My Killer Vacation — Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Myles

eedless to say, I’m not in a great mood when I pullN into the parking lot of Something is Fishy Snorkel ‘n’ Fun. Taylor’s car is here, along with two other ones I don’t recognize. I already hate whoever is driving them.

They left without me.

I returned from downtown and her car was gone. It took me under ten seconds to jimmy the lock on the back door and it was areal delight to find a random butcher knife just sitting out in the open, nobody around to ask for an explanation. My heartburn is acting up like a son of a bitch.

I’m convinced my antacids have been replaced with placebo. I should be investigating Oscar Stanley’s murder and instead, I’m chasing a second grade teacher all over Cape fucking Cod. Because the possibility of her in potential danger has me in a headlock.

And because she’s a suspect, too, I’m forced to remind myself.

I’m definitely not stomping across the beach in steel- toed boots because the idea of her in a bathing suit in front of other men gives me a splitting headache.

That has nothing to do with it.

I prove myself a liar almost immediately. Taylor comes into view down in the cove—in bikini bottoms and a rash guard—smiling and nodding at the instructor like an A-plus student. Beside the instructor there are four other men present. Jude is here, thankfully. I don’t mind her brother.

He seems decent. But there is some dude, I’m guessing it’s MBA Ryan, who looks a lot more interested in Taylor’s body than he is in the body of water behind him, and the burn shoots into my throat like a geyser.

How many men show interest in her per day? Ten?

Twenty? It’s getting ridiculous.

I’m shoveling a handful of antacids into my mouth when

Taylor catches sight of me.

“Oh,” she says weakly. “You found us.”

I look dead at Ryan while crushing the white tablets between my teeth.

“H-how exactly did you find us?” Taylor asks.

“I looked for the snorkeling place with the stupidest name,” I inform her. “Youwould pick a place called Something is Fishy.”

Gasping, she shoots a look at the instructor. “He’s only joking.”

“It’s fine. My daughter named it when she was eleven.”

There is a mesh bag full of equipment resting in the sand at the man’s feet and he gestures to it now. “Will you be…uh… joining us? I’m not sure I have large enough flippers…”

I kick off my boots. Leave my socks in the sand. “I’ll manage.”

The instructor starts to pass out the equipment. Goggle- snorkel combos and flippers. Life jackets. I take everything he hands me, but I can already tell nothing is going to fit, so I don’t put any of it on. Taylor frowns at me the whole time. Good. Fine.

“All right, we’re going to split up in groups of two,” says

the instructor.

“Taylor…” Ryan begins.

She turns in his direction.

Over the top of Taylor’s head, I promise him a slow

death with my eyes.

“Fuck off,” I mouth, very precisely.

“I’m going to pair up with Quinton,” he blurts, feigning interest in one of his life jacket buckles. “B-but I’ll catch you on a flippity flop, yeah?”

The others waddle off down the beach in their gear, listening to the older man explain how to keep their goggles from fogging up. Instead of following them, Taylor crosses her arms and cocks a bikini-clad hip, making my fingers itch to tug on the strings.

“Did you hear that?” I drop all of the equipment, except for the goggles and snorkel. “He’ll catch you on the flippity

flop.”

“Oh shut up.”

The look she’s giving me is pure venom. I want to kiss her so bad, my stomach is in knots.Don’t you dare. Some annoying sense of self-preservation warns me that I can’t get used to having my hands and mouth on her. I can’t

make it a habit or it’ll be impossible to break. I’ve resolved to back off from this woman or risk becoming too distracted.

If I put myself in a position to make another life or death mistake, what was the point of leaving Boston in the first place? Didn’t I turn my badge in and leave so I wouldn’t have the power to misread evidence and ruin another case?

Another set of lives?

Clearly interpreting my silence as irritation—with her— Taylor turns on a heel in the sand and sashays toward the far side of the cove. “Could you just stay on the beach, please? I’d actually like to enjoy myself.”

Of course, I follow her, fascinated by the way her bikini bottoms are creeping up the sweet split of her ass, revealing more and more cheek as she goes. “You heard him, half pint,” I say gruffly. “It’s a buddy system.”

“Obviously we will never be buddies.” Her steps slow a little. “Not unless you want to share with the class anything you learned at the police station.”

“Nope. You want to tell me why there was a knife at the

front door of your house?”

“Nope.”

