Murder in the Smokies - By Paula Graves Page 0,45

mind.

“People apparently don’t pay that much attention to trucks driving through their neighborhoods,” Antoine answered with a grimace. “They’re not uncommon sights, and unless the damned thing’s painted pink with yellow polka dots or something, a truck driving through the neighborhood barely pings the radar.”

She’d known it was a long shot. “It was worth a try.”

“How about Davenport Trucking? Anything from them yet?”

She shook her head. “I’m trying not to be impatient. Her father seemed really adamant about protecting his clients’ privacy. I don’t blame him. They do have a certain expectation that their private information stays that way.”

“But one of those people could be a serial killer.”

Or a hit man, she added silently, thinking about what Sutton had shared with her the night before.

The call she’d been hoping for came around three that afternoon. Rachel Davenport’s voice, harried and soft, greeted her with, “I talked my father into giving you the rental records.”

“Rachel, thank you so much!” She waved at Antoine, covering the receiver. “We’re getting the rental records.”

“He only agreed to give you the records from the past month and a half,” Rachel added, “but if you think the killer chose his victims during that time period, that should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

Ivy hoped so. “When can I pick them up?”

“I’m going to pull the records tonight after work. I can get them to you either later tonight or in the morning.”

“I can come by the place tonight to pick them up,” Ivy offered, eager to get to work on the list. She wouldn’t be able to call or question any of the people on the rental roster until morning, but maybe the list itself would supply a vital clue to the identity of the killer.

“I may not get it done until late.”

“That’s okay. I can come by and give you company so you won’t have to be alone there so late.”

“That would be nice.” There was a faintly wistful tone to Rachel’s voice, a reminder that the woman had just lost four people close to her in the past month and a half. Her mother had died when Rachel was young, and now her father was dying of cancer.

Ivy wasn’t sure how the woman was even standing upright these days.

She ran home after work to change into more casual clothes and grab a bite to eat before she headed over to Maryville. To her surprise, she found Sutton Calhoun sitting on her front porch steps again. No beer this time, but the look in his eyes was just as dangerous as it had been the day before.

“You done playing cop for the day?” He rose to his feet when she got out of the Jeep and started walking toward him.

“Playing cop?” She arched her eyebrows at his choice of words.

“Being. Excelling at. Whatever.” He walked toward her, meeting her halfway. He smelled clean and crisp, as if he’d grabbed a shower after the funeral. He looked good, too, clean-shaven and clear-eyed.

She’d thought her vulnerability to him the day before had been greatly magnified by his emotional turmoil. After all, she’d always been a sucker for a sob story, a weakness she’d had to fight on the job.

But a confident, strong-willed Sutton Calhoun seemed to have no trouble appealing to her libido, either. Which meant she had no immunity to Sutton at all. He appealed to her no matter what he had going on in his life.

“I’m hungry,” he said with a slow, simmering smile. “You hungry?”

“I could eat,” she answered, trying hard not to make her response sound like an innuendo. The slow burn in Sutton’s hazel eyes suggested she hadn’t succeeded. Nor did she do herself any favors by adding, “What do you have in mind?”

His lips curved. “Something hot. Tasty.”

He wasn’t even pretending to be coy anymore. “You’re in an interesting mood this afternoon.”

He’d moved close enough that the slightest move forward would put her in contact with him. “Interesting in a good way?” he asked.

She felt as if her whole body was straining toward him, and it took all the willpower she had not to give in. There was too much at stake to jump back into anything with Sutton Calhoun. Too damned much to lose.

“Do you really want to get dinner somewhere? Or do you just want to drive me crazy?”

He lifted his hand, sliding his finger along the curve of her collarbone where it lay exposed in the scoop neckline of her blouse. “Am I driving you crazy?”

“Wasn’t that your intention?” She