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“Did they admit to the abuse?”
“Number one flat out denied it ever happened, then began cussing at number two for making up more lies about dear beloved daddy. Her reaction was so over-the-top it was obvious Murphy hit a nerve. The second one didn’t admit it, either, though. She’d just say things like, ‘He never learned that actions have consequences,’ and ‘You reap what you sow.’ Enough of an admission for me.”
For her, too, Alia acknowledged. In that sense, the Wallaces weren’t so different from Mary Ellen and Landry. She pretended nothing had ever happened, and he’d found it impossible to pretend but damn hard to admit.
“Do you think either of them could be the killer?”
“You know my philosophy—anyone can kill for the right reason.”
So if he was conspiring with the others, why implicate himself by confiding in Alia?
With her free hand, she rubbed an ache between her eyes. “If the abuse is the motive—” and she believed that with every gut instinct she had “—why now? Mary Ellen’s the youngest of the kids, and she’s in her late twenties. Presumably the abuse ended when the kids were in their late teens, graduating from high school, going off to college, gotten old enough to lose their appeal. What happened now to cause the murders?”
“Here’s a scarier question,” Jimmy said grimly. “You and I both know pedophiles don’t just stop abusing kids because their victims get too old. They go out and find new victims. Where have these bastards been getting their thrills since their own kids grew up?”
Just the question was enough to tie Alia’s stomach in knots. One more thing for the team to look at: what contact did the men have with kids in the right age group? They could volunteer at church, coach a sports team, lead a social organization, mentor at-risk youth, prey on young cousins, nieces, nephews or neighbors... The possibilities were depressingly endless.
“Well, now that I’ve brightened your day...” Jimmy heaved a sigh, and she knew from experience that it was accompanied by fingers raking through his hair. “I think I’m gonna call it a night and give Nina a call. You should do the same.”
“Nina’s not my type,” she said drily.
“You know what I mean, sweet pea. Call Landry. He owes you after what you did for him.”
“He owes me? You think that’s the only reason he would want to spend the night with me, because he owes me?”
He laughed at her incredulity. He’d laughed a lot when they were married, whether her outrage was real or feigned. “Aw, hell, darlin’, you know that’s not what I meant. I’d spend the night with you if you’d just ask.” His tone turned hopeful. “You think you might be asking anytime soon?”
“When I’ve gone stark raving stupid. Good luck with Nina tonight.”
“I’m good. That’s why I don’t need luck.”
It was her turn to laugh, but she sobered quickly. “Hey, Jimmy. Thanks for the call.” Quickly, before he could think of a comeback, she hung up, set the phone aside and pulled the old-fashioned stopper from the tub. She was tired and would be getting up—at least, waking up—two hours before her regular time. She needed to rest...and store energy.
After a shower to rinse away the suds, she dried off, wrapped a towel around herself and went to the closet, rooting through dresser drawers for something to sleep in. She was a fan of snug-fitting tanks and girl-cut boxers for pajamas, but surely she had one nightgown, one silky-satiny-sexy sort of thing left over from her marriage. God knew, she’d been given plenty of them at her wedding showers, all wasted on Jimmy, who could get turned on by a woman in a hobbit costume.
But the sexiest thing she found was a nightshirt, way too big, with a crazed-looking rabbit on the front. A wedding-night gift from her mom, it made her laugh out loud before she stuffed it back into the drawer.
The hell with it, she decided, grabbing a pair of lavender-striped boxers and a pale gray tank. Landry wasn’t coming over for her clothes; he’d seen the way she dressed. He wanted to see her. Naked.
Some emotion—anticipation? nervousness?—sucked the air right out of her lungs.
Her last night with a man—one night in an anonymous hotel with an anonymous visitor to the city—hadn’t been her proudest moment. Tonight she was aiming for a whole other outcome.
Tonight she was hoping for more. Like long-term, a-future-and-more.
After tugging the tank over her head, then freeing her hair, she sank onto the padded stool in the middle of the room. She’d really done this, hadn’t she? Gone and fallen for Landry, crazy-mad, wanting, God, anything and everything they could have. She had figured she would fall in love with someone after Jimmy; she’d just thought it would take a good long while—a few decades sounded about right—for all the shudder-inducing memories of her marriage to fade.
