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She wished she had more energy, but last night had taken its toll. “I have nothing to say to you,” she told him. “Please get out of my way.”
He didn’t. Wearing a baseball hat with his typical sleeveless shirt and jeans, he took a swig of beer. “I hear Dean gave you a scare.”
The taunt in his voice said he wasn’t displeased by his brother-in-law’s actions, and that surprised her. After learning about his activity with that black garbage bag, she would’ve expected him to be upset that Dean had brought the police down on them.
“That’s right,” she said. “And I gave him a shot of pepper spray. Considering he’s wanted by the police and will probably spend the rest of his life in prison, I’d say he got the worst of it, wouldn’t you?”
Muscles bulging, he folded his arms across his massive chest. “Too bad that boy ain’t more of a man.”
“And what would a man have done, Butch?” She wanted to taunt him in return, let him know he’d been observed last night, but she wouldn’t risk compromising their case. First they had to get him on record saying he hadn’t left the house.
His gaze dropped to the slight cleavage above her V-neck shirt. “A real man would’ve had you on your back in ten seconds flat.”
A tingle of fear went through her. Dean had shown up at her house with a rope, yet this man frightened her even more. “Are we talking about rape, Butch? Are you suggesting a real man, a man like you, would’ve raped me?”
He gave her an evil smile that made her feel shockingly vulnerable. “Rape you? Heck, no. That’s illegal.”
“Not to mention immoral.”
“That, too.” He took another drink of his beer. “I’m just sayin’ a real man would’ve been able to pin you so you couldn’t spray him, that’s all,” he said with a wink as he stepped aside.
When she came even with him, she paused. “You think you’re helping your case by making comments like that, Butch? Isn’t your family in enough trouble?”
He made a show of appraising her calves, the only part of her legs visible beneath her knee-length skirt. “I’m not in any trouble. They won’t find anything here, except maybe a few trophies from the women I’ve—” his smile widened “—pinned.”
“You’d better hope all those women are still breathing, or you’ll have a much bigger problem than just putting up with a mess,” she said as she gestured at the chaos surrounding them.
He reached out to grab her arm before she could walk away, but the front door opened and a forensic tech came out at the same time. Laughing, Butch shoved his hand through his hair as if he’d intended that action all along. “Let’s hope you’re still breathing when all this is over, huh?”
Francesca couldn’t believe his nerve. She was so appalled she didn’t realize the forensic tech had spoken to her until he repeated himself. “I said, are you Francesca Moretti?”
Pulling her gaze from Butch, she focused on the man who’d been trying to hail her. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
His eyes cut between her and Butch. Obviously, he sensed the tension but didn’t understand the reason behind it. “Finch asked me to keep a lookout for you. He’s in back.”
“Right. In back,” she said, and began to follow him. Then she caught the tech’s arm, so he couldn’t go in without her, and faced Butch. “I’m going to find Julia, or find out what happened to her. Then we’ll see who’s safe and who’s not.”
The unconcerned mask he’d worn since she arrived disintegrated. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”
“When whoever’s been murdering women and dumping their bodies in the desert or on the street, like so much trash, has been put behind bars, I’ll quit,” she said, and walked off.
CHAPTER 29
After taking the letters Finch had given her to the car, Francesca sat in the driver’s seat reading. She thought she might have some questions for the investigators or run across a detail she’d need to check out while she had access to the property. But she felt so sleepy she was hardly in top form. And Butch was making her uncomfortable with the way he kept watching her.
When glaring didn’t seem to intimidate her, he got up and fetched the bat he’d come at her with the first day they met. Whenever she glanced up, he’d grin wickedly and take a big swing, as if he was happily knocking her head off. In return, she’d smile and give him a nod of acknowledgment, then hold up the letter she’d just read, as if it contained so much damning evidence he didn’t have a prayer of staying out of jail.
He didn’t like that. After three such exchanges, he cursed and threw the bat aside, then slumped in his chair. The next time she looked up, she noticed that his expression had darkened to a glower. She smiled, anyway, but soon started her car and drove half a mile down the road, where she could still be close but read without the anxiety.
Dean had dedicated the first page of almost every letter to effusive compliments and pledges of undying love. But in this one there was also a poem using every letter in Julia’s name, one he’d obviously written himself.
J—Jazzy, joyous, jinxed, jewellike eyes of green
U—Unique, unpredictable, unbelievable, under eighteen
L—Lovely, ladylike, laughing, long dark hair
I—Important, inquisitive, interesting, isolated as a bear
