Chapter Thirty-Four
Theo
“Holy fuck,” I groan, hips thrusting forward faster.
My cock bumps the back of June’s throat, and she chokes, saliva falling down her face.
Her hair is a mess from sleep and my hands, and she looks up at me through watery lashes before sucking further, throat working to accommodate me.
She lets her teeth gently scrape the underside of my dick.
Soon, my hips stutter, and I come down her throat.
She swallows, then pulls back, wiping the corners of her mouth.
“You’re fucking fantastic,” I mutter, tugging her up the bed to meet me in a messy kiss. She woke me with my cock in her mouth, and I want to return the favor, but she catches sight of the clock and jumps off the bed in a hurry.
“Fuck, I’m going to be late,” she says. The rest of the morning is a blur as she rushes to get us out the door in as little time as possible.
Once at her office, I stay on the bike but pull off my helmet, prepared to bring up evening plans since it's our last night, but she doesn’t give me the chance. She stands on her toes and steals a quick kiss before turning and heading inside without a word.
Clearly, she has no problem kissing me in public anymore. But that doesn’t necessarily mean much. And it doesn’t provide answers about tomorrow.
I kick the bike back into gear and peel out of the lot.
June pored over the files I gave her on Tuesday, and though we talked through some of Lorry’s investigation, there’s still stuff she doesn’t know. I removed a few pages from the files before giving them to her.
From my file, I hid the list of her clients, their addresses, diagnoses, families, and any other information I thought was prudent.
I didn’t want her to know how much I violated her clients’ privacy, especially because only a few of them were helpful.
I found who I think were her three victims before Jared, besides Dakota, Sadie’s ex-boyfriend.
There was Adam Brewer, whose wife spent a lot of time in the E.R.
before she started seeing June in early 2022.
By September, Brewer disappeared. Eight months later, Curtis Mills, the father of one of June’s older clients, disappeared from his home in a senior living community.
He’s considered a missing person, but Lorry didn’t think twice about him because he’s in his seventies.
I guess he thinks seniors are beneath June.
I know better. She doesn’t care about age.
She’s an equal opportunist murderer. If the man is an asshole, she’s going to slice him up. Simple as that.
Then there was Mario Narvaez. He was the foster brother of one of June’s clients, and he abruptly quit his job via email and moved away last February. No one has heard from him since. He’s not in Lorry’s file because he lived in Utah, which means June traveled several hours for that kill.
I also took a single page out of Lorry’s file. A new one that Kip retrieved for me on Monday. It’s the most damning piece of evidence he has against her, and he found it over the weekend. I knew she’d freak out if she saw it.
There’s a witness.
A twenty-year-old guy saw June, not in disguise, with Tim the day he disappeared.
He didn’t tell the cops because he didn’t think anything of it.
But Lorry tracked him down, showed him a picture of June, and the guy, Miles, confirmed that June was with Tim.
According to Lorry’s files, Miles said June picked Tim up from the church, kissed his cheek, and drove off with him.
That was the last time he was seen. I think Lorry talked to him again yesterday, but I have no idea how that went.
I intend to find out.
It takes twenty minutes to get to Miles’s townhouse.
I park and head to the front door, knocking first. A minute passes, then I ring the doorbell.
It takes two more rings before the door swings open, revealing a disheveled man with a chubby baby face, circles under big eyes, and a large shirt hanging over a thin frame.
“What the hell do you want?” he demands.
“Miles Harrison?”
“Depends…”
That’s a yes. I push his arm off the door and force my way into his house.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Miles yells. He’s oddly brave, considering he’s nearly a decade younger than me and a hundred pounds lighter.
Once inside, I throw the door shut and cross my arms. “You talked to a cop, Lorry McCoy, last week.”
Miles frowns, eyes dropping down my body. For the first time, he shows some fear as he assesses his now precarious situation. “So?”
“I want to know exactly what you told him.”
“Why do you care?”
