“The same dirt his victims bled into,” she added quietly.
“And we’ve got zilch,” Tucker ended, his exasperation loud and clear. “I’ve got the best team in the whole United States, and we can’t get a feel for this one crazy bastard.”
Tripp was dying to ask Eden what she now knew about him that he didn’t want in the FBI’s possession. Like the identity of the vigilante. Or anything about Trish. The instant that insecurity ghosted through his mind, she looked straight at him. She knew everything. Damn. She was on to him.
He shrugged that annoying development off, rolled his shoulder, and grumbled, “This is all real interesting, but I came here to investigate the crime scene.” Not to get cross-examined over something I’ll never admit.
“Right this way,” Tucker quipped. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone from The TEAM.” He colored those last two words with enough sarcasm to choke a horse.
“Smart thinking,” Alex’s deep baritone rumbled behind Tripp and Jameson.
“Alex,” Tucker replied with a tinge of embarrassment.
“Tuck,” Alex bit out, his sarcasm on full power.
Tripp turned sideways as Alex approached. “Hey, Boss. Just got here. What do we know?”
Like the rest of his TEAM, Alex had dressed in jeans, a TEAM polo, work boots, and a light jacket to cover his double holster and the SIG Sauer pistols he always carried.
“Can I ask you something first?” Eden directed that question at Tripp. Her eyes were green like his, yet more than just green. It wasn’t so much the color of her eyes or the size of her pupils, which seemed bigger and blacker than everyone else’s at the moment. It was more the way she used her eyes, as if they were high-powered microscopes, seeing far deeper than everyone else.
Tripp felt like a bug pinned under glass for closer inspection, maybe dissection. Damned unsettling. Swallowing his guilt for what she probably knew about him, he shook his head, needing to stay focused on the current crime. “Sorry, no. Only got time for our serial killer or the victim. We got a name yet, Boss?”
Alex, Tuck, and the others were walking up to the scene. Jameson was hanging back with Tripp, when a soft, warm hand settled over his forearm. Tripp looked down at Eden. It was her hand and her touch burned. “The victim is Tommy McMurray,” she told him.
His breath caught. “Tommy? Are you sure? He’s the maintenance guy for my apartment complex. Fuck! And you’re just telling me that now?”
“I didn’t know you knew him until I shook your hand, but our connection was so strong, I almost passed out. Go home, back to your apartment. I’ll drive. My car’s—”
Tripp grabbed Jameson’s elbow and ordered, “Truck, now. Keep the fuck up.”
He had to get to Ashley.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Peewee shrieked again. Poor boy was probably tired of being ignored. Ashley had been in the kitchen baking and cooking since Tripp left. She’d just put the finishing touches on the peach cobbler she’d whipped up to go with the chicken and dumplings. Some days were all about comfort food, and one more sprinkle of cinnamon sugar would make this cobbler her best yet.
“Shush, sweetheart, I’m coming,” she called out, dusting her palms on a nearby kitchen towel, as she checked the crockpot one last time. The carrots and shredded chicken were now drowning in rich gravy. The second she lifted the lid, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her apartment always felt more like a home when she baked or cooked.
She’d set three casserole dishes with lids on her counter, one for Tripp’s mom, one for Mrs. Harrison, the other for Tripp. He was running on empty and would need a decent dinner. As soon as he returned, she was feeding him, then bedding him. She couldn’t wait to get him back in her arms and her hands all over him. It was her turn to make him feel good.
Tossing her robe over the back of her kitchen chair, she grinned at the lightness in her step and the silly jingle in her heart. Man, she was happier than she’d been in a long time. What was that saying? ‘Today is the best day of the rest of your life?’ Well, it was true. She knew what she wanted and the metamorphosis began with her. Right now.
“You look better than I remembered.”
That creepy voice jerked her head up. It’s him! He’s inside my apartment! That was why Peewee was squawking and beating his wings. The poor bird’s crest was standing on end. He was scared. And I’m in nothing but my underwear!
Ashley crossed both arms over her chest, her mind jitterbugging back two years to that day. A burning wave of humiliation climbed up her neck at what this creep had almost done to her then. What he’d gotten away with.
His eyes were the same eerie shade of gray. Spooky, like a ghost lived inside him. His gaze slid over her nearly naked body like ice water, dousing all those wonderful homey feelings, turning them into terror.
“Looks like you’re finally ready to play,” he purred.
For the third time in two years, Ashley faced a killer. Poor Peewee still flapped his wings and screamed. Feathers and dust flew everywhere. She wished she could scream as loudly, but every drop of saliva in her throat had evaporated. Her lungs were working extra hard, but she wasn’t getting any air. No potty-mouthed guardian angel would drop out of heaven this time.
“Shut that shittin’ bird up,” her nightmare ordered, “or I’ll wring his neck and gut him.”
“Okay, okay, s-s-sure,” she stuttered, her poor heart banging against her ribs. How stupid that she was only wearing her bra and panties.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?”
Here we go again. Ashley’s fingers trembled, as she kept an eye on her would-be killer,
