Killer Heat (7 page)

The sound of a car door made him pause before he could finish typing in his reply. Someone had pulled into the driveway.

Slipping his phone in his pocket, he went to the window, where he could see the front grille of a blue van. He had his hand on the 9 mm in his shoulder holster when a woman came into view carrying two foam cups.

Not Butch. Adriana. She'd put on a little weight since that Christmas photograph had been taken, but there was no mistaking her identity.

Jonah wondered how she was going to feel about seeing
him again and couldn't imagine she'd be too pleased. But he had to intercept her or she'd wake Francesca.

“Why'd I have to come back to Arizona?” he grumbled, and met her at the door.

At first, she didn't notice him. She was preoccupied with fixing the lid on one of the drinks she carried. But when she glanced up to reach for the door handle and found it already open, with him standing there, her jaw dropped and so did the hand holding the cups in their cardboard container. The whipped mochas she'd brought would've spilled all over the stoop if he hadn't grabbed them.

“Jonah,” she breathed, and stepped back as if any kind of contact might burn her.

“Adriana.” He offered her a smile but his effort to be friendly did little to calm her.

She gave a shake of her head and self-consciously shoved the strands of hair that'd fallen from her messy ponytail back into place. Not only was she surprised, she didn't like that he'd caught her at her worst. He knew because that was exactly how his sister would've reacted to the same situation.

“I—I didn't realize Francesca had company. But that's okay. I can come back later,” she said, and left the drinks behind as she fled to her van.

Jonah hadn't meant to scare her off. But he let her go. Francesca needed to get some sleep. And he wasn't eager to entertain Adriana on his own. He'd never expected to see her again. Francesca, either, for that matter.

Francesca could call her later, he decided. The fact that Adriana's picture was on the mantel and she could walk up to the house as casually as she had indicated the two were still friends. No thanks to him, of course. But that gave him one less thing to feel guilty about.

His phone vibrated with another text message. “Damn it, Lori. When you ask someone for a favor, you're not allowed to be so demanding.”

He went inside to put down the cups so he could check his phone, but this time it wasn't Lori. It was Investigator Finch.

If you're up, call me.

Going into the laundry room, he closed the door so the sound of his voice wouldn't carry to the bedroom and dialed Finch's cell.

It rang twice before transferring to voice mail.

Jonah didn't leave a message. He was about to redial when the lingerie on a small rack above the dryer caught his eye. A see-through lacy black bra and matching thong hung inches from his face. They had to belong to Francesca. But who was she wearing underwear like that for? The man in the D.C. photograph?

The ringing of his phone dragged his attention away from the underwear. It was Finch. “What's up?”

“We've got a body on our hands. A real one this time.”

He gripped the phone tighter. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. Call came in less than five minutes ago. The owner of Skull Valley Chocolate and Handmade Gifts found a corpse slumped against her door when she arrived for work.”

“No one else spotted it?”

“This isn't your usual downtown. It's basically four corners with a handful of businesses that are spread out. Not a lot of people out here.”

“I see. Is the victim a man or woman?”

“Woman.”

“Any chance she could've died of natural causes?”

“Wishful thinking, Mr. Young? No. It's a homicide.”

“Do we have an ID?”

“Body was naked, no purse or anything. The shop owner was so hysterical it was tough to get a description. I did get the color of hair. Brown. That's not much, but it fits the gal Ms. Moretti's been searching for.”

The one Francesca thought Vaughn had killed. “April Bonner.”

“That's her.”

“Are there any witnesses who can tell us what happened?”

“None that I've heard about. It's a ranching community, so not a highly populated area. There's a general store and a gas station, a café, an auto repair shop. That's it. But I'll be able to tell you more once I get there. Are you coming yourself?”

“I'm coming, but…I'm two hours away.”

“I thought you had a motel here in Prescott.”

“I'll explain when I see you.”

“Hurry,” he said.

