Sex, Lies, and Online Dating (15 page)

Her head whipped around to look at him.
“Others?
While you dated me, there were others? You told me I…jerk.”

Maybe he should have kept that one to himself. “Watch the road.”

She frowned and looked out the windshield once more. “How many others are we talking about?”

“While I dated you? Just a couple.”

Lucy slowed the car and pulled into a parking place in front of the post office.
Just a couple.
He said it as if it were okay. As if it didn’t completely crush her, no matter how much she didn’t want to be crushed.

“Over the course of the past month,” he continued as he unbuckled his belt, “about fifteen or sixteen.”

Lucy opened her car door and stepped out. “Fifteen or sixteen?” She couldn’t help but wonder how far he’d gone with the others. Had he kissed them like he’d kissed her? Had he shoved them against a wall and touched them all over?

He held his evidence collection equipment in one hand as they moved up the steps. “It was exhausting,” he said, holding the door open for her as if he were a gentleman.

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” He wasn’t tricking her for a second. He wasn’t a gentleman. “Poor guy. You wined and dined fifteen or sixteen women and lied to us all.”

“Some I just met for coffee and never saw again.”

And others he’d kissed like he hadn’t been able to get enough. Others like her. And though she would rather die than admit it out loud, she felt a tiny stab of jealousy for all those faceless others.

They walked into the old post office. Across from the rows of PO boxes, she set her purse on a table used for labeling. She would
not
ask how many he’d kissed and touched as he’d kissed and touched her. Not if it killed her. “And out of all those fifteen or sixteen, I’m the one you were most convinced was a serial killer.” She opened her purse and set her wallet on the table. “That’s brilliant police work.” Next she pulled out her brass knuckles and stun pen, then dug a little deeper. The more she thought of all those other women, the angrier she got. “I knew there was something wrong with you, but did I listen? No. I did not. I even made excuses for you trolling chat rooms and for all the really crappy e-mails you sent me.” She finally pulled out the special set of keys that always ended up in the bottom of her purse. “That spark to flame stuff was so lame. I mean, get a clue, Lucy.” She looked up, and Quinn took several steps backward. “What are you doing?”

“What do you have in your hand?” he asked, looking at her as if she held a cobra.

“The key. What else?” His gaze moved to her stun pen, and she smiled. Oh, that was tempting. “Are you afraid I’m going to zap you?”

“No. You wouldn’t get close enough.”

“Mmm hmm.” She held out the keys and made a little zapping sound through her teeth as she dropped them in his open palm.

“Funny. What’s your number?”

She told him, then turned to stuff everything else back into her purse.

“You’re the only one who’s complained about the e-mails.” He rocked back on his heels. “The other women liked them.”

“The other women were being kind to you. Believe me, I know hyperbolic crap when I read it.”

He chuckled and said over his shoulder, “That’s what I told Kurt when he wrote those e-mails. Although I’m pretty sure I didn’t say his crap was ‘hyperbolic.’”

He hadn’t even written the e-mails she’d spent so much energy trying to excuse and justify. Figured. She leaned her hip into the table and watched him move to her PO box. For some reason, the skin on the back of her neck and arms started to tingle as she waited for him to open it. A part of her wanted to tell him to stop. Not to open it. She didn’t want to see what was inside. Reading the sick rambling of a killer professing admiration for her work tainted what she’d always loved. Made it feel as if she were somehow responsible, although she knew she wasn’t. The thought of writing a mystery about a female serial killer no longer seemed like fiction. The lines between fact and fiction had blurred, and it was real now. She’d always loved her work, but sitting in her chair and writing seemed too horrific. The thought of never writing added a different shade of fear into the mix. She not only loved writing but it was also how she made her living. Without it, she was uniquely qualified to work in the fast-food industry.

