Page 9 of Lethal Bliss

Her breath escapes her lips in a hiss, and she lets out a long moan.

I should undo the buttons now and get rid of the fabric, but I don’t. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s not enough to suppress the primal urge that is growing rapidly in my head. I draw in more air in longer and deeper breaths until my lungs are filled to bursting. That provides the distraction I need. Then I exhale and roll off her.

This is the most difficult thing I’ve done tonight. It’s harder than taking bullets from dirty cops, firing back at them, or maneuvering a car away from the onslaught of a hail of bullets.

Flora Mount is in a pretty vulnerable state where she’s likely to say yes to almost anything I ask for. So having sex with her right now would be wrong. The events in the motel have left her in shock, and it’s made her way too susceptible to me.

Right now, this reasoning doesn't make half as much sense to me as my need to take her. Still, I hold on to it, like it’s the only meaningful thing in the world.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yes,” I reply. My voice is a husky whisper. “You should probably tell me what Richard Wells told you.” Regret fills me as the words roll off my tongue.

For a long while, there’s no comment from Flora. When I turn, her eyebrows are raised in a silent question. Unfortunately, the question is not one I can answer at the moment. So I pretend not to see it and get up from the bed. The wardrobe provides a distraction as I walk over to it in search of a new shirt.

There’s still nothing from Flora.

I sort through the clothes hanging in the wardrobe in silence. There’s an oversized tartan shirt, a sweatshirt, a pullover, a tank top, and a pair of denims coupled with leather jackets on oneside. On the other side, there’s a complete suit enclosed in a transparent bag, a dress shirt and pants ironed to razor sharp creases, and an overcoat.

On the floor, there are pairs of dress shoes, jungle boots, and tennis shoes. I’m spoiled for choice. Yet Flora hasn’t said anything.

“Flora?” I call.

“Yeah?”

“Richard Wells.”

“Why did you stop?”

I grab the sweatshirt and pull it on before I turn to her. “This is not the right time,” I tell her. “Not like this.”

“Not like how?” she asks. “You know what? Never mind.” Her brows are furrowed, and her lips are set in a tight line as she sits up and fixes the last button of her shirt.

Now I’m no longer sure I did the right thing. “Flora I—”

“First I got an email from an anonymous source,” Flora cuts me off. “The source said the details of the coroner's report on Raymond Carter's death were twisted to suit a certain narrative. Blood spatter—”

“The email was from me,” I cut in. “But listen—”

“That was you?” Flora asks. “Well, I'll be damned.”

“I'm sorry about that,” I apologize.

She's sitting on the bed now, perched on the edge with her hands folded across her chest. At least she’s no longer crying. “There's nothing to be sorry about,” she says. “Your email is the reason I started looking deeper into the case in the first place. I only started getting suspicious when the cops stonewalled me when I asked them questions and frustrated every attempt I made to get answers, though.”

There’s no point dwelling on our unfinished business on the bed anymore. She’s well past it now, albeit badly. “How did you find Richard Wells?” I ask.

“He called me. Said something about knowing who killed Raymond Carter and how it’s not the person everybody thinks it is. So we set up a meet at the motel.”

Understanding dawns on me. “Jacob and the others must have started shadowing you after you asked them questions they didn't like.”

“I suppose so,” Flora agrees. She stares speculatively at me for a moment. “And you were following me, too, to see what I'd find out?”

I shrug. “You have an impressive track record for blowing open murder cases. I felt it'd be easier to let you do the work.”

A smile begins to form on her face. Just when my lips start to stretch in an imitation of hers, the smile dies halfway through. “You used me,” she says.

“I gave you the opportunity to blow open another case,” I correct. “Possibly win another award. Now, what did Richard Wells tell you?”