by casual sex and its merits. “But you still have to be careful.”
“I know that. I may be trusting, but I’m not stupid.”
“I never said you were stupid…” And somehow he had turned this into an interrogation and had alienated her. Smooth move, Evans.
To prove his point, she stood up and reached for her keys. “Thank you for your concern. I’m leaving.”
“Wait a second, Laurel.” They hadn’t resolved anything. She hadn’t agreed to stay locked up in her house yet where no men could touch or hurt her. “If Trevor Dean e-mails you again, you need to call me.”
“What’s his name again? I can’t figure out what you’re saying.”
Russ pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket and wrote Trevor Dean on a napkin. Under that he scrawled his own name and both his work and home phone numbers. He handed it to her. “Don’t answer him and don’t let him know you’re onto him. Just call me first thing, okay?”
“Fine.” She sighed a little, obviously not thrilled with the situation, but she was polite nonetheless. “Have a good night, Russ.”
“Wait.” He grabbed her arm again as he stood up. She was shorter than he’d thought, stopping below his nose, and he let go of her slight wrist. “I’m sorry I keep grabbing you. I don’t know how else to get your attention.”
“You can touch my arm, stomp on the floor, wave. I just don’t like it when people stick their hand right in my face.” Laurel didn’t sound angry, she actually looked pleased that he’d bothered to ask.
Russ felt that something again, that indefinable feeling swirling around inside him that he couldn’t let this woman walk out of here alone. He wanted to think it was the cop in him, drawn to her vulnerability, wanting to protect her from harm. But something told him it was more than that, complex. Something that he was going to ignore until it went away, like a toothache.
“Okay. Listen…my partner, Jerry, is outside and we have a car across the street. I would really feel better if you let me follow you home, make sure you get there alright. I don’t know why Dean didn’t show up, but it bothers me.”
Laurel chewed her lip, readjusted her purse. “Fine, if you insist. But I only live five minutes from here.”
“A lot can happen in five minutes.”
Yes, she could have an orgasm just from looking at him for five minutes. But she kept her face neutral.
“Promise me, Laurel—I’m serious here—that you won’t make plans to meet any more strange guys. That you won’t run off and have sex with someone you don’t know.”
His concern was sweet. It also infuriated her, the straw that broke her good-girl back. “I could have sex with you.”
Well, that felt good to say. Liberating. And she hadn’t even needed alcohol to work up the nerve to say it.
Russ looked like he’d been liberated of his ability to speak.
Laurel just stared at him, trying to project sassy slut, which admittedly was a stretch. Of about a hundred miles.
“What do you mean?” he finally asked, fiddling with the bill of his baseball hat again.
“I mean, we could have sex. You and me.”
Russ looked stricken, and Laurel felt the moment waning. The rush of boldness evaporating, nerve skittering off to hide.
What was she thinking? He wouldn’t want to have sex with her when he probably had exotic dancers on speed dial. And she shouldn’t have just blurted it out like that anyway, even if she had been half-serious.
“I’m kidding,” she lied, rolling her eyes for effect. “My point is, unless you want to sleep with me, it’s really none of your business what I do or with who.”
“I’m concerned! I don’t want to see you get hurt, or wind up dead, goddamnit.”
That had all the makings of a parental lecture. While it was really nice of Russ to care, it wasn’t what she was looking for. Laurel’s own father had died, and she wasn’t looking to replace him. If she did, it certainly wouldn’t be with a man she wanted to strip naked and lick.
“Thank you for the warning. But even though it may surprise you, I can take care of myself. I can even walk across the street by myself.” Laurel turned and left him sputtering.
Chapter 3
Trevor Dean watched Laurel Wilkins leave the coffee shop and stepped out of his car. Laurel had hung around longer than he’d expected, which was a good sign—meant she was eager to meet him. Or Russ Evans.
Trevor chuckled to himself. That still made him laugh, using cops’ names to pick up women. He had a whole laundry list of detectives whose names he used on a rotating basis, and they had no idea. It wasn’t identity theft—he wasn’t using anything more than their names—but it was a good private joke. Flipping the bird at those screwups, who let him walk around and get away with stealing left and right. Plus, it was an easy system for him to keep track of who he was supposed to be from day to day.
Jill was waiting for him in the coffee shop, probably wondering what was keeping him, so he picked up the pace, tossing his cigarette butt down onto the sidewalk. It was colder than a wart on a witch in Alaska, and his leather coat didn’t do squat to protect him. Maybe he should have headed south this year, worked his way down to the Florida Keys.
But that would mean starting over from scratch.
He had a system going in Cleveland, been working it for over five years, and the cops were none the wiser. Three women, at all times. One at the starting gate, one in the race, and one crossing the finish line.
Worked like a charm.
Jill spilled her coffee when he walked in, then mumbled to herself as she mopped it up. She gathered up the wet napkins and pushed them aside, wiping her fingers on her blue sweatshirt.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Trevor kissed Jill’s forehead and sat down across from her. “Spill your coffee?”
“Yes, I’m such an idiot.”
“But a cute one.” He winked at her, knowing she’d blush. She did. Jill was easy to figure out. The minute he’d seen her struggling to get her gas cap off at the gas station, her nose red, her hair flat under a knit hat, he’d known she was the next one.
Trevor liked unattractive women. He liked the way they were so damn eager to please, so desperate for touches, so sure he was going to bolt at any minute. He even liked the sex. It made him feel powerful to know he was giving them something no one else would, and the control always rested with him, just as firmly in the bedroom as out of it. He could do whatever he wanted, because in the end, in the dark, it was all about him.
“I was starting to worry about you. I thought you were going to be here sooner.” Jill brushed her mud-brown hair back. “I mean, it’s not a big deal or anything, I’m not nagging, I was just picturing you in a coma.”
That nervous laugh
