Chase made a face. God, he was gorgeous. “I stand corrected. They were all wearing a similar bracelet, a thin rope bracelet with knots on it.”
“I’ll check it out.” She fought not to write down what he just told her, remembering he wanted to be off the record. For some reason, she wasn’t anxious for him to go. She should be. She needed to sleep. Although now she was all wound up and had half a mind to head back down to the station to confirm his facts.
Ash took a long drink of her apple juice, suddenly wishing it was coffee, and then forced herself to stand. “Thanks for stopping by and telling me that,” she said, edging around him, then moving to the doorway leading to the living room. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
“You will,” he said. “And I’m not ready to leave yet.”
CHAPTER 3
CHASE NEEDED to get the hell out of there and leave Ashley Jones alone. If his supervisor got wind of him working with local law enforcement when he was supposed to be home, taking time off, and doing anything but searching for murderers, he’d hand him his head on a platter.
“Do you have any idea who is overdosing these girls?” he asked, when she turned around, appearing surprised and more than a bit leery after he’d informed her he didn’t want to leave. His supervisor would have a field day if he knew what Chase was doing right now. Hadn’t the reason for sending him home been to give him time to think about his actions, to understand that he couldn’t jump into situations without considering protocol, rules, and regulations?
“If I did, I wouldn’t be here anxious to crash.” Her hair was damp from her shower and the red highlights were more obvious. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but her rosy cheeks, probably from her hot shower, provided enough color. Ashley Jones didn’t need makeup. She was gorgeous without it.
He couldn’t count how many nights he’d gone without sleep, surviving on pure adrenaline and determination to catch a killer. “Do you want me to leave?”
When she didn’t answer at first, he knew he’d guessed right. Ashley was hot as fucking hell. The comfortable, worn-looking jeans she wore hugged her narrow hips and flat tummy. But it was her tank top, the spaghetti straps with no bra, that intrigued the hell out of him. If he didn’t know better he’d swear she’d put those clothes on intentionally, opting for no makeup so she wouldn’t appear obvious. He wasn’t the only one aware of the sexually charged energy between them.
“What else do you know about these three girls’ deaths?” she asked, instead of answering him. When she tilted her head, studying him, a strand of blond hair brushed over her cheek.
He stepped forward, reaching for it to see how she’d react. “The same man killed all three of them. They were all alone in a bar, a nightclub, or bar and grill,” he continued, doubting he told her anything she didn’t already know.
Ashley stepped backward when he lifted his hand to her face, wrapping her arms around her waist and hugging herself. She shook her head to move the strand, which only managed to make it outline the contour of her cheek. “They were alone as if they were waiting on someone.” Ashley turned, crossing her living room quickly and stopping at her front door. She was going to throw him out. Instead of opening it, though, she leaned against the door handle, her dark green eyes smoldering as she let her gaze travel down his body. “That, or maybe they were out alone because they were mad at someone.”
“Mad at someone?” He hadn’t considered that angle, but he imagined a woman might head out on the town alone, going to a place she might consider a prime pickup joint for what ever type of man she was looking for. “So each one of them was out on the town alone because they were looking for someone? Is that what you would do?”
“This isn’t about me,” she said firmly, pressing her lips together and frowning.
He really liked her pouty look. Chase also enjoyed how her eyes widened when he cleared the distance between them, trapping her against the front door. “Let’s make this about you,” he suggested, and continued when she opened her mouth to retort, looking surprised. “Let’s say you’ve got a boyfriend, someone you’re close enough to that he would give you jewelry, or a bracelet. But he’s pissed you off for some reason. Would you go out to a bar and let a stranger buy you a drink?”
“If I had a boyfriend and he pissed me off I’d kick his ass and get it over with,” she told him, puffing out her chest when she sucked in a breath.
Her nipples turned into hard peaks, stabbing against her shirt. It was cut low enough to give him a mouthwatering view of the swell of her breasts.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” he growled, again reaching for her.
She raised her hand to block him and he grabbed her wrist, holding their hands in midair between them.
“What if you weren’t the confident woman that you are?” he whispered, stepping closer and holding her hand before him in spite of her trying to release it. “Maybe you’re seeing a guy and the relationship isn’t stable. So you go out to drink him off your mind. You’re distracted, not paying attention, when someone slips something in your drink.”
She searched his face, not saying anything for a moment. Then her gaze dropped as she sucked in her lower lip and chewed on it, as if something just occurred to her.
“If that’s the case,” she said slowly, focusing somewhere on his chest. “Then the only way to know who drugged these girls is by interviewing those who would have been around them that night.”
“There’s no way of knowing who was in those bars each of those nights.”
“True.” She relaxed her hand, fisting it but no longer trying to get free. “But there is a way to talk to the bartenders who were working those nights.”
Her eyes glowed like rare jewels when she lifted her gaze to his.
“We need to get you to bed then, so you can start your interviews tomorrow,” he said, his voice lowering to a rough growl as he pictured her stretched out in bed, naked, with her large breasts exposed above the covers.
“You need to leave,” she whispered, and ran her tongue over her lips, moistening them and making them look even fuller, a feast for a starving man.
He let go of her hand, but when she tried pressing it against his chest, pushing him away from her so she could open the door, he grabbed it again. Ashley tried yanking her hand back, but he was faster. Moving with a speed that matched the need he couldn’t restrain any longer, Chase gripped her arm once again, this time pinning it to the door next to her head, and pressed his body against hers.
“This time,” he whispered, lowering his head until his lips were a fraction of an inch from hers. “Next time I think I’ll stay.”