“I checked all the records you had listing the kids who’d lived with Lavine. The five of us are the only ones left alive. Six if you count Trina. Although it’s likely that the killer is some social worker gone loony or something, it’s possible the killer is one of them, so meeting in public is much better than meeting in private.”
One of her friends the killer? A new rush of panic flittered through her system, chilling her skin.
She’d never considered that. Why would she after knowing these people for so long? It didn’t seem possible that any of them would want to hurt others.
They could be dining with a murderer tonight. And if they were, how could they even tell?
Isabelle’s hands started to shake, and her pulse pounded hard in her limbs. It was too frightening to consider. Even with Grant at her side.
She laced her fingers over her purse to keep Grant from seeing her tremble. She didn’t want him to hold back information simply because he thought she wasn’t strong enough to handle it. She’d find a way to handle whatever bad news he threw at her.
“I can’t believe that any of them are capable of murder. I know these people. I’ve known them for years.”
“The killer is probably someone else tied to Lavine, but either way, we have to warn the others. If the killer continues in order of when they arrived at Lavine’s, then Everett is next. That’s not the kind of news you give over the phone. And we’re sure as hell not going to meet with him at his home, on the off chance that he’s our guy and he pulls a gun.”
Isabelle stifled a shiver of fear and revulsion. She still couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen what Grant had—that they were being killed in a certain order. At least that got the police to pay attention.
“What was the name of the detective assigned to our case?” she asked.
Grant exited the highway. “Clayton Mathews. I’ll meet with him first thing in the morning and fill him in on the details while you’re at work—unless you want to come along. In the meantime, he asked that we don’t tell anyone that we know about the order of deaths. If the killer knows we know, he might change his pattern, which will make it a lot harder to keep people safe.”
“I won’t say anything, but they might not believe us without that little bit of news. The police didn’t.”
“It’ll be our job to convince them,” said Grant.
“And if we can’t?”
He pulled into the parking lot of the Italian restaurant where they’d chosen to meet and parked the car on the outskirts of the lot, away from the other cars. Security lights cast deep shadows inside the Mustang and over Grant’s lean face. He unfastened his seat belt and turned toward her, shifting his long body beneath the wheel. His golden eyes seemed to catch and hold the light, glittering in the dimness as he looked at her.
He was so beautiful it nearly made her forget all about their dinner plans. It would have been nice to sit here in the quiet with him and look her fill—soak him up as fantasy fuel for after he was gone.
His hand captured hers, and he cradled her fingers in his warm grip. His thumb stroked over her palm, sending a dancing riot of sensation careening toward her heart. He was such a gentle man when he touched her, and for a moment, she let herself imagine what it would be like to have him for a lover.
She could almost feel his wide hands sliding over her skin, grazing her stomach and ribs, cupping her breasts. He was always so warm, she was sure the heat of his touch would make her melt. She could only imagine how hot his mouth would be as it moved over her body.
The potent image made her tremble and drove all the oxygen from her lungs.
“Don’t worry,” said Grant. “We’ll find a way to convince them. And if we can’t do that, then we’ll make sure they’re protected.”
“How?”
“The police will help now. Detective Mathews has ordered extra patrols on all of your homes.”
“It’s not enough. The police are overworked and under-staffed.”
“My buddy David can probably offer some help. He owns a private security company.”
“You mean the man who you’re going to work for? Isn’t he going to be mad that you’re not already there to help him?”
Grant shrugged and gave her that charming smile that made her feel hot all over—the one that no woman anywhere was strong enough to resist, the one that made her feel like she was the only woman alive and there was nowhere else on earth he’d rather be than here with her.
What a beautiful lie.
“He’ll get over it,” said Grant.
“For your sake, I hope so. I never meant to interfere with your new life.”
“You’re not interfering. I’m choosing to stay.”
No matter the personal cost to his own life. That was the part he didn’t say.
A rush of emotion tightened her throat, and she had to fight the urge to cry out of sheer gratitude. She’d felt the same way the night he’d pulled Lavine off of her and ended up handcuffed in the back of a police car with blood running down his chin.
“Thank you. It means the world to me that I’m not alone in this.”
Isabelle laced her fingers through his. He was so easy to touch, never making her feel like she’d invaded his space, and the more she touched him the easier it got. In truth, she hardly knew him at all, but he’d been in her thoughts for so many years, her body couldn’t tell the difference.
She loved the way his hand felt so solid and strong and how the work-roughened patches of his skin stroked over her softer flesh. He was all man, completely beautiful, and she was finding it more and more difficult concentrating on their job rather than what it would feel like to have those hands glide over her body in a lover’s caress.
“You’ll never be alone, Isabelle. Not so long as I’m only a phone call away.”