Killer Heat. Brenda Novak

so he shoves her out in downtown Skull Valley?”

      “That makes it sound like he acted out of desperation or had nowhere else to put her. I don’t think that’s the case. Skull Valley was probably convenient. It’s small and remote, which lowers his chances of being seen. But he had other choices. There’s always the desert, where he’d have even less chance of being seen.”

      Jonah was right. Butch had had plenty of choices. So why did he make that one? It wasn’t as if he’d been in a hurry last night. He’d put the body in a public location on purpose.

      “He’s angry.” She’d felt it, hadn’t she? He was furious with all of them, especially her. “And he’s trying to make a statement.”

      Jonah stood. “What kind of statement?”

      “That he’s not afraid of the police.”

      “That’s the same message he was trying to send you last night.”

      “Exactly.”

      He motioned for her to get off the bed. “Come on. We’ve got a two-hour drive ahead of us.”

      She scooted past him. “Just give me five minutes to shower.”

      Francesca’s eyes felt as if they were filled with sand even after her shower. She didn’t have time for makeup, but she took a few seconds to rub some aloe vera on the backs of her arms and legs where the hot ground had scraped and burned her skin yesterday. She also put up her hair and swiped on some lip gloss. Then she dressed in brown linen capris with a turquoise blouse, got her Gucci sandals and went to the kitchen, where she could smell food.

      It’d been a long time since she’d had a man in her house, let alone one who cooked. “Smells good. What’ve you got?”

      Jonah stood at the window with his back to her. When he turned, she saw how bloodshot his eyes were and realized he was tired, too. The beard growth on his jaw was more pronounced than usual, but his exhaustion showed even more in a certain lethargy. Such sluggishness wasn’t characteristic of someone who possessed as much energy and athletic grace as Jonah.

      “Eggs,” he said. “That’s all you had, unless you count a six-pack of yogurt that expired three months ago. Don’t you ever eat here?”

      “I’ve been on the fly.”

      “Looks like it. You hungry?”

      “Starved.” He’d set her plate on the table across from where he’d obviously eaten. Tossing her shoes beside her chair, she headed to the coffeepot first. “But if I plan to get through this day, I need to start with a jolt of caffeine.”

      “You’ve actually got options,” he said.

      Although she tried not to pay attention, the pectoral muscles flexing beneath his T-shirt as he moved showed her that his chest hadn’t really changed much. Maybe he was a little more muscular than when they’d dated, but he was still lean. And she had to admire the fit of his jeans. They rode low on his hips, molded perfectly to his butt and legs.

      “What options?” she asked.

      “You can take a thermos of the coffee I made, or—” he indicated the Starbucks cups on the counter “—have the mocha drink Adriana brought over. Although I’m afraid Adriana’s offering might be melted at this point.”

      No longer tempted to admire his body, she stopped before she could reach the counter. He’d just mentioned her best friend, hadn’t he? He’d tried to drop it into the conversation as smoothly as possible, but he was putting her on notice that Adriana knew he was there. “She…came by?”

      “About thirty minutes ago.”

      “And brought us both a drink.”

      “I think the second one was meant to be hers, but…she changed her mind about staying.”

      For some reason, the image of Adriana coming face-to-face with Jonah made Francesca sick inside. No matter how many years passed, or how convinced she became that she was finally over him, she couldn’t help imagining him and Adriana together, and that always evoked nausea. “What did she say when she saw you?”

      “That she didn’t realize you had company. Then she nearly dropped the drinks and ran away.”

      “That must’ve been disappointing.”

      “How so?”

      She heard the caution in his tone but ignored it. “That’s definitely not the reaction you got the last time you were alone with her,” she said, then poured coffee into her travel mug.

      He didn’t try to justify his actions. Neither did he point out that he’d tried, numerous times, to apologize. He accepted the barb without complaint and turned back to the window. But Francesca knew she shouldn’t keep letting her anger get the best of her. She couldn’t berate him every time something struck a nerve. It wasn’t as if he had to be here, had to put up with her insults. He was trying to stop a killer.

      Let bygones be bygones. God, if only she could.

      Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath. “Sorry, I won’t mention it again.” She added a dash of cream to her coffee before putting on the lid. “Let’s go.”

      He glanced at her breakfast. “You’re not going to eat?”

      She eyed the eggs and toast he’d made for her and tried to recover her earlier enthusiasm, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to force it down. “I’m not hungry.”

      She’d just told him she was starving, but he didn’t call her on it. Frowning, he retrieved her plate and rinsed the food into the garbage disposal before getting out his keys. “You can ride with me if you want.”

      But then they’d be stuck going everywhere together until he drove her home. And her home was two hours away from where he was currently working, so that didn’t make sense. Being professional allies was one thing; spending every minute together was another. He brought what she most wanted to forget to the forefront, made it clear that she’d never loved anyone as much as she’d loved him. “No, thanks. I’ll take my own car.”

      With a nod that suggested he was as relieved as she was, he gave her directions and left.

      Jonah tried to reach Finch several times, but the investigator wasn’t picking up. He probably had his hands full. No telling what he was dealing with at the crime scene. The details Jonah had already heard were pretty damn gruesome.

      But it would’ve been nice to have something besides Francesca to concentrate on. He definitely didn’t want to spend the whole drive thinking about the pictures he’d seen in her house or wondering about that politician fellow she’d been with. Nor did he want to keep reliving that moment when she first woke up and took his hand. That’d brought all the longing he’d felt for her right to the surface. He’d been just about to cup her cheek, to let himself touch her as he’d wanted to touch her all these years, when she’d suddenly realized what she was doing and withdrew.

      Maybe she’d assumed he was her Washington, D.C., boyfriend. He’d been foolish to think her receptiveness to him had changed over the course of one nap. He hadn’t believed it, not really. His reaction had been instinctive. Had he taken a second to consider it, he would’ve known better than to respond even if she did reach out to him. He’d never expected to avoid the consequences of what he’d done, didn’t believe he deserved more than he’d earned. He had only himself to blame for losing Francesca. He just wished he could stop wanting her.

      He’d thought he had. If someone had asked him yesterday whether seeing her again would affect him like this, he would’ve denied it. But every time he looked at her he felt the same pull that’d scared him a decade ago.

      His phone rang. Figuring it was most likely Finch, he checked caller ID on his Bluetooth.

      But it was his mother.

      He was close enough