In the span of three hours, her whole life had changed. Her emotions were raw, her mind numb with the weight of it. More than anything, she felt disoriented, as if she’d been on a five-day bender. She watched Quinn fit the key into the lock, and her hands tingled and her fingers got cold. She didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t look away. The small door swung open, and Lucy’s heart felt as if it were going to pound right out of her chest.

The box was empty. Not even a piece of junk mail. Lucy let out a breath. She couldn’t go through this every day, but she didn’t see that she had a choice. Maybe she’d heard the last from a sick woman. Maybe she could get her life back.

Quinn locked the PO box and moved toward her with that long and lean purposeful stride of his. A scowl wrinkled his dark brow, and he handed her the key. “Are you going to pass out?”

He raised a hand, as if he was going to touch her, but she stepped back out of his reach. “I’m fine.”

His hand fell to his side, but his scowl remained in place. “We’ll check again tomorrow.”

Without a word, Lucy took the key ring and dropped it into her purse.
Tomorrow.
She didn’t want to see him again tomorrow. Nor did she want to stand in the post office with her heart pounding out of her chest.

Together they walked from the post office, their shoulders inches apart as they moved down the steps. Lucy felt so alone that it might as well have been miles that separated them.

On the ride to her house neither spoke. In the past week, Lucy had fallen in love with a man who didn’t love her and had only dated her because he’d thought she was a serial killer. If that wasn’t crazy enough, she’d been contacted by the real killer, who claimed Lucy had taught her everything she knew about committing murder. The police thought Lucy somehow knew the killer, or at least had met her. Lucy had a feeling they were right. She’d always considered herself a strong person, but with each passing hour, as bits and pieces of those letters spun around in her head and the significance sank in, she was having a harder and harder time keeping it together. She feared she was going to dive headfirst into a freak-out, and she wished she had something to hang onto before she lost it. Someone to hold her tight and make her feel safe. Someone to tell her everything was going to be okay, even if it was a lie.

There was no one. Especially not Quinn. He was the last person to make her feel safe or the last man who could fill the emptiness that he had created.

Lucy pulled the car into the garage, and Quinn followed her into her house. “We’ll check again tomorrow,” he said as he reached for his duffle.

She didn’t want to go back to the post office. She didn’t want to stand around, watching and waiting. She walked to the kitchen window and looked out at Mrs. Riley’s fake tulips. Some of them were blue. She didn’t recall ever seeing real blue tulips, but who was she to question someone else’s reality when she felt as if she might truly lose her mind? “What’s going to happen now?” she asked, although she’d written enough books to have a very good idea. She knew that the police saw her as a link between them and a serial killer. The irony didn’t escape her.

“The letters get processed in the crime lab for prints and DNA. Kurt and I will pore over every word, looking for any clue or connection that will point us in the right direction. I think these letters are going to help us find her.” Lucy heard him walk across the room, and she felt, rather than saw, him come to stand directly behind her. “Do you still have my home phone and cell numbers?”

“Somewhere. Probably.”

“Will you call me if you need anything at all?”

“I don’t need anything. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Thanks.” She laughed without humor and glanced down at her white hands grasping the edge of the counter.

“I just meant that you look pretty shook up. Those letters would get to anyone.”

“Do you really think she’ll write again?” Lucy asked and prayed he’d say no.

“Yes. It might be better to give me your key and I’ll go to your PO box. You won’t even have to see the letters. Think about it.”

Lucy had always thought she was so brave. So smart. At that moment, she didn’t know what she was anymore. She just knew that her life no longer felt like her own.

“Okay.” She still had her purse on her shoulder, and she reached inside and pulled out the key to her PO box. She took it off the ring and turned to face him. “Could you do me one favor? Would you bring the regular mail to me?”

“Sure.”

She placed the key in his palm and his hand closed, trapping her fingers in his warm grasp. She glanced up to his face. His gaze touched her forehead and cheeks, then landed on her mouth. He was looking at her as he’d looked at her before. This time she knew that the desire she thought she saw there was an illusion.