I grind my teeth. Not only because we’re at odds and I find I really don’t…enjoy that. Being combative with people is normal for me. It’s how my family communicated. In blunt facts and fights and insults. Honestly, I could give a rat’s ass if people think I’m a disagreeable bastard. And it’s embarrassing to admit, even to myself, but I kind of wish Taylor would smile at me more. She did it a yesterday,

didn’t she? What needs to happen on my part in order for there to be more smiles?

There’s nothing dangerous or irresponsible about smiling.

It’s safer than sleeping together. Right?

Last night on the beach, when I told her about some of the uglier parts of my past, she did a whole lot more than smile at me. I have to make sure we don’t get that far again —for her safety and the good of the case—but the longer I go with her angry at me, the more restless I become. Why can’t I just be indifferent to her like I am with everyone else?

I don’t have the answers. I just know I don’t like her

walking away from me angry.

Disappointed.

That trust she gave me last night…I can’t help wanting another hit.

I have to give up ground in order to receive some, don’t

I?

Shit.

“Listen, Taylor…” I take hold of her elbow and draw her to a stop, trying not to obsess over how smooth she is.

Everywhere. Although, might as well admit it. I’ve lost the battle over obsessing about her body at this point, as evidenced by the fact that I’ve been carrying her red, lacy little hookup panties around in my back pocket since Thursday. “Time of death came in early. Oscar had been deceased for twenty-four hours when you found him. Your alibis checked out. So…”

Her face brightens and my heartburn evaporates. “We’re

not suspects anymore?”

“No.”

“Oh.” She breathes a laugh. “You hated telling me that, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Wow. That response was way too quick to be believable. I plant my hands on my hips, but drop my hands almost immediately. “No. I didn’t hate it.”

She’s squinting up at me into the sun. No shades.

Without thinking, I take mine off and put them on her.

They’re so big on her, they slide right down to the tip of her nose and she goes momentarily cross-eyed watching them slip. Why does it feel like there is someone doing gymnastics in my chest? “Well.” I jerk my head at the cove.

“Go look at some fucking fish.”

She bursts out laughing and the glasses fall off

completely.

I catch them before they hit the sand.

“What’s so funny?”

“Well.” She struts off toward the rock formation and here I am again, keeping pace with her. “I was thinking if you were one of my students, I’d ask you to draw me a picture of your feelings. And they would probably look like the cover of a death metal album.”

The word “feelings” in itself makes me jumpy, so I push the conversation in another direction. Because at least she’s talking to me now. Not quite smiling yet, but there’s time.

No there isn’t. You’re supposed to be investigating a murder.

“What are you like?” I ask, more curious than I have the right to be. “As a teacher.”

“Well…” We enter an opening in the rock formation, stopping in front of a shallow tide pool. Overhead, there is a rocky overhang that blocks the sun and she peers up at me in the absence of light, as if deciding if she can talk to me. Trust me. I make a mental note about the timeline of our acquaintance. I was mean, also known as my usual self, until last night and once I let up, she softened. Trusted me.

Mean again this morning, lost that trust. Maybe I should just stop being mean. That seems like the only route here if

I want her to…

What?

Like me?

What good is liking me going to do her? Or me, for that matter?

“I’m a crier,” she says finally and my worries take a backseat. For now. “I cry all the time. I’m famous for being found weeping in the staff supply closet.”

I don’t like that at all. “Why?”

“The kids. They say the most honest, beautiful things.

They’re too young to be guarded and it’s especially noticeable with the boys. You know? Men sort of learn early to keep their feelings to themselves, but my second graders haven’t been taught that yet.” When I notice the moisture in her eyes, so much pressure squashes down on my chest that I physically take a step back, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “On the last day of school, one of them said, ‘Thank you for being my school mommy, Ms. Bassey’ and I almost required oxygen.”

“Are you going to require it now?”

“No.” She swipes at her eyes as if crying out in the open is the most natural thing in the world. “Why? This is

nothing. Level one tears, at best.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Do they make you uncomfortable?” She toes off her sandals and wades into the water, her curious attention drifting over to me. “You don’t have to answer that. You look like you’re being suffocated by a giant squid. My parents didn’t love the crying, either.”

With a grunt, I strip off my shirt and toss it down onto the shore. After flipping on the safety of my gun and leaving it close, I quickly follow her into the water. There are a lot of slippery rocks out there. I should probably stay near her, just in case she stumbles across one of them.

“Your parents were hard-asses like mine?”

