She gave him a wink and headed for the bar. With a dramatic sigh, she dropped her purse on the counter. “Vodka martini, please.”
She didn’t have to look to know LeDoux was checking her out. She could feel his eyes on her. Good. She’d selected this dress for that reason. Tight, short and the cream color looked good with her olive skin tone. She worked hard to stay in shape but it had nothing to do with luring the male species.
If anyone ever tried to hurt her again he would be in for one hell of a surprise. Jo could kick the shit out of guys three times her size, including the one sizing her up right now. She had experienced things—things that changed her view of the world and of people. Long ago she had decided that she would never again be caught off guard or unable to defend herself or to take care of herself. Mostly she preferred living in her small one-room world without ever having to deal with people.
This has to be done. It has to be over. No more silence. No more pretending.
She’d done her homework on the man seated next to her. He’d built a stellar career as a profiler with the FBI. More than one article had called him the Bureau’s Top Gun. He was a year older than Jo and the victim, Tiffany Durand, was his niece. LeDoux, she decided, was the perfect person to help her. He was just desperate enough to buy her story.
At least, she hoped he was. Time to cast a line and see if she nabbed herself a bite. If she was wrong about LeDoux... No. Being wrong wasn’t an option. He was her best and possibly her only hope.
The bartender placed the drink in front of her.
“Thank you.” She lifted the glass to her lips and closed her eyes. “Hmm.” She lowered the glass back to the counter. “If it weren’t for martinis I’d never survive assignments like this.”
She turned to the man still staring at her. “Please tell me you’re not another reporter. The last one almost talked my ear off.”
LeDoux looked away. “Not a reporter.”
His voice was deeper than she’d expected. Sandy blond hair looked a little scruffy for an FBI agent. She’d yet to see one sporting a two-days’ beard growth. The outfit—polo shirt and jeans—was not exactly what she’d expected either. The slightly wrinkled suit jacket looked more like an afterthought. Above all else it was the don’t-give-a-shit look in his eyes that told her Special Agent Anthony LeDoux was not on duty. Maybe he was only here to support his sister.
Jo had done all the research on the family she could from her iPad. Whether LeDoux was here on official business or not, some of the more recent articles she’d read about him suggested his illustrious career was also on the rocks.
That last part was irrelevant as far as Jo was concerned. He would have the connections she needed.
“I guess it’s my lucky night then.” She ate the olive and downed the rest of her drink. “Now, that hits the spot.” A nod to the bartender had him preparing another. Jo thanked him and took a deep breath. Play the part.
“You’re a local then?” She turned on the stool to face LeDoux, the hem of her dress stretched tight across the tops of her thighs as she crossed her legs. “Do you believe those two missing freshmen were taken by someone who lives in Milledgeville?”
He twisted to face her, his knee bumping into hers. “Sorry.” He shook his head. “I’m not a local.”
“I get it now.” She sipped her martini. “You’re a cop.”
He finished off the bourbon but didn’t ask for another. Oh hell, she’d waited too long for the approach.
“Not a cop either.” He pushed the glass forward and gave the bartender a nod. “Not even close.”
He was staying, at least for a little while longer. Her heart rate leveled off. She set her glass aside and leaned forward. His eyes were brown but there were these little gold flecks. “Don’t tell me, you’re a fed.”
He looked away. “In another life.”
So much yearning and defeat were packed into those three words that Jo was caught off guard for a moment. So the rumors of his fall from grace were true.
“Well—” she smiled “—I’ve been many things, the worst of which might very well be a reporter.”
He didn’t look at her.
“I know. Scum of the earth.”
The slightest hint of a smile made his lips twitch.
“I had bigger plans but you know how it goes, shit happens.”
“Yeah.” He picked up his fresh bourbon. “Shit definitely happens.”
“So why are you here?”
For five seconds she was certain he wouldn’t answer or he’d just get up and walk away. Instead, he turned to her and said, “I’m here to find my niece.”
“Is she...?” Jo put a hand to her throat. “One of the missing girls is your niece? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. You probably need to be alone.”
She opened her clutch and reached for a couple of bills. “I swear, I’m usually better than this at reading people.” She left the cash on the counter as she scooted off the stool. “Really, I’m so sorry.”
He caught her by the wrist when she would have walked away. “Maybe you’d like a private interview.”
Jo’s pulse bumped into a faster rhythm. “Your place or mine?”
*
The drive to his hotel, which turned out to be the Antebellum Inn, took all of four minutes. Jo had time to change her mind. She could just turn around and drive in the opposite direction. But she didn’t. She parked her Celica behind his BMW and got out. The real question now was whether or not he would change his mind.
Heart thumping, she met him in front of his car. He reached for her hand and led her through the darkness. Rather than climb the steps to the front door they walked around the house. Trepidation slithered over her. The low lighting around the pool lit their path as he guided her to what looked like a pool house. He reached into his pocket for a key and unlocked the door. She glanced back at the dark house, nerves jangling. No backing out now.
Inside, the room was cool and dark. He turned on a lamp. The place was considerably larger than the dump where she lived in Copperas Cove. She heard the lock turn behind her. Play the part.
She needed to know who she could trust before she told her story. He could be the one. Having a fed related to a victim was a truly lucky break—maybe, possibly. Not so lucky for the victim or the family. Jo closed her eyes and blocked what she knew from experience was probably happening to the victims at that very moment.
He came up behind her and moved her hair aside to kiss her neck. She shivered. His fingers tugged her zipper slowly down her back while he trailed kisses along her spine. By the time the dress hit the floor she was trembling with need.
Usually her lovers were sloppy and in a rush. Usually she was, too.
LeDoux might be legally inebriated but he was in no hurry. He turned her around and kissed her long and deep. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders. He flung it aside. Together they pulled his polo free of his jeans.
Somehow they managed to finish unclothing each other before he dragged her onto the bed and buried himself inside her.
Jo stopped analyzing the situation and lost herself to the moment she would regret in the morning.
The story of her life.
11
Cherry Tree Apartments, Macon
Thursday, April 12, 2:00 a.m.
Miles Conway was one hell of a lucky bastard. He grinned as he pushed the bedroom door open and she walked in. His dick thumped against his fly just watching her move. He couldn’t remember when he’d had one this fresh.
As she crossed the room she tossed her big bag—the massive ass kind chicks loved to tote around these days—on the floor and reached for the hem of her skintight dress. He closed the door and leaned against it, watched her reach beneath the sleek fabric and tug the lacy thong down her thighs.