Seconds to Live(69)

“Yes. His ritual is getting more complicated.” She shivered.

“Why?” Mac pulled out a chair and guided her into it.

She rested her chin in her hand. “I don’t know yet. Spivak has a record of sexual assault. A perv doesn’t need a reason that you and I would understand. He just wants who he wants, whether she’s someone who looks like his mom or the first girl who spurned him. But the fact that Missy wasn’t raped nags at me. From the way he acted in the interview, my gut says Spivak would have sexually assaulted her.”

“You already said motivation is hard to predict. Maybe the torture is what drives him.” He set a bowl of soup in front of her. “Sorry. This is all I have on hand. I haven’t been grocery shopping.”

She ate without tasting, her mind occupied with the case.

She told him about Adam’s reaction, the press conference, and the cash she’d found in Missy’s apartment. “Everyone said Missy was broke. Where did she get over two thousand dollars? And why was it stashed under her floorboard? She had a bank account.”

“Are you sure the money is hers?

“I’ll have our fingerprint examiner see if she can pull any prints tomorrow.” Stella’s first stop of the morning would be the county forensics lab.

Mac set a cup of tea on the table. Leaning over her shoulder, he reached for her bowl. He smelled like the forest. She turned her face to his body and inhaled. “Were you outside?”

“For a while.”

“You smell like pine trees.”

His breath quickened, and he froze. “Is that good?”

Standing, she placed both hands on Mac’s arms. His biceps were hard under her touch. The wind blew across his kitchen, bringing the scent of trees and earth into the room.

“Very.” She rested her forehead on his chest and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to think about the case anymore tonight.”

“I don’t blame you.” His hand settled between her shoulder blades. “You’ve had a hell of a day. You need to take a break, even if it’s just a short one.”

Images of Dena’s body flashed in her head. She raised her eyelids. Mac’s bright-blue eyes studied her. Much better.

Something unfurled inside her. Want. Like a young moth testing new wings, desire opened and closed, indecisive. What did she want? She hadn’t had so much as a date since the shooting the previous November. Her focus had been on her career, and she hadn’t met a man who warranted her attention.

Or once she’d met Mac, she hadn’t met anyone as interesting. He was more than he appeared. Mac was layers of kindness and humor, intelligence and determination, vulnerability and courage. And he sparked a need inside her that could only be described as primitive. With him, she didn’t have to be perfect. She didn’t have to contain anything. She could let go.

Her fingers tightened on the solid flesh under them. “Will I scare you off if I say that I really want you right now?”

Mac coughed. “Sorry. You surprised me.”

She’d surprised herself. She took his hand in hers, turned, and tugged him toward his bedroom. He followed, then paused at the threshold. Her fingers found the top button of her blouse while her eyes roamed over him.

He crossed his arms and leaned on the doorjamb. Worn and soft, his T-shirt and cargos molded to his body. He was lean and hard without an ounce of bulk. She had no doubt he’d earned his body through hiking, climbing, and basic survival in the jungle, not pumping iron at a gym on his lunch hour. Underneath the subtle woodsy cologne, his scent was all male.

“You know I like talking to you. I’m in no rush to sleep with you.” He flushed. “Not that I don’t want you. I do.” His eyes brightened as her fingers lingered on the button. “I really do.” He licked his lips. “But you’ve had a horrific day. If you just need to talk, I can do that.”

His gaze was as hungry as his words were polite. This man was such a study in self-control. Stella suddenly wanted to break it, to make him lose his fist-tight grip on his emotions, to lose himself in her.

She flicked open the button. “I’m finished talking.”





Chapter Twenty-Five

“Are you sure?” Mac couldn’t believe he asked the question. The woman of his dreams was getting naked in his bedroom and he was practically telling her she should reconsider her decision. He was a moron.

“I’m sure.” Stella shook out her hair. It fell around her shoulders in a dark, tousled wave. Hairpins dropped to the floor.

“You’re positive I’m not just a distraction?” Damn his conscience. And ego.