“Not hard-asses. Just really courageous. Their job requires them to be levelheaded and unselfish at all times.

To focus on the greater good. No time for breaking down or giving in to messy emotions. It’s a waste of time. You probably agree with that, don’t…?”

Her question trails off when she glances back at me.

Abruptly, she stops wading, color filtering into her cheeks.

I raise an eyebrow, ready to prompt her into finishing the question. Then I realize why she’s distracted. I could have sworn I took my shirt off last night when we were burning the world down, but apparently not. Her shell- shocked expression says it’s definitely the first time she’s seeing me bare from the waist up. Those eyelids of hers are

filling with more and more sand by the minute. Damn, she likes what she sees. Against my better judgment, I make a mental note of that, too. Taylor doesn’t mind thick. Doesn’t

mind the chest hair or the tattoos.

Or the various knife scars.

Nah, she likes it all a lot. How in thesweet hell am I going to keep my hands off this woman? “You were saying,

Taylor?”

“Was I saying something?”

Her husky tone of voice puts more than a little life in my cock. “You were asking me if I agree with your parents.

That crying is a waste of time.”

“I would rather you didn’t answer. You’ll ruin…” She waves her hand in the general direction of my torso. “This.

That.”

Damn, she came right out and said she likes my body.

I’m as surprised as I am turned on. The fact that I’m thrown off by her unabashed response is probably why I ask my next stupid question. “Better than an MBA?”

She purses her lips, clearly opposed to giving me the satisfaction. “Better?” Turning and continuing into the water, she flips her hair back. “I don’t know about that.

Different, maybe.”

I’m grinding my jaw as I follow, my mouth going dry over the water lapping up and over her knees, skimming up the backs of her thighs. Thighs I would give my life savings to have wrapped around my face, if I thought for a second I could have a fling with Taylor and still maintain a level head while I’m in Cape Cod. Where my concentration is concerned, unfortunately, I’m already on thin ice. “Yeah. I

do agree with your parents. But that doesn’t mean everyone has to live…suppressed. Levelheaded all the time.

The world would be a pretty cold place without the criers.”

I draw even with her and she looks up at me slowly.

Cautiously. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” I clear the weirdness from my throat, liking the hope in her eyes a little too much. Especially when it’s directed at me. “Now people who sing Kelly Clarkson in the shower? We can probably take or leave them.”

A smile blooms across her mouth and she laughs, the light, tinkling sounds traveling around the cave. When she visibly reels her pleasure back in, I almost grab her shoulders and shake it back out of her. Gently, of course.

“What are you thinking about?”

That marks the first time in my life I’ve ever asked anyone that question.

“I was remembering the way Jude used to encourage me to cry when he could tell I needed a good jag. Thank God for my brother.”

All right, he’s more than decent. I might have to be nice to him, too. Fuck my life.

“And then I started wondering why don’t you talk toyour brother?”

Discomfort snakes into my middle. “I told you. He’s a

prick.”

“But couldn’t you be pricks together?”

She smiles at me to let me know she’s joking and I come very close to smiling back, despite the uncomfortable topic.

“He doesn’t exactly agree with my career path. He wants me to come back to Boston and open the private

investigation firm, like we planned.” I rake an irritated set of fingers through my hair. “Like nothing ever happened, you know?”

“You mean with Christopher’s kidnapping?” she asks quietly.

“Yes,” I half-shout, before softening my voice for her.

She remembered his name? “Yes.”

“What does your brother think about what happened?”

“Kevin? He…” Saying any of this out loud is like having my organs removed with pliers. “Right after it happened, he said there is one in every detective’s career that hits harder and this was mine. And it’s worse because a child is involved. He doesn’t think the right solution was obvious, but that’s a hard pill to swallow when I can look back and see it clearly.”

Christ. This is the last thing I wanted to talk about today.

Or any day.

But maybe it’s a good thing, because it reminds me I’m not here to play boyfriend to a sexually frustrated second grade teacher from Connecticut who wants kids and a husband and the whole nine yards. “I’m only investigating Oscar’s murder because I owed a friend a favor, but I don’t belong doing this. Official investigations. It’s a one-time

deal.”

“And you’re afraid of messing it up.”

I start to deny it, but hell, she’s right. “Yeah. Fine. Who wouldn’t be?”

“I don’t know,” she murmurs, studying me closely. Too closely. “Maybe someone who isn’t punishing themselves so hard.”

