Sex, Lies, And Online Dating

“Right.” Yeah, he’d lied to her, but it wasn’t as if he’d had a choice. And yeah, he’d taken things a little far, but she hadn’t exactly complained. She’d gotten off. He hadn’t. If anyone should be pissed off it was him. “You always this good a driver, Mario?”

“If you don’t like it, get out.” She stopped at a light on Bannock and about put him through the windshield.

He smiled and reminded himself that his job would be a lot easier with her cooperation. He’d talked confessions out of hardened criminals; he could handle Lucy. “It’s good that you called me about the letters.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said as she continued to look straight ahead. She refused to look at him, but that was okay with Quinn, as it gave him the chance to look at her all he wanted. Kurt was right. She did look like a snack tray. “I didn’t call you. I called someone who transferred me to you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His gaze took in her high cheeks, straight nose, and her full mouth. The first night he’d seen her, he’d thought she had a great mouth. “The result is the same. I’m going to be in your life for a while longer.”

“Lucky me.” She tapped her red fingernails on the black leather steering wheel. “I guess your name really is Quinn.”

“Yep.” His gaze moved from her chin to the long white column of her throat. He liked her neck. It smelled great and tasted better.

“Is there really a Millie?”

“Yes.”

Tap tap tap. “Your wife? Girlfriend?”

“My dog.”

Her head slowly turned toward him like she was in The Exorcist, and her eyes got all squinty. “Your dog? You made me feel sorry for you because your wife died, and the whole time Millie was really your dog?”

“I was doing my job, Mizz Rothschild.”

“Your job sucks.”

“Sometimes.” The light turned green, and she sped through the intersection.

“So who was the redhead in the photographs?”

“What photographs?”

“The ones on your mantel.”

“Oh, that’s Anita. She works in the tech department.” He could practically see the mental wheels spinning in her head. “The photographs were planted there to make me think she was your dead wife Millie.”

“Something like that.” He hoped to God she never found out about the video and audio tape. “Listen, I’m sorry about everything. I’m sorry you got caught up in it. I’m sorry I had to lie to you.”

She made a scoffing sound. “Probably not as sorry as I am.”

“The others didn’t take it so hard.”

Her head whipped around to look at him. “Others? While you dated me, there were others? You told me I…jerk.”

Maybe he should have kept that one to himself. “Watch the road.”

She frowned and looked out the windshield once more. “How many others are we talking about?”

“While I dated you? Just a couple.”

Lucy slowed the car and pulled into a parking place in front of the post office. Just a couple. He said it as if it were okay. As if it didn’t completely crush her, no matter how much she didn’t want to be crushed.

“Over the course of the past month,” he continued as he unbuckled his belt, “about fifteen or sixteen.”

Lucy opened her car door and stepped out. “Fifteen or sixteen?” She couldn’t help but wonder how far he’d gone with the others. Had he kissed them like he’d kissed her? Had he shoved them against a wall and touched them all over?

He held his evidence collection equipment in one hand as they moved up the steps. “It was exhausting,” he said, holding the door open for her as if he were a gentleman.

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” He wasn’t tricking her for a second. He wasn’t a gentleman. “Poor guy. You wined and dined fifteen or sixteen women and lied to us all.”

“Some I just met for coffee and never saw again.”

And others he’d kissed like he hadn’t been able to get enough. Others like her. And though she would rather die than admit it out loud, she felt a tiny stab of jealousy for all those faceless others.

They walked into the old post office. Across from the rows of PO boxes, she set her purse on a table used for labeling. She would not ask how many he’d kissed and touched as he’d kissed and touched her. Not if it killed her. “And out of all those fifteen or sixteen, I’m the one you were most convinced was a serial killer.” She opened her purse and set her wallet on the table. “That’s brilliant police work.” Next she pulled out her brass knuckles and stun pen, then dug a little deeper. The more she thought of all those other women, the angrier she got. “I knew there was something wrong with you, but did I listen? No. I did not. I even made excuses for you trolling chat rooms and for all the really crappy e-mails you sent me.” She finally pulled out the special set of keys that always ended up in the bottom of her purse. “That spark to flame stuff was so lame. I mean, get a clue, Lucy.” She looked up, and Quinn took several steps backward. “What are you doing?”

“What do you have in your hand?” he asked, looking at her as if she held a cobra.

“The key. What else?” His gaze moved to her stun pen, and she smiled. Oh, that was tempting. “Are you afraid I’m going to zap you?”

“No. You wouldn’t get close enough.”

“Mmm hmm.” She held out the keys and made a little zapping sound through her teeth as she dropped them in his open palm.

“Funny. What’s your number?”

She told him, then turned to stuff everything else back into her purse.

“You’re the only one who’s complained about the e-mails.” He rocked back on his heels. “The other women liked them.”

“The other women were being kind to you. Believe me, I know hyperbolic crap when I read it.”

He chuckled and said over his shoulder, “That’s what I told Kurt when he wrote those e-mails. Although I’m pretty sure I didn’t say his crap was ‘hyperbolic.’”

He hadn’t even written the e-mails she’d spent so much energy trying to excuse and justify. Figured. She leaned her hip into the table and watched him move to her PO box. For some reason, the skin on the back of her neck and arms started to tingle as she waited for him to open it. A part of her wanted to tell him to stop. Not to open it. She didn’t want to see what was inside. Reading the sick rambling of a killer professing admiration for her work tainted what she’d always loved. Made it feel as if she were somehow responsible, although she knew she wasn’t. The thought of writing a mystery about a female serial killer no longer seemed like fiction. The lines between fact and fiction had blurred, and it was real now. She’d always loved her work, but sitting in her chair and writing seemed too horrific. The thought of never writing added a different shade of fear into the mix. She not only loved writing but it was also how she made her living. Without it, she was uniquely qualified to work in the fast-food industry.

In the span of three hours, her whole life had changed. Her emotions were raw, her mind numb with the weight of it. More than anything, she felt disoriented, as if she’d been on a five-day bender. She watched Quinn fit the key into the lock, and her hands tingled and her fingers got cold. She didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t look away. The small door swung open, and Lucy’s heart felt as if it were going to pound right out of her chest.

The box was empty. Not even a piece of junk mail. Lucy let out a breath. She couldn’t go through this every day, but she didn’t see that she had a choice. Maybe she’d heard the last from a sick woman. Maybe she could get her life back.

Quinn locked the PO box and moved toward her with that long and lean purposeful stride of his. A scowl wrinkled his dark brow, and he handed her the key. “Are you going to pass out?”

He raised a hand, as if he was going to touch her, but she stepped back out of his reach. “I’m fine.”

His hand fell to his side, but his scowl remained in place. “We’ll check again tomorrow.”

Without a word, Lucy took the key ring and dropped it into her purse. Tomorrow. She didn’t want to see him again tomorrow. Nor did she want to stand in the post office with her heart pounding out of