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He deserved her revenge. But that didn’t mean he’d let her prove he was the man she thought he was and not the man he’d fought to become. Regardless of the temptation she provided, he’d keep his hands to himself, make sure she was safe and then move on without affecting the world she’d built….
Finally coming to a stop, he rubbed his face. Where was he going? He had a job to do. But if he’d stayed in that van ten more seconds, he would’ve taken Francesca in the back and greedily accepted whatever she’d been willing to give him—even knowing she’d hate him that much more when it was over.
“That’s pretty damned pathetic, Young.”
Maybe he should take her home. He couldn’t work with her around. The fight to overcome his feelings was too constant, too demanding, too tiring.
But he couldn’t leave her unprotected, either. Whoever had cut her telephone line could come back. And maybe the bastard wouldn’t just hang around the pool next time.
The image of April Bonner’s rotting body arose in his mind. The fear that Francesca might be next kept him right where he didn’t want to be—in limbo. He couldn’t act on his feelings or escape them. He had to solve this case, make sure she survived it. Only then could he leave her and try, once again, to forget.
Heart still knocking against his ribs, he headed back to the van. They were here for a reason. He couldn’t lose sight of that. But when he opened the door to climb in, she was gone.
CHAPTER 17
What had come over her? Francesca didn’t know. But she’d had to get out of the van in case Jonah returned before she could compose herself. Maybe Butch hadn’t gone inside for the night yet, but at the moment, Jonah seemed like the bigger threat. Somehow, the warmth of his hand, which had settled so briefly on her breast, lingered, still felt hot enough to burn through her shirt. It didn’t make sense. She’d been with other men, men she’d cared about at the time, but there’d been no one like Jonah. How could they continue to work together with such powerful undercurrents tugging at them constantly?
Maybe she’d be better off on her own. With Dean roaming around, showing up at odd places unexpectedly, Jonah would argue with her about that, but she couldn’t expect him to protect her forever. Their relationship was too strained. It had to move in one direction or the other, and she knew what would happen if it went in the direction she wanted. They’d be right back where they’d been before he’d gotten her best friend pregnant.
But she wasn’t the only one who had something at stake this time. What about the women who’d been murdered in Dead Mule Canyon? April? Their families, who were praying for justice?
And what about any future victims Butch or Dean might take?
Francesca had to put her personal life aside, keep herself together until they could solve this case.
At least she could avoid Jonah for the moment.
In this part of the desert, the flat ground hosted more cacti than trees. To compensate for the lack of cover, she moved as quietly as possible. Where had Butch gone? Before the whole drama with Jonah, she’d seen Butch driving his truck. Although that truck was no longer visible, she doubted he’d gone into the house. She guessed he was still around, perhaps in his office. A light glowed through the window. She thought he might be doing paperwork or making calls or whatever else he did in there.
Fortunately, the sinking sun created enough shadows to provide a degree of safety. Any later, and she wouldn’t be able to see without a flashlight. So this wasn’t a bad time to take a look around, especially since the dog, Demon, seemed to be inside the house or office. She couldn’t go onto the property without compromising the admissibility of any evidence she might find, but there was no law against peeking over a fence.
As she took out her camera, hoping to get a couple of shots before the light grew too dim, she spotted Paris at the kitchen window. Butch’s wife appeared to be doing dishes, but every once in a while she gazed out at the yard as if transfixed. Was she anxious for her husband to come in? Did she wonder where her brother was? Did any one ever bother to check on Dean’s whereabouts? Where had the old folks gone and when would they be back?
Keeping close to the fence, Francesca circled the yard, eyeing the cars that hadn’t yet been completely stripped and smashed. Very few were Priuses. And, as night set in, it became harder and harder to determine each car’s color. Terrance had said that Bianca drove a charcoal Prius. But surely, if Butch or Dean had brought her car here, they would’ve dismantled it immediately and hurried it through the destruction process. It’d been a year since Bianca had died. What were the chances that even a small remnant of her vehicle remained?
Suddenly a series of floodlights, spaced at regular intervals, snapped on in the yard. Unsure whether they were on a timer or Butch had seen her and thrown a switch, Francesca crept away from the fence and crouched behind some desert scrub, which was the best cover she could find.
“Butch?” The screen door slammed as Paris came outside. Francesca could see Mrs. Vaughn far more easily in the glaring light of those floods than when she’d been framed in that window with most of the light coming from behind her. She seemed upset. Why?
She wore a simple cotton shirt, baggy shorts and flip-flops, and her feet tapped the wooden steps of the porch as she descended into the yard. “Butch? Where are you?”
Butch poked his head out of his office. “Here.”
Paris hurried over and went inside without closing the door. As it hung halfway open, the light from inside cast a distorted triangle on the ground.
Francesca crept as close as the fence would allow. Judging by the expression on Paris’s face, something had changed. Francesca wanted to know what it was. Paris had started with, “I just got a call from…” but then she’d stepped inside and the volume of her voice had dropped too low for Francesca to hear.
The gate Francesca had used when she’d let herself onto the property the first time stood open only fifteen feet away. Wide enough for the flatbed trucks that transported clunker cars to the salvage yard, it provided easy access. If she slipped through it and sidled up to the building, she’d be able to hear everything….
But was it worth the risk of getting caught?
Considering the fact that Dean and his parents were both gone, and Demon wasn’t in the yard, that risk didn’t seem too high. Maybe Butch or Paris would say something that would give them a lead, some way to solve the terrible murders before another one occurred.
Hoping to see Jonah, to let him know what she was about to do, she glanced toward the van.
It was a mere speck on the horizon, and there was no sign of Jonah. But if she waited any longer, it would be too late. In order to hear what Paris was saying, she had to move, and she had to move now.
Seconds later, she stood inside the yard amid the car parts and scrap metal and the mannequin that’d caused such a fuss. When she rounded a heap of car frames, she could see the outline of that “body” beneath the tarp, but she chose to ignore it as well as the embarrassment her mistake had brought her. Instead of walking farther in that direction, she circled Butch’s office, coming the other way.
