Page 124 of Another Girl Lost

They’d met each time here in his hotel room because she was waiting on furniture. “You told me.”

“I installed a camera in my apartment.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Basically, I’m paranoid.”

That sparked a smile. “Welcome to the club.”

“Someone paid a visit to my apartment after we left Scarlett’s warehouse.” She rolled toward the nightstand and grabbed her phone. When she sat up, pressing her back to the headboard, her breasts jiggled. She pushed a button on her phone and turned it toward him.Black-and-white footage of her bare apartment appeared. He leaned closer, discovering he was curious about where she lived. There’d been no talk about what happened beyond this room. She was out of his league, and he should be grateful for what she’d given him. But he was curious about her.

“That an air mattress?”

“Furniture arrives soon.”

“I can fuck on an air mattress.”

She smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind, but that’s not the point. Watch.” The tape advanced and the front door opened. The first to appear on the screen was an older man wearing what looked like a uniform. A maintenance visit wasn’t out of the ordinary.

The front desk clerk moved to the side, and Scarlett Crosby stepped into the apartment. She was holding one of her paintings. She slowly walked into the unit, allowing her gaze to roam the room before she rested the painting against the counter. Next, she moved to the picture window and stared out over the street.

“What’s she looking at?” he asked.

“Her warehouse.”

He shifted his gaze to the painting. He’d seen versions of it in police files. It was Scarlett’s latest interpretation of Della. “She left you a painting of Della.”

“Seems we struck a nerve today,” Margo said.

“She called you Della before.”

“She did. I must remind Scarlett of her,” Margo said.

Dawson sat up and reached for his phone. He scrolled until he found the picture he wanted. “This is the police artist sketch of Della.”

She leaned in again, studying the image. “Looks like a kid. Not like me.”

Margo’s nose was slimmer. Her cheeks had a sharper cut. But any good plastic surgeon could’ve done that for her. Still, he rejected the thought. Oddly, he needed to believe her. “Did Scarlett take anything?”

“No. I talked to the clerk. She was in and out in under a minute. But she’s clearly fixated on me.”

Spicy perfume swirled around him. That scent would cling to him hours after she’d left his hotel room. “She was also obsessed with helping Tiffany Patterson.”

“When are they doing Tiffany Patterson’s autopsy?”

“In the morning.”

She leaned up and met his gaze even as her hand slid up and down his shaft. “Good. We’ll know more after that.”

As the sun bobbed above the horizon, Dawson arrived at Scarlett’s warehouse and glanced up at Margo’s apartment, hoping, maybe fearing she was watching. However, the windows were dark.

When Margo had left his hotel room about 4:00 a.m., she’d said she was going home to shower and dress for work. His gaze lingered on Margo’s windows, and he guessed she’d already come and gone.

He imagined Scarlett entering Margo’s place and leaning the portrait against the counter. It pissed him off that Scarlett had invaded Margo’s space. Her Della fixation had a new target.

With Tiffany Patterson’s autopsy scheduled for this morning, he was loaded for bear when he pounded on Scarlett’s door and waited impatiently until the steady clip of footsteps approached. They slid open, and Scarlett stood staring at him as she wiped yellow ink from her hands. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“This early? Good for you. I’ll talk to you while you work.”

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