Killer Heat (21 page)

H
e was a fool to whet his own appetite. No question about it. For some reason, he'd rather torture himself with what used to be—what could've been—than steer clear of physical contact. Kissing Francesca would be a poignant, perhaps painful, reminder of all he'd lost. But Jonah couldn't persuade his worthless heart to accept the no-touch policy he'd tried so hard to follow.

He'd always had to learn his lessons the hard way. Apparently, this one would be no different….

“Who's going first?” she breathed, her amber eyes filled with an unsettling mixture of doubt and desire.

“I am.” Maybe he'd pay for this later, but God, what a way to go. It'd been so long….

Propping his hands against the wall on either side of her, he bent his head and brushed his mouth across hers. He didn't want to come on too strong. All he needed was one taste, he told himself. But when her palms cupped his chin and her lips softened, he couldn't have pulled away even if the motel was on fire.

Jonah had enough sense left to realize that he was sliding down a very slippery slope, but the kiss had started out so perfect—gentle, slow, controlled. He was determined to finish it just as perfectly, to give her a moment
of tenderness to remember him by, a bittersweet farewell to the relationship they'd once shared.

Or maybe that wasn't his real goal. Maybe, if he was completely honest, he'd admit this was his way of showing her that he could exercise some restraint, that he wasn't out to use her or any other woman. But then her lips parted, welcoming his tongue, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to hang on to his restraint….

She groaned. He hadn't expected it, hadn't thought she'd let him know she was enjoying this, but that encouragement sent an onslaught of testosterone into his bloodstream. Chest rising and falling, he explored the warmth of her mouth in a leisurely manner, hoping to drive the pleasure higher, to make her want him with a desperation that rivaled his own….

And then her body arched into his and she moaned again.

He almost moved his hand, almost went for her towel. But his cell phone rang, and the personalized ring identified the caller as Finch or Hunsacker. The detectives were probably confirming that they'd be at the meeting.

Pulling away, he turned so she wouldn't be able to see that he was shaking. He'd missed the call and didn't plan to return it until they were in the car, but the interruption had brought him to his senses, reminded him of his responsibilities—and his limitations where she was concerned.

“It's your turn,” he said as he strode to the bed to put on his shoes. “What did you want to ask me?”

If he'd been interested in sharing any details about Lori, he would've mentioned his ex ten years ago. But a deal was a deal. He'd gotten even more than he'd wanted. The least he could do was reciprocate.

Francesca didn't answer right away. When she did try
to talk, she had to clear her throat first. “Why—why did the two of you break up?”

He recognized the doubt in her voice. She wondered if he'd cheated on Lori, too. After what he'd done, there was no way to reclaim her trust, no way to rectify his mistake. Knowing the past would always stand between them made him crazy for kissing her. He couldn't have what he'd once had; he'd already destroyed it. “Not what you're thinking.”

“So what was it?”

Did she believe him? Probably not. Why would she?

“Jonah?” she persisted.

He managed a sardonic smile as he looked back at her. “I wasn't her type.”

 

Hunsacker rested his hands on his bulging stomach as he sat next to Jonah and across from Francesca in the conference room they'd used before. He hadn't spoken yet, merely nodded when they filed into the sheriff's station. But something was up. Francesca could feel it. Instead of being angry, as she'd assumed, he seemed pleased with himself. Far
too
pleased.

“What's going on?” she asked.

“You'll see when Finch gets here,” he replied.

Clasping his hands loosely in his lap, Jonah leaned back and studied Hunsacker from beneath half-closed eyelids.

“What's with you?” Hunsacker asked, bristling beneath Jonah's unyielding scrutiny. “What's with
you?
” Jonah replied.

Hunsacker stretched his collar as if Jonah made him nervous. Jonah would make anyone nervous with
the hard-ass expression he was wearing. He could tell something was up, too.

The door opened, and Finch walked in, carrying a file. He dropped it on the conference table, but didn't sit down. “How's the arm?” he asked, nodding toward the big white bandage covering her stitches.

