Last Sunday, Faith had been visiting Asher in the hospital in Knoxville. This Sunday, she was with him again. But they were in her car driving to Pigeon Forge and distant parts of Gatlinburg that she’d never been to before, doing what she’d called knock-and-talks when she was a police officer. They’d been visiting people from the lives of June and Brenda, looking for anything to link them to the other victims.
So far, talking to Nathan Jefferson about June, and to Kurt Ritter about Brenda, the only link they’d found was that June used the same grocery store as one of the earlier victims.
“What’s next?” Faith asked as she headed back toward downtown Gatlinburg.
“Lunch? I’m starving.”
“Finally getting your appetite back?”
“Been trying to lay off the pain pills so I don’t get addicted to those things. Seems like my appetite’s rising with the pain level.”
She gave him a sharp look. “If the doctor was worried about addiction, he’d have told you to stop taking them. He didn’t, did he?”
“Not in so many words. But I researched the medication. I know the dangers. And I don’t want to end up hooked. Stop worrying. If the pain gets much worse, I’ll take something over the counter. But I’m through with prescription meds.”
She thought about arguing, but the smother-mother teasing still smarted. And even though she was struggling to forget their scorching kiss and to think of Asher as only a friend again, she also didn’t want to be thought of as a “mother” in any capacity to him.
Their relationship had become way too complicated. She could barely sleep at night, tossing and turning, thinking about him. Thinking about every inch of him. The thoughts she had were waking her up in a sweat the few times she did get to sleep. She was surprised she hadn’t caught the sheets on fire with the fantasies that she was having. And every single one of them revolved around him.
Faith cleared her throat and tried, again, to focus. “Where do you want to eat?”
“You okay? You seem a little flushed.”
She flipped the air conditioner vent toward her. “It’s a little warm today. Where do you want to go?”
He didn’t appear to believe her excuse, but he didn’t push it. “You in the mood for a burger?”
“I’m always in the mood for a burger. Johnny Rockets? Smokehouse Burger?”
“You read my mind. Can’t remember the last time I had one of those amazing creations.”
“Probably last Christmas, is my guess. Daphne was at her then-boyfriend’s family’s house and your parents were off on another trip. To Italy, I think.”
“Yep, Christmas was Italy. The summer before that was Spain.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember the Spanish candy they brought back. Huesitos. I loved the white-chocolate ones. Anyway, since we were both alone, we decided to find a Chinese place and drown our sorrows together.”
He grinned. “The Chinese place was closed but Johnny Rockets was open. I’d forgotten about that.”
“I’ll never forget. You stole my onion rings.”
He laughed. “You weren’t going to eat them anyway. You couldn’t even finish your cheeseburger.”
She pulled into a space in front of the diner with its yellow, red and blue sign above the door declaring it the home of The Original Hamburger. “We’ve had some good times, haven’t we, Asher?”
“Yes. We have. And I wish you’d call me Ash.”
“No way. Too intimate. If I start calling you that, you’ll know something’s wrong.”
“You called me Ash at the stables.”
“I was under tremendous stress. You were hurt. Like I said, something was wrong.”
He laughed and they headed inside.
Several hours later, they were back at his house, sitting at the dining room table, this time with both their laptops open. She stared at the pictures of all six victims on her screen then stretched and sat back. “I don’t get it. This serial killer is breaking all the rules.”
“Rules? Like what? Waiting six months between most of his kills, then possibly killing no one else for the past five years?”
“I’m not even pursuing that angle right now. I’ve been studying the victims, looking for similarities, and I’m not finding many aside from him choosing only female victims. Serial killers usually kill the same race as them. Our killer is white, but his victims are white, Black, and Latino. We’ve estimated him as mid-thirties. But his victims’ ages range from early twenties to early forties. I could overlook all of that if they had similar physical features of some type, like if they all had straight dark hair. But they don’t. I can’t get a lock on this guy. My former life as a Nashville detective didn’t give me much experience hunting this type of predator. You took some FBI serial killer courses at Quantico. What’s your take on these inconsistencies?”
“I learned just enough to be dangerous. But one thing that they taught me is that a large percentage choose victims because of things they have in common that don’t have to do with their physical attributes. It could be as simple as occupation or geography, and opportunity. Each one fulfills a specific need in him at the time that he kills them.”
“That doesn’t help me at all.”
He shrugged then winced.
“When was your last pain pill? Over the counter or otherwise?”
“It’s been a while. I’d hoped to avoid taking any more meds. But I’m ready to wave the white flag and grab a couple of Tylenol.”
