Temptation Trails - Page 172

Beth came back out front. “What was that about?”

“I think I just witnessed insta-love.”

“Mila?” she asked. “How do you know? Did she smile?”

“No.” I shook my head, gazing the way they’d gone. “But he asked her out and she said yes on the spot. They both love true crime, and bearded dragons, so I guess they have that going for them.”

“Huh.” She shook her head. “Only in Tilikum.”

I went back to the kitchen to see where Mila had left off with the cake. It was almost done, so I started putting on the final touches. It occurred to me that what I’d just seen might have been considered good luck. Matt had come in at a good time to meet Mila. It wasn’t crowded. And Mila had gone up front—which she almost never did—at exactly the right moment.

Was that Mila’s luck? Matt’s? Maybe both?

Did it have anything to do with mine?

I was probably overthinking again. Not everything had to do with luck.

Stepping back to look at my work, I sighed, admiring the bridal shower cake. My stomach gurgled, as if the tiny one was reminding me that he or she was there.

I wasn’t going to be sad. Yes, there was a little lump in my throat and a not-so-little longing in my heart. But what more did I want?

I was in love with the best man I’d ever known and he loved me back. We were having a baby together. We’d been through a harrowing ordeal and survived. If anything, it had brought us closer. Owen, too. We shared a bond that no one could ever break.

And yet, I couldn’t deny that longing. It was there, deep in my heart. It wasn’t about cakes or showers or parties or dresses or even rings.

It was about becoming Garrett’s wife. I really, really wanted that.

I just hoped he did too.

CHAPTER 46

Garrett

It was hard to believe what I was seeing.

Our forensics team had searched Phillip Lancaster’s residence. They’d combed every inch of his house and property and, in the end, brought back numerous boxes filled with potential evidence.

There was a lot that was going to help investigators track down his additional victims. Maps, hunting and fishing guides, local souvenirs. He had a pin collection that we all hoped didn’t indicate the number of women he’d killed. There were dozens.

But the real story was in a stack of unsent letters.

Phillip had been writing to someone named Al Bisbee for years. Since before he’d killed Jasmine Joyner.

It turned out, Bisbee was in prison in California. He’d been convicted of several murders of young women. The last one had been about a year before Phillip had killed Jasmine. Then Bisbee had been caught by authorities.

And apparently, Phillip’s fascination had been born.

His early letters read like fan mail. It made my stomach turn. As they moved on, they provided details of his murders. Like a protégé boasting to a mentor.

It was fucking weird. He’d clearly known he’d never be able to send them. Prisoners’ mail wasn’t private and Bisbee was never getting out. Yet, he’d kept writing to this guy, bragging about his murders and how he was never going to get caught.

When I got to the letters about me, I had to sit down.

Jack had warned me. Told me I didn’t need to read them—that maybe I shouldn’t.

In a way, it was helpful. It showed me I hadn’t been losing my mind. He’d recorded everything he did, step by step. In fact, he’d documented much more than any of his previous crimes.

It was as if he’d been building this up in his mind to the point that he considered it his masterpiece. Killing me and Harper and framing it as a murder-suicide was clearly the most elaborate crime he’d ever attempted. And he’d fantasized about it to a shocking degree.