I take a step closer. “Tell me.”
His eyes glance behind me, then to the side, probably looking for an escape or a weapon. To disabuse him of the notion, I grab his throat and slam him against the door. He screams, and I press into his windpipe, shutting him up.
“I’m going to let go, and you’re going to tell me what you told him if you want to keep all your appendages. Blink once if you understand.”
He blinks. I release his neck, but don’t step back.
“He came asking about my old pastor. I told him he up and left, went to Cambodia. Pissed me off, too. I was his assistant at the church. His replacement said he didn’t need one. Lost me my job.”
“And?”
“He showed me a picture of this girl. I remembered her because she was gorgeous. Sexy as hell. I saw her a couple of times with him. Nothing against Tim, but she was way out of his league.”
My blood boils. I want to rip out his tongue and gouge out his eyes, but he has more to tell me.
“Did the cop seem interested in her?”
“Yeah, duh. I thought he might be a new boyfriend, but then he said she was dangerous and asked me to think more about it, call him if I remembered anything else.”
“Did you?”
His eyes jump away, and he licks his lip, fidgeting. “No.”
Liar.
“Think carefully, Miles. Did you call the cop again?”
“No, man! I swear!”
I pull a rag out of my pocket and jam it into his mouth. He looks confused for a moment, then he’s screaming into the rag, veins in his neck sticking out and face going red when I reach down and break two of his fingers at once.
I wait for him to stop screaming. His chest heaves, and tears run down his cheeks.
“Scream and it’ll be your arm next. Now, what did you tell McCoy when you called him again?” I pull the rag from his mouth, and he sucks in a shaky breath that’s broken by sobs.
“I remembered that I saw that girl again the night Tim disappeared. Or maybe the next day, I don’t know.
But I went to the church in the middle of the night ‘cause my girlfriend and I got in a fight, and sometimes I’d sleep on the couch in his office.
She was there when I showed up. She was on the computer, so she didn’t see me.
I left. Figured she was his girlfriend or something and didn’t want to intrude.
But the next day, people were talking about how Tim cleared out his office.
Took his computer and some books and such.
But it was all there that night when she was there. I know it.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone sooner?”
“I don’t know, okay? I didn’t think anything of it when it happened. I didn’t even remember until that guy came around with the photo and got me thinking about it again. Please, that’s all, I swear!”
“You didn’t remember the first time McCoy talked to you?”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, I swear!”
I start to shove the rag in his mouth, but he shakes his head wildly, snot flying as he cries. “I was drunk! I didn’t tell anyone or remember ‘cause I was drunk! My parents would’ve killed me!”
“How did you get to the church if you were drunk?”
“I drove! Okay? I was an idiot! I drove! But I remember her being there. I didn’t make that up. Please, that’s everything. Please let me go.”
“Are you expecting another call or visit from McCoy?”
“No!”
“Did McCoy record your story?”
“What? No!”
“Have you told anyone else?”
“No, I swear! And I won’t. I won’t tell anyone you were here.”
“Were there cameras in the church offices?” I know the answer but want to make sure there aren’t any other surprises.
“They were broken. Broke a few weeks earlier and hadn’t gotten fixed yet.”
“Did anyone else know that girl was there? Or see her with Tim?”
He’s shaking and crying and soon, he’s going to piss himself. “No. No. I don’t know. Tim was single, that’s all anyone knows.”
Good. So, it’s just this guy’s testimony, which is shaky at best.
But it’s still too much. I don’t want Lorry knowing anything about June. Any hint of evidence she may be involved needs to be eliminated.
“Thanks, Miles,” I say, grinning. He starts to relax, which makes snapping his neck slightly easier.
I step back, and his body crumples to the floor.
“Fuck.” That was dumb.
There’s no reason for this kill to be traced to me, but Lorry will suspect June. He probably will anyway, but I can’t leave the body here. I also can’t carry him away on my bike.
Grinding my teeth, I grab my phone and call Ace.