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There were also stretches of companionable silence.
Drex hadn’t sat up and taken notice until Jasper had asked her, from out of nowhere, what she and he had talked about last night while alone. His heart had skipped a beat, not because the question made him anxious, but because he wanted to hear how Talia would respond.
He told himself it didn’t matter. Lately, he was lying to himself a lot.
It came as no surprise that Jasper was leery of him. But Jasper hadn’t emphasized to Talia just how mistrustful, had he? He hadn’t told her that he had gone downstairs in the dark to search for a listening device that he suspected Drex of planting.
Had he omitted mention of that because he hadn’t wanted to appear comically foolish? Or because he couldn’t explain to her why such a notion would even enter his mind?
Drex was already aware of Jasper’s suspicion, but it was helpful to learn the extent of it.
Talia also harbored doubts about his honesty, but she’d given him the benefit of the doubt, seeming more inclined to think he was exaggerating rather than outright lying. She’d also sounded sympathetic when she spoke of his mother.
After that, the tone of their conversation changed, subtly but noticeably. Having it piped into his ears through the headset seemed to have amplified the silent subtext as well as their spoken words. He wished he could have watched their expressions during that exchange, to gauge whether the testiness he’d sensed between them was real or imagined.
After Jasper left the house, there was no point in eavesdropping. Drex stored away the audio surveillance gear, booted up his laptop, and began rereading the information he had collected over the years about the eight women who had disappeared. If the material were converted to hard copy, the contents would fill a moving van.
Today, he applied what he now knew or sensed about Jasper Ford, searching for a connection to his victims. Had one of the women been a gourmet cook? Had one favored the bourbon Jasper drank? Had one shared his preference for Dijon mustard over ketchup? One small thing, previously overlooked, could be the link Drex was desperate to find, especially now that he feared his culprit had an even darker side.
Was it invisible to his victims until it was too late? Had his victims sensed it but ignored it? What had made them susceptible? What had made Talia susceptible?
He was still dwelling on that question several hours later when there came a knock.
He sat with his hand cupped over his mouth, absorbed in whatever was on his computer screen. When she tapped on the doorjamb, he came out of his chair so abruptly, it went over backward and landed on the hardwood floor with a loud clack.
“Mercy.” Talia pressed her hand against her thumping chest. It would be hard to say which had startled her most: his sudden reaction, or seeing him shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of cargo shorts. Flustered, she said, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I scare easily.”
She doubted that. A man with reflexes that lightning quick would have little to fear.
He righted the chair, closed his laptop, and came over to the door. She asked, “What are you most afraid of?”
“Failure.”
She’d been teasing, but he hadn’t paused to think about it, and he’d answered so unequivocally, she knew he was serious. Feeling awkward and rethinking the wisdom of coming over, she said, “Should I have called ahead?”
“You don’t have my number.”
“Oh. Right.”
He smiled. “If you’ve come to borrow a cup of sugar, I’m all out.”
“Oh. Well then…” She heaved a sigh and turned as though to leave.
He chuckled. “What’s up?”
She came back around and glanced beyond him at the setup on the table. “I don’t want to pull you away from your work.”
“Please. Rescue me.”
“I’m not bothering you?”
He looked on the verge of saying something, but apparently thought better of it. To this point they’d been talking through the screen door. “Want to come in?”
“Only to be nosy.”
He grinned and unlatched the lock.
