Chapter 18
Eighteen
Vivian couldn’t take it any longer. She had to go home and shower.
Not that having McBride’s scent indelibly imprinted on her was such a bad thing.
But it had been immensely distracting all day, a constant reminder of the mistake she had allowed to happen.
Diving right into work as if nothing had happened had been essential.
Allowing Worth to pick up on even the slightest hint that she had crossed the line .
. . would be a total and complete disaster.
Work had allowed her to forget for a while, but waking up from the twenty-minute power nap she had stolen at her desk around six had snatched her right back to those minutes she wanted to pretend hadn’t happened.
Her mind had first and foremost become aware of that subtle scent of his clinging to her skin and clothes.
Then and now heat flushed her face.
Rushing through her condo, she stripped off her jade suit and black blouse. By the time she reached her bedroom she was wriggling out of her felonious silk panties. She kicked them aside. And the shoes. She would never, ever be able to wear those shoes again without thinking of him . . . and sex.
After setting the water’s temperature in her shower, she gathered a towel and pinned her hair up out of the way. There was no time for washing, drying, and styling that mane. This had to be a fast wash-away-McBride’s-scent and, if she was lucky, the memory of his touch.
Worth wanted her back at the office as quickly as possible.
She felt that urgency herself. Not only did she not want to miss anything, she didn’t want to risk someone else taking her place.
As selfish as that sounded, in her work world it was every man for himself.
That she was a woman did not give her an edge, quite the contrary. She had to work harder.
She stepped beneath the hot spray of water and relished the relaxing feel of the heat. Her muscles instantly loosened. Rubbing the soap over her skin had her remembering the way McBride had touched her . . . and the place he had found that prompted an orgasm in under ten seconds. Unbelievable.
Orgasms had never come easy to her. Hadn’t come at all in a really long time. She knew the ugliness with Nameless had left her damaged goods in the sex department. But she had worked diligently to overcome those awful memories. She’d had sex plenty of times since.
Not at first. Those initial two years afterward had been a situational trial and error.
Lots of therapy and slow progress with physical intimacy.
She had known that in order to get past the fear she would have to take it slow and get back into the game.
Then she had gone a little overboard, mostly to prove she could do it.
Lots of lovers her senior year in college.
Despite the embarrassingly high number, she had always practiced safe sex.
Maybe a little too safe. Not only had she insisted on the use of condoms .
. . she had stretched an invisible shield around her emotions.
Vivian’s hands stilled, the soap clutched against her abdomen. McBride had been right about the whole disappearing act. That was exactly what she had done. She never allowed herself to feel any of it. The decision wasn’t conscious . . . more instinct than anything. Self-preservation instincts.
This was the first time she had admitted that to herself. Having sex with McBride was the first time she had permitted herself to drop her guard and get so lost in the moment that she had come, over and over again. And she had felt each one.
All those other times she hadn’t been fooling anyone but herself.
No man had been able to give her the big “O” since before Nameless.
The few she had experienced had been through focused masturbation, which didn’t require the presence of a man, just a little patience and concentration.
She had begun to think that she would never feel anything that intense with the opposite sex again.
The possibility that normal sex could still be a part of her life was a surprise and a tremendous relief.
If one could call what she and McBride had shared in that stall “normal.”
That she had spent the last several minutes thinking intimate thoughts about him forced her to recognize just how much trouble she had gotten herself into.
She gave herself a good swift mental kick. This was more than just a mistake on a personal level. This was her career.
She had worked too hard to get here. Had big plans for her future.
No mistakes.
With a quick rinse, she hurried through the drying process and got dressed. When she returned to the office, she would do so with a new attitude. Back to business.
All business.
No more falling victim to his rugged charm.
No more sex, no matter how amazing.
1000 Eighteenth Street, 9:20 p.m.
Everyone else was in the conference room when Grace showed up. She looked more relaxed now. She’d obviously showered and changed. Ryan was in no hurry to do the same. He liked wearing her scent.
“Let’s talk about what we have,” Worth suggested, his comment directed at Ryan.
“I’d like to hear what Aldridge has come up with on the scenes.” Ryan rested his attention on the older man. “Anything new on that?”
