Page 143 of What She Saw
“That’s about right.”
The room was warm, but my skin was chilled. I searched for sadness or remorse but couldn’t find either. I wasn’t so different from my old man. Was I on track to screw up the next generation? Or was there enough of Patty in me to make a go with a kid?
“I watched Patty tell Larry she was pregnant with his child. He showed no feelings. He did not care. His callousness hurt her. She was crying and ran to the back room. He tried to follow her, but I stopped him.”
“Hero to the rescue.”
“I’m like you. I don’t like bullies, Sloane.”
Was the emphasis on my name supposed to be a bonding moment? “All the girls were similar. Young. Attractive. Vibrant. You have a type.”
“We all do.” He sat back. “Let me guess. You go for guys that are sensitive and in touch with their emotions. Makes you feel like you’ve got a connection. But after a few weeks, you realize that you’re incapable. So you lose interest and move on.”
The arrow hit the bull’s-eye. He was right. I reached for long-term implications but couldn’t grasp them.
The woman sitting next to me chuckled softly and raised her hands to the thick, smudged glass. The man on the other side did the same. Their grins were sloppy, but in this moment they felt genuine.
“I love all women,” he said.
“You love them so much you hide them and keep them all to yourself forever.”
“You just told me I don’t know where they are. Which is it?”
“The point is no one else can have them. And one day you believe you’ll stand over their remains.”
“You mean their naked, stripped bones? I imagine all the flesh is gone and the bones are discolored.”
The truth always leaked out. “When you drift off to sleep at night, do you dream about their bones?”
Dark eyes glistened with amusement. “Dancing like marionettes on a clear day in the mountains?”
“I bet it’s a rush. To know their flesh and bones are nearly dust.”
He chuckled. “You’re clever.”
“Not really. I tend to be very direct.”
“I’m sure you’ll have lots of good theories as you hammer out your word count.”
“I don’t want theories. I want the truth.”
Colton leaned forward, closed his eyes, and sniffed. “God, but I wish I could smell you. I love the scent of a woman. Especially after she’s had sex. When’s the last time you got some?”
Three decades hadn’t softened him. He was enjoying my attention. “Do you ever dream about Tristan Fletcher or Cassidy Rogers?”
His eyes brightened. “Cassidy is a bitch. Tristan is dead. I like my women willing and alive.”
“You liked Cassidy at one time?”
“Sure. She was hot.”
In the reflection on the glass barrier, I caught the deputy’s tight-lipped expression. I think the officer’s outrage was as much for himself as it was me. Not everyone was charmed by Rafe Colton.
“And you don’t dream about Tristan even though she’s dead.”
He grinned. “Give me a picture of her at the festival and I will.”
I reached in my bag and pulled out a picture of Tristan at the festival. “Like this?”
