Devil's Lair (Molotov Obsession #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,4

I haven’t gotten where I am by assuming the best about people. Even if Chloe Emmons isn’t guilty of matricide, she’s guilty of something. My instincts are telling me there’s more to her story, and my instincts are rarely wrong.

The girl is trouble. I know it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Still, something keeps me from closing the folder. I read through Konstantin’s report in its entirety, then go through the screenshots of her social media. Surprisingly, it’s not a lot of selfies; for a girl that pretty, Chloe doesn’t seem overly focused on her looks. Instead, the majority of her posts consist of videos of baby animals and photos of scenic spots, along with links to blog posts and articles about childhood development and optimal teaching methods.

If not for that police report and her month-long disappearance from the grid, Chloe Emmons would appear to be exactly what she claims: a brand-new college grad with a passion for teaching.

Flipping back to the beginning of the folder, I study the photo of her laughing, trying to understand what it is about the girl that intrigues me. Her pretty face, for sure, but that’s only part of it. I’ve seen—and fucked—women far more classically beautiful than she. Even that porn-doll mouth is nothing special in the grand scheme of things, though no man in his right mind would pass up the chance to feel those plump, soft lips wrapped around his cock.

No, it’s something else that exerts that magnetic pull on me, something to do with the radiance of her smile. It’s like spotting a ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds on a winter day. I want to touch it, feel its warmth… capture it, so I can have it for my own.

My body hardens at the thought, dark, X-rated images sliding through my mind. A better man—a better father—would shut that folder right away, if only because of the temptation it presents, but I’m not that man.

I’m a Molotov, and we’ve never done something as prosaic as the right thing.

Drumming my fingers on my desk, I come to a decision.

Chloe Emmons might be too troubled to allow near my son, but I still want to meet her.

I want to feel that ray of sunlight on my skin.

3

Chloe

The twelve-foot-tall metal gate slides apart as I drive up, my Toyota’s motor whining at the steep incline of the unpaved road leading up the mountain to the estate. Gripping the wheel tightly, I drive through the open gate, my nervousness intensifying with each second.

I still can’t believe I’m here. I was almost certain I would have nothing in my inbox when I went to the library this morning. It was way too soon to expect a response. Just in case, though, I wanted to check my email and then spend a few hours looking online for other gigs within a half-tank’s driving distance. But the email was already there when I logged in; it had arrived at ten p.m. yesterday.

They want to interview me.

At noon today.

My palms are slippery with sweat, so I wipe first one hand, then the other on my jeans. I have nothing resembling an interview-appropriate outfit, so I’m wearing my only pair of clean jeans and a plain long-sleeved T-shirt—I need the sleeves to cover the scratches and scabs the glass shards left on my arm. Hopefully, my potential employers won’t hold the casual attire against me; after all, I’m interviewing for a tutor position in the middle of nowhere.

Please let me get the job. Please let me get it.

The sleek metal gate I just drove through is part of a metal wall of the same height that extends into the rugged mountain forest on each side of the road. I wonder if that means the wall loops around the entire estate. It’s hard to imagine—according to the librarian who gave me directions, the property consists of over a thousand acres of wild mountainous terrain—but I couldn’t see where the wall ended, so it’s possible. And since the gate opened on its own at my approach, there must be cameras in place as well—which, while somewhat alarming, is also reassuring.

I have no idea why these people need so much security, but if I get this job, I’ll be safe inside their compound as well.

The winding dirt road I’m on seems to go on forever, but finally, after about a mile, the forest on the sides begins to thin and the terrain flattens out. I must be approaching the peak