Page 61 of Cry, Little Dove

Shit. There I am in full color, carrying Erica’s limp body through the motel parking lot in the middle of the night.

For fuck’s sake, how did the FBI get this? I checked the place for security cameras and found the usual dummies every cheap hole-in-the-wall installs as a deterrent. Then who—

“This picture was taken by a witness at the site,” the agent continues, answering my unspoken question.

Adrenaline rushes through me. That damn creep from the front desk!

While I staked out the motel, he made excuses to walk past Erica’s room and even knocked on her door once to bring her wine. He was into her, but Erica rejected him, disgust written all over her face. I guess he kept watching her anyway, and by extension, watching me.

“Thatisyou, isn’t it, Dr. Morrow?” the agent presses.

I bare my teeth in a cocky smile. “Yes.”

“And why would a wealthy man of your social status be staying in a cheap motel 400 miles from here, dressed like a hillbilly runt?”

Fuckin’ asshole. Like dragging me here isn’t bad enough, he also has to insult my style?

“You’re here of your own volition, Dr. Morrow, but if we have reason to believe you may be involved in criminal activities, we can hold you for questioning for the next 72 hours. It’s in your best interest to cooperate.”

He’s reaching. My tense gut relaxes a fraction. His pushy attitude tells me he has absolutely nothing on me apart from this picture, and that ain’t much to go on. It’s not a crime to wear a cowboy hat, and neither is staying in cheap motels.

“I didn’t catch your name earlier,” I say. My nerves are vibrating with rage. It’s hard to keep up my calm demeanor and neutral speech, but I need him to see Dr. Morrow the trustworthy citizen, not Dr. Morrow the monster.

“I’m Agent Wolfer,” he responds.

I raise my hands, showing him my palms. “Look, Agent Wolfer, I have nothing to hide, but this whole deal is somewhat embarrassing. I never told anyone about my secret vacations.”

His brows quirk, and I hold back a smirk.Two truths and a lie, motherfucker.

My stalking of Erica is a bit embarrassing, and I haven’t told anybody about my hunts, but I do have plenty to hide.

“My job and charity work in the community can be very demanding. So, a few times a year, I like to get away. I drive around in my father’s old truck and pretend I’m a regular guy. A nobody.” I rub along the back of my neck. “But what would people think if they knew the pressure got to me? It would make me seem unprofessional. Unreliable.”

Wolfer nods, humming, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “Everyone needs a break sometimes. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

I incline my head. “Much appreciated.”

“But…” He pauses, holding my gaze like he’s trying to read my fuckin’ mind. “That doesn’t explain the woman in your arms. For all I know, you might have killed her and this crucial evidence shows you disposing of her body.”

Before I can think it through, the next words already leave my mouth.

“That woman is my girlfriend, Erica Dellinger. I mean,nowshe is my girlfriend. We met at the motel and spent the night together, then things developed from there. She isvery muchalive and well. I’ll give you her number and you can ask her yourself.”

Another two truths. Kind of. Ericaisalive and doing great, and in my mind, sheismy girlfriend. Of course, we haven’t officially defined our relationship. I’m not sure if we can. Maybe she was right when she said it’s impossible.

She’s my captive, and I’m her captor. How can that work out?

I can blackmail her into staying with me, but I can never force her to like me. I can claim her body, but I can never force her to give me her heart.

A heavy cold expands behind my ribs. Fear seeps into my bones like ice.

Worse than being questioned by the FBI, worse than the prospect of being sent to death row, the thought that Erica might never truly love me scares me shitless.

Wolfer clears his throat, still looking at me. I could enter that pathetic staring contest and win. A prideful, petty part of me wants to, but I reckon being combative will escalate things unnecessarily.

“That night at the motel Erica had quite a lot to drink after we had sex. She freaked out and begged me for help, barely conscious. I had stayed sober and asked if she wanted me to drive her home. She said she had nowhere to go, so I brought her to my house to recover.”

Wolfer’s eyes slit. “You didn’t take her against her will?”

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