Page 49 of Commit
“Because I want to eat you for dessert, and if Pete sees you naked and coming all over my tongue, I’d have to kill him.”
“And that’s my cue to leave.” I grin at Ivy as she covers her face with her hands.
“I can’t believe you just said that,” she exclaims, making Atlas look confused for a second.
“Really?”
She looks up, frowning, before she sighs. “No. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”
“I hope you never are. I like it when you blush. I enjoy seeing how far down?—”
I leave, closing the door behind me, shutting out the rest of what he was going to say. I chuckle. I have a funny feeling they won’t be making it to lunch. I jog down to my car and toss the file on the passenger seat before heading home.
This Jessica woman’s death is a mystery. I might not have killed her, but I don’t like having any connections that tie her back to me, even if no one knows that I’m involved. The last thing I want is for the cops to start paying special attention to me.
I frown, thinking about Emma. I still don’t remember her. I only have Kelly’s word that I even slept with her. As callous as it sounds, I clearly forgot all about her the second I pulled the condom off.
Now I’m wondering if this has less to do with Atlas and more to do with me. If I did sleep with Emma, then I’m a potential link between both these cases. But why? Sure, I did the hit on Jessica’s husband, but I’d never met or spoken to the woman. My only information about her was what I picked up during recon of her husband. I saw her car leaving for work each day, and her clothes hanging in her closet when I broke into the family home, but I never saw her in person. Hell, I didn’t know who she was when I was staring down at the photos of her in my hand. The only time I touched her life was when I took her husband from her. And Emma—assuming I slept with her—left my life the same way she entered: alive and well.
I’m still thinking about the possible connection when I pull up to the house. I leave the file on the passenger seat and start to climb out when my cell chimes. I pull it out and see it’s a message from Abbott.
Surprised, I open it.
I have football practice after school. Then I’m going out with the guys. Can you pick up Starling?
I type back as I sit back down. No problem.
I shove my phone back into my pocket and grab the file, running it into the house, before getting back into the car and starting it again, this time heading for their high school. It’s not the closest school, but neither of them wanted to change in their senior year. With Abbot able to drive, it’s not a big deal.
Forty-five minutes later, I pull up outside the school and climb out, leaning against the car as I wait. Dozens of students are exiting, some are leaving while others are hanging around in small groups. The ones that notice me don’t bother trying to hide that they’re staring. I cross my arms over my chest and keep my face neutral. The last thing I need is for someone to report to the principal’s office that a strange guy’s hanging around in the parking lot.
Though judging by the looks I’m getting from the approaching cheerleaders, I’d say I’m more welcome than I first thought.
“Hi, can we help you with something?” the blonde in front asks, tossing her hair as she gives me a look that’s pure sex.
I let my eyes roam over her tall frame and tight body, dressed in a skimpy cheer outfit branded with the school’s logo, and feel nothing. I guess there’s only one flavor of temptation I’m interested in.
“No thanks. I’m just waiting for someone.”
She twirls a strand of her hair as she blows a bubble with her gum. I look away, uninterested in her and her group.
I spot Starling as she comes out the main doors. She stops and looks around before her eyes meet mine. She freezes, looking like she might try and make a run for it. I narrow my eyes at her and shake my head slightly. Her shoulders drop, and she starts walking toward me.
“Whoa, dude. Is that a 1956 Aston Martin DBR1?”
I turn to see two boys standing a few feet away, both of them tall and lean. If I had to guess, I’d say they were either swimmers or on the basketball team.
“Yeah,” I say, giving him a look, but he’s staring at my car like he’s in love.
“My dad will be so jealous I got to see this, and he didn’t,” he says, laughing and looking back at me. “He’s obsessed with classic cars. He owns the garage down on Sixth Street.”
“Galileo’s? Yeah, I know it. He does good work.”
The kid beams at me. “I’ll tell him you said so.”
As Starling gets closer, the blonde cheerleader notices her and steps in front of her. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work? The street corners will weep without your presence.”
“Looks like your English lit classes are paying off, Claire. You made calling me a whore sound almost poetic.”