Dark Taste of Rapture (Alien Huntress #6)(67)
Author: Gena Showalter

A cruel smile flashed, the edges dripping with relish. “I know. And do you know the first thing I plan to do when his home is signed over to me? Take out the trash.”

The direction of Noelle’s thoughts changed. From forcing herself not to ponder Hector’s appeal to forcing herself not to kill the woman in front of her. “Speaking of the house, what time did you leave the night of your dinner?”

“I don’t know. Nine, maybe.”

“And your home is within walking distance of Bobby’s?” Hector asked.

“Yes. But I didn’t walk, I drove.”

Afraid of the dark? Or of the thousands of people who would have loved to gut her and leave her bleeding on a sidewalk? Either way, Noelle knew Hector planned to check the security feed from the neighborhood and see if the timelines added up.

The waiter arrived with the tray of food Noelle had ordered, but before he could place a single plate on the table, she said, “Box it up for us, Timmy, and have it carried to our car.” No way she could spend another second with her mother’s doppelganger. Their questions had been answered. Time to bail.

“Of course, Miss Tremain.”

“Oh, and add a couple slices of cheesecake to the order before putting everything on Mrs. Marks’s bill.”

“Of course, Miss Tremain.”

Brenda hissed, tried to protest, but Timmy had already hurried off, the delicious-smelling goodies disappearing with him.

Noelle’s stomach rumbled as she pushed to her feet. Hector stood as well, and she moved to his side. Her four-inch heels made her taller than ever, but still he towered over her.

“Thanks for everything,” she said. One little slice across the woman’s throat wouldn’t be so bad, would it? “We really appreciate the conversation and the meal.”

The old bat was still floundering to form a protest as Noelle and Hector stalked away.

Twenty-eight

HECTOR HUNG UP THE phone and forked another bite of smoked salmon into his mouth. He chewed, all the while watching Noelle. Trying to pretend he wasn’t aroused by her, that he wasn’t remembering every detail he’d confessed about his past.

His desk created a barrier between them, the food she’d ordered stacked on top of his files, equipment, weapon case, weapon cleaning case, and spread out like a picnic.

“Who was that?” she asked. She looked around, clearly trying to decide what to pick, finally settled on the dessert, and lifted its box and a fork. She snuggled back in her chair, crossing her legs and revealing her shoes.

And hell, they were bondage lingerie for her feet. Open toed, with diamonds encrusted on the strap around her ankles. Her hair was unbound, flowing down her shoulders, and just a bit mussed.

That white blouse she wore V’d so deeply he was always surprised she didn’t flash him when she moved. He’d had her lithe body under him, had sucked on her pert little ni**les.

“Hector,” she prompted. “My br**sts adore the attention, but if you don’t stop staring, my ass will have to file a complaint. It deserves notice, too, you know.”

A flippant tone, but he detected a note of sadness. His gaze snapped up to her face as his cheeks heated. Can’t have her. You f**king can’t have her. But oh, the things she said. Her mouth aroused him as much as her body.

Her mouth … which she’d once wrapped around his c**k …

Shit. He buckled down and concentrated on the case before his arms started acting up. “That was Mia. A few new developments. First, the pin you mentioned before, the one that wipes footprints. They found it.”

Triumph bathed her features, making her glow. “God, I’m smart.”

His chest constricted. “Second, the witness is now detoxed and has been questioned. He says he never saw the Arcadian’s face, that the otherworlder always had his back to him, but he helped with a sketch of the shooter and the guy who handed him the gun. Those are being emailed to us right now, as well as being run through the database.” Every criminal ID was stored there.

Suddenly all business, Noelle whipped out her phone, pressed a few buttons, and frowned. “Are you kidding me? The sketch of the shooter is a cartoon superhero.”

Hector pulled up the sketches on his computer screen. Shooter had blond, wind-blown hair, his face blurred out. And he wore a suit so embellished with muscle ridges and color, the witness had to have been smoking crack when he—

Yeah. Okay. He had been.

The second sketch showed a hard, harsh face. Dirty, grungy. Dark hair, high forehead. Narrow eyes. Nose with a bump in the center. Wide cheekbones, a square chin. The kind of face kids probably saw in their nightmares.

This one was usable, at least.

“Seems surreal, having evidence finally fall into our hands,” Noelle said. “Should we give the non-cartoon sketch to the media? Someone might recognize him.”

“I’d rather wait. I’m too afraid Shooter will cut and run. And if he runs, we won’t find him. He’s managed to hide this long without even trying. He puts any real effort into it, and our case is cold.”

“You’re thinking like a poor man. If Shooter is rich and powerful, and judging by those gold coin buttons on his superhero suit, I’d say he is, he won’t want to start over. He’s killed to protect his empire, or whatever it is, and he’ll kill again rather than leave.”

Hector didn’t take offense to her “poor man” comment. To her, he was poor. And she was right. “If Shooter is willing to kill again, he might just kill Bruiser the moment the sketch goes live to keep us from finding and questioning him.”

“True.” A moment passed as she pondered their options, her face scrunching adorably. “What about leaking word that we’ve got the witness? We can use him as bait as we talked about with Dallas and catch whoever comes for him red-handed.”

“I still think that should be our last resort. Shooter won’t go for the kill himself. He’ll send his Arcadian or Bruiser, and I’d rather not go against the Arcadian just yet. Not until we’ve got precautions in place to counteract any ability he might have. Good news is, we’re close. That handheld I found at Marks’s place? Our tech hacked through the security program and discovered info on the sex ring.”

Her eyes widened. “We were right, then.”

“Looks like.” A flicker of rage, quickly contained. Sex crimes pissed him off. Hector had never been raped, but his will had been disregarded countless times. He knew the total devastation of feeling helplessness, the terror of being trapped in your body as other people hurt you. “Devyn was right. Someone will be after Margarete Marks. The guards watching her said there haven’t been any disturbances yet, but Mia’s adding a few more just to be safe.”