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“You’re a hard read.”
“Sometimes I do that on purpose.” She breezed through the small bullpen, but Detective Owsley wasn’t in the room.
“Why?” he asked as they searched for the detective.
“I don’t know.” She approached a deputy. “You seen Detective Owsley?”
“He left about thirty minutes ago. Late lunch.”
“Where did he go?”
The deputy scowled. “Meat and Three Veg.”
Violet blew out the front doors. “Let’s take your car.”
“Okaaay.” The woman was a laser-focused whirlwind.
He liked it. Liked her. Wanted to ferret out who she was beneath the exterior. Maybe even see who she might be on the exterior. Touch her skin. Sample her lips.
John’s skin heated and flushed his neck.
“What’s the matter with you?” Violet asked.
“Nothing.” Nothing that he was going to confess. He needed to keep his head together.
“You’re lying, but I’m going to let it pass. I just want you to know, I know you’re lying.” She buckled up, and John inwardly sighed. He wished she was as easy to read as he was to her.
Chapter Eight
Wednesday, October 18
3:40 p.m.
Violet led the charge, striding into the Meat and Three Veg with John in tow. Detective Regis Owsley sat at a corner booth with a cup of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. He glanced up and registered that Violet had entered and was striding his way.
His nostrils twitched, and he laid his phone on the table. “What brings this visit?” He threw a look at John but didn’t acknowledge him.
“I was searching for you, Regis. Can I call you that?” He’d like her using his first name. She’d recognized his attraction early on. At the SO, then when he lingered in her room on their first night. She’d use it to her advantage and not feel guilty in the least.
“And what can I call you?” he asked with a hint of intrigue and flirtation in his voice, but his dark eyes were cool.
“Agent.” Power play. Was he secretly into being submissive to a female? It would tell her a lot about his personality, feed into his profile. She held his eye contact, watched his pupils dilate.
He liked it. Assumed it was flirtatious banter, but the wariness behind his eyes revealed he wasn’t by any means stupid. He might recognize her motives and was, in his mind, using her. She’d tuck that clever, calculating mind in her pocket.
“I’m going to make a phone call,” John said and excused himself. But Violet kept her focus on Regis. He’d appreciate that, and she heard in John’s voice a tone that reflected his awareness of her approach and that he was giving her ample time to do what needed to be done. She’d pocket that too and ignore the way it made her feel.
A little fluttery. A little soft.
She was neither of those things. She was not vulnerable. She was not unguarded. She was not trusting.
All of those feelings brought deep pain and a wave of grief in the end. She’d learned ages ago how to carefully and meticulously craft impenetrable walls. A drawbridge hadn’t been constructed or even drawn into the blueprints. Her heart wasn’t a fairytale castle with the possibilities of happily-ever-after.
“Are you going to offer me a seat or sit there staring up at me?”
“I like the view.” Amusement crinkled the lines around his eyes. Regis Owsley was attractive, smart and a little too on.
She ignored him, impassively. Not giving a schoolgirl titter or happy giggle. Keep him guessing. Working for it. See if he would continue or get bored. Did he like challenges? Did they bring out aggressive behavior? Their victims’ killer was aggressive, but not at first. They likely trusted him. Once they were exactly where he wanted them, he’d flipped the switch. Would Regis show her that behavior?