Knowing he wasn't truly concerned, only trying for a decent start to what would likely be a less than pleasant meeting, she shrugged. “It'll heal.”

“Could've been a lot worse. You're aware of that, right?”

She braced for his full reaction. “Nice segue.”

“Dog like that could've torn out your jugular,” he went on. “Then where would you be?”

“With a severed jugular, I'm quite certain I'd be dead.” Careful not to put pressure on her stitches, she leaned on the table. “That means we should be able to charge Mr. Vaughn with attempted murder.”

“You think so? When you were warned, by us and by the Beware of Dog signs, to keep your distance yet returned to his property, anyway?” He folded his arms. “Tell me. If you're so scared of Mr. Vaughn, why did you go back?”

“Because I'm determined to stop him before he kills anyone else. And I want to be able to quit looking over my shoulder.”

“You think what you did last night will help?”

“Whether or not I should've been there, what he did was illegal. You can't order your dog to tear someone apart just because that person's on your property.”

He rested the bulk of his upper body on his knuckles. “The ‘order' part is where I'm having trouble, Ms. Moretti. From my perspective, it looks as if you ignored our directive to stay beyond the fence and went
snooping around, even though there was a watchdog in the yard.”

“Typical P.I. bullshit,” Hunsacker muttered.

Finch threw his partner an irritated glance, and ignored the interruption. “At that stage, you were accidentally locked in when they closed for the night.”

Jonah uncrossed his ankles. He'd been sitting silently, letting Francesca take her lumps. They'd both known what was coming, but he seemed to have reached the end of his patience with how they were proceeding. “I told you what happened last night. It was no accident. So if you want to berate her, at least stick to the facts.”

“And I wasn't snooping,” Francesca argued. “I was trying to hear a conversation between Butch and his wife.”

“Eavesdropping is just as bad!” Hunsacker snapped.

That was enough to make Jonah jump in again. “Come on. What she did took guts. If she'd come away with some piece of information that nailed Butch you'd be calling her a hero. You can't have it both ways.”

Unwilling to let Jonah draw their fire—what had happened certainly wasn't his fault—she spoke before the investigators could respond. “I got the name of his mistress. That opens up a lot of possibilities.”

“Does it?” Hunsacker said. “
What
possibilities? Because I've already visited Kelly Martin's place. She has nothing but wonderful things to say about Butch.”

“It's nice that the two of you have so much in common,” Francesca said.

“You can go to hell!” he retorted.

Sitting taller, Jonah directed his comments to Hunsacker. “That doesn't mean Kelly won't change her mind.”

Francesca spoke up again. “What about the other
woman Paris brought up? Julia. Did you check the missing persons list? It would certainly be suspicious if she's on there.”

Hunsacker clicked his tongue. “I hate to break this to you, but there is no Julia.”

This took Francesca aback. She knew that name had
some
significance. Paris had seemed relieved that the police hadn't come knocking, looking for information about Julia. That meant someone
should
be asking, didn't it? “What Paris said means something. I know it does. You won't find Bianca on any missing persons list, either. Yet she's dead.”

“You're stretching.” Hunsacker again.

“No, I'm not. This Julia could be from out of town, and in that case she wouldn't be reported as missing in
this
area.” She tucked her hair behind her ears as she puzzled through it. “Or…maybe she was a runaway. Or she could've been a homeless woman. Or even a prostitute. There're a lot of reasons she might not be on the list. But that name is significant.”

Hunsacker's whole body jiggled as he laughed. “You've got quite an imagination, you know that?”

She glared at him. “Stop patronizing me.”

“What else do you want me to do?”

“Charge Butch for what he did to me last night!”

“You might want to listen to her about Butch,” Jonah said. “He knew she was in the yard when he told Dean to close the gate. You don't seem to be listening—I told you this last night—but I witnessed the whole thing. I watched him bring the dog outside, even heard his wife pleading with him not to turn the animal loose.”

