Against her belly, she felt the long, rigid length of his cock and she whimpered as one big hand cupped her butt, holding her still as he pumped his hips against her, his cock cuddling into the softness of her abdomen. “Maybe you shouldn’t have just wondered,” she teased, pulling her head back slightly, staring into his eyes.
He chuckled. “Darci, babe, you’re a bit more than I know how to handle,” he mused, staring into her eyes.
Footsteps sounded out in the hall and her body cried out in disappointment as he pulled away, easily lifting her to the lounge before he settled back on the bed, linking his hands between his knees, staring at her with brooding, unreadable eyes. The door opened just as he lifted the note from the floor, studying it through the plastic cover. “A woman,” he said quietly, his eyes thoughtful.
Darci pulled a robe on over the thin, white chemise before following them out into her home. “You sleep pretty soundly, Darci,” Kellan murmured, sighing as he studied the walls and the ugly red paint that smeared them.
“The paint is still tacky. She must have done it right before she went outside. I wonder what she was doing,” Kellan muttered, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. It floated loosely through his fingers and he absently told himself he needed to get it cut.
“Maybe she wanted to scare me,” Darci said softly.
Her eyes were locked on the wall, at the stain of red that smeared it. No words…just an erratic line, right down the middle, and palm prints pressed to each of the matted photos that adorned the wall.
“Well, that’s a given,” Kellan sighed. “You find out somebody opened a door you’re certain you locked, and slid inside your house…you’re going to be scared.”
“I’m starting to get pissed as well,” she said, lifting her shoulders restlessly, a muscle ticcing in her jaw as she stared at the ruined pictures.
Kellan suspected he knew what was going through her mind. Certainly, she could throw the frames away, get new ones-the glass over the photos had protected the pictures she had shot. But he knew, even if she did that, they were ruined for her.
As if in echo to his thoughts, she quietly said, “Some of these are the first photos I ever took. More than fifteen years of my life invested in them. And now they are ruined. I can’t ever look at them again without seeing those bloody handprints.”
“I’m sorry, Darci,” he said quietly, dipping his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out to her.
A dry laugh escaped her. “Yeah. Me, too. But maybe not for all of it,” she replied.
And the look she sent him from under her lashes had his blood pounding heavy and hot through his veins.
No fingerprints.
None. The handprints on the glass and the walls were smooth, like a mannequin. They discovered why later as a deputy searching the grounds had found a pair of vinyl gloves lying beside the mailbox, stained red with paint.
“Who in the hell are you?”
“Sheriff?” one of the deputies asked from behind him.
As he tossed the bag containing the vinyl gloves onto his desk, he muttered, “Nothing. I’m just talking to myself.”
Grady finished reading the report and asked, “Think it’s the same person?”
“Almost has to be. This town is too damned small. You don’t go all this time with hardly any crimes and then suddenly have two nutcases show up at once,” he said, rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t slept, not even for twenty minutes, since the night before…when he had kissed her.
And then she had kissed him.
The echo of her taste still lingered in his mouth. She had been so sweet, so hot…the scent of her arousal had flooded the air and he had wished he had more time…time to push her back onto the ground and find the source of that hot, musky scent, ripe and female.
Nearly thirty-six hours had passed.
And he still couldn’t forget the feel of her satin skin under his hands.
“What in the hell are we going to do?” Grady asked, sighing and leaning back in his chair. “We don’t have the men to watch her full time. And this all has something to do with her. Doesn’t it?”
“’Fraid so,” Kellan replied, turning to stare out the window. The small sheriff’s office had more traffic in it than it usually saw on a weekend. Late Sunday, yet the small parking lot was full. Those who weren’t there because he had called were there because they wanted to know what in the hell was going on.
Even the police got curious.
He’d love to be able to tell them something. Anything.
Anything more than, No, we don’t know what’s up…
He was getting pissed.
Kim stared at Tricia Casey with tired eyes. “Bryce will be in sooner or later-you know how he is. Why-”
“We need him here now,” Tricia said icily. “I’ve lost two of my best artists. I’ve got business to do. I do not have time to stand around the gallery. That is why I hired you two and I’m tired of him not doing his job.” Her eyes narrowed shrewdly and she added, “You make an art of avoiding him-why is that?”
Why don’t you go and find him? Kim thought nastily. But she didn’t dare say that aloud. Not to Tricia.
Kim really didn’t want to go looking for Bryce. His golden boy blond looks, the way he stared at her, it all made her feel tight and itchy. But Tricia wasn’t going to go looking for him.
And the only person left was Peggy. Not likely she’d do anything. Even though she was part owner of the gallery, she never did anything beyond work in the small studio in the back. Kim wondered if she even knew who Bryce was.
Kim trudged down the steps, turning to the right. She could always drive over there-it was nearly a half mile to his apartment, but she had no desire to hurry back to the gallery.
Resentment brewed in her belly as she remembered the look in Tricia’s eyes. She knew. That knowing, disdainful look… Kim wanted nothing so much as to knock that look off her boss’s face. Like that was really going to happen.
She had to keep getting her paychecks, didn’t she? Carrie was no longer there to run interference. For the longest time, Carrie had made sure Kim would be around because she liked having a lackey. But Tricia couldn’t care less about Kim. And there was no reason to worry about keeping Carrie happy now.
Turning right on Main Street, she jogged across the intersection before the light could turn green, muttering under her breath.
Kim do this…Kim do that…
Cutting across Preservation Park, she hit Lyle Street, scowling as she saw Bryce’s black truck parked in front of his apartment. Jerk. He was home, likely hung over or stoned. Just ignoring the phone.
As she plodded up the stairs to the small apartment he rented from Letty Miller, she mumbled under her breath. “One of these days, I’m going to get extremely tired of doing everything I’m told,” she groused, banging on the door.
She realized he wasn’t going to answer. It was too quiet in there. Even when he was hung over, he didn’t sleep that soundly. He should have already yanked the door open.
Kim was even braced for him to yell at her. But there wasn’t a sound in the apartment.
Pulling up the doormat, Kim grabbed the key and unlocked the door.
The smell struck her like a fist.
Kellan settled down across the table from Kim, studying her pale face. “He’s been dead a couple of days,” he said quietly. “It will be a few days before I know for certain. But there’s nothing you could have done.”