Page 28 of Missing Justice

“Yet,” Beck said, mirroring her thoughts.

“If our kidnapper killed her before she gave birth, the bones would be here.”

“Or they killed her and the baby somewhere else, then dumped Felicity’s body here.”

Taylor bit the inside of her cheek, another option coming to mind. “Or she gave birth before she was killed.”

“Could be that too. Or the kid is actually here somewhere, just not with his mother’s body.”

“That’s what we need to find out. Let’s get back to the office.” She glanced at her watch. “We have less than seventy hours.”

* * *

After work, Matt drove to the Columbia Heights address Taylor had texted him. Known as a yuppie neighborhood in the Northwest quadrant of DC, the area boasted a variety of restaurants and local shops as well as big retailers. Pretty much whatever you wanted, you could find here.

On his way up the concrete porch steps, he couldn’t help notice how the freshly painted house, on a block stuffed with older, sturdy brick homes, stuck out like the new Cadillac on a street full of well-maintained Chevys.

The recently renovated home, according to Zillow, had been gutted and split into two units. The first floor and basement were Taylor’s and the upper two floors some other lucky bastard’s. How Taylor could afford a brand new place in DC on a federal agent’s salary was a mystery, but good for her. He rang the bell and a light tinkling of chimes sounded from the other side. Such a foo-foo bell for the intensely passionate Taylor Sinclair.

The door opened and Taylor filled his very happy sightline in a skintight sweater that hugged her tits nicely, snug jeans, and bare feet. This woman, either dressed to kill in her federal agent wear or casual in jeans and a truly exceptional sweater, knew how to slay a man.

Namely him.

Down, big fella.

Depending on what this all-important meeting was, maybe Mad Dog and little Mad Dog would see another night of action. A vision of Taylor bent over a bed, gripping the comforter, popped into his brain and he didn’t bother fighting the small smile tugging at his lips.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” she said, “knock it off.”

She left him standing in the doorway, but waved him in. He followed her down a short hall keeping his eyes on her swinging ass as her feet smacked against pricey-looking tile.

“Nice place.”

“Thanks. I bought it with an inheritance from my grandmother.”

At the end of the hallway, she stepped into a large, sunken living room containing a giant gray sectional and a deep-cushioned chaise lounge.Oh, honey, there are things we could do on that.The surrounding walls were painted a deep, brick red and the windows covered in a sheer white curtain that his artist boss would most definitely approve of.

In his less than expert opinion, the whole thing shouldn’t have worked. Shouldn’t have. And maybe he was just a horny son of a bitch, but the place screamed of passion, heat, and long nights of truly amazing sex.

“Damn, that’s hot,” he said.

She scooped up a rock glass sitting on one of the end tables. “Thank you. This is my sanctuary from work. It’s eclectic but Gram would have approved, I think.” She jiggled the glass, making the amber liquid sway. “Can I get you a drink?”

“What are you having?”

“Scotch neat.”

Apparently her drink of choice since she’d been partaking in the same two nights ago when they’d banged each other stupid.

“I’m good. I ordered dinner to be delivered.”

She eased onto the sofa, her gaze on him as she slowly crossed one leg over the other and brought the drink to her lips. “I like seeing you in my place.”

Opting for the safer route, he took the spot adjacent to her. “I likebeingin your place. Keep it up and it’ll take a miracle to keep my hands off you.”

“Maybe I want your hands on me.”

At that, he smiled, but something told him Taylor wasn’t ready for him. Not yet. The other night at the hotel, she’d been playful.