“Which explains how he’s moved the other bodies.”
“Most likely. It’s pretty rank. Don’t think he’s ever hosed it out between vics. The ME is here, and FBI forensics just arrived. Just thought with your sharp eyes, you might see what these guys are missing.”
Tripp read between the lines. You mean, what you’re missing. “Chase still being an asshole?”
“He’s certainly focused.” Jameson’s weariness came loud and clear through the connection. “He’s called in his psychics. Thought you’d want to meet them, too. I’ve got to say, they are an interesting group. I like them.”
Tripp shot a glance over his shoulder. Ashley had just gotten out of bed, and he had the best view of her bare supple back, the two dimples above her lush, heart-shaped bottom, and two long legs that might soon—he hoped—take him all the way to heaven. Just not now. Damn it!
“Sure, yeah, I’ll be there,” he replied, running a hand over his bedhead. “Give me ten to grab a shower.” His eyes slid back to Ashley. “Or twenty.”
She’d slipped into the cutest pair of light-tan boy shorts and a white t-shirt that didn’t hide a thing. When she looked over her shoulder and smiled his way, he told Jameson, “Make it a half-hour, give or take a few—”
“No, I need you here now. I need your eyes, damn it!” Shit, he was testy.
“Okay, yeah. Sure. On my way. Be there in five.” Talk about bad timing.
A murmured, “Thanks,” breathed over the connection before Jameson ended the call.
“I have to leave,” Tripp told the woman he was beginning to have serious feelings for.
“Okay.” Her pretty face was as bright as Sunday morning. “I’ll fix coffee and send you off with a travel mug. Sugar? Cream?”
And you? Tripp licked his lips at what he was leaving behind. The sweetest, rarest sugar, the richest cream. And he was a hungry man. But the business of murder victims would always come first. Especially if Trish, like Ashley, was one of this bastard’s failed kills.
“Black,” he told her, then went in search of his shirt. Quickly, Tripp dressed in yesterday’s clothes and this afternoon’s wrinkles. His mom might mind how he looked, but this was the job. Activating his cell again, he saw that he’d slept a solid three hours in Ashley’s arms. Sweet.
Tucking his phone in his rear pocket, he snagged her silk panties off the bedside table, tucked them into his pocket and followed her into her kitchen. The compact room was a mirror image of his. Their shared wall housed the plumbing. That put their kitchens and bathrooms back to back. From her kitchen door, he could see her entire place.
The master bedroom shared one wall with the bathroom. The other space was divided between an open entryway with a beige tiled-floor, an open great room with floor-to-ceiling windows and deep blue carpet. A smaller bedroom was situated across the great room from the master bedroom. Room-darkening panel curtains graced all of Ashley’s windows. They were open now. Peewee’s wrought iron cage stood in the center of all that glass. Guess he needed to see out more than she did.
She’d decorated her apartment in feminine soft pastels, mostly peaches and powder blues. His was decorated in round-tuits, as in he was going to decorate when he got around to it.
Tripp kept his exercise equipment, his gun safe, and his spec ops gear out of sight in his spare bedroom. The door to Ashley’s was open. Inside, a cozy brass daybed with a quilted mauve blanket stood along one wall, a long table and chair, with a gooseneck lamp on the other. Two small, plastic tool-boxes were open beside the lamp, both revealing four removable shelves of stackable trays. A couple trays were lids up. Looked like a work bench. She had tools?
“You have a hobby?” he asked, as she handed him a tall, black metal to-go cup.
“Beading.” She shrugged it off as if it were no big deal. “I sell beaded purses, belts, and bookmarks online. I’ll show you sometime.”
Tripp set the cup on her coffee table, then pulled her into his arms. “I don’t want to leave.”
Ashley came easily, looking up at him as if he really were someone, her hands on his chest. “I don’t want you to leave, either, but you do important work. Go. Find the guy who’s killing women. I hope he’s the same one who hurt me, then it’ll finally be over.”
Her eyes were clear today. Brighter than he’d seen them before. He hoped he was the reason for the confidence shining there. “Plan on meeting my mom later if we can swing it. That okay with you?” he asked as his hands skated down her back and over those sexy boy shorts and the plump cheeks within them.
Her head bobbed. “Of course. I’ll be here.”
He sealed that promise with a kiss. Three other little words tripped up his throat, but Tripp swallowed them. He was not the settling down kind, so, he told her instead, “Don’t go anywhere. Stay inside.”
There was that smile again. “Did you forget who you’re talking to? It’s me, remember? The best-selling author of ‘How to Scare Yourself for Dummies.’ Trust me, I’m not the go anywhere type. You go. Do what you do best. Save the world.”
She made him feel like he could do exactly that.
Easing out of Ashley’s embrace, Tripp snagged his holster and slid it over his shoulders. He retrieved his pistols from her desk. Racking each slide, he ensured both had a round chambered, then tucked those babies under his arms where he could easily reach them. He slipped into his leather jacket next, concealing the fact that he could and would end the fucker now killing women in his town. That was what Alexandria had become, Tripp’s town.
Unlocking Ashley’s deadbolt, he puckered his lips and pantomimed a kiss to her, then closed the door behind him. He waited for the click of her deadbolt engaging. Good girl.
Only then, did he head