Hunsacker rolled his eyes. “Or you're trying to protect her. You come to her rescue every time she gets herself in trouble.”

“Kiss my ass,” Jonah snapped. “
You
weren't there.”

“Exactly! I wasn't there,” he responded. “But I know Butch puts that dog out every night.”

“It wasn't like that. It wasn't a routine act,” Jonah insisted.

Finch straightened his tie. “How would we prove that he knowingly locked her in?”

The investigators' stubborn resistance made Francesca feel hopeless. “What are you talking about? You have two witnesses. We told you what happened.”

“Like you told us he had a dead body in the yard?” Hunsacker said.

With a bitter laugh, she got up. “Under the circumstances, anyone would've thought that mannequin was a body, Hunsacker. Or do you have your head so far up Butch's ass that you would've turned a blind eye, regardless?”

Hunsacker's face turned scarlet. “Are you questioning my ethics?”

“I'm wondering if your relationship with Butch is making it impossible for you to view him objectively.”

Spittle shot from Hunsacker's mouth as he clambered to his feet. “Because I'm demanding proof?”

“Because you're ignoring the obvious!”

“Whoa, calm down.” Finch held up a hand to each of them but spoke to her. “The problem here is that what
you're
saying not only contradicts Butch's side of the story, it contradicts what his wife, his brother-in-law, his mother-in-law and his father-in-law are saying. So how do you expect the D.A. to take your word against that of all four people who live in the house, when you already have a history of overstepping your bounds?”

“A history of overstepping my bounds?” she echoed. “Give me a break! The first time I went there, it was
just to speak with him. I was searching for a missing woman—and
he
was the last person to have seen her alive.”

“That doesn't make him guilty,” Hunsacker said. “Whether he and April Bonner had an affair or not doesn't matter. That's not proof of murder.”

“He nearly attacked me with a baseball bat. Which, I might add, is how seven other victims have been killed in this area!”

Sweat began to bead on Hunsacker's forehead. “But he
didn't
beat you.
You
assaulted
him!
”

Francesca narrowed her eyes. “That's probably what saved my life.”

“It's cost you your credibility. That's what it's done.”

Jonah was the only one still seated. “Butch Vaughn is trouble,” he said. “Believe it or you'll be sorry later.”

Hunsacker turned to Jonah. “Oh, so if you say it, we should take it as gospel, is that right? Why? Because you're Mr. Big Shot from California? What have you been able to accomplish since you got here, huh?”

“Hunsacker, stop,” Finch said. “You know these investigations take time. We've hardly begun.”

“I didn't want his help from the beginning. He's no better than we are!”

Finch slanted Hunsacker a dark look. “I don't want to get into that.”

“Whether you're happy with what I did last night or not won't change the truth,” Francesca said. “Butch had his mentally ill brother-in-law lock me in, and then he sicced his dog on me. All you have to do is get Dean to talk.”

Hunsacker smacked his forehead. “Oh, why didn't I think of that? That should be easy to do. We just need to
get him to turn on Butch, to bite the hand that feeds him. And if we could convince him, his testimony would be completely reliable, wouldn't it? Considering he's psychotic and hears and sees things that don't exist!”

Finch spoke before Francesca could retort. “You say Butch locked you in and set the dog on you.”

Ignoring Hunsacker, she focused on him. “Yes.”

“I personally believe that. I have no reason not to. But did he also kidnap you from the van, where you were supposed to be, and carry you off to the salvage yard?”

Refusing to respond to a question he already knew the answer to, Francesca frowned at him.

“That's what I thought,” he said. “So, in other words, the incident last night could easily have been avoided if you'd stayed beyond the fence where you belonged, correct?”

“If you're saying that makes it my fault—”

“It does make what happened your fault!” he told her. “How do you expect me to charge Butch with attempted murder when all the evidence supports his story instead of yours?”