Chapter Ten
Gerard/Morris Apartment
Owen couldn’t help wondering, even hours later, what Leah and Painter had talked about. The meeting had only lasted seven minutes. Yes, he had ticked off every second in his head.
This case—this woman—had totally undone him on some level.
He had been with the agency for ten years.
He’d started fresh out of university. He’d spent the first four years in research.
Then, six years ago, Victoria had asked him to become a field investigator.
To say he’d been pleased would be a vast understatement.
He’d completed the additional training and took on his first case six months later.
In all the intervening time, he had never once been physically attracted to a client. But Leah…he felt protective of her—sort of the way he felt about his sisters, but not in a sisterly way at all.
His phone buzzed, and he retrieved it from his hip pocket. Ian Michaels, one of Victoria’s closest colleagues and a former US marshal, had responded to Owen’s request for information.
According to Ian’s contact, Painter would be moving into the Witness Protection Program.
Although Lorenzo Perez was dead, Painter had considerable and quite valuable information about his network.
Once word got out that he had cooperated with the authorities, he wouldn’t be intruding into Leah’s life again—not if he wanted to stay alive.
Another text message appeared, this one from Lambert.
He had four members of his team in place at the Underground, Leah and Owen’s destination for the evening.
She and the woman who called herself Isla Morris had frequented the dance club over the years.
No one expected Alyssa Jones to be hanging out there, but someone who knew her and who was there may have seen her since Saturday night.
Leah was acquainted with most of her former roommate’s friends.
She had some idea of the faces to look for.
The club was the same place she’d run into Raymond Douglas that one time before the ill-fated date.
“I guess I’m ready.”
Owen turned to Leah and for a moment he couldn’t speak. Her hair was in a high ponytail, making her look incredibly young. She wore a short denim skirt and a pink scoop-necked tee. Her long legs flowed down to a pair of pink high heels. She…looked…great. And sexy as all get out.
“Wow.” He took a breath. “You look very…prepared.” The only photo he’d seen of her dressed this way was from ten years ago in her senior yearbook. She’d had the yearbook hidden in one of her dresser drawers. When he’d searched her room, he hadn’t been able to resist having a look.
“I feel a little ridiculous.” She shook her head. “Dressing for a night of clubbing after what’s happened.”
“Keep in mind it’s part of the investigation.” He grinned. “And you actually look…great. I like it.”
She rolled her eyes. “You look pretty great yourself.” Her gaze roved down, then back up his body, the move starting a fire deep in his gut.
“You said very casual. Do I meet the criteria?” He didn’t generally wear blue jeans and a T-shirt on the job, but blending in tonight was important.
Good thing he always packed a pair of jeans.
The Guns N’ Roses tee wasn’t his; Leah had suggested he wear it.
It belonged to her. She used the vintage tee as a nightshirt.
The idea that she’d slept in the tee, no matter when that might have been, had kept him on the edge of arousal for the past hour. Seeing her in that skirt was not helping.
“It’s perfect.” She gave him a nod. “That tee looks better on you than it ever did on me.”
He doubted that was the case. “Thank you. Shall we go?”
She crossed the room, moving slowly, maybe because those heels were so high, or maybe just to make him more… Well, anyway.
“I have one question first.” She stopped directly in front of him.
“If I’m lucky,” he managed a smile, “I have the answer.”
“If we’re playing the part of a couple,” she began, studying his face as if she expected the answer to appear there, “what exactly does that entail?”
She was going there, was she?
“I would think,” he said, searching for the words that wouldn’t sound so inappropriate, “that sticking together in the crowd would be essential.”
She nodded. “I can do that.” She tilted her head and eyed him expectantly. “Anything else?”
“We could hold hands.” He nodded, thinking that was a good idea. Reasonable. Not over the line. “Maybe share a toast at least once.”
“What about dancing? I really like to dance.”
“Sure.” This one was a little more precarious. “Dancing would be expected, considering the venue.”
“Okay.” She smiled. “I think I’ve got it.”
He was glad, because the way she was looking at him while she asked those questions was making him wild with need.
When had merely listening to a woman talk become such a turn-on?