“Possibly.” Aldridge glanced over his handwritten notes. He was old school, no phone apps for him. “Oak Hill Cemetery,” he said, “is the final resting place of the steel magnates who put Birmingham on the map. It holds a prominent position in our city, right downtown.”
Ryan nodded. “So the cemetery represents the upper crust of Birmingham’s society.”
“Right,” Aldridge agreed.
“What about Sloss?” Worth asked.
The SAC wasn’t unaccustomed to sitting in the background. But he, along with everyone else in the Birmingham office, had been given strict orders by the director to defer to Ryan. To get this done fast.
Wasn’t he the lucky one?
“Laborers . . . blue collar,” Aldridge said about Sloss. “Hundreds of men died there; to the ones in charge, they were totally expendable.”
“Katherine Jones worked at Walmart,” Grace said, the comment in line with Aldridge’s response. “Low salary base, serving the public in a manner of speaking. Just another clerk in a blue vest, easily replaced.”
“The working class, the invisible,” Ryan deduced. “No specialized training required, just hard work.”
“No connection between the vics yet,” Pratt added during the lull that followed.
“The Byrnes don’t shop at the Walmart on Hackworth Road, if they even shop at discount stores at all.
Not related by blood or marriage, even distantly.
Don’t travel in the same circles, social or otherwise.
No church or community connections. Nada. ”
“Nothing from Schaffer yet,” Grace said before Ryan could even ask.
His gaze settled on her. She looked away too quickly. No surprise. She was suffering all the usual regrets about what had happened in that bathroom. Too bad. She should allow herself to enjoy moments like that one.
Lila Grimes, Worth’s assistant, rushed in and whispered something in the SAC’s ear. The visible shift in Worth’s posture cued Ryan in that this was not a call from his wife to find out when he would be home.
This was bad news.
“We have another communication,” Worth said, his gaze connecting with Ryan’s.
Ryan pushed out of his chair and moved to the large screen, where the email popped up for all to see.
Grace followed. “There isn’t supposed to be another communication today.”
She was right. This was the Lord’s Day, Devoted Fan had said. They were supposed to have a few more hours.
Ryan took a seat and opened the mailbox.
There it was, new mail.
It was him.
One click, and the message box opened.
McBride, my friend,
Unfortunately, an unavoidable glitch has forced me to move forward ahead of schedule. You have my sincerest apologies, but this challenge will not wait. It will prove how right I have been all along.
Kurt Trenton worships his fame and his own arrogance.
He holds life in his hands, giving it, likewise taking it away.
For this reason he must be humbled. You see, Trenton needs to remember how it feels for his life to rest in the hands of another. He is not God. This he will learn quickly as he awaits death, just as the One he would pretend to be once suffered so selflessly. Oppression is evil.
Find him, McBride, before it is too late. Remind him that justice is everywhere and threatens injustice anywhere.
You have twelve hours . . . starting now.
Your Devoted Fan
“Okay, folks,” Worth shouted. “Who is Kurt Trenton? Has he been reported missing? Find everything you can on who he is and where he is. The name sounds familiar. This guy may be a regular in the media. Start there.”
Ryan read the email’s last paragraph once more, his tension compounding with each word. Twelve hours. The time was cut shorter again, and the difficulty level had been escalated. As promised by Devoted Fan’s previous communications. Ryan’s hands shook as he sent the email to the printer.
He’d made his decision, he was in. There was no other option. Any hope of this thing having a happy ending had just vanished. At six this evening, Worth had announced Ryan’s reinstatement on all local news channels, and still the email had come.
It was just as he had surmised. This was far bigger than him. Somehow he was the linchpin, the connecting thread, but he was certain each one of these victims was somehow involved. Somehow a part of the story Devoted Fan wanted to tell.
Before getting up from the computer, Ryan decided to try one last effort to end this before anyone else was put at risk. He opened a reply box and started to type.
One by one the agents in the room gathered behind him, including Worth.
Devoted Fan,
You must have seen the news release. I have been reinstated. There is no need to continue your valiant efforts.
I am back and I have you to thank.
McBride