Hardass (Bad Bitch)(39)

I tentatively inhaled. Copper and something sickly. I stepped back. “Okay. I’m convinced. And, for the record, that’s fucked up.”

He clicked off his flashlight and stuffed the tokens back into the bag. “Excellent analysis.” He handed me the bag. “Hide that, would you?”

I stuffed it into my purse, cringing at the thought of human blood stored inside my Kate Spade. Wash gave the room one more sweep before we left, locking the door behind us, and left the keys next to the front door on our way out. Ms. Barnett was nowhere to be seen, but the scent of cigarette smoke lingered. She couldn’t have been far.

Stepping outside was like being reborn. I took a few deep breaths of air, finally free from the closeness and stench of the halfway house. I felt like I needed a shower. Wash helped me across the broken walk and even opened my car door for me. I sank inside and gave the house one more look before we pulled away from the curb.

I dug through my purse, carefully avoiding the paper bag, and pulled out some hand sanitizer. “Hand.”

Wash obeyed and proffered his palm. A flash of what it felt like to have his hands on me made me over-squirt on him.

“Am I that dirty?” He smirked.

I flipped the lid closed and rubbed my palm along his to use the excess. “There, crybaby. Better?”

He laughed and scrubbed his hands together. “Crybaby?”

I shrugged. “If the shoe fits, lace that bitch up and wear it.”

“Words of wisdom if I’ve ever heard them.” He smiled, the dimples so close that I pretended they were actually present. Panty melting in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1. “So what do you make of the wooden pieces?”

Damn.

“Seven pieces. Seven victims. The blood on them. I mean, it seems like a shoe-in for Tyler to be the killer. I would ask you if we should go to the police, but I think you and Ms. Barnett are on the same page when it comes to talking to our friends in blue.”

He eased the car onto the interstate. “You could say that.”

“So what are we going to do with them?”

“Give them to Dr. Snider for testing. The blood’s degraded, but I’m hoping he’ll be able to tell us if they at least match the blood types of the victims. We likely can’t get thorough DNA testing without alerting the State something’s up. That’s the last thing we want to do.”

“Are we going to do a Perry Mason?”

He arched a brow over his glasses as we soared above the river, free of barges and only a few scattered ships here and there. “A Perry Mason?”

“You know, the defense attorney from that old black-and-white show.” I’d watched every episode when I was a kid. Law & Order had nothing on Mr. Mason.

“Of course I know who he is. But what did you mean in particular?”

“Oh, I was thinking that we could get Tyler on the stand and whip out those bad boys and say, ‘What sort of guy keeps blood-soaked whittled toys lying around—two of which are arguably a cat and a hyena?’ And then Tyler breaks down and confesses that he’s the real killer. You know, Perry Mason–style.”

Wash laughed. Actually laughed with dimples and everything. Was I talking? Had I been talking? All I could see was him. More dazzling than the sun off the Mississippi on a summer day. Why would he ever hide this part of himself behind the hardass exterior? He was beautiful, real.

He glanced over at me and no doubt noticed the star-struck look on my face. Or maybe I was drooling. I didn’t know. All I could think was dimples.

“You okay?”

“Me?” I tore my gaze away and stared at the looming buildings of downtown. “Yes. Fine.” My heart went wild, unsure whether it should beat or just implode.

“You looked sort of . . . sort of, I don’t know, entranced or something.”

“I was just thinking about the case.” I said it too quickly, and all the words ran together into an unintelligible mess.

“Sure. Sure, Ms. Montreat. Keep up the good work.” His smirk had returned.

Though I hadn’t been sure earlier whether I wanted to kiss him or hit him, his smirk drove me to come down pretty hard on the side of violence. His wall was back up, but I’d seen him. The real him. The one who could laugh and melt me down to my basic elements. The one who’d tasted me. My nipples hardened at those memories, and I pulled the cardigan tighter around me to ward off the goose bumps that claimed my skin.

“Once we get back to the office, call Dr. Snider’s office to see about dropping off our evidence. Don’t use a runner. I want a clear chain of custody. From your hands to Dr. Snider’s, no intermediaries. Tell him I want a custody log kept for it as well and that we need results as soon as possible. He likely won’t have comparators on the blood samples until Friday when we visit the morgue.”