nightshirt when he first met her.
Brit stepped closer. Flannel had never looked so good. The sweet curve of her bottom and the swell of her full breasts covered in soft, faded cotton gave his heart a good workout.
Swinging around, he went to sleep on the torture chamber. On the way, he stopped at the bathroom to grab his toothbrush.
~
“That picture drew you to it, didn’t it?” her mother asked.
Cigarette smoke filled Cali’s senses as the dream began. She slipped into the realm willingly. “Which picture?” The gruesome images in Stan’s file flashed through Cali’s mind—a picture of an elderly man, eyes closed, a cold blue tint to his skin, then the other images of Stan’s two band members. Cali had never seen anything so awful. Had Brit seen it in person?
“Not those,” her mom said, reading Cali’s mind again. “The one of Brit’s partner.”
“I wasn’t drawn to it.” Cali sat up as her mom took her place at the foot of Brit’s bed.
“Then look at it again. It’s important.” Her mom’s bracelets jingled.