Maybe it was just something about her…that touch of uncertainty and naivete that seemed absolutely genuine. She might be twenty-eight, but he had a feeling she had been holding herself back for a long while now.
The way she watched him as he locked the apartment door made him wonder if she was having the same trouble he was. If she was ready to let go, he was in trouble.
Then she took off toward the stairs at the end of the corridor, and the way she moved almost finished him off completely.
The Underground
Franklin Street, 10:00 p.m.
FINDING A PARKING SPOT had been an ordeal, but nothing Owen hadn’t faced before.
Living in the city, sometimes a car was a more of a nuisance than an asset.
They had stopped at a favorite restaurant of his in the River North area, the Smith, for dinner.
From there, they’d made their way to the club, which included round two of Find a Parking Spot Without Losing His Mind.
He and Leah held hands as they walked from the car to the club entrance. It amazed him how soft her skin felt. Forcing his mind away from the thought to prevent other, more salacious thoughts, he focused on their surroundings.
As the name suggested, the place was underground, in a basement.
The style inside was very European. An elevated DJ booth overlooked the dance floor.
Tables hugged the walls all the way around the space.
The music was loud, and the place literally vibrated with energy.
The flashing colored lights kept time with the music.
Not too crowded, but that would change as midnight neared.
Leah held on tightly to his hand as she threaded through the crowd in search of an empty table.
She found one and moved in for the take.
Most of the tables were pub-style and made for standing around.
A few had chairs. Those, of course, were all occupied.
A waiter passed and Leah waved him down. “I’d like a vodka on the rocks with lemon.” She turned to Owen.
“Whatever you have on draft,” he said, loudly enough for the waiter to hear.
The waiter gave a nod and hurried away, weaving effortlessly through the growing crowd.
Leah leaned close and said, “Don’t worry, I always nurse a single drink for the entire evening.” She made a face. “I’m not much of a drinker, actually.”
He’d suspected as much. Anyone who liked a good stiff drink from time to time would have been doing so after what she’d been through. He hadn’t seen her go for so much as a beer. Just the wine that once.
For a while he watched her scan the crowd.
Sometimes she stood on her tiptoes as if she needed to see over someone.
She was far more relaxed than before. Made sense.
She was no longer a murder suspect, and the man from her past who had still been haunting her was accounted for and wouldn’t be unexpectedly appearing in her life again.
Not if he was smart, anyway. Once they knew who was behind the setup that included her name on an insurance policy, the investigation, from her perspective, would be finished.
Closing a case was a good thing, but somehow this felt not so good.
He rested his crossed arms on the table, primarily to be nearer for conversation purposes. “Spotted anyone you recognize?”
“Not yet.” She made a disappointed face.
She turned to him and he realized his mistake. His position put his face level with hers when she looked at him. As hard as he tried not to, he found himself studying her lips.
She smiled and his heart thumped.
“Come on.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the table. She wove a path through the crowd with almost as much ease as the waiter.
Their destination appeared to be a table where three women stood huddled together. Just as they reached it, Leah called out, “Maya!”
The other woman turned around and shock showed on her face for a split second before she dove at Leah, wrapping her in an enthusiastic hug.
“Oh my God.” The one Leah had called Maya drew back and looked her over. “Are you all right? I can’t believe what I’ve been seeing on the news. I started to call, but I wasn’t sure if I should.”
Which was code for I didn’t want to get involved. Some friend. Owen recalled Leah mentioning that Maya was one of Isla’s friends who hadn’t really warmed up to her at first.
“It’s okay,” Leah said, talking loud enough for the other women to hear over the music. “But I’m really worried about Isla. No one has seen her since Saturday. She hasn’t shown up for work, and her mother hasn’t heard from her either.”
Maya’s expression turned apprehensive. “Are the police looking for her?”
Leah nodded. “I’m really worried she has…ended up like Raymond.”
Maya’s hand went to her chest. “No, that can’t be. Maybe she’s hiding. I can ask around. See if anyone has heard from her.”
“That would be very helpful,” Leah said. “I need to know she’s okay.”
Maya nodded, then glanced at Owen.
“Sorry.” Leah shook her head. “This is my friend Owen.” She turned to Owen. “This is Maya, Isla’s friend I was telling you about.”