She tucked the card in her wallet. “I have no plans to speak to anyone.”

“We also don’t want Mark spending time alone with his daughter,” Vaughan said. “They are the only two witnesses to Hadley’s death, and I don’t want one story influencing the other.”

“Okay.”

Neil stepped out of Skylar’s room. His lips were drawn into a grim line, and his skin looked ashen. “She wants to leave with us tonight.”

“She can’t,” Zoe said. “But you and your mom can pick her up in the morning if she’s ready.”

“Neil, get some sleep tonight,” Vaughan said. “The next few days are going to be hectic, and you’re going to need your rest.” He turned to the boy’s mother. “You may want to keep both the kids out of school tomorrow.”

“Yes. That’s a wise idea.” She wrapped her arm around her son’s shoulder and drew him close to her. “Thank you both.”

Vaughan watched mother and son leave, and when they rounded the corner, he said, “The forensic department won’t have anything to report until morning. For now, there’s not much we can do. I’ll drop you at your place.”

“That would be great,” she said, smiling. “Thank you.”

Finding Skylar alive and uninjured would go down in the books as a win. And it was. But Zoe knew happy endings were rare. The girl’s ordeal was far from over. She had lost her mother and had been deeply traumatized. She had a long road ahead of her. And there were too many questions that remained unanswered, and until she could answer those, she wouldn’t mark this case a true win.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Wednesday, August 14, 10:00 p.m.

Alexandria, Virginia

Thirty-Nine Hours after the 911 Call

Zoe sat silent as Vaughan pulled up in front of Zoe’s townhome, sliding into a parking spot. The moonlight shone in through the window, illuminating the side of his face, accentuating the angles. She had never thought it was a handsome face, but it was the flaws that made it so attractive to her.

“We don’t have to be at the lab until nine, so get some sleep,” Vaughan said.

“Sleep. It’s all I’ve dreamed about for days, and now I’m so wired I can barely sit still. Want to come in and see the place?”

He studied her a beat and then, “Sure. I’d like that.”

“I’ll warn you—it’s a relic.”

He shut off the engine and followed her up the small set of brick steps and watched as she wrestled the old key in the lock and was forced to pull on the handle before the bolt would wriggle free.

Zoe clicked on the entry light switch, which spit out enough light to make the space maneuverable but not enough to really bring it to life.

He looked around the space, jingling his keys in his hands as he walked around the small front room. The ceiling looked lower at night. He walked to the bookshelf and ran his finger along the spines of several books, including titles from Mark Twain, Ernest Hemingway, and F. Scott Fitzgerald. “This is an impressive collection.”

“Feel free to take any that catch your eye,” she said. “There are hundreds of books in this house. Jimmy was an avid reader.”

He removed a book, gently opened the red leather cover, and thumbed through yellow pages. “This is a first edition.”

“Like I said. He liked his books.” She dropped her purse and keys on a beautiful mahogany table and kicked off her shoes. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Whiskey?”

He ran his fingertip over the book’s cover, wondering how many generations had read it before him. “A small whiskey would be good.”

She flipped on more lights in the kitchen and opened the cabinet, removing two crystal glass tumblers and a bottle of Glenfiddich single malt Scotch whiskey, aged twenty-one years. She poured a couple of fingers in each, crossed, and handed him a glass.

He sipped, enjoying the smoothness. “This your stock or Uncle Jimmy’s?”

“Mine. I like a good drink.”

“Puts my stock to shame.” He took another sip and swirled the amber contents around. “Damn, that’s good.”

She sipped from her glass, savoring its warmth and flavors. “What book did you pick?”

He held it up so she could see the gold embossed letters on the spine. “Silas Marner.”

“Can’t say I’ve read it.”

“It’s been a while for me,” he said. “Never had a first edition.”

“If Jimmy owned it, there’s a good chance it’s a fake.”

Chuckling, he set it down on the small Queen Anne round table. “I’ll borrow it. It’ll give me an excuse to come back here.”

She stared at him over the rim, feeling a surge of desire, just like she did each time they were alone like this.

He downed the last of his glass and set it down next to the book. He ran his hand over her arm and watched as she sipped the remains of her drink. Slowly, he took her glass and set it beside his before cupping her face in his hands and kissing her on the lips.

It was a tender kiss. Not hurried or rushed but almost exploratory. He was never one to be rushed, and the idea of him taking his time with her tonight sent a shiver down her spine. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into the kiss.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her closer to him. She could feel his erection hard against her. It had been too long since she had enjoyed a man and allowed herself to feel.

Vaughan ran his calloused fingers over her long slim neck and up to the clip holding up her hair. He tugged at the band holding the braid and unraveled her hair, which tumbled around her shoulders in a wave of curls. He ran his fingers through her hair, spreading it over her shoulders.

She reached for his tie and gently tugged and loosened it as he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. She pressed her fingertips against his chest and kissed his lips.

“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked.

She could hear the urgency in his voice. “Top of the stairs.”

His eyes glinted like glass. “Tell me it’s not Uncle Jimmy’s room.”

She chuckled. “No, it’s not. I took the front bedroom. It’s a little noisy, but it’s all mine.”

“Good.”

He took her by the hand and led her up the stairs, glancing only briefly at the pictures on the walls and noting the empty spots. He did not ask her why she had removed the pictures from the wall, but she knew he had noticed. Later, he might ask, but for now, he did not appear interested in talking.

She turned on the bedside light, which cast a soft glow over the room and the rumpled sheets she had not bothered to make this morning. As he removed his badge and gun from his belt, she did the same. Each set a weapon on a nightstand, his on the left, closest to the door, and hers on the right.

As he unbuttoned his shirt, he walked to the picture leaning against the wall. In the photo, Zoe was dressed in a black tutu and stood on tiptoe in silver satin toe shoes. Her long arms were outstretched, and her head was angled toward the sky. He stared with clear interest. “This is you?”

“In my glory.” She did not want to talk about the past. She wanted to focus on now. “When I dreamed of being a prima ballerina.”