Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
After a few seconds, Colten hums. “Mmm … maybe. So you think the victims abused their killer at some point?”
“No.” I chuckle. “It’s unlikely the victims did anything to the killer. They just might have resembled someone who did do something to the killer.”
“I’ve thought about that, but there’s nothing that stands out other than all three victims are men. One black, two white. Ages twenty-three, twenty-nine, and forty-seven. One was married with kids. One was in grad school. And one just married his business partner in a civil service.”
“Keep looking. There’s something. There’s always a something. But … I have other mysteries to solve, so you’re on your own now.”
“Did you talk to the families?”
“I haven’t talked to Matthew Roslow’s family yet. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
I frown. I don’t have to see Colten to know from the sound of his voice that he’s formulating a theory he’s not ready to share yet. When we were younger, he used to torture me with his half-thoughts. He’d ask me something that seemed random and out of the blue, only to answer my “why” with “just wondering.”
The bait’s similar, but I’m no longer biting. Colten Mosley is no longer my keeper of secrets, my favorite confidant. And if my heart knows what’s good for it, it will keep my relationship with him professional.
“I don’t know if the family will give me anything they haven’t already shared with the police, but I’ll let you know. Otherwise, good luck.” I cringe as I say those two words.
“Good luck, Josie. You’re going to be a huge success.” The past echoes in my mind.
“Thanks.”
“Bye—”
“Josie?”
I bite my lips together and close my eyes. “Yeah?”
“How would you feel about getting dinner with me sometime? We could catch up.”
Catching up with my past is a terrible idea. I’m still running from it. “Thanks, but I’m good. I feel all caught up.”
“You still with that same guy I met at the restaurant?”
“You didn’t meet him. I never introduced you to him. And yes, I still see him.”
“And he knows your real job?”
“Bye, Detective.” I end the call and give my phone the middle finger. Colten thinks he knows me. He thinks he knows my date whom he’s never met. How is this possible? We’ve spent more time apart than we ever did together. Nine years together. Seventeen years apart.
Seventeen adult years.
Seventeen years of dating other people—having sex with other people.
And … having a baby with someone else. I still can’t believe he has a daughter.
“Wow! I didn’t expect to hear from you again. I thought you were ghosting me.” Paul’s spot-on analysis of my behavior makes me cringe.
“Work has been crazy. That’s all.”
“Long days looking through a microscope?” he asks with a hint of sarcasm.
“I’m free tonight if you want to have dinner or just hang out.”
Have sex. If he wants to have sex.
For some disturbing reason, the more interaction I have with Detective Mosley, the more I feel the need to have sex with … anyone. Well, not anyone. I’m not that desperate, yet. Someone. I want to have sex with someone.
Angry sex.
Revenge sex.
Screw-you-Colten-Mosley sex.
And I really want to have sex with someone and not think of Colten, but at this point, it’s unlikely. That sucks too.
Still … still … after all these years, he has this invisible hold on me. I’m too educated, too mature, too confident to be this pathetic. It’s because I don’t like unsolved mysteries. I hate when I can’t determine the cause or manner of death. I hate marking that stupid box. It makes me feel like a failure. And I hate that Colten broke my heart, and I don’t know why. I need to know why, but I can’t ask him. There’s no way I’m giving him that level of satisfaction.
“We can order in pizza. Your place?” Paul invites himself to my place.
I think of a million excuses, then I think of Colten. “I’ll order the pizza now. Can you be here in an hour?”
“I can. Should I …”
“Should you what?” I ask while picking up some dirty dishes around my kitchen.
“Should I pack an overnight bag?”
Why did he ask me? It knocked his confidence level down a good ten notches. Don’t ask if you’re staying. Assume you’re staying. Make me want you to stay—beg you to stay.
“I don’t know. Should you?” I try to flip it, acting flirty, giving him the opportunity to play along.
“That’s why I asked you. It’s your place. I don’t want to assume I’m staying.”
Sometimes … just sometimes … chivalry kills the moment.
“Actually, I have to meet someone early tomorrow morning.”
“No overnight bag. Got it.” Paul tries to sound cool. He’s not. I’m not that cool either, so I don’t judge him too harshly. We’re both science geeks. “See you within the hour. Text me your address.”
“I will. Bye.”
Paul arrives in less than twenty minutes. I’m flattered that he’s so excited to see me. Devoting more than a decade to achieve your professional goals leaves little time to cultivate meaningful relationships. I’ve started to feel broken in that area of my life. Can I find a man who finds my love for my job an attractive quality?