My throat constricts. “You don’t know anything about it, Taylor.”

Despite my forbidding tone, she isn’t done pursuing this.

Am I relieved or angry about it? I have no idea. Only that I’m not budging and neither is she. “I know you were invested in the case because of a childhood friend you lost.

Not for selfish reasons. Or negligence—not you. You’re right, I don’t know all of the details, but I know you must have had good intentions.”

“Good intentions aren’t enough in a life or death situation. Like this one.” The need to distract from the wounds inside of me, wounds becoming more and more visible by the moment, wins. “What happened last night shouldn’t happen again, all right? I’m responsible for letting it get that far and I’m sorry. But I just want to solve this case and get back to hunting bounties. There’s no room for a diversion.”

“Okay.” She’s flippant, but there’s something up her sleeve. I can tell. And by the way, I already want to take back everything I just said, even though I can’t. Even though putting a stop to this budding…whatever is the right thing for both of us. “Just do me a favor, Myles. If you’re not interested in distractions with me, don’t tell my

other prospects to fuck off.”

Damn. Caught. “How…”

“I saw your reflection in Ryan’s sunglasses.Idiot.”

Hearing her say another guy’s name out loud twists up my nerve endings like a fork twirling spaghetti. “Oh, I’m sorry.” I lean down until our noses are almost touching.

“Youwant flippity flop guy?”

“Better than a panty thief.” She shakes her head. “Why did you steal them anyway? Red isn’t really your color.”

I’ll burn them before you wear them for anyone else.

That is the totally out of bounds chaos going on in my head.

And no way can I let it come out of my mouth. “I’m saving you from putting them on for a guy like that—and being disappointed.”

She presses her nose—her cute, perfect little nose— right up against mine. “Who I wear them for is none of your business.”

I’m rapidly forgetting my firm resolution to keep a safe distance. To treat her less like a desirable woman and more like a part of the investigation. My brain is firing off warning signals, trying to remind me what happens when I stop being objective. I’m feeling too many things at once when it comes to her and I don’t know how to subdue something this urgent.

What makes it worse is shelikes the rougher side of me.

Asked for it by name last night. She’s all but inviting it out of me with her glazed eyes right this very second. They’re glued to my mouth, her fingertips tracing the cuts of my abs.

“That so?” I press my lips tighter to hers. Flush. So we’re trading breaths in a rush. “Get that mouth away from me before I fuck it again.”

Her intake of breath is reedy. It’s followed by a

trembling moan. And I’m screwed.

I’m so beyond screwed.

And I’m almost angry about how thoroughly she sways me. Tempts me. I gather the front straps of her life jacket

in my hands and yank the woman up onto her toes, her gasp bathing my lips and I just look at her. Look into her eyes and try and figure out what the fuck is so different about her. Which turns out to be a big mistake. Huge.

Because she doesn’t even blink. She lets me look and doesn’t flinch away from the intimacy, the way I’ve always done. To avoid a situation where my guard will have to come down. No, she shows me she’s not afraid of it and dares me to come join her, even as her pulse races in her neck. That’s only one of the things that makes her different —her vulnerable courage—and like I said, I’m screwed.

Because her mouth is ripe and slick and pouty. And I know what kind of pleasure it gives when she’s turned on.

I’m erect, balls heavy, sweat rolling down my spine. I couldn’t stop my mouth from raking side to side across her sweeter one if I had the willpower of ten thousand men.

With a groan from deep in the recesses of my chest, I stop trying to fight the need that is simply too great. Still looking her in the eye, I unbuckle her life jacket and throw it down into the water. The rash guard is pulled off and thrown aside, leaving her tits out, covered by nylon triangles. God, she’s sexy. I want her. Need her. Without the impediments between us, she just sort of melts into me, my hands delving into her bikini bottoms, clutching her buns and throwing her up against me.

We dive into a kiss as she lands, her thighs hugging my waist, and the relief of having her as close as I need her staggers me back a step. And my driving hunger demands that I untie my board shorts and finish what we started last night. Just give her the business right here in knee-deep

water, fast and furious and necessary. But then she mewls against my mouth, our tongues stroke together and we sink into a real kiss, the kind we’ve been dancing around without following through and my knees…my fucking knees

turn to jelly.

What is happening here?