She pulled her hand away before she could give in to the illusion and sink into something bigger and stronger than herself. “Do you think she knows where I live?”

He raised his gaze, and his brown eyes looked into hers. “Your phone number is unlisted and there isn’t enough personal information about you on the Internet to lead anyone to your door. Since she sent the letters to your PO box instead of to your home address, my guess would be no.” He shoved the key into the front pocket of his pants. “But I’m not going to take a chance with your life.”

That almost sounded like he cared. She folded her arms beneath her breasts and looked down at her ring-toe sandals. Lucy would rather not take the chance either, but she wasn’t quite sure why he cared. Oh yeah, she was now valuable to his case.

“We’ll increase police patrol in the area, and I’ll check on you as much as I can. We can install a security system and lights. And I know cops who work security when they’re off duty. They can stay with you if you’d like.”

She shook her head, and her gaze slid a few inches from her sandals to the toes of his brown loafers. She had enough family and friends in the area that she didn’t need strange men in her house.

He placed the tips of his fingers beneath her chin and brought her gaze up to his. His light touch seeped into her, spreading warmth down her neck and into her chest. Once again she had to fight the urge not to lean into him and hang onto something stable in a life that was quickly unraveling around her.

“Tell me what you want.”

So many things. None of which he could give her. Except, “The security lights sound good.”

“I’ll get that rolling as soon as I leave. We’ll get them working on it tomorrow.” He dropped his hand to his side. “What about today?”

“I’ll go stay with my mother. Tomorrow I’ll have one of my friends stay with me here.”

“One of the writers?”

“Yeah.” He’d remembered. A few days ago she would have thought that meant something. Now she knew better.

“We’re going to get her, Lucy. I promise, but until then, don’t go anywhere alone if you can help it.”

She wanted to ask him when he thought this whole thing might be over, but she knew he couldn’t give her an answer.

“Keep that stun pen and pepper spray handy.” The corner of his mouth lifted, and he almost smiled.

It didn’t occur to her until much later that night, when she was lying in her old bedroom at her mother’s, to wonder how Quinn knew she carried pepper spray.

“What now?” Lucy shoved the carafe under the iced tea maker and moved to the back door. She rose on tiptoe behind her friends, who were all crammed in the doorway looking out at the electrician in her backyard.

“Not every man can make Carhartts look that good,” Maddie said, her face glued to the glass.

The man in question bent at the waist and pulled something from the bed of his truck. His brown Carhartt work pants molded to his hard behind. His name was Randy, and Quinn had sent him to Lucy’s house that morning.

“He must do special butt exercises,” Adele speculated.

“Squats,” Clare added. “I wish he’d bend over.”

Maddie nodded. “Yeah, maybe I’ll go throw a dollar on the ground and see if he’ll pick it up.”

Lucy dropped back on her heels. “You’re all perverted.” As one, they turned, and three pairs of eyes looked at her as if she’d just sprouted a horn in the middle of her forehead. Lucy held up her hands and backed away. “I’m just saying he’s young.”

“And?”

Good Lord, she was starting to sound like Quinn. “I don’t know.” She placed a palm on the side of her face and shook her head. “I think I’m losing my mind.” She turned and walked back into the kitchen. After everything, she still preferred to look at Quinn’s behind. Yeah, she was losing it, all right.

Concerned, her friends followed. “You’re under a lot of stress.” Clare reached into a cupboard and pulled out four glasses. “And we’re supposed to be here helping you out, not eyeing the workman.”

Adele placed ice cubes in the glasses, and the four friends sat with a pitcher of tea at the kitchen table and discussed Lucy’s problem. Lucy had spent the night before with her mother and probably would again before the nightmare was over. But she always felt like a kid when she stayed with her mom, and she did not want to camp out there.

