Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Your stuff is here?” I asked stupidly. Of course, his stuff was here.
“Yeah,” he said, looking around. “I dropped it off first thing when I got to town.”
“How did you know it would work out with your job?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t. But I was pretty set on moving here. If I didn’t get the job at the police station, I would have looked for employment somewhere else.”
“Would you have been a gas station attendant?” I asked, picturing him in oil-stained overalls. He looked hot no matter what he was wearing.
“I guess so,” he laughed. “I hadn’t really thought about it. They gave me the job as soon as I walked in.”
“I’ve never gotten a job that fast,” I said.
“I did some work in Nashville that the chief had heard of.”
Now his thumbs were hooked into his belt, and he was smiling, the picture of Southern charm. The rational part of my brain was screaming at me to cut this conversation off. He was going to be my landlord. I couldn’t daydream about his crotch every time we spoke to each other.
“I’m going to…” I pointed to my car.
“Right,” he said. “Do you have plans for dinner?”
“I don’t think we should have dinner together,” I said, mustering up my disinterest. The truth was my stomach felt warm and my knees weak at the prospect of spending more time with him. I squashed those feelings violently, putting steel into my spine.
He frowned. “Why not?”
“Because.” I rummaged around in my brain for a reason. Because we were about to enter a business relationship that wouldn’t leave any space for romance. Because I was apparently too much of a head case to handle rational conversation with him. “Because you’re going to be my landlord, and it’s inappropriate for us to go on dates.”
He laughed. “It’s not a date. It’s just dinner.” He nudged my shoulder with his own, a gesture that was both intimate and friendly. “Come on. We both have to eat.”
“I’m going to enjoy one of my last uninterrupted meals at home,” I said, excusing myself.
“Okay,” he said, clearly disappointed. “See you later.”
I didn’t respond, walking to the car as fast as I could without appearing like I was fleeing the scene of a crime. In the driver’s seat, I shoved the key into the ignition. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. If that was what talking to him was going to be like, I didn’t know how long I could last with him in the next bedroom. We had been standing in a parking lot, talking about furniture, and I wanted to rip his clothes off. This sharing a cabin plan was beginning to seem like the worst idea I had ever agreed to. I didn’t have any choice, though. I would just have to grit my teeth and jump on the first cabin or apartment that came on the market. With any luck, I could make it through the ordeal without sharing my bed. I turned right onto the two-lane highway back toward town, my breath slowly returning to normal.
11
JASON
“Ijust remembered something.” Carrie Fishburn’s husband stood in front of my desk, hat in hand. Carrie was the first victim of the monster drug that I was chasing and, like all the other victims, had me stumped. I gestured toward the metal chair beside me, but the man shook his head. “She had her hair done that day.”
I wrote down the tip and smiled. “Thank you for coming in.”
He nodded and turned, saluting Cheryl before exiting our office.
“Was that helpful?” Cheryl asked. In a town this small, there wasn’t always work for a dispatcher, so she spent a lot of her time doing data entry and looking over my shoulder.
“Could be,” I said.
I went to the war room and sat down with the files. Victim number two was also a woman, Barbara Clydesdale, who worked as a secretary in a medical office. She had been seen by her landlord doing laundry on her last day.
I picked up my phone and dialed the landlord.
“Lakeview Properties,” the receptionist answered.
I repressed a grin each time I heard the name. I had been to “Lakeview Properties” to interview the landlord in question twice, and neither time had I seen a lake or a view. “May I please speak with the owner?” I asked.
“Who may I say is calling?”
“Detective White.”
“Hold one moment.”
There was dead air for almost a minute before the property owner picked up. “Hello?” she said. “Has there been any news?” Unlike Lindsey’s soon-to-be former landlord, this woman actually cared about her residents.
“Nothing to report yet, I’m sorry,” I said.
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “How can I help?”
“You said you saw Barbara doing her laundry?” Laundry was in a common area, and any number of residents could have seen her.
“That’s right,” she said.
“Did you happen to notice her hair?” I took a chance.