10. Dominc
CHAPTER 10
Dominc
PUTRID FLORAL SMELL
PRESENT
T here’s a woman on my porch.
My door creaks open, the sound grating like nails on a chalkboard. I make a mental note to grab some WD-40 the next time I’m in town. But the thought disappears the moment I see who’s standing in front of me.
What the hell?
“Morales?”
“Hi!” she replies, a little too friendly. Noticing my expression, her smile drops as her eyes sweep over me. “Did I wake you up?”
I drag a hand down my face. “Uh…no. I’m just confused why you’re here.”
It’s my day off and I also have no recollection of telling Morales, or anyone at work, where I live.
“Can I come in?” she asks, while brushing past me.
I remain still, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. “Sure, come right in.” I can’t help the sarcasm in my voice .
She walks ahead of me, admiring the disaster. “Didn’t take you for a DIY guy.”
A noncommittal grunt is my only response. It’s not that I dislike Morales, exactly, but I don’t like her enough to invite her over or socialize with her outside of work. I have nothing against a woman in law enforcement—I know it’s still very much a good ol’ boys’ club—but boundaries need to be maintained when working with the opposite sex. People talk, and the last thing I need is a rumor going around that Morales and I are getting too friendly .
“Is there a reason you’re here on my day off? And how do you know where I live?”
I’m not trying to be a dick, but there’s no reason to beat around the bush with her. I have a lot of shit to get done and really don’t appreciate the unexpected visit.
She laughs like I said something funny. “You’re so hospitable.”
I don’t laugh or smile. In fact, now I’m kind of pissed. She noticeably didn’t answer my questions either.
“Morales,” I say as my arms cross and shoulders square.
She plops down on a turned over bucket in the middle of the room. “Dominic, you can call me Talia, it’s not like we’re at work.”
My stare narrows. I’m not going to call her Talia. “It’s Dom or Alvarez. Not Dominic.” I correct.
Only a few select people in my life call me by my full name—Ellie being one of them. It’s not for Morales to use.
Her smile strains before she reaches into her shoulder bag and produces a file folder. “I was hoping I could run a few things by you, related to the JB Stalker.”
“JB Stalker?”
She blows out a puff of air. “The Juniper Bluffs Stalker.” She says this like it should’ve been my first conclusion.
I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling a slow breath. “You gave the stalker a nickname?”
She shrugs, unfazed. “It’s catchy. Easier than saying, ‘That guy who left a bunch of creepy pictures in a duffle bag’—assuming it’s a guy. For all I know it’s a woman, not likely, but still.”
I grab a rag off the workbench and wipe my hands, stalling. She’s clearly not leaving until she gets what she wants.
“And you couldn’t have called me about this? Or, I don’t know, waited until tomorrow?”
Her lips quirk up in a grin. “Would you have answered?”
I glare. She knows the answer.
“I’ll take that as a no,” she says with a satisfied smirk, leaning back on the bucket.
“Why not go to Sergeant Vorheis about this?”
She lets out a breath, revealing a crack in her usual confidence. “Because he doesn’t respect me. I’ve been trying to get in the detective’s unit for almost two years and I’m not making any headway. He seems to like you more than me.”
Well, fuck. Talk about feeling like a dick.
I gesture vaguely at the folder. “Fine. What do you need from me?”
She flips it open and starts rifling through papers. “Just your insight. I figured your fancy LAPD job might provide a different perspective.”
“Wasn’t really that fancy,” I mutter, but I pull up another bucket and sit across from her anyway.
She’s likely being honest about Vorheis. I’m not about to question her experiences, but my gut is telling me Morales came here with intentions that have nothing to do with work. If I’m right, it’s really going to mess up our already fragile work relationship.
She spreads a few photos across the makeshift table between us. Grainy images of a man standing just beyond the light of someone’s front porch, his face obscured by shadows. The timestamps show the photos were taken a few nights ago.
“There’s a Peeping Tom case in Coyote Creek Junction. This is the third house he’s hit this month,” Morales says, her voice dropping into a more serious tone. “Same pattern. He watches for hours, just standing there. Leaves no trace. No prints, no hair, nothing.”
I study the photos, an unease curling in my stomach. It’s the same feeling I got when I was looking through the Delmar file. The timing is too suspect.
“You think this is our guy?” I ask.
Her expression hardens. “What are the odds of a Peeping Tom case, potential stalker and missing woman all happening at the same time in our county?”
She’s right. Things like this don’t happen in Clore County. It’s sleepy and touristy with more land covered in agriculture than people. It’s not impossible for it to all be a coincidence, but it’s also not likely that it is.
“Alright,” I finally say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I see your point. If you want me to present this to Vorheis, I will and I’ll make sure to tell him it came from you.” I stand, and nod to indicate her time is up. “But next time, Morales? Call first.”
She grins, sauntering ahead of me toward the door. It’s only now that I actually take in what she’s wearing—jeans so tight they might as well be painted on, hugging curves her work uniform usually keeps under wraps. Her top isn’t much better, clinging in a way that leaves little to the imagination. Unlike the ponytail she wears at work, her hair is down in soft waves and she’s wearing more makeup than usual. She’s not unattractive. But she’s not Ellie.
She pauses at the door and a wave of unease rolls through me. I’m hoping like hell she’s not about to make things fucking awkward .
“Next time let’s wait for work. I like my days off.”
She bats her eyelashes. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Leaning closer, she invades me with a putrid floral smell.
Fuck.
I pull the door open, all but pushing her out, when she suddenly stops short. Confused, I glance over to see what’s holding her up.
My heart drops like a brick.
It’s Ellie.