His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(22)
Author: Shayla Black

She glanced again at him. Manly. A little exotic. Interesting. And there she went into stupid-ass territory again.

“You get enough to eat?” He gestured toward her half-empty tray.

Bailey nodded, glad to have a reason to look anywhere but at him. “I don’t know where Thorpe got the food, but it was good.”

“He told me he was the master of takeout.” Joaquin grinned.

She smiled in return, then caught herself. Wiping the expression off her face, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I need to call Blane and tell him I won’t be home tonight. He’ll be worried.”

“Thorpe told me you two talked about this. I agree with him. You disappearing will throw this killer off guard. Maybe he’ll slip up. Maybe he’ll act out. I need to find some way to figure out who’s responsible and be able to prove it. Blane will be safer if he knows nothing.”

Before she could respond, the phone in his pocket buzzed. He pulled it free and read. For a moment, Bailey considered grabbing it from his hand and calling 911, but he’d take it from her before she could get the call out. He’d even dismantled the lock on the bathroom door—she’d checked—so she couldn’t hope to outrun him there and keep emergency dispatchers on the phone long enough to trace the signal.

Holding in a sigh, she decided to wait for a better opportunity. At least he didn’t seem menacing anymore. In fact, he almost looked . . . friendly. Because Thorpe had duped her into trusting them? Bailey didn’t want to be stupid, but what if someone really was after her? What if she truly was safer here?

Suddenly, Joaquin cursed, a low, ugly growl. Then he stared at the ceiling as if grasping for patience. When he looked her way again, his expression had gone bleak.

“What is it?” The words slipped out. She shouldn’t be concerned about him, but he looked genuinely upset. It simply wasn’t in her nature to stand back and watch people suffer.

“Remember the missing girl in Oklahoma I told you about?” When she nodded, Joaquin shoved his phone under her face. “Here she is.”

Bailey stole a quick glance, then looked away. The photo was every bit as stomach-turning as the last one he’d shown her—maybe more. The woman wasn’t a brunette this time, but a blonde. She’d bled more before she died. Her face looked permanently contorted in pain.

Everything about the sight made Bailey’s stomach recoil and fear zip through her. Maybe she’d been too trusting? How did she really know Joaquin was telling the truth about the who, where, and when or this victim?

“Is there a news item about this murder? Anything to read?”

He sent her a crafty stare as if he saw right through her question, then gave her a decisive nod. “I’m sure there is. I’ll find it. Because then you’ll know that I was here with you and couldn’t possibly have committed this murder.”

Bailey wanted proof and waited while he flipped through his phone until he came to a local news station from Oklahoma City. The grisly discovery was front page news.

She scanned the story. The coroner estimated the time of death somewhere between nine and eleven that morning. If authorities could have found this girl just a bit sooner . . . But given the picture Joaquin had shown her, this killer had been working his personal brand of gross on her for hours.

Since Bailey wasn’t sure if she was still in Houston or elsewhere, she couldn’t state absolutely that Joaquin hadn’t driven to Oklahoma City, committed this crime, then come back to her. On the other hand, even if he had moved her somewhere near the scene of the crime, he would still have had to come back here, clean up, have a conversation with Thorpe, and appear in front of her looking perfectly calm. It seemed unlikely. She also didn’t buy that Joaquin would abduct her, bring her somewhere pretty swanky, feed and promise to protect her if all he intended to do was slice and dice her.

“It’s terrible,” she murmured.

“I didn’t do this.” His tone looked every bit as adamant as his expression.

“Trust me. I’d prefer to believe you.”

“There’s no way I could have killed this girl by even nine a.m., driven the three hours from Norman to Dallas, showered, and appeared here beside you before noon. It’s not physically possible.”

“So we’re in Dallas?” She latched onto the little fact with hope. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Yeah.”

“How do I know that’s not just a story to make me trust you?”

“Are you kidding?”

Was he? “I didn’t know you yesterday at this time, and the first time we met, it’s because you abducted me. And I’m supposed to simply trust you? Really?”