Jonah punched the end button and let himself out of the laundry room. Francesca had only been sleeping for two and a half hours. But he was confident that she'd want to visit the scene. In any case, he wasn't going to leave her behind. The timing and placement of the body made him far too nervous that it was connected to the man who'd visited
her
last night.

F
rancesca rolled over to escape the hand that was shaking her shoulder, but the persistence of the person trying to wake her eventually pulled her through the dense fog of unconsciousness.

“Hmm…what?” Opening her heavy eyelids, she blinked at the blurry face above her, recognized Jonah and smiled. He was so handsome. The strength of his arms and the warmth of his body made her eager for his touch, so eager that she took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. It'd been so long….

Then she remembered what he'd done. They weren't lovers anymore. They weren't even
friends.

Pushing his hand away, she scrambled up against the headboard, out of reach, and tried to collect her muddled thoughts. The salvage yard. Jonah striding toward her. The mannequin. Investigator Finch's anger. Butch by her pool. Those weren't easy memories to confront but they were what reality had waiting for her. Rested or not, she had to deal with the situation she'd fallen into yesterday and find a way out before it was too late.

“It's time to wake up
already?
” she mumbled to cover her lapse in judgment.

When he didn't answer right away, she checked to see
if he was gloating over that moment of weakness. But he didn't seem to be. A stark expression appeared on his face—until he realized she was watching. Then the mask of indifference he'd worn ever since she'd learned about Adriana fell into place. “We've got work to do,” he said. “Do you need a shower?”

“Shower?” She yawned. “Wasn't it you who said I should sleep while I can?”

“That was before Investigator Finch called to tell me there's been another murder.”

Those words dispelled her fatigue. “Do we know the victim?”

“We don't have a name yet. But, from the description, it could be April Bonner.”

April's death was nothing more than Francesca had expected, and yet she didn't want to believe it. “No…”

“I'm afraid so.”

“And all because she was lonely. All because she took a chance on the wrong guy.”

He said nothing. In a way, Francesca had taken a chance on the wrong guy, too.
Him.

“Was it Butch?”

“Might've been. The body was found in Skull Valley, which is only fifteen minutes from Prescott, even closer to his place. And we both know he was active last night.”

“How does he do it? How does he slip out of his house without anyone noticing? He's got a wife, a family. Don't they wonder where he goes at night?”

“Maybe they're too afraid to face what he might be.”

“Skull Valley's near the location of the burial site you've been working on, too, isn't it?” she said. “Don't tell me he dumped her in Dead Mule Canyon.”

“Not quite. She was discovered on the sidewalk in front of a shop.”

“Butch loses his favorite dumping ground and has to come up with an alternative, so he shoves her out in downtown Skull Valley?”

“That makes it sound like he acted out of desperation or had nowhere else to put her. I don't think that's the case. Skull Valley was probably convenient. It's small and remote, which lowers his chances of being seen. But he had other choices. There's always the desert, where he'd have even less chance of being seen.”

Jonah was right. Butch had had plenty of choices. So why did he make that one? It wasn't as if he'd been in a hurry last night. He'd put the body in a public location on purpose.

“He's angry.” She'd felt it, hadn't she? He was furious with all of them, especially her. “And he's trying to make a statement.”

Jonah stood. “What kind of statement?”

“That he's not afraid of the police.”

“That's the same message he was trying to send you last night.”

“Exactly.”

He motioned for her to get off the bed. “Come on. We've got a two-hour drive ahead of us.”

She scooted past him. “Just give me five minutes to shower.”

 

Francesca's eyes felt as if they were filled with sand even after her shower. She didn't have time for makeup, but she took a few seconds to rub some aloe vera on the backs of her arms and legs where the hot ground had scraped and burned her skin yesterday. She also put up her hair and swiped on some lip gloss. Then she dressed
in brown linen capris with a turquoise blouse, got her Gucci sandals and went to the kitchen, where she could smell food.