She wished he’d take something stronger. It wasn’t like him to reveal that he was in pain, so he was probably in far more pain than he was admitting. She tapped her nails on the tabletop while he headed into the kitchen. “I haven’t heard from Willow today. Have you?”
“Not a peep. Leslie must be really having a hard time if Willow can’t convince her to talk to us.” He downed some pills with a glass of water.
“She’s the only known survivor of this killer. Something he said, or did, could be the key that ties everything together. And she may not even realize she holds that key.”
“Don’t pin your hopes on her. She may never speak to us. We have to figure out a path without her.”
Faith sighed. “I know, I know.” She waved at her computer and the pictures of the victims, guilt riding her hard that she hadn’t yet figured out how to get justice for them. “It’s so much easier said than done.”
“We need a break, a distraction to get our mind off this, even if only for a few minutes. Then we can come at it fresh.”
“A distraction sounds good. What would that be?”
“I can think of something to distract you.” The teasing tone of his voice had her glancing sharply at him. When she saw he was holding up a half gallon of chocolate ice cream, she started laughing.
“Gotcha.” He winked. “With or without whipped cream?”
“Duh. Definitely with. I’ll help. You don’t need to be scooping that with your back still healing.” She headed into the kitchen and grabbed the scoop while he got out a couple of bowls.
“I’m guessing your mom bought this for you,” she said as she filled their bowls. “She always loads you up with junk food every time she visits.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He grabbed the whipped cream and put two dollops on top of each of their bowls.
She stared at the chocolate mountains. “What was I thinking? That’s more than we could both ever eat.”
“Speak for yourself.” Asher took a huge spoonful and shoved it into his mouth.
She laughed and did the same, although she went for a much smaller spoonful. They both stood at the island, shoving empty calories into their mouths.
“I’m totally going to regret this tomorrow,” she said. “When I get on the scale. Maybe you should finish mine. You still have some pounds to put back on.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He shoved his empty bowl away and pulled her half-eaten one to him.
She rinsed his bowl, put it in the dishwasher, and then turned around. She froze at the sight of him licking his spoon. His eyes darkened as he stared at her and slowly slid the spoon into his mouth. Her own mouth went dry as he scooped up some more and swirled his tongue around it before consuming it, all the while his heated gaze never leaving her.
“Stop, stop.” Her voice was a dry rasp. She closed her eyes, blocking him out, and took a deep breath then another and another.
“Stop what, Faith?”
His tone had her eyes flying open. “Oh, my gosh. How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Lower your voice that way. You sound like...like—”
“Like what?”
“Like...sex! Just. Stop.” She ran past him down the hall to the guest bedroom and slammed the door behind her.
ASHER DROPPED THE spoon into the bowl, at a loss for what had just happened. He’d made her mad and didn’t even know how he’d done it. He’d been enjoying the ice cream and break from the case when he’d noticed the alluring sway of her bottom as she’d rinsed the bowl. When she’d turned around, his gaze had fallen to her lips and all he could seem to think about was the feel of them when he’d kissed her, the heat of her mouth when he’d swept his tongue inside.
The curve of her neck had him sucking on the spoon as he’d thought about sucking that soft, perfect skin as he’d done in the hospital. And her breasts, so soft and firm, pressing against his chest. Her words, asking him to stop, had truly surprised him, brought him crashing back to reality. His voice sounded like sex? He didn’t even know he had that superpower. How could he not do something in the future if he didn’t even know how he’d done it in the first place?
He scrubbed his hands across his face, cursing the situation. He was frustrated, in pain, and on edge. Nothing in his life seemed to be going right these days, either professionally or personally. And he was just plain tired.
Since it was too early for bed, Asher did the only other thing he could think of to try to ease his aches and pains and take his mind off all the stress, if only for a few minutes. He headed into his bedroom and strode into the bathroom to take advantage of his steam shower.
Washing away the aches and pains was much easier than washing away his worries about the case, and Faith. Even though they didn’t have the answers they wanted on the investigation, they’d done so much digging that he felt they had to be close to a resolution. That’s how these things typically went. Days, weeks or even months of work with little to show for it and all of a sudden that one puzzle piece would appear that made the entire picture come together. As for his relationship with Faith? That was still very much a puzzle. And he wasn’t as optimistic that he’d ever find the missing piece.
After towel-drying himself, he wrapped the towel around his waist and headed into the bedroom for some fresh clothes.
“Oh...oh, my... I’m sorry.”
He turned at the sound of Faith’s voice. She stood at the foot of his bed, holding her phone, eyes wide as she stared at his towel. He glanced down, just to make sure he was covered, then strode to her, stopping a few feet away.
