nodded. “There are a couple of guys with records, but nothing that indicates any connection to Dugan.”
The sound of an engine sputtering made Miles jerk his head back toward the drive, where a pickup pulled to a stop. Three cowboys climbed from the inside and strode toward them.
“Come on, boys, I want you to meet Miles McGregor, the detective from the sheriff’s department I told you about.”
Miles narrowed his eyes as they approached. All three looked tough and rugged, but something else stuck out. They carried guns on their hips.
“This is my security team.” Brody gestured toward each of them in turn. “Crane Haddock, Wes Lee and Craig Cook.”
Miles shook each of their hands in turn. “Brody explained my situation?”
“Yeah, sorry about your kid’s mother,” Lee said.
“And the kid,” Cook added.
Haddock tilted his hat to the side. “You think Dugan did it?”
“I know it,” Miles said. “But he may be working with someone else. A partner or a hired gun.”
Lee removed a file from the inside of his jacket, then flipped it open to reveal Dugan’s picture. “Don’t worry, we won’t let him hurt that little dude.”
Sweat beaded on Miles’s forehead. “I’m counting on that.”
He just hoped to hell Timmy talked and identified Dugan before Dugan found them.
Of course, even if they arrested Dugan, his partner—or this copycat—could come after Timmy to get Dugan free again. Or simply for revenge.
* * *
HER THROAT WAS SO SLENDER, so sleek. Delicate porcelain skin so pale. The veins in her neck nearly bulged as he tilted her head back to study her.
She had been good to him. The conjugal visits alone had kept him sane.
And the lies she’d told...they had been almost as titillating as having her go down on him.
She moaned and pulled at the bindings around her wrists. “Please...stop torturing me. I need you now.”
A slow smile creased his lips as he rose above her. He knew exactly what she wanted. The satisfaction she craved.
He’d given it to her before, even though she disgusted him when she begged.
So like a whore.
She twisted against her bindings, trying to move her foot to rub his leg, but he’d bound her so tightly that she flinched with pain as the rope dug into her skin.
“Thank you,” he whispered against her neck.
She purred his name, arching herself like the slut she was, and he slid the knife from beneath the mattress, then placed it against the slender column of her throat. The black gloves on his hands were a stark contrast to her ivory skin as he pricked it with the tip of the blade.
Suddenly her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “Stop playing,” she whispered in a raw voice.
A chuckle rumbled from deep within him. “I’m not playing,” he said, the taste of her blood beckoning.
She struggled, squirming and moaning, desperate now as if she realized he had used her all along.
“I’m sorry,” he said, although he wasn’t sorry at all. But his mother had taught him manners, how to say thank-you and please, how to treat a woman.
She’d taught him other things, too....
Her face flashed into his mind, and his fingers tightened around the knife’s handle. The other women’s faces floated in front of him, a sea of wide eyes, tears and blood...
Excitement shot through him, his body thrumming with adrenaline. With one quick swipe, he slashed her throat.
Her blood spurted like a water fountain, spraying red across the white sheets, across his shirt, across his hands. The scent of it filled his nostrils and made his body go hard. Relief teetered nearby, so close....
But his cell phone beeped—he’d received a text message—and he cursed, his desire dwindling. He glanced at the blood running down her throat and naked chest again, hoping to revive the thrill but it was already abating.
The need for another already teased at the back of his hungry mind.
Dammit. He hated to leave her so soon yet this might be the news he’d been waiting for.
With blood dotting his gloves, he lifted his phone and checked the text.
Located the target. Let me know how to proceed.
He brushed one bloody finger over the woman’s nipple, then lifted himself off of her to type in his orders.
McGregor had robbed him of months’ worth of pleasure while he was in prison. Of at least a half dozen more women.
The memory of watching McGregor’s whore plead for her life shot through him, and he smiled. Killing her had only whetted his appetite for revenge.
He fully intended to take care of McGregor and his kid himself.
No one would rob him of that pleasure.
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