Page 43 of The Killer You Know

“Seeing that we don’t have a number two, that’s probably wise,” I muse. “This is the night we start following him.”

Jack nods. “I’ll get a team to help.”

The laughter from the crowd swells around us as people begin to mingle aggressively, and as we scan the crowd, Jack does a double take to his left.

“She’s here.”

28

Special Agent Fallon Baxter

“Who’s here?” I ask, doing my best to peer in the direction he’s gawking. The bodies are teeming on this, the night of Jack’s storied twentieth high school reunion.

“There she is,” he says, pulling me close with one arm. “See the blonde with the pink dress hanging out by the chocolate fountain?”

“She’s hard to miss.” The dress is more of a magenta hue, and the woman is dripping with either rhinestones or diamonds. My money is on diamonds. If ever there was a time to flaunt what you’ve got, it’s at your twenty-year reunion. “Who am I looking at?”

“Carrie Bigelow. Twice divorced, four kids, two from each husband, loves her golden retriever, and never misses an episode of The Bachelor. She’s also known for her uncanny ability to pick up the dirt regarding just about anyone. It’s basically a God-given talent at this point.” His shoulders bounce my way. “I did a little digging.”

“Digging, huh? Interested in being baby daddy number three?”

“No.” He frowns hard at the thought and looks that much more cutthroat when he does it. That scruff on his cheeks catches my eye and my fingers start to twitch again.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this,” I say, striding off toward the chocolate fountain where Carrie stands contemplating the culinary choices before her. And seeing that there’s a wide assortment of goodies already attached to a skewer, ready to run under molten chocolate, I can’t blame her for being stymied where to begin.

I, however, do not hesitate. Instead, I reach for a skewer with a giant marshmallow attached.

“Excuse me,” I say as I lean slightly past her to run my sweet treat under the fountain before picking up a small plate and landing it home.

“Oh, sorry.” She laughs. “That does look good. I think I’ll start there,” she says, doing the same. She looks friendly enough. She has one of those faces that looks vaguely familiar as well, and I bet a lot of people ask if they went to high school with her. Although, let’s be honest, the men probably use it as a pick-up line.

“Are you a plus-one here, too?” I ask, careful not to dip my gaze to her nametag which would answer the question for me.

“Not me.” She ticks her head wistfully. “I’m an OG. In fact, I was born and bred in Aspen Heights. Who are you here with?” There’s a glint in her eye that’s just begging for some drama.

“Jack Stone,” I say, nodding into the crowd. “But it looks as if I lost him.”

“No way,” she screeches. “You’re here with Jackie?” She belts out a laugh that pretty much says everything I already know. “Oh wow, I bet he’s twice as hot as he was back then. We had a little thing going—him and me. But don’t worry. Jackie had a thing going with every last one of us. I think he was on a conquest or something back then. But it’s all good, right? I mean, he sowed his wild oats and all that good stuff. So, are you the wife?”

“Girlfriend,” I say without hesitating and bite down hard on my lip to keep from laughing myself.

“So what’s he doing now?”

Shoot. I hadn’t thought of a comeback that didn’t include the FBI. But luckily, my hesitation allows for Derek to waltz on by.

“I’m sorry.” I lean her way. “But do you know who that guy is?” I point right at the corduroy jacket making his way to a group of men to the left, and in his wake, there’s the slight waft of rotten eggs. Geez. They’ve got a bathroom for that kind of stuff. “He’s been hitting on me from the second we walked through the door.”

Carrie gasps with delight at the thought. “Oh hon, he’s just trying to indoctrinate you into the club.”

“So he was a playboy just like Jack, huh?”

Her smile wavers. “Yes and no. At least Jackie was honest about it. A lot of the guys were players, and a lot of the girls were more than happy to play right along. But with Derek”—she cringes his way—“he had this girlfriend at the time. A real sweet thing, too. Anyway, some of the girls made a game out of taking him to bed and he didn’t exactly put up a fight.”

“Wow, that’s terrible,” I say and genuinely mean it. “First, it’s pretty crappy that those girls would try to make him cheat, and it’s extra crappy that he did it.”

“I’ll say.” She shakes her head at him. “It’s like I told my ex-husbands, if you’re going to cheat, please get out of this relationship first. And you know what? They did!” She hoots out a laugh and I’m slow to join her. “But don’t feel bad. The feeling was mutual.”

Alicia Adams steps in our line of vision.

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