Page 10 of Just Now

She stared at him, suddenly apprehensive.

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me what you’re doing, looking into Ethan’s death and opening old case files,” he said. “I hear you’ve been banging on doors and upending trashcans. Figuratively, at least. What’s going on?”

The words were like a hammer blow. Cami literally gasped. Her heart sped up and her mind was racing. How did he know? How had he found out exactly what she was doing?

“I’m—I’m not,” she stammered. It was a weak, flimsy automatic denial and she knew it wouldn’t wash with him. It didn’t, of course. In between glancing ahead at the traffic, Connor seemed to be pinning her with his gaze in a way she couldn’t escape.

“I don’t want lies,” he said firmly.

Cami swallowed hard, buckling under the gravity of the situation. She had tried to be so careful, and although she had spoken to Liam Treverton, he’d been scared, too. He hadn’t seemed like a man who’d run straight back to the FBI and tell them what had happened. Had someone seen that she’d opened Jenna’s case file? Had it alerted the wrong person? Was that even what Connor was referring to? She guessed he was being deliberately vague, waiting for her to supply the details.

She couldn’t tell Connor. Especially since some of what she’d done had been outside the law. She didn’t want Connor to know, or to be involved, because that would mean he’d tell others, and not only would it then cause trouble for Cami, but someone he told might be the shooter. She doubted Connor knew all his associates well enough to know whether it was or wasn’t them. If he passed this on, it might end up going to unknown people.

“I’m just trying to understand what happened,” she said carefully. “I need closure. I’m just asking a few questions.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what I heard,” he said.

Cami’s heart was pounding in her chest. She knew she had to choose her words carefully, or she could end up completely destroying the trust between them, making a bad situation worse. She swallowed hard, trying to come up with a coherent response which, at the same time, wouldn’t bury her.

“What do you mean? Who told you?” she asked, hoping to buy herself some time.

Connor glanced at her before he focused back on the road.

“I was told in confidence,” he said. “And the person who told me also said that if you go digging, you’ll be opening up a can of worms and putting yourself at risk. So I want to know—what are you doing? What have you found? And I’m not going to take no for an answer here. Not when your safety is an issue.”

His voice sounded as hard as she’d ever heard it.

Nothing could save her now. Connor was like a bulldog when it came to pursuing things like this. He wasn’t going to drop it. He was not going to forget it. The most she could hope for was a temporary reprieve.

And she might have one—for now, at least, because Connor was turning into the street where Maxwell had his office.

“Oh look, is that Maxwell’s place ahead?” she said in a wobbly voice. “Shouldn’t we hurry there?”

“I’m not forgetting this,” Connor threatened. “Questioning this suspect takes priority now. But by the end of today, Cami, I want to know.”

He climbed out of the car and strode toward the office block, leaving Cami scrambling to follow, her hands damp and her stomach twisting with foreboding.

She was in so much trouble. And if she told him the truth, more would follow.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Dance for me.”

His voice was husky. His eyes were fixed on the gap in the wall, from where he could see her bedroom. Or rather, the bedroom he’d made for her. Because it was not the same, although he’d added similar items. For his last victim, a lamp provided the common factor. For this one, he’d found an identical set of scatter cushions, and exactly the same rug in front of the bed.

Now she was sitting, hunched on the bed, looking terrified. Looking for a way out that she wouldn’t find, because there wasn’t one.

“Dance for me,” he pressured her. She’d arrived home late, dressed in a brightly colored smock. He’d done his best to match his own clothing with her colorful personality, wearing a bright blue business suit, a yellow tie, and a crisp white shirt when he met her at the door. It was important to him that he—or rather, the new him—dovetailed with his victims’ personalities.

Maybe that was why he was angry with her now. He’d tried so hard, and now she should have made it easier for him. Anger was always his weak point, the emotion he couldn’t handle. But then, he guessed with a rueful grimace, that was a family trait all right.

She raised her head and stared in his direction. He saw panic flare in her eyes. Yet again, he was glad he’d thoroughly tested the soundproofing of this home, a couple hundred yards from the nearest buildings on a large acreage, and those buildings were old stables, now used to house farm machinery. The stable block further muffled the noise, preventing it from reaching the nearest house, another couple hundred yards away.

She pushed back her curly brown hair and he grinned. Not panic. She was making a weak attempt at defying him. This was going to be a battle—with an invisible adversary, since she couldn’t see him.

“I’m not dancing for you. Let me out,” she said.

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