“I just hate being scared,” she said and raised a glass of tea to her mouth. She took a drink and added, “I’ve always seen myself as a strong person. Someone who could take care of herself in every situation.” She set the glass on the table. “Someone fearless in the face of sinking ships or shark attacks, but this psycho woman scares me.” She shook her head as the sound of a power tool made its way inside. “Yet, at the same time, I don’t know if I even
should
be scared. I haven’t been threatened, and this woman is killing men. Not mystery writers.”

“Yet.” Maddie pushed her glass aside and placed her forearms on the table. “A serial killer has contacted you, and you have to take it very seriously.” Maddie knew that of which she spoke. She talked to serial killers all the time.

“I am taking it seriously. It’s just that I wonder if I’m being paranoid,” Lucy replied.

“Not everything is a paranoid delusion.” Adele stirred her ice cubes with her finger. “Sometimes freaky things do happen.”

“What has Dwayne left on your porch now?” Clare asked.

“One sock and my Some Bunny Loves You coffee mug.”

“What a weirdo.”

“That’s creepy.”

“You actually have a Some Bunny Loves You coffee mug?”

By the time the pitcher of tea was finished, the four women had decided that Lucy would take turns staying in their homes or they would stay with her in her house. They assured her that it was no imposition, but she knew it was. She just hoped that Quinn caught Breathless sooner rather than later.

Adele rose from the table and grabbed the empty pitcher. “I volunteer to go first,” she said as she moved toward the sink. As she passed the back door, she glanced outside. Her feet stopped, and she took a few steps back. “Whoa Nellie.”

“What’s Randy doing now?” Lucy asked.

“It’s not Randy. Someone new has come to play.”

Clare rose and joined Adele. “Now that’s a gorgeous chunk of hunk.”

Lucy and Maddie stood and joined their friends. “That’s a cop,” Maddie said. “I can tell by his bulge.”

“You can see his bulge? From all the way across the yard? You’re good.”

“His gun. You can see the outline of his service revolver under his suit jacket.”

Lucy didn’t need to lower her gaze from Quinn’s face to know all about his bulges, revolver or otherwise. He stood next to Randy, talking to him and pointing up to the eaves of Lucy’s house. He wore a chocolate-colored suit and a beige shirt. A slight breeze messed his hair, and dark glasses covered his eyes. “That’s Quinn.”

“Hardluvnman?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.” Clare shook her head. “I mean, what a jerk.”

Quinn dropped his hand, then moved up the sidewalk to Lucy’s back door. He knocked twice and opened without bothering to wait for her to answer. Seeing the four women, he stopped in his tracks and reached for his sunglasses. “Well, hello,” he said, and Lucy could practically hear her friends melting. Or maybe that was her. Quinn shoved the glasses in the inside pocket of his jacket. “You ladies must be Lucy’s writer buddies. I’ve seen your pictures in her office.”

Lucy introduced her friends, who did a pretty good job remaining cucumber cool to the man who’d lied to her—until he lowered his chin and looked into Lucy’s eyes. “How’re you holding up, Sunshine?”

Sunshine
? She was pretty sure she’d told him not to call her Sunshine. “Okay.”

“I brought your mail.” He reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a restaurant flyer.

“This is it?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head to one side, and his brown eyes continued to stare into hers. “I need to talk to you.”

He meant alone. She walked into the backyard and he followed. Beneath the shade of an old oak he told her, “The Breathless letters came back negative for prints.” A shadow from the limbs overhead shaded the top of his face. “The envelopes are being tested for DNA. We put a rush on it, but I don’t expect the results for a few days. If we’re lucky.”

That was disappointing as hell, but police work was never as easy as it was in books or on television. Never nice and tidy.

“How are you really holding up?”

Scared. Disoriented. In shock. “I really am okay. My friends are going to take turns babysitting me.”

His gaze moved over her face and settled on her mouth. A slight breeze blew strands of her hair across her lips, and Quinn lifted a hand as if he meant to brush them behind her ear. Lucy pressed her back into the uneven bark and waited for his touch.

A frown wrinkled his brow, and he took a step back. “Call me if you need anything,” he said as he turned and walked away.