Page 78 of Wicked Sin

I hold my hands wide. “No judgment.” But a small amount of curiosity, because whoever did her work did a great job. “Can you remember dates? Procedures?”

“Is that really necessary?”

“You could talk directly to McBride if you’d rather. Cut me out of this conversation.” I kiss her again, on the corner of her mouth, then the tip of her nose. “But I don’t care. You’re gorgeous. Whatever makes you happy.”

“Botox every four to six months. Last appointment was three months ago. I had a tummy tuck last year, after I gained and lost some weight after the move. And a little lift here,” she touches the outside corner of her eye. “Two months ago.”

I lean in close and kiss her there, too. “No scars?”

“They’re in my eyebrows. Dr. Jain is a genius.” She touches my mouth, then the little scar on my cheek from a bad collision with a t-ball stand when I was a kid. “You’re not vain enough to get work done, are you?”

“I’m vain enough to go to the gym five nights a week when I don’t have a house guest.”

“I do that, too. But the gym doesn’t help with skin sag.”

She’s stunning. Youthful, sexy…but it’s not for me to say what makes her happy. So I pause for a bite-y, growly kiss that makes her squirm. Then I go back to my list of questions from McBride. “Tell me about that gym. Address, clientele. Any guys there start to pay a lot of attention to you?”

“No. I’m a frigid bitch, remember?” She tells me the address. It’s in Beverly Hills, which is a bit of a drive for her.

“Why do you go that far for the gym?”

“Privacy. It’s secure, the staff is well-paid, and nobody gawks at me. Frankly, in some parts of Beverly Hills, nothing I’ve done is shock-and-awe worthy of attention.”

“But you don’t live there.”

“No. I prefer to live in a more…generic neighborhood? That sounds bad.” She fiddles with her fingers, trying to find different words. “I want to be anonymous. That’s part of it. But also, I don’t want to build any critical relationships here that could be weaponized by my mother. No connections, no leveraging. I’m so over all of that. It’s toxic. And I have a lot of regrets that I didn’t pull out sooner. Or in a saner fashion.”

“Does your mother still have that kind of hold on you? You said you haven’t seen your parents in a year.”

She pinches her hands tight, stopping the fidgeting, and takes a sobering breath. “That’s right.”

“Where was that? Back in Washington?”

“No. They came out to L.A. for the Oscars last year. My mother was one of the executive producers of that horrible movie about the snuff film fanatics that was nominated for best picture. We had drinks at her hotel the day before the ceremony. It was a reception of sorts, and I went because she sent an embossed invitation and it didn’t feel like the invite was optional.”

I tap those dates into my notes. “Did you meet anyone that night that gave you the creeps?”

“Everyone that was there? I’ve never heard so many people call a movie about depravitysexyin my entire life.” Her cheeks turn pink. “It’s not the good kind of depravity.”

I know what movie she’s talking about. A dark, twisted thriller that had a solid NC-17 rating, big with the can’t-get-laid-voluntarily crowd. Not my thing. “Nope, it’s not. And how did the interaction with your parents go?”

“Awkward. Distant. I didn’t hear from them afterward, and that was just fine by me. I think I disappointed them. They’d hoped I’d show up with a movie star on my arm, and instead, I was alone, and left alone—another great disappointment. My mother likes to trade in secrets, and you don’t learn those by going to bed lonely.”

I set my phone aside because that sounds heavy—and personal. Beyond the scope of the investigation, unless her parents slide into focus as suspects—but the murder connection makes that less likely.

The profile is clear. We’re looking for a man who targets women, and who has targeted Taylor in a different way, for a different reason.

“This isn’t for McBride and Singh. This is just me asking because I want to make sure I don’t hurt you as a partner by tripping over some of that history. How old were you when your mother first used you like that? Sent you into the lion’s den to be sexual prey.”

She drops her head, her hair curtaining off her face from my too-curious, too-rough question.

Fuck. “Shit, I’m sorry, Taylor. It’s none of my business.”

She shakes her head, her face still down. “It’s just more complicated than that. She didn’t just start one day. Not really. It permeated everything. I grew up watching things that weren’t quite right. And some things—secret things—that were very, very wrong.”

“Do you want to tell me about them?”

“No.”

---