Where the Blame Lies(24)

For fuck’s sake.

Zach stood, picking up the mugs, his full, and hers empty, and walking them to the kitchen. He wasn’t ogling her, though, he told himself. That wasn’t it. The pull he felt toward Josie Stratton went beyond physical attraction.

And it was still wrong. She was off limits. Utterly and completely.

When Zach re-entered the living room, Josie looked up at him. “This could be related to the copycat, but . . . it also could have been my cousin trying to scare me off.”

“Your cousin? Why?”

Josie told him about her cousin’s visit the day before, how he was bitter that his mother had left the property to Josie instead of to him, how he’d made her an offer she’d refused and then told her she’d regret it.

“A threat?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t really consider it one at the time. Archie’s always been full of hot air. But . . . he was definitely angry with me.”

“Does Archie have a key to the house?”

“I didn’t think so. I thought all the keys had been turned over to me. But . . . it’s possible, I suppose.” She seemed so weary suddenly.

Zach glanced at his cell phone and saw the time. It’d been a long day for her, filled with unsettling news, an even longer night. “Why don’t you go up to bed, Josie? The criminalist will be here in a minute and will be in and out quickly. There’s not a lot to process. I’ll lock up after they leave and sleep on your couch tonight.”

She blinked at him. “Would you?” She shook her head, looking embarrassed. “I mean, it’s going above and beyond, I realize that, but—”

“It’s not going above and beyond. It’s my job to protect you. If the guy who came into your house comes back tonight, I want to be here to catch him.”

Their eyes held for a moment. “Right,” she said. “Yes. Thank you.” She gave him a small, tired smile. “There are extra blankets in the linen closet in the hallway. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re close by.”

She scooted past him, the delicate scent of her shampoo meeting his nose. “Goodnight, Detective Copeland.”

He turned his head slightly. “Zach.”

She hesitated behind him and then repeated his name quietly. He heard her ascending the stairs and then heard a door open and close upstairs. It sounded like several locks were engaging. Zach blew out a long breath just as he heard a car pulling into the gravel driveway. The criminalist had arrived. He hoped Josie would sleep well despite the circumstances. As for himself, he didn’t expect to sleep at all.

What sick fuck does this to a woman who has already endured enough personal hell to last a lifetime?





CHAPTER ELEVEN


Before



Marshall’s feet sounded like they were dragging on the stairs. Josie pulled herself up, a spear of pain traveling through her neck. She’d been sleeping with it lolling to the right and it hurt to straighten. She tensed at the sound of scuffling outside the room, coming more fully awake as the door opened and Marshall wrestled something inside. A mattress? But why? Her mind went blank. She didn’t know what to think.

He carried it to where she sat against the wall. “Move over,” he said, and she tried to scoot her body sideways as much as she could despite the chains. He leaned the mattress against the wall and placed a plastic bag he’d had hanging on his wrist on the floor. Josie watched as he removed some sort of cleaning spray, the smell of bleach filling her nostrils as he sprayed the floor where she’d been sleeping and wiped it dry with paper towels. Why had he done that? Was he giving her a cleaner place to sleep, or was he trying to remove the DNA he’d left behind each time he’d violated her in that exact spot?

“Climb on and I’ll move it back,” he said. She did as he asked and he pushed the mattress until it hit the wall, Josie sitting on the soft foam instead of the hard floor. For a moment she thought she might weep, both with the relief of having something soft beneath her, and the fear of what this might mean. He wasn’t going to let her go anytime soon. He was making her more comfortable where she was.

“Why did you bring this?”

His hazel eyes moved to hers. “It seemed like . . .” His words drifted off as though he didn’t know how to answer the question, hadn’t thought about how to articulate it.

“It’s very nice,” she said quickly. “I appreciate it. I just wondered why you thought of it.”

Her comment seemed to take him off balance, his eyes narrowing as he glanced around the room as though looking for an answer that satisfied him. “Because I’m tired of the hard floor under my knees while I’m fucking you.”

A shudder went down her spine. She’d made him feel some way he didn’t like, and in return, he’d verbally stabbed her. What was it that upset him? The insinuation that he’d done something nice for her simply because he’d wanted to? She didn’t know, and she was too tired and starved to care. “Did you bring food?” she asked, her voice rough and dry from lack of use, lack of hydration.

He went back out and grabbed a bag he must have set down to unlock the door and drag the mattress in. He fed her, gave her water. He wiped her mouth. She didn’t look at him but she felt his eyes on the side of her face, measuring.