Page 12 of Brazilian Surrender
“I need to look at Jeffrey Morgan’s schedule, and I need to get his cell phone. I grab it, give it to Tony who’ll be waiting in the parking lot ready to duplicate his chip, and I’ll make it miraculously appear again,” he said.
She blinked, her tears drying. If he wanted to distract her from the pain, it worked. “Wouldn’t that be stealing?”
“It’s borrowing. I need to have access to his texts. Everyone’s a suspect until we find the stalker, and you broke up with him. You work with him; he knows where you live.”
She shook her head. Jeffrey would never do such thing. She ran her hands across her cheeks, sniffing, making sure her face looked somewhat dry.
“I need to know if he arranged for someone to mail those letters in New Jersey, or anything else that can incriminate him.”
“Fine. We’ll do it,” she said.
“Thanks. We didn’t find any fingerprints in your apartment, so we have to exhaust every resource,” he said, then sat on the arm of the chair. He glanced around, then straightened his shoulders and said in a softer voice, “Do you want to say any last words about your dog?”
She remembered the flyer she read at the entrance, with tips of things to ponder while waiting for the cremation. But hadn’t she talked about Torto enough lately? She’d chatted, she remembered, she cried. “I’m ready for some closure. I want to talk about anything else to get my mind off him. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
Silence lengthened between them. Talking about Torto, or the way he died, was a sad reminder someone wanted to hurt her—someone, possibly close to her, wanted her gone, and would kill an innocent animal to make a point and scare her off. An acidy sensation formed in her stomach. She cleared her throat and drew in a breath. She’d welcome any other topic to take her mind off reality. “Then distract me. Please. Tell me anything. For instance… Who was the first girl you dated?”
He surged to his feet and ran his fingers into his blond, textured hair. “What kind of question is that?”
“Just go along with it.”
He curled his lips into a smile. “Aubrey Parker. Middle school. We went to a school dance, and I was sweating so much when she stretched out her hand I had to wipe my palm on my shirt because it was clammy.”
The last few days had been painful, but somehow discovering a little bit about him made her feel like he let her in some sort of secret club. “So you’re an ordinary guy. I mean, you had a normal life and went to school and kissed a human girl named Aubrey.”
He crossed his arms. “Yes, I’m an ordinary guy. Did you have any doubts?”
“I don’t know…does your hand still get clammy?” Maybe because she lacked quality sleep and her mind wasn’t in the right place, she erased the distance between them and touched his hand. He withdrew before she could flip up his palm.
She swallowed. She’d had her share of awkward situations before, but they usually involved guys wanting to take things to the next level with her—even if she didn’t reciprocate. Yet he acted like she tried to burn him. She stared in his eyes, and pain flickered in his emerald irises. Shit. What was she thinking? Looking for distraction from the pain didn’t give her the right to make him uncomfortable.
Her stomach dropped to the floor. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not you.” He looked away, and she watched the planes of his profile contracting. “I don’t like to be touched; it’s nothing personal.”
“Like, by me?” she asked, and held her breath for his response.
He surged to his feet and walked away from her. “By anyone.”
“Ever?” she said, confused. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes focusing on the stiffness in his jacket. She could see his muscles stiffening. Certainly during sex he didn’t mind, right?
“See, you didn’t want to date Ralph because he wanted a threesome. Well, I don’t let my partners touch me. I like to be in charge.”
He turned to her, lifting his chin and staring her right in the eye. Her throat thickened. She parted her lips but hesitated. What could she possibly say? Questions bombarded her mind, but she failed to voice them. Shock stunned her into silence.
“I’ll wait for you outside,” he said, and strode away from her, heading for the door.
Within a couple of seconds, she found herself alone in the eerie atmosphere. How ironic…she’d come to the United States to spread her wings and escape her family’s overbearing ways. And the first guy she truly felt an inexplicable connection to got his rocks off by controlling women in bed. Isn’t this freaking great?
