Colton's Killer Pursuit

Relief was heady, mixing in with the desire coursing through her. “Could this really be it?” she asked. Could they have found the culprit?

“It’s a solid lead.”

That was so Clarke. He wouldn’t lie to her. Wouldn’t get her hopes up too high, either, without the proof right in front of him.

And then she had another thought and came back to earth a tad. “If all that’s true, where do I fit in? Why would she want me dead?”

“If he’d told her he was divorced, that he was going to marry her, or even getting divorced, and still hadn’t filed the papers...that could be how he double-crossed her. This is a woman who served time in prison. She might be hardened. Got pissed. Lunged at him. And now the thought of you being free, the woman who came between her and her future...or, more likely, fearing that you’ll find whatever it is that she’s looking for in Fritz’s office...”

“Unless she found it tonight. Maybe it’s already over...”

Could it be that simple? Could she really be free?

Clarke took a step forward, his gaze suddenly changing from dark and intense to concerned. “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself,” he said. “She’s still on the loose. And she has it in for you. If it’s even her. It’s not over yet.” The warning in his tone was very clear. “I just wanted you to know that we’ve finally got something we can take a look at. I wanted you to know there’s hope...”

His words almost made her cry. And she would have, if not for the heat she could feel emanating from him, engaging emotions that were far from sad. But his knowing she was hanging on to hope, rushing up to give her a shot of it... In nearly twenty years, Fritz had never done anything so kind for her.

He reached out a hand, brushed at the hair at her temple, just off her left eye. “Get some rest,” he said, half turning toward the direction of his room.

If his hand hadn’t been holding her head, she’d have nodded. Turned away. But he was cupping her head. His thumb lightly rubbing her temple.

Her lips were too dry. She had to run her tongue across them. He leaned in, glancing down at the movement, and she leaned, too. Just a little bit. He leaned a little more. She reached her mouth out, and he captured it. Touching gently for the first second.

And in the next, he was devouring her. Kissing hungrily. Wetly. Using his tongue in ways that sent spirals of tension to her nipples, her groin. And he wasn’t the only one being aggressive. Her lips seemed to be moving in ways she’d never moved them before. Sucking at his lips. Pressing against him. Showing him what she needed.

He groaned, took a step closer...and she backed up. Just as he dropped his hand away from her.

What in the hell were they doing?

Mouth still open, her emotions raw, she looked up at him. His eyes as intent as ever, he stared down into hers. “I have no explanation for that.” His tone was deeper, his breathing slightly ragged.

“None needed,” she told him, backing into her room and fumbling against the handle, closing the door between them.

And for the rest of the night, every time she woke up, all sh

e could see was the unnerved look in his eyes as he’d stood there, completely still, while she’d shut him out.

Chapter 13

Clarke slept, but not as much as he had the night before. And only after a very long cold shower. After the third time waking up with a hard-on, he got up, made himself some coffee and got to work. He couldn’t very well have someone go calling on Brenda Nolton at four in the morning, not without some evidence. He’d already sent an email to a colleague and fellow PI, a distant family member in Grand Rapids. Because all of the GGPD were so involved with everything going on locally, hunting a serial killer and a rogue CSI tech, he asked his relative to find out whatever he could on Annabelle Belinski, the only nonlocal woman on his list. First and foremost, if she’d been home over the past two days. Finding out if she had an alibi. Ellie was already checking on a warrant for Brenda Nolton’s cell phone and credit-card records. And he sent a message to Melissa, too, keeping her apprised of what he’d done and asking for someone to just check out the alibi of the third woman on the list he’d sent to Ellie.

And then he dived into the other aspect of the case that was bothering him—why Randall Bowe had singled out Everleigh. What did she have in common, if anything, with the other cases they knew for certain the forensic scientist had manipulated?

He didn’t think the current threat against Everleigh’s life had anything to do with Bowe’s interest in her case, but until he knew for sure, he wasn’t going to rest easy, either.

He had access to all of Bowe’s files and spent the next couple of hours poring over them—looking not at the evidence this time, but at the people wrongly convicted and now on trial. His first times through, he’d paid attention only to the evidence. To the proof that had been manipulated. Looking for some connection there. This time, he put all of that aside and just studied the people. Did a little techie work himself and looked up everything he could find on Drew Orr. Orr had been a former business associate of Melissa’s new fiancé, hotelier Antonio Ruiz, before Orr had confessed to murdering his cheating girlfriend. But somehow the GGPD hadn’t found enough evidence to convict Orr. Bowe had apparently made sure the evidence against him disappeared. That was before Orr came after Melissa, who’d had to shoot him to save her own life.

Then there was their new suspect, Len Davison. That man’s file noted that, according to friends, neighbors and his daughter, he’d been a loving husband of almost thirty years, bringing his wife flowers every single Friday night after work. And he’d seen his wife through her terminal illness from cancer the previous year. He’d seemed the epitome of a loyal, faithful man. But the evidence had been irrefutable, hairs found at the scene giving them DNA evidence that had proved the killer to be Davison. In spite of that, Tatiana Davison, the man’s daughter, had claimed Len was a loving spouse. A doting dad. And when the forensic evidence against him disappeared, he had to be set free.

Clarke looked at the victims of Bowe’s crimes, too. The first, a cheating girlfriend. The perp went free. The second, a man walking his dog. No known motive for the killing. But the perp, a loyal husband and father, went free. The third—Everleigh’s case. A cheating husband had claimed his wife had been the one stepping out on him, and evidence was fabricated to make the supposed cheating wife look guilty for a crime she didn’t commit. She’d been charged and had gone to prison to await a trial that would have been a slam dunk if not for a courageous grandmother who’d given up her own future to have her granddaughter’s innocence proved—something Bowe couldn’t possibly have foreseen.

So, was Bowe behind the attack on Everleigh? Was he furious that his work had been undone and she was free?

But why ransack her house?

Why risk getting caught, now that he knew he’d been found out, by coming back to town?

It didn’t make sense.