I don’t know. I’m too busy stealing as much of her taste as I can get. I’m greedy. I’m desperate. Twisting her lips with mine, right then left, my tongue occupying her mouth over and over again, with possession, with familiarity, growling when her heels dig into my ass and she climbs higher on my body, nails scoring my scalp, my back. It’s a kiss more personal, more intimate than sex, at least any kind I’ve ever had and I physically cannot stop. She’s so sweet. So addicting and…she’s a match for something inside of me, as scary as that is to admit. But I don’t have time to come to terms with it right now. Now when her taste is apples and ocean air and vanilla. And her pussy rides up and down against the aching ridge in my shorts, unconscious, hungry movements that I urge on with my tight handfuls of her ass.

“I’ve got a rubber in my wallet,” I rasp when we break away, sucking down lungfuls of air. “We using it, sweetheart? Am I using it to give you a pounding?”

“Yes. Yes.” She kisses my jaw, my mouth, nails digging into my shoulders. “Then maybe I can go back to making smart decisions.”

Those words, spoken on a sawing inhale an exhale, twist a screwdriver between my ribs, even though I completely understand where she’s coming from and I can’t be mad at

her. Couldn’t fathom being angry with her right now, even if she sucker punched me. Not when she’s clinging to me, giving me trust I’m not sure I’ve earned. I’m powerless to do anything but worship her. God, I just want toworship her.

Reluctantly taking one hand from her backside, I shove a hand into my pocket, bring my open wallet to my mouth and remove the condom with my teeth. Without taking my eyes off her beautiful green ones, I toss my wallet onto the shore and tear open the wrapper, pushing the ring of latex down the front of my shorts, gritting a curse when I encounter my stiffness. Jesus, I’m hard as nails. I’m going to come fast, so I’ll need to give her clit a lot of attention to bring her over the edge with me. No way I’m leaving this woman behind.

“You’re going to be so big inside me, aren’t you? Big and mean,” she whispers against my mouth. Then she dips down and scrapes my neck with her teeth, licking the sting away and colors—fuckingcolors are exploding behind my eyes. “You’re going to keep me safe and make it hurt a little at the same time, aren’t you?”

There’s no word for the sound I make. It’s hoarse and hungry and shocked and could only come from a man at the point of no return. She’s killing me. I didn’t know I liked to be…praised. Maybe I don’t. Maybe I just like it from her.

Maybe I’m already hooked on it. Yeah, I am. “Safe,” I mutter thickly, walking her into the shadows, ripping at the strings of my shorts. “You’re so safe with me, sweetheart, baby, going to cram you so full and kiss it when I’m done—”

“Help!”

At first, I swear to God, that’s my dick talking. Heis in dire need of some help. I’m throbbing, already letting beads of precome out into the condom, this beautiful woman has her back arched, waiting for me to fill her up, finally fill her up and give her the ride of her life.

But it’s not my dick shouting for help.

It’s someone else. Someone outside the cave.

No.

This is a nightmare. I’m asleep in bed having a goddamn

nightmare.

“Help!” calls the voice again.

And then,“Taylor!”

Her eyes shoot wide, legs dropping down from my waist, her feet splashing into the water. “Oh my God, that’s my brother. He sounds hurt.” She flaps her hands, looking down at her aroused body. After a moment’s hesitation, she stoops down and splashes herself with cold water, which— for my money—doesn’t help matters whatsoever. Because now she’s flushed and the bathing suit is clinging to everything, including her hard nipples. And yet, she tries to charge out of the cave like that.

I catch her around the waist by the crook of my elbow, hauling her to a stop mid-air.

Still speechless with the worst case of blue balls mankind has ever seen, I carry her over to the rash guard and hand it to her wordlessly. “Thanks,” she murmurs, puling it over her head and splashing to shore, running out into the sunshine. It takes me a breathing exercise and remembering a particularly grisly crime scene to make my erection subside, but it finally loses the worst of its vigor

and I follow Taylor out of the cave while pulling on my shirt and securing my gun back in place.

Everyone is standing around Jude on the beach, watching Taylor fuss over him.

Jesus. His foot has blown up to the size of a cantaloupe.

“Jellyfish got him,” the instructor informs me when I make my way over to the group. “No worries. One of the fellas already pissed on it.”

“That would be me,” Ryan informs Taylor, before glancing back at me, turning pale and taking a giant step away from her.

“Looked like a sea nettle. Unless he’s allergic to the venom, it’ll just hurt for a couple of days,” says the instructor. “He should be fine.”

