Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,80
anything that I can see. The bastard watched him the whole time, seeming to study him as if . . . as if I were some new experiment for him.
“I saved your ass tonight.”
“You are the one who got me in that interrogation room! You—”
He sighed. “You did that. You killed Kennedy, remember?”
Fuck.
“It was my turn.”
Matthew took a long gulp of his drink.
“And it’s still my turn . . .” The bastard smiled his perfect grin. One that always made him look harmless. He’s not. “Don’t worry. I have everything planned out perfectly. No one will tie anything to you. Or to me. The cops can’t catch us. They’re too dumb.”
“What about LOST?”
That smile stretched, and a knot formed in Matthew’s stomach.
“I’ll handle them.”
“None of this comes back to me.” It was a warning.
“Trust me, I’ve got this covered . . .”
Trust him? Hah. Hell, no. He didn’t trust anyone. I have to protect myself. And that was exactly what he would do.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SOMEONE WAS KNOCKING at the door.
Victoria cracked open one eye when she heard the distant pounding—and saw Wade lying in bed right beside her.
Awareness came flooding back through her—and her second eye snapped open, too.
Wade was still asleep. His features were a bit softer, his eyes closed, his long lashes casting shadows over his cheeks.
He was on his stomach, with one arm wrapped around her. His face was turned toward her, and the sun poured through the blinds, falling over his broad, tanned back, and—
The pounding came again.
“I don’t want any,” Wade muttered, sounding so sleepy and disgruntled that a quick smile came to Victoria’s lips.
Is this what it’s like? To just let go and be held by a lover? To wake in his arms?
The pounding came once more.
His eyes flew open.
“I think we have company,” Victoria murmured.
“Hell.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, surprising her, then rolled from the bed. He grabbed his jeans—when had he taken those off?—and strode from the room.
For a moment she didn’t move at all. He kissed me. He held me. He knows my darkest crimes and he still . . . wants me?
It didn’t make any sense to her. It just didn’t fit, not with the kind of man that she knew Wade to be.
When she heard voices, Victoria hurriedly climbed from the bed. She was still wearing her shirt and jeans, and even though she probably looked rumpled as all hell, she hurried out of the bedroom.
Then she saw who their visitor was.
Lucas Branson.
He stood just inside the doorway, glancing nervously at Wade and then back over his shoulder.
His fiancée. Connie stood a few feet behind him.
“I, um, I needed to come by and see you. I tried calling you,” Lucas said, “but some cops—they had your phone.”
Wade stepped back. He’d put on a shirt but his feet were bare. “Come inside.”
“Sorry to come by so early, but . . . but reporters have already been calling me. They know about Kennedy.” Lucas reached back and caught Connie’s hand in his. He pulled her inside after him. “And now with that other woman dead, too . . . one creep even asked me if I had taken her as well.”
“Lucas never hurt anyone,” Connie whispered.
“The killer set him up,” Wade said flatly. “The same way he set up Matthew Walker for Melissa’s murder—”
“Professor Walker?” Connie said, eyes widening. “The cops think he did it? I—I didn’t realize . . .” Her words trailed away.
Victoria stepped forward quickly. “You know Dr. Walker?”
“He was my systems development professor when I was an undergrad. He’s really brilliant with computers.”
“Connie and Kennedy were both in his class,” Lucas said quietly.
Victoria schooled her expression as she focused on Connie. “I didn’t realize that you and Kennedy knew each other.”
“Ships in the night,” Connie said with a weak smile. “Kennedy was the star student—every class she took—and I just struggled to make C’s. We only had that one class together, so, no, I didn’t really know her . . .”
She saw Lucas squeeze Connie’s hand.
“I told Connie everything,” Lucas said. “About me hiring you. About me needing to get some . . . some closure on Kennedy.”
They had her body. Did that count as closure for him?
“The police are searching for her killer,” Wade assured him.
“Right. Especially now that they know I’m not that killer.” Lucas exhaled. “But they had five years to look, and all they found was jack shit. After all this time . . . I don’t have much faith