Page 46 of High Frequency

“Yeah,” she returns as her eyes drift back to the view, but her hand stays clasped in mine. “It’s just what I needed. I haven’t felt this relaxed in months.”

There’s a lot to be read in that statement, but for now I’m content taking it as a compliment.

When darkness finally wins, she slips her hand from mine and pushes up out of her chair.

“I should get going. Get this little monkey tucked into bed.”

“I’ll take her,” I offer, when she reaches for the car seat.

I carry Aspen to the Jeep and secure her seat in the back. I leave the buckling in to her mother and wait for her to be done. Instead of opening the driver’s door for Sloane, I box her in against the car, bracing my arms on either side of her and leaning my body close.

She doesn’t resist, in fact, her eyes almost hold a challenge.

Well, I’ve never been the type to back down from one.

When I kiss her this time, I’m not trying to make a point, I’m staking a claim. My lips bruise and my tongue takes charge, as I pin her against the side of the car using only my body.

She moans down my throat when I force my leg between hers and roll my hips. I can feel her heat through my jeans and enjoy a moment of triumph when she rocks her hips, rubbing her core against my thigh.

This.

There is nothing like the feeling of exhilaration when dominance is willingly conceded. All the more meaningful from someone as strong and powerful as Sloane.

The reason I keep my hands from touching her is because I know the moment I do, the balance of power shifts. For now, I prefer holding on to it.

Which is why I let her ride my thigh until I can feel her body tense as her fingers dig into my ass. Then I abruptly end the kiss and remove my leg from between hers. Her eyes are glassy and her cheeks are flushed, but she doesn’t look happy I left her hanging.

“Drive safe,” I tell her, before she has a chance to gather herself.

“Fine,” is her short answer.

I open the door and wait for her to get in behind the wheel before closing it. Then I step back as she starts the Jeep. She backs up a few feet and then stops, rolling down her window.

“I forgot to mention,” she calls out. “We’re going to be neighbors. I’m moving into Fletch’s old cabin on Sunday.” She smiles. “I’ll be right next door.”

Shit. It’ll be impossible for me to resist her when I know she’s only a few feet away.

I watch her taillights disappear and wonder who’s actually in control here.

Fourteen

Sloane

I lean back in my chair, close my eyes, and listen to Carmi and her friend’s chatter outside.

It’s disturbing to think those girls are not much younger than Chelsea or Nita.

I rub my burning eyes, the result of staring at my laptop, trying to decipher what is poor quality security video from inside the gas station store. There’s about two hours’ worth of footage from about seven to nine on the night Nita went missing.

Her mother informed police her daughter had forgotten to grab milk when she picked up a few things at the store before dinner. So at seven thirty, right after she’d finished watching an episode ofFriends,she sent her back there.

That poor woman. I can’t imagine what she is feeling.

I’ve watched the full footage twice now, fast forwarding through parts where no activity was noted, and replaying sections where customers were coming into the store. From seven twenty-five through eight o’clock—which is the most plausible time window for Nita to walk in—there were a total of five customers in the small store. From what I could tell, three were male, two female. None of them bought milk, and none of them were Nita.

The second time I watched the whole thing through, I tried to focus on what was happening outside the store. The camera angle is such, at the top of the screen, you can partially see through the store’s front windows. You can’t see the pumps, only a portion of the parking spots right in front of the store. I’ve written down the specifics of every vehicle pulling up during that two-hour stretch.

Frustrated, I close the screen with the video feed, and pull up the email from the Lake County sheriff so I can reply and thank him for his assistance. I scroll down the original email to see how he signed off so I can properly address him, when I notice a second link. I guess I was so eager to pull up the feed, I didn’t look any farther.

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