It'd been a long time since she'd had a man in her house, let alone one who cooked. “Smells good. What've you got?”

Jonah stood at the window with his back to her. When he turned, she saw how bloodshot his eyes were and realized he was tired, too. The beard growth on his jaw was more pronounced than usual, but his exhaustion showed even more in a certain lethargy. Such sluggishness wasn't characteristic of someone who possessed as much energy and athletic grace as Jonah.

“Eggs,” he said. “That's all you had, unless you count a six-pack of yogurt that expired three months ago. Don't you ever eat here?”

“I've been on the fly.”

“Looks like it. You hungry?”

“Starved.” He'd set her plate on the table across from where he'd obviously eaten. Tossing her shoes beside her chair, she headed to the coffeepot first. “But if I plan to get through this day, I need to start with a jolt of caffeine.”

“You've actually got options,” he said.

Although she tried not to pay attention, the pectoral muscles flexing beneath his T-shirt as he moved showed her that his chest hadn't really changed much. Maybe he was a little more muscular than when they'd dated, but he was still lean. And she had to admire the fit of his jeans. They rode low on his hips, molded perfectly to his butt and legs.

“What options?” she asked.

“You can take a thermos of the coffee I made, or—” he indicated the Starbucks cups on the counter “—have the
mocha drink Adriana brought over. Although I'm afraid Adriana's offering might be melted at this point.”

No longer tempted to admire his body, she stopped before she could reach the counter. He'd just mentioned her best friend, hadn't he? He'd tried to drop it into the conversation as smoothly as possible, but he was putting her on notice that Adriana knew he was there. “She…came by?”

“About thirty minutes ago.”

“And brought us both a drink.”

“I think the second one was meant to be hers, but…she changed her mind about staying.”

For some reason, the image of Adriana coming face-to-face with Jonah made Francesca sick inside. No matter how many years passed, or how convinced she became that she was finally over him, she couldn't help imagining him and Adriana together, and that always evoked nausea. “What did she say when she saw you?”

“That she didn't realize you had company. Then she nearly dropped the drinks and ran away.”

“That must've been disappointing.”

“How so?”

She heard the caution in his tone but ignored it. “That's definitely not the reaction you got the last time you were alone with her,” she said, then poured coffee into her travel mug.

He didn't try to justify his actions. Neither did he point out that he'd tried, numerous times, to apologize. He accepted the barb without complaint and turned back to the window. But Francesca knew she shouldn't keep letting her anger get the best of her. She couldn't berate him every time something struck a nerve. It wasn't as if he
had
to be here, had to put up with her insults. He was trying to stop a killer.

Let bygones be bygones.
God, if only she could.

Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath. “Sorry, I won't mention it again.” She added a dash of cream to her coffee before putting on the lid. “Let's go.”

He glanced at her breakfast. “You're not going to eat?”

She eyed the eggs and toast he'd made for her and tried to recover her earlier enthusiasm, but she knew she wouldn't be able to force it down. “I'm not hungry.”

She'd just told him she was starving, but he didn't call her on it. Frowning, he retrieved her plate and rinsed the food into the garbage disposal before getting out his keys. “You can ride with me if you want.”

But then they'd be stuck going everywhere together until he drove her home. And her home was two hours away from where he was currently working, so that didn't make sense. Being professional allies was one thing; spending every minute together was another. He brought what she most wanted to forget to the forefront, made it clear that she'd never loved anyone as much as she'd loved him. “No, thanks. I'll take my own car.”

With a nod that suggested he was as relieved as she was, he gave her directions and left.

 

Jonah tried to reach Finch several times, but the investigator wasn't picking up. He probably had his hands full. No telling what he was dealing with at the crime scene. The details Jonah had already heard were pretty damn gruesome.

