The Lonely Mile(40)
“Well,” she said, squinting up at him, “I’ve been in these clothes all day and they’re dirty and wrinkled, and I’ve been sweating and nervous, and…well…I really have to go to the bathroom. Would it be all right if I washed up first, before we…well…you know?”
Martin smiled. All of his past failures, all the girls who were impure or unworthy, all the times he had been forced to suffer the crushing disappointment of discovering his companions were not as he had imagined them to be, all of that paled before this moment with this little beauty. All of the aggravation, the nearly four years of searching and trying and suffering, had been worth it, because it had all led up to this moment, with his lovely Carli shining her big blue eyes into his, asking to clean up before consummating their love.
“Of course,” he replied. “How thoughtless of me.” He walked forward slowly, fumbling in the right front pocket of his jeans for the handcuff key. He bent down and stroked his angel’s flaxen hair. He felt her stiffen reflexively, and her eyes widened in fear. The ever-present anger began welling up inside him at her response to his touch and he forced himself to maintain control.
She’s not the same as the others, he told himself, clamping down on the rage before it could begin to consume him. She’s just nervous. I think she wants this as much as I do, but she’s young and inexperienced, like a virgin bride on her wedding night. Of course she feels a little overwhelmed, it’s to be expected.
He reached forward and inserted the key into the side of the cuff encircling the bed post, opening it and leaving the other bracelet securely fastened to his angel’s wrist. There was no point in taking any chances. He held his arm out and helped her rise to a standing position, steadying her when she wobbled slightly. It had obviously been a long day for her, and she was exhausted.
The strange-looking couple moved slowly to the crumbling basement stairs and began climbing up to the main floor.
CHAPTER 37
BILL ALLOWED HIMSELF TO be pulled down the hallway by Angie—Agent Canfield—all the while thinking, What is going on here? It wasn’t that he didn’t find the pretty young agent attractive, sexy, and desirable—he most certainly did.
But he had too much on his plate right now to even consider any kind of romantic entanglement, and the fact that this woman was in charge of the search for his only child’s kidnapper, the man who was suspected to have carried out over a dozen similar kidnappings and presumed murders, made involvement impossible, at least for now.
They turned the corner into Bill’s bedroom. For a moment, he wondered how in the world she had known where it was, then realized the shabby apartment was so tiny his bedroom was located in the only place it could be. “Agent Canfield—”
“Angie,” she interrupted, turning into him and reaching up to kiss him again.
Bill pulled away. “Okay, Angie, then. Listen, Angie, this isn’t right.”
She squinted at the words as if not quite understanding them, like maybe Bill had unexpectedly spoken some obscure foreign language. “It isn’t right? What’s not right about it? I know I look young, but trust me, I’m over twenty-one, and I know you haven’t seen your twenties in a while. I know you’re no longer married. Are you seeing someone?”
“Well, no, but still. I’m sure your bosses would consider you sleeping with the father of the latest I-90 Killer victim highly inappropriate. I’d hate to be responsible for you facing some sort of disciplinary action.”
The agent began shaking her head, but before she could say a word, Bill continued. “And here’s the other thing. I find you incredibly attractive, Angie, and it’s not like I wouldn’t be interested under different circumstances. I’m really flattered that someone as beautiful and on-the-ball as you would even give a guy like me a second look, but the only thing on my mind right now is Carli. I’d make lousy company tonight or any other night until my little girl comes home. Find my daughter, bring her home, and if you’re still interested in me, then, maybe, we could do this the right way.”
She looked up at him, saying nothing, and her piercing blue eyes seemed to turn frosty and hard. Bill felt a sense of unease, and then she broke his gaze and glanced down at the floor, moving back a half-step, putting some distance between their bodies. “Angela…” he said gently.
“I travel a lot,” she said quietly. “I’ve been working this I-90 Killer case for a long time, seemingly getting nowhere. I just wanted…I don’t know. I just thought maybe we could share some of the burden of pain rather than each shouldering it separately. I—I’m sorry…”
“You don’t have to be sorry. I understand.” Agent Canfield turned and walked back down the short hallway toward the apartment’s front door, saying nothing more, Bill following a step behind. She reached for the door handle, and Bill said, “One question, Angela, you know, since you’re here.”
“Yes?” The coldness seemed to have disappeared from her eyes, and Bill decided he must have imagined it. She was right about one thing: she certainly was under a lot of pressure.
“Be honest with me. What are the chances we’ll find Carli alive? And don’t give me the FBI party line. I want your honest opinion as an investigator.”
Angela said nothing for a moment, and Bill thought she was going to walk out the door without answering. He waited, watching her pulse beat slow and steady under the delicate skin of her neck. Then she spoke. “Everything I told you yesterday was the truth. I believe there is every chance Carli is still alive. And I believe there is every chance we’ll find her. We just need one break. And we’re going to get it.”