“Physically, anyway,” Jude says, dazed. “I’ve been peed on, though, so…mentally? This calls for vodka.”

“Let’s get you back to the house.” Taylor offers her shoulder for Jude to lean on. “We’ll put you on the couch with an icepack and—”

They take a step and Jude winces, hissing a breath.

“Does it hurt to walk?” Taylor looks like she’s about to burst into tears.

Instead of standing here and acknowledging that her tears make my chest feel like a shipwreck, I shove my feet in my boots without bothering with socks or laces. Sighing, I stride forward. “I’ve got him. Go get the backseat of your

car ready.”

“You’ve got him? How—”

I scoop her brother up against my chest and head up the beach. “Taylor,” I call back over my shoulder. “Backseat.

Get it ready.”

“Yes. Coming.” She jogs past me and Jude, rubbing my arm and giving me a grateful look as she passes. I grunt at her back, cataloging every detail about her in a sweep.

She didn’t put her sandals back on.

The parking lot asphalt is going to burn her feet, dammit.

I hurry to catch up in case she needs to be carried, too.

“This rescue would be a lot more romantic if you weren’t mooning over my sister,” Jude says, laughing while in obvious pain. “But it’s pretty decent of you regardless.”

“I’m just trying to save time. It would have taken you a week to hobble up to the parking lot and I’m on the clock.”

“Whatever you say.” I frown down at him, but his mouth only twitches. “You looked a little piqued coming out of the

cave, bounty hunter.”

“Shut up.”

He laughs.

We reach the car a minute later and I set Jude on his feet, carefully, where he can lean against the side of the vehicle. As predicted, Taylor is hopping back and forth, trying to keep from burning off the soles of her feet. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her up against me.

“Stand on my boots.”

“Oh,” she whispers, her hands flattening on my chest, toes perching on mine through the thick leather. “Thank you.”

I nod once, walking us around to the driver’s side of the car, step by step, my forearm braced against the small of her back. I’m sure we look completely ridiculous and yeah,

I could definitely just carry her, but there’s something about this position I like. Maybe because she’s looking me in the eye. Or because the twin movements of our legs feels like teamwork. Whatever the reason, it’s dangerous, but that fact isn’t going to penetrate my thick skull until she drives away and I can snap out of this trance she puts me in.

“I’m going to make tacos tonight,” she says, looking at my chin shyly. “You have to fuel yourself for the investigation, right? You…I-I mean, if you’d like to come, it would be the least I could do after you carried my brother to the car like some kind of action hero.”

“I was walking this direction anyway.”

She smirks at me.

Don’t kiss her. Don’t even think about it. But Jesus, those lips are begging for me. “I’ll be patrolling outside the house, in case the buoy thrower comes back. That constitutes doing my job. But I can’t come to dinner, Taylor.”

I say it with the kind of finality that she knows my staying away is about more than tacos. It’s bigger picture.

Spending time together. Every minute I’m around her, we get in deeper despite my best intentions. Despite the warnings I keep giving myself. This has to stop. Because I’m pretty sure if we’d gone any further in that cave, I’d be promising her the moon. I’d be promising her things I can’t —and never have delivered on. I have no reason to believe I could suddenly be good at relationships. My last one was rocky from the start, not because of an abundance of fighting, but because I cared more about my career. Now?

I’ve got a shit load of baggage and no permanent address, for crying out loud.

“Okay.” She chews her bottom lip for a beat, then goes up on her toes and kisses me on the cheek. “Bye, Myles.”

My chest rumbles.

And then she steps down off my boots and climbs into the driver’s side. The instructor hands her forgotten sandals through the passenger side and Jude passes her the car keys from the backseat. With one more glance at me through the window, she pulls out and leaves.

I’m no longer touching her. And I damn well like touching her, which might be why I reach into my back pocket to stroke the lace of her red panties. Just to have

some sort of contact— They’re gone.

I start, checking the other pocket. Not there, either.

Taylor stole back her hookup panties. Snuck them right out of my pocket. How did she know they were there in the first place? And what does it mean that she took them back?

Who I wear them for is none of your business.

“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, popping an antacid into my mouth.

With a stomach full of broken glass, I return to the motel, determined to go over my case notes and plan my next moves. Not think about shit like red lace panties and women who cry over children being nice to each other.

Do your job and go home.

You’ll forget her eventually.

Like in a hundred years or so.

Maybe.

Not even a little bit.

Fuck.