He knows what he’s doing, Jo.
Deep breath. Get it over with. Her Celica sat next to the curb on the street. She could leave if she wanted to. No one could stop her from doing whatever the hell she wanted. If he tried, well then there would be a battle for damned sure.
She marched up the small parking lot, stalled a few yards away from the steps where he sat. She would just tell him how it was going to be and that would be that. He looked at her and she looked at him and the uncertainty and worry she saw there shifted something inside her. No. No. No. She would not let this get personal.
Dredging up her wavering resolve, she announced, “I’m through talking. I’ve told you everything you need to know. I need some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He stood and descended the three steps, tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Give me five minutes. I think you’re going to want to hear what I have to say.”
She’d seen him on the phone while she sucked down those two cigarettes. Had no idea who he’d been talking to. Didn’t give a shit. And still, she said, “Five minutes and then I’m gone.”
Maybe she owed him that. After all she’d used him to a degree. Planned to continue doing so as long as things didn’t get too complicated. Hear him out and take it from there. Fine. Okay. She followed him around the pool and into the cottage where they’d had sex last night.
A means to an end? Desperation? Stupidity?
Who knew? What she did know was that she needed a change of clothes. His scent was all over these. But to change clothes she’d have to get her bag from the trunk, and then he’d know she didn’t have a room. She’d slept in her car the first night after she arrived. Motels, no matter how low rent, typically wanted ID. It was another of those trust things. If no one knew where she was no one could find her. That’s the way she liked it. She’d spent the last half of her life living that way. She imagined she’d spend whatever was left doing the same.
He closed the door behind her and gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat.”
“I’ll stand. I’m not staying long.”
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “If—” he sat down at the table “—Martin and Conway were in this together, as you believe, then you may be in danger.”
“Now that’s a good one.” She shook her head. “I’m not staying here—in this room—with you. I have my own place. I like my privacy.”
“The chief called me while you were taking a smoke break. They’ve confirmed that Conway’s killer was female.”
Jo snorted. “Really. It took them all this time to figure that out? I took one look at his position on the bed and the silk scarves used to tie him to the bed and figured that out.” If it had been a man, Conway would have been lying ass up so that his dominant partner could enter him from behind.
“They found a blond hair.”
Jo stilled. Now she got it. “So you think it was me? Didn’t we have this conversation already?” She shook her head. “So yeah, I drove over to Macon, fucked the guy, stabbed him a couple of times, took a shower, gave his hard drives a bath, and then drove to Mickey D’s for your breakfast. I’m that cold and calculating. Couldn’t you tell when we were screwing last night?”
“The chief wants you to submit a hair sample for comparison.”
The first hint of fear slithered through some errant crack in her defenses. “Not no, but hell no.” She folded her arms across her chest. “No way.”
“I shouldn’t have let you go in there with me. This is my fault. He wouldn’t say where they found the hair. Could’ve been on the carpet. When the cops first arrived, to protect you, I told them that you were my girlfriend and you stayed in the car. I doubt they’re going to believe me when I tell them I lied.”
Shit. “Tell him to get a warrant and he can have his hair.”
“The bottom line,” he offered, “is you’re here. You’re involved somehow and maybe someone is trying to set you up. Hailey Martin comes to mind. Think about it—you and Ellen were the first two abductions like Tiffany’s and Vickie’s. Maybe you were part of it all along or maybe you’re reenacting what happened to you. These are the scenarios the task force will consider.”
“First,” she argued, “Martin-Houser—who knows what her real name is?—couldn’t have known I was here before today. She didn’t have time to set me up. Second, I can prove when I left Texas.”
“Having proof when you left home helps,” he said. “As for the trace evidence found at the Conway scene, Martin did touch your hair.”
Jo’s throat tightened as the memory flashed through her brain. “She was just being a bitch.”
But she could have taken a hair. No way. She couldn’t have put it all together that quickly. Not possible. That kind of premeditation took time. Besides, Conway was already dead when she and LeDoux visited Martin.
Jo’s money was on the scenario that Martin killed Conway—tying up loose ends.
“Maybe the chief needs to ask Ms. Martin for a hair sample. Did you tell him that?” Jo’s heart started to pound as she waited for his response.
“I did. I provided her address and her connection to Conway. He’ll have someone at her door first thing in the morning.”
So maybe LeDoux did have her back. “Thanks.”
He ran his hand through his hair, exhaled a weary breath. “My niece is missing. As best we can estimate she’s been missing six days now. I need to find her. Soon. I need to find her alive. To do that I need all the help I can get. My gut tells me the person who took her is somehow a part of or involved with what happened to you eighteen years ago. For that reason, I need you safe. I need you close.”
He looked her in the eyes then. “I need your help.”
The faces of all those other women who were dead because she had kept silent all these years floated in front of her eyes. How could she keep doing that? She couldn’t. Jo nodded. “Okay. I’ll stay, but you keep that chief off my ass.”
“I can do that for a little while anyway.”
“I need to get my bag from my car.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She hesitated. “You worried I’ve got another body in the trunk?”
He smiled. “You have no idea the things I’ve seen.”
Actually, she did. She doubted many people had spent as much time researching missing persons as she had. She had perused story after story and image after image. Whether it was for money or pure sadistic pleasure, it was never pretty.
He followed her to the street. She opened the trunk and grabbed her canvas overnighter. “See.” She waved her hand. “No bodies. Just a spare tire and tire iron.”
He took the bag from her. “Good. I was really hoping I hadn’t slept with a killer.”
His words, spoken offhandedly, echoed through her. She decided not to correct him on that one. Knowing that truth wouldn’t help him find his niece.
When they were back inside the cottage, she set her hands on her hips and gave him the ground rules. “I’m not sleeping with you again. I’ll take the couch.”
“I’ll take the couch.” He tossed her bag onto the bed.
“Deal.” She wasn’t above taking the man’s bed. How often did she get to sleep on such a luxurious bed complete with down comforter?
Never.
“Tomorrow we’ll lay out a strategy.”
“You have a plan?” She reached into her bag for the nightshirt she’d packed.
“No. But I will by morning.”
“Is your sister doing okay?” She’d come outside and talked to him once while Jo was pacing the sidewalk.
“She’s terrified. Tomorrow she and the other girl’s mother are making a public plea at the task force press conference.”
Jo’s mother had done that. Her brother, too. So had all the other parents from all the other victims she’d tracked down. In this situation it wouldn’t help. Probably never did. Really. “If your niece was taken by the same people who took me, she’ll be back.”