Details of the Stag case did that to me. When I gave them headspace, they left me cold and empty.
A thirst for power, a hunger for violence. A trail of bodies. His legacy of death might have been mine.
In many ways, it was, or had been. He never shook free of his addictions. I took my sobriety day by day.
“I don’t like that there are two previous sets of four missing girls, but we have this random missing girl in the mix. I don’t like that a guy who fits our profile has a missing daughter who’s not, to our knowledge, one of the victims.” I took the last pan of cookies from the oven and turned it off. “I don’t like it at all.”
“You want to go back out there tomorrow?” Clay accepted the plates from Asa. “It’s on the way.”
Empty hands freed up Asa to snag three hotel-branded water bottles for us to wash down the food.
Clay had treats on the brain instead of our usual travel staples, so we had to make do or drink milk.
“Yeah.” I followed them to the table and cleared space for us to eat. “I want a crack at him.”
I couldn’t put my finger on what bugged me, but I was rusty in the logical-deduction department. The whopper of a lie he told was more than enough to warrant a return visit, so we could use it as a platform for questioning him further.
We loaded our plates, fought over the cups of ranch dressing, then settled in to eat and take a break.
“Trust your instincts.” Asa moved the food around on his plate. “As Clay said, it won’t cost us anything.”
“This time, let’s park farther down the road.” I held my sticky fingers up to Asa. “I forgot the napkins.”
“I’ll get them.” He took the hint like a champ. “Need anything else?”
“Nope.” I smiled, polite as you please. “That’s it.”
When he turned his back, I held a finger to my lips where Clay would see, then I switched plates with Asa.
I had been careful not to eat any of mine. I just handled a couple to get saucy fingers. Then I settled in to observe Asa’s reaction. I expected him to figure it out before he sat, thanks to Clay’s glower, but Asa had napkins in hand, which he passed to me, then sat. I tried very hard not to stare, but I was curious as a cat when it came to him.
“Thanks.” I lifted a wing and took a bite. “These honey mustard ones are good.”
“I prefer the tongue torcher supreme.” Clay sniffled. “You know it’s good when your eyes water.”
“What about you?” I was totally rocking the covert vibe. “How do you like yours, Asa?”
A frown knit his brow as he brought a wing to his mouth. No. Not his mouth. His nose.
His eyes closed as he inhaled, and when he opened them, they were burnt crimson and fixed on me.
Until this exact moment, I can’t say I thought a man eating could get me hot and bothered, but Asa did it without breaking a sweat. Probably it was how he held my gaze the whole time…then licked his fingers.
“Here.” Clay pressed a bottle of icy water into my hand. “You look flushed.”
Breaking the staring contest, I smiled weakly at him. “I must have gotten a tongue torcher by mistake.”
“That must be it,” he said dryly. “I warned you about playing with fire.”
“You did.” I drank long and deep, drawn right back to Asa’s dark stare. “I think I just got burned.”
Too bad I got the feeling I wouldn’t learn a single thing from the experience.
* * *
We hadourselves a conundrum guaranteed to keep me running what-if scenarios until my brain gave up and shut off out of sheer exhaustion. It could only spin in so many circles before I got dizzy and fell down.
The Kellies informed us, after our cookies, that Mr. Olsen hadn’t been to work in four weeks.