But it would've been nice to have something besides Francesca to concentrate on. He definitely didn't want to spend the whole drive thinking about the pictures he'd seen in her house or wondering about that politician fellow she'd been with. Nor did he want to keep reliving
that moment when she first woke up and took his hand. That'd brought all the longing he'd felt for her right to the surface. He'd been just about to cup her cheek, to let himself touch her as he'd wanted to touch her all these years, when she'd suddenly realized what she was doing and withdrew.

Maybe she'd assumed he was her Washington, D.C., boyfriend. He'd been foolish to think her receptiveness to him had changed over the course of one nap. He hadn't believed it, not really. His reaction had been instinctive. Had he taken a second to consider it, he would've known better than to respond even if she did reach out to him. He'd never expected to avoid the consequences of what he'd done, didn't believe he deserved more than he'd earned. He had only himself to blame for losing Francesca. He just wished he could stop
wanting
her.

He'd thought he had. If someone had asked him yesterday whether seeing her again would affect him like this, he would've denied it. But every time he looked at her he felt the same pull that'd scared him a decade ago.

His phone rang. Figuring it was most likely Finch, he checked caller ID on his Bluetooth.

But it was his mother.

He was close enough to Skull Valley that he considered ducking the call. His mother wasn't really the type of diversion he'd been hoping for. But she'd only call back. So he decided to get it over with. “Hey, Mom.”

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Driving.”

“That doesn't tell me much.”

“Still in Arizona, working that series of murders. Something wrong?”

“I got a call from Lori this morning.”

Oh, shit. Now she was contacting his mother? “You didn't tell her I was in Arizona, did you?”

“Of course I did. Why wouldn't I?”

“Because it's none of her business, for one.”

“She's upset, Jonah. She said she's been trying to get in touch with you but you won't respond.”

Considering the personal information he kept hidden for Lori's sake, it took nerve for her to involve his mother. But she'd always had a lot of nerve.

Tempted to tell Rita everything, he wondered how she'd respond if he blurted out that Lori's roommate wasn't just a roommate. That Lori had been gay since before she'd married him.

But he didn't do it. Why bother? Lori didn't mean anything to him anymore, not even enough for revenge. It was simpler to pretend their problems had been far more mundane. “I've been busy,” he said instead.

“Too busy to return her call?”

“Mom, she's my
ex.
That doesn't make her my top priority. Why should I drop everything when she contacts me?”

“Why not? It wouldn't hurt you to help her out.”

Did she even understand what his ex-wife wanted? What had Lori told his mother that had motivated Rita to jump in with both feet? Lord knew it didn't take much, but she had to have been given some excuse. “What is it she needs?” he asked, just to see what his mother would say.

“You don't know?”

He caught a glimpse of Francesca's BMW in his rearview mirror and sped up. Murder case or no murder case, he could live without the confusion she inspired in him. “Not exactly.”

“It's some sort of a character reference so she can adopt a child from the foster care system.”

A child from foster care? Hardly. She was competing with other would-be parents for an unborn child. But he didn't correct her. Sometimes Rita went off half-cocked without knowing all the details. Life was easy for her—all black and white and full of snap judgments. This was a perfect example. “And how's my character reference going to make a difference?”

“I can't imagine. But she thinks it will. And it wouldn't take you more than a few minutes to do her this favor.”

“Have a little faith, Mom. I'll get to it when I can.”

“How about sooner rather than later, Jonah? Divorced couples don't have to be enemies, you know. Take me and your father, for instance.”

He switched lanes. “Dad's remarried, Mom.”

“And your point is?”

“He's never the one who has to deal with you. His wife runs interference.”

“That's not true. Anyway, Jolynn and I get along.”

Barely. Because he was close to his father and stepmother, Jonah knew that Jolynn was less than pleased about being Rita's designated contact. She was just better with people, better with Rita, than his father, so she got stuck with the job. “How does that relate to anything?”

“I'm encouraging you to make peace with Lori, to stop holding a grudge.”