Born To Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“That makes him a criminal.”

“But not necessarily tied to the other deaths.”

“So you believe this is all coincidence?”

“Just playing devil’s advocate here.”

“Don’t you think I’ve done the same thing?” she demanded. “Tried to talk myself out of this ... bizarre situation. I wish I were wrong, I really do, but I don’t think I am.”

They turned off the news; then Trace, declining another beer, went to work setting up a security code for her computer and Wi-Fi. “The least I can do,” he told her when she protested that she was taking up too much of his time. “For everything you’ve done for Eli.”

She didn’t argue, and if she admitted it to herself, she was grateful for his help. During school Riza and some other techie-type friends had helped her, and during her marriage JC, who considered himself brilliant in all aspects of his life, had set up all their computer equipment. But since moving to Grizzly Falls and dealing with a house that was ill equipped with outlets, much less anything remotely electronic, she’d had to do the work herself or once in a while hire it out, which was what she’d done with the broken furnace, plumbing leak she’d had in the bathroom upstairs, and the new exterior lights she’d had installed on the garage.

As Trace pulled out the desk and began examining her wiring, she watched him work and gave herself a swift mental shake for noting how his jeans stretched over his hips and butt as he reached over the desk. His sweater rode up a bit, showing off a quick glimpse of his back, skin stretched taut over smooth muscles.

Dragging her gaze away, she told herself she was acting like a teen.

“That should do it,” he said as he straightened. “All set. I’ll show you how to use the security code.” Then he took hold of her wrist and, to her shock, pulled her tight against him. His

hand found the back of her neck, and he whispered into her ear. “I think you’ve been bugged.”

“Wha—,” she started to say, but he held her fast, her body crushed against his.

“It’s not that hard,” he said loudly. “Just a matter of making a few changes!” But he didn’t release her. In a voice barely audible, added, “We need to talk as if we have no idea about what’s going on, okay? Just follow my lead.” Pulling his head back, he stared into her eyes, and she nodded slowly.

“What should I use for the code?” she asked as he released her.

“Something that you’ll remember. Here. But only you, just to keep it secure. Let me show you where the password needs to be entered. . . .”

CHAPTER 25

“ Son of a bitch!” He ripped the listening device from his head and nearly threw it against the wall. He had been recording any noise in the house for hours and had determined that she was working fast. Somehow in the few hours since that withered hag Maribelle had spilled her guts, Acacia had found an ally, one in whom she’d confided that she’d connected the deaths of the women . . . but what was the remark about the man being “involved” with the women?

Whom had she meant? Jocelyn Wallis?

Someone else?

The conversation had been hard to hear, but he’d pieced two and two together. The male on the tape, the one providing her with security precautions, was Trace O’Halleran, Leanna’s ex and the father of a kid who was her patient.

But he didn’t understand why the guy was at her house so late at night and fucking up her computer! Why had she confided in him, told him about what that old hag Maribelle had told her, showed him whatever documentation she had?

He silently cursed himself for fucking up. He should have killed her back in the parking garage years ago! What a mistake to allow Acacia to live. And that bitch of a mother of hers.

He should have bugged Acacia’s entire house, not just a few key rooms. He’d not been able to decipher the first part of her conversation with O’Halleran due to the radio playing too loudly, distorting his clarity.

Everything was unraveling.

Far too fast.

She was ruining things, would tell others, including the police, and everything he’d worked so hard to accomplish would be destroyed.

He couldn’t let it happen. Not after his years of patient, hard work; he’d have to up his game even further. Who was she to force him to take more risks, to abandon his sense of caution?

Despite all his planning and his own desire to make her the last, to drag it out for her, to let her feel the terror, as payback for all her sins, he had to change things up. She had to be next.

He was quivering inside, rage storming through his body. He opened a drawer in his desk, then pulled out a narrow locked case with a combination lock. Turning the dial, he snapped open the lid and withdrew the knife. Holding the blade upward so that it glinted in the night, he remembered seeing her face-to-face as she turned, felt again the surge of power as he leapt at her, heard her surprised shout as their bodies collided.

God, what a rush!