bug. He wished he could plant one in every room.
But even if he could manage that, there were some areas he’d rather not infiltrate. Mainly the bedroom shared by Jasper and Talia. He didn’t think he could stomach listening in on an intimate conversation or, God forbid, lovemaking.
He believed that Jasper was the man he sought. Which meant that Jasper’s rich, successful wife was in jeopardy. But until every element of doubt had been erased, until Drex had irrefutable proof that Talia was living with a man who had buried another woman alive, he couldn’t risk warning her.
He wouldn’t call in the cavalry with Rudkowski leading the charge. That would spell certain disaster. Rudkowski, who didn’t know the definition of finesse, would bungle it, give them away, and then God knew what Jasper would do. It chilled Drex to think of it. He was dealing with a personality that had a very sharp tipping point, one who was in control…until he wasn’t.
His short-term goal was clear: maintain his cover while keeping Talia safe from the man she lived with. He would do whatever he could to prevent her from becoming victim number nine and meeting a fate like Marian Harris’s. He was committed to protecting her life, regardless of how she looked.
But she looked like Talia Shafer, and he would be lying not only to his friends but also to himself if he didn’t admit that her appeal upped his level of commitment to spare her life. If Jasper Ford was who he suspected, seeing him brought to justice would no longer be sufficient or satisfying. Drex wanted to engage in mortal hand-to-hand combat. He wanted to eviscerate him.
Of course he acknowledged that such macho thinking was juvenile, stupid, and dangerous. If he went at Jasper Ford for any reason other than getting justice for eight women, he would be in hock with Rudkowski for the rest of his life.
Beyond that, allowing emotions to call the shots was a recipe for disaster. Emotions messed with a man’s mind. They either weakened his resolve or made him so determined, he grew reckless. One misstep, one reflexive reaction or unplanned remark could expose his playacting. Because Jasper would be watching. A single mistake, no matter how slight, could lead to failure. Worse, it could lead to Talia’s death.
Sure as hell, Weston Graham, aka Daniel Knolls, aka Jasper Ford would be at the top of his game, staying cool, playing it smart.
So must Drex be.
But, God, that was going to be difficult when he couldn’t rid his mind of Talia’s brandy-colored hair, the skin that tended to freckle, the gray eyes that bespoke intelligence and goodwill, but also hinted at an irresistible elusiveness.
The loose-fitting clothes she had worn on the yacht hadn’t been provocative or revealing, but Drex had imagined the shape inside them to be compact and sweet. When she’d talked about desiring chairs that conformed to the human body, he’d desired to have her human body conforming to his, her bottom nestling against his middle, seeking the perfect fit, finding—
Christ!
He slid his hand beneath the sheet. He was hot. He was hard. He was going to hell for coveting his neighbor’s wife. He would burn for committing whatever the biblical term was for the sin of sexual self-gratification.
He wasn’t deterred.
Chapter 6
Bill Rudkowski entered his office carrying a sixteen-ounce thermal container of coffee in one hand, his briefcase in the other, and the imperishable chip on his shoulder.
He wasn’t overly fond of mornings in general, but he downright despised Mondays. He greeted his assistant with a brusque nod. “Anything?”
“Everything needing your attention is on your desk.”
“I can hardly wait.”
“Guessing by your glower, I’m thinking your team lost yesterday.”
“They suck.” He entered his private office and kicked the door shut with his heel.
On his desk was more paperwork than he wanted to tackle before he’d finished his coffee. Once fortified with caffeine, and resigned to it being the beginning of another week, he started working his way through the pile.
He sorted the callback messages according to levels of urgency, scrawled his illegible signature on documents requiring it, and scanned updates on several active cases. When done, he spun his chair around to his computer and booted up.
The third email in his in box drew his attention immediately because of the name in the subject line. Marian Harris.
A case number followed her name. There was an attachment. The brief message in the body of the email read: I thought you might want to see