Gypsy king

CHAPTER TEN

BRYCE

I SHOULD GO INSIDE. Except I was having a hell of a time getting out of my car.

I was parked in the lot of the Clifton Forge High School, inspecting my nail polish. I’d spent two hours doing a home manicure last night. It was a comfort thing. When I had a lot on my mind, painting my fingernails was my go-to stress reliever. And considering what had happened with Dash in the garage last night, there was a lot on my mind.

I’d gone straight home after he’d dismissed me. Well, not exactly dismissed. I was already leaving. His parting words had shocked me, enough that I’d obeyed and locked the side door behind me.

Even after a hot shower, the manicure and a sleepless night, I couldn’t make sense of how it had happened. One moment, I was standing there, reveling in the honesty of his words when he said I couldn’t trust him. I went soft at the vulnerability in his voice when he asked that we work together. When his mouth touched mine, all rational thought vanished.

Damn, what was I thinking? There was no question that Dash seduced me. And the fool I was, I’d let him. The sex, I would have been able to make sense of quickly. It was just sex. Two people coming together to scratch an itch. The tension between us was combustible, and it had only been a matter of time before we broke. The sex was not the problem.

The problem was, Dash had cast me away, and I’d never felt quite so used.

Flip the lock on your way out.

Ouch.

Hence the reason I’d gone straight for my tub of fingernail polishes at midnight.

In the dim light of my bedroom, the red I’d chosen had looked darker. Now that I was sitting in broad daylight, the color was a match for the car Dash had fucked me on last night.

Hot-sex red.

When I got home tonight, I was throwing the nearly new bottle away.

I should go inside. Twenty minutes had passed since I’d driven to the school and I wanted to get inside before the office closed for the day. School was out for the summer and according to their website, office hours ended at three. I only had fifteen minutes left, but here I was, stuck staring at my nails.

My sex nails.

It was hazy, but I was pretty sure I’d scratched Dash a time or two during our escapade. Bastard. I wish I’d drawn blood.

It bothered me beyond end that I felt slimy. Dash was a villain in every way, but had that stopped me from foolishly hoping he was more? Nope. I was ashamed of myself. Not for the sex.

For the hope.

I was no stranger to casual sex. Once, I’d gotten involved with a man from work, a junior producer who’d been as handsome as he was cocky. The two of us had started sleeping together, and weeks later, as we lay naked in bed, he asked if I’d put in a word for him with the executive producer. He was after a promotion and thought sleeping with the female anchor might improve his chances. The idiot actually thought I had some sway. He didn’t realize I was merely a puppet for the network, a pretty face to deliver bad news with a smile.

I’d felt used then, but it was nothing compared to the way I felt now.

Maybe today was extreme because I’d let go of all my inhibitions. I’d given my body over entirely to Dash, letting him bring me to the edge and push me over. Maybe it stung more today because I’d never had such all-consuming sex before.

It had been raw and rough and eviscerating. From now until the end of my life, last night’s orgasm would be the yardstick for all future comparisons.

Stupid, Bryce. So fucking stupid.

In all fairness, Dash had warned me not to trust him. The tenderness between my legs was a throbbing reminder of my mistake.

I never should have gone to the garage. I never should have believed Dash wanted a truce. When Draven hadn’t been there last night, I should have turned tail and run.

Except I’d underestimated Dash and his ability to charm. My eagerness had been my weakness and Dash had exploited it with precision. He’d even made me doubt that Draven was guilty of Amina’s murder.

Draven was guilty. Wasn’t he? The man couldn’t be i

The doubts had been rattling around the corners of my mind all day. Damn it, Dash.

I took out the yellow notepad from my purse and plucked a pen from the cup holder. Flipping it to a free page, I wrote one word in big capital letters.

MOTIVE

What was Draven’s reason for killing? We could place him at the scene of the crime. He’d had sex with Amina before she’d been stabbed. Chief Wagner was being extremely tight-lipped about the details of the case, but he had told me they’d found a murder weapon at the scene—a black hunting knife.

That was means and opportunity. But what was Draven’s motive? Why would he kill Amina Daylee, a woman he’d gone to high school with and, from what I could tell, hadn’t seen much of since?

Was it a crime of passion? Maybe Draven had used Amina like Dash had used me. But instead of leaving through the side door like I had, Amina had gotten angry. Maybe she’d ignited his rage and he’d killed her in the heat of the moment.

As tempting as it was to go with that theory, it didn’t jive.

I hadn’t spent much time around Draven, but I did have carnal knowledge of his son. Dash had the talent to rile me up. We stabbed at one another’s buttons and flared each other’s tempers. But he wasn’t a hothead. Dash was calculated and precise, traits he’d likely learned from his father.

My eyes went back to the word on my notepad, spi

What was Draven’s motive?

I’d hoped to ask him last night. Instead I’d let Dash get me naked in the garage. Truce, my ass.

He’d seemed sincere. There was no way he’d faked that level of satisfaction with the sex. So why dismiss me? Surely he knew that would be counterproductive to the alleged truce.

One thing was certain—Kingston Slater confounded me. Using him to glean Draven’s motive wasn’t an option now.

So I’d have to find another way.

There’d been two people in that motel room when Amina had been murdered: the killer and Amina herself. She was the key. If Draven was i

I do

“Hi. How can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m Bryce Ryan.” I extended my hand over the counter. “I work at the newspaper and I was hoping you could help me.”

“I’ll try.” Her cheerful smile eased my nerves.

The secretary at my high school had been more terrifying than the principal, but based on the number of thank-you cards pi

“I’m looking for any information I can find on a former student.”

Samantha’s face fell. “Shoot. The principal is gone and she’s who you’d have to talk to about student records. She knows all the rules about granting permission and all that.”

“Dang.” I drummed my hot-sex red nails on the counter. “Will she be in tomorrow?”

“No, sorry. She’s gone for two weeks on vacation. We try to take advantage during the summer.”