Page 73 of Another Girl Lost

“Mind if I look at the scrapbook?”

“Have at it.”

She rose and moved across the room, her stride confident, unashamed. She carried the scrapbook back to the bed, sat on the edge, and turned the pages. “Her run-in with Tanner certainly made an impression.”

“Her claim to fame.”

“She’s been in contact with Scarlett Crosby. These days, she’s looking for money so she can score,” Margo said.

“She’ll press anyone if she’s desperate enough,” Dawson said.

She closed the scrapbook and set it back on the table. As she stood there, she opened his case file, flipping through pages of notes and then the photographs taken of the items found on Taylor’s body. She held up the picture snapped of the bracelet. “Interesting.”

“What’s that?”

“Why would Sandra Taylor have a bracelet with the lettersSC?”

“Let me see.”

She walked back to the bed and handed him the image. “SC. Scarlett Crosby.”

Dawson traced the photo, irritated with himself that he’d missed this detail. “If this was Scarlett’s bracelet ...”

“Then you have a solid link between the girls. Or proof that Tanner took Scarlett’s bracelet and put it with Sandra’s body. His version of an inside joke.”

“Fuck. I missed it.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. Sandra is lucky to have you. Scarlett Crosby was fortunate you intercepted Tanner’s van so quickly.”

“Lucky?”

“Most don’t give a shit about girls like that.” A practical statement riddled with practiced traces of empathy. “You’ll piece this all together.”

He’d never discussed cases with his ex because he wanted to keep the job from tainting her life. But Margo wasn’t the kind of woman who needed coddling.

Margo lay beside him, trailing her fingers over his belly and around his dick, which twitched to life instantly. Whatever this was between them, it was temporary at best. Too bad. He could get used to Margo.

When he and his wife had sex, it had been quick and practical in the latter years. A scratched itch. No talking. But Margo was in no rush. She was content to linger, listen, and her achingly intimate touch stripped the last of his reservations. Suppressed doubts bubbled to the surface. “I’m not sure I’m that smart.”

She straddled his groin. His erection hardened in anticipation as she guided it inside her.

“Is this my pep talk?” he asked.

“Is it working?”

He gripped her hips. “Maybe a little.”

Her lips curled into a sly smile. “Do you feel out of control?”

His breath caught in his throat. “I do.”

Margo studied him as if she’d seen him a thousand times before. “Where are your handcuffs?”

His voice was so rough, he almost didn’t recognize it. “On my belt buckle.”

She climbed off him, leaving him feeling exposed. She moved to his pants, grabbed the cuffs from his belt, and returned to the bed,links dangling from her fingers. “Do you want my hands in the front or the back?”

On the job, he always savored the snap of the cuffs as they locked around wrists. In those moments, when he knew the threat was neutralized and he had control, relief flooded him. But the cuffs had never made their way to the bedroom. “The back.”

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