“In light of those notes left on the scenes, yes.” Rage fills me at the thought of anyone wanting to hurt Lila. And with the rage is a new emotion now that I know she’s the same sweet woman that I spent one unforgettable night with last summer: Fear.
“We don’t know for sure that the threats are pointed at her,” Jordan says reasonably. “Her name isn’t mentioned. He could mean another teacher.”
I shake my head, hoping she’s right, but knowing in my gut that she’s not. “I don’t think so. Each of the victims is from her study group. If they were just in one of her classes, I could agree that it might be a crazy coincidence. But this is too focused. All three were studying in that group minutes before they were attacked. And all three of the notes are angry. Very angry. He’s making her pay for something.”
“I agree,” she says with a sigh. “I’ve seen murders before, Asher. This is New Orleans, after all. But I’ve never seen anything quite this…evil.”
I nod.
“Have you?” she asks.
I nod again, slowly. “Once.”
“In Seattle?”
“Yes. We had a serial killer there about four years ago.” And the motherfucker destroyed my life. “He killed eight women before we caught him.”
“What’s up with the serial killers in Seattle? Is it all the rain that sends people over the edge?” She bites her thumbnail and looks out the passenger window.
“There are no more killers in Seattle than other parts of the country.”
“Hello. Green River Killer. He killed, like, eight hundred women. That counts for a lot.”
“Good point,” I mutter and think back on the man four years ago who made the Green River Killer look like a Boy Scout troop leader.
There is no way in hell that anything like that will touch Lila.
“So, you’re going to look out for Lila,” Jordan says, mirroring my thoughts.
“Yes. I’m going to stick close to her. This fucker isn’t going to touch her.”
I glance over to find Jordan watching me thoughtfully. “How well do you know Lila, Asher?”
“Not well,” I reply truthfully.
“You seem pretty passionate about keeping her safe for someone who doesn’t know her well.”
I shrug a shoulder as we get stopped in traffic. “It’s my job to keep her safe.”
“Right.” She nods once and is smart enough to not say any more.
Lila.
I cursed myself as an idiot for months after our night together for not getting her number, or at least her last name. I wanted to call her, to see her again, but she told me she lived in Denver, and God knows that trying to maintain a long distance relationship is next to impossible.
But she lives here.
Yes, I’ll be sticking very close to Lila, and not just because it’s my job. From the minute she fell into my lap on that airplane, my hands have itched to touch her. Running into her again in that bar was the best stroke of luck I’ve ever had, and that night with her was off the fucking charts.
I can’t resist her. For the first time in years, I don’t want to resist her.
I simply want her.
* * * *
“Daddy! My purple shirt is dirty!”
I swear ripely as the toast pops up in the toaster, burnt to a damn crisp, and lean on the countertop, my head down, praying for patience.
“You wore the purple shirt yesterday,” I remind her as she bounces into the kitchen of our small townhouse and wrinkles her adorable little freckle-covered nose.
“You burned it again.”
“I know.”
“I like the purple shirt.”
“You can’t wear it every day.” I kiss the top of her head and toss the black bread into the garbage, ready to start over. “Aren’t you going to be late for school?”
“No, it’s Thursday.” She rolls her eyes, looking suddenly much older than her ten years, making me smile. “It’s late start day at school.”
“Your favorite day of the week.” I pick her up off her feet and set her on the countertop where I can look her in her gorgeous green eyes. Eyes the same color as her mother’s. “How are you, bubba?”
“Good.” She giggles and holds her fist up for a fist-bump, which she seems to suddenly think is the funnest thing ever. Especially the explosion part. “I need my purple shirt.”
She sticks her lower lip out and bats her eyelashes at me.
Damn it, she’s adorable.
“That doesn’t work on me,” I lie.
“Please?” She grips my cheeks in her small hands and pulls my face to hers, leaning her forehead against mine playfully. “I love you, Daddy.” She’s staring me in the eyes.
“I love you too.” My lips twitch, and I want to laugh, but I’m very proud of myself for standing firm.
“May I please wear my purple shirt?”
“No.”
“But Masie will be wearing purple, and I promised that I would wear purple too, and that’s the only purple shirt I have!”
God, give me patience.
“Enough.” I kiss her forehead and lift her onto her feet. “Find another shirt. Masie will not die of disappointment.”
“No, but I might,” she says with a scowl.
“Hello?” Franny calls out as she lets herself in the front door. “Sorry I’m running late. This morning sickness is ridiculous.”