Her gaze jerked up to meet his, her cheeks that adorable shade of pink they turned whenever she was embarrassed.
“I didn’t mean to... I mean I did, but it’s still early-ish and I thought you had come in here to grab something and I... Oh, gosh, I’m sorry.” She whirled around.
He gently grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Faith. No harm done. What’s wrong?”
She drew a deep breath and turned. “An email from Ivy. She sent me a file of open missing person cases in Gatlinburg. There are a depressingly large number. Most are old, several years. But one is recent, two days ago. I opened it and...well, look.” She held up her phone.
Asher frowned. “I think you’re showing the wrong picture. That’s June Aguirre.”
“No. It isn’t. It’s a woman named Nancy Henry. They aren’t even related, but they look as if they could be twins. Just like Leslie and Jasmine could have been twins if it wasn’t for their age difference. Please tell me what I think is happening isn’t happening. Did our guy take her?”
He took her phone and studied the screen. “You’re right. They could be twins. But we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. It could be a huge coincidence. For all we know, she may have run off with her boyfriend or gone on a trip without telling whoever reported her missing.”
“I know, I know. But what if she didn’t? What if our guy is responsible? What if he’s furious that we took his trophies, the bodies he’d buried. And he wants to replace them with look-alikes? Have you ever heard of a serial killer doing that?”
“No. Doesn’t mean they wouldn’t or haven’t. I don’t think we should panic and alert anyone without something more than a hunch. We need to look at those other missing person files.”
“There are a lot. It will take hours.”
“We’ll put on some coffee. We’re going to need the caffeine.”
Her gaze fell to his towel for a moment before she took her phone. “I, um, I’m sorry about...earlier. The ice cream incident. I’m...on edge. Saying really stupid things right now. It wasn’t you. It was me. I really am sorry.”
He grinned. “The ‘ice cream incident’?”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
He pressed his hand to his chest. “Never.”
She smiled. “I really am sorry, for the stupid things I said. And for slamming my door like a child.”
“Does this mean my voice doesn’t sound like sex after all?”
Her eyes widened. “I, um—”
“Kidding. And I shouldn’t tease you when you’re this serious. I’m sorry too. It was a misunderstanding.”
Her gaze dropped to his towel again. “Right. That’s all it was. A...misunderstanding. I’ll get that coffee going.” She ran from the room.
He stared at the empty doorway, more confused than ever—about the case, and especially about Faith. So much for his shower clearing his mind.
Several hours later, with a quick, light supper behind them and numerous phone calls with Lance and Ivy, they finally had their answer about the look-a-like theory. He set his phone down on the dining room table and sat back, rolling his shoulders to ease the ache from hunching over the computer for so long.
“It was a good theory,” he said. “Worth looking into. At least we know that Nancy Henry is safe and sound.” He grinned. “Even if she did run off with a new boyfriend and ghosted her old one. Russo’s canceling the missing person’s report now.”
She shut her laptop. “I wish his people were that diligent about closing out paperwork on their older missing person cases. We chased after two other look-alikes for hours before finding out they were both found within days of the reports being filed and no one canceled the alerts. We’re back to nothing.”
“No, we’re back to reexamining what we have, taking a fresh look. Something will shake out. When nothing makes sense, go back to step one.”
“Victimology,” she said.
“Exactly. It’s too late to start on that now. Let’s both get a good night’s sleep and come at this fresh in the morning. You’re welcome to stay over again, in the guest room this time, not the couch. You’ll be much more comfortable there.”
“I think I’ll take you up on that. I’m too tired to drive home. Thanks, Asher.”
“Of course. Anytime.”
They both stood and headed in opposite directions, him to the main bedroom on the left side of the house, her to the guest room on the right.
“Hey, Asher?”
He turned around. She was still in the opening to the hallway on the other side of the great room. “Yeah?”
“It was a good day. I mean we didn’t solve the case. But we worked hard, explored a lot of angles.”
He smiled. “It was a good day.”
“Asher?”
He chuckled, wondering why she was acting so timid all of a sudden. “Yes, Faith?”
“Thank you. Thank you for...for being my friend.”
His stomach dropped at the dreaded friend word. Keeping his smile in place was a struggle. “It’s my pleasure.”
She smiled, looking relieved. Then she headed down the hall, away from him.
He fisted his hands at his sides as he stared at the now-empty hallway. Suddenly the idea of facing his very lonely bedroom was too much. Instead, he headed into the kitchen and grabbed a cold bottle of beer.