Page 32 of Tell Me Your Desires

Thankfully, Anya was dressed this time. She padded to the front door, disengaged the locks, and opened it for the detectives. She refused to look at Jaime, instead opting to address Max only.

“What do my business cards have to do with anything, Detective Fraser?”

“May we come in?” Max asked in lieu of an answer.

Anya did glance at Jaime this time, immediately noticing the fear in her eyes. Was she afraid Anya would out her? It was tempting. Instead, she stepped back and allowed them in.

Jaime tried to keep her focus on anything but Anya.

The woman was a fucking Goddess. Why did she have to wear short shorts and an oversized, lightweight sweater that fell off one shoulder?

One tan, smooth, silky shoulder. She knew exactly how soft that skin was.

And exactly how it tasted. Fuck. Focus, Baros!

Somehow, Jaime managed to follow Anya and Max into the kitchen without tripping over her own feet. Or over Derek. Where was he, anyway?

Max laid the bag down on Anya’s counter. “Ma’am, are you willing to answer a few questions?”

“As long as you don’t call me ma’am again, yes. I have nothing to hide, Detective.” Anya’s eyes darted to Jaime. “Well, maybe one or two things to hide, but not about Maisie’s case.”

“This isn’t just about Maisie, Ms. Grant.” Max pulled photos from his pocket, spreading them on the counter beside the evidence bag.

Jaime quietly observed Anya’s reaction to the photos. She saw the recognition and the confusion. What Jaime didn’t see was a ruthless killer. She played you before, Baros.

“Do you know these women, Ms. Grant?” Max asked.

“Yes. Though I’m sure you already know that since you’re here. Why?”

“What is your relationship with them?”

Anya felt sick. They weren’t photos from a forensic photographer. They were smiling, happy images. But Anya felt in her heart that these women were no longer smiling.

“T-they were my clients.”

“Were?” Max repeated. “Not anymore?”

Anya cocked her head. “I haven’t seen them for some time, no. What is going on, Detective?”

“Each of these women met the same fate as Maisie, Ms. Grant. And the only tie they have to each other is you.”

Having it confirmed only made Anya’s stomach hurt more. They were dead. Those beautiful, vibrant women were all gone now. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Anya had them all in her chambers, could it?

“Do you think I hurt them, Detective?”

“You tell me. According to their planners, they each died right after having a session with you. Can you explain that?”

Jaime’s head snapped up at that. Max hadn’t mentioned that detail. She looked at Anya, noting the distress. Was that guilt and fear of being caught, or was it something else?

“How?” Anya asked, her mind reeling with the information Max had just given her. When Max remained silent, Anya tried again. “Please? How were they killed?”

“Is that relevant to your explanation?” Max asked.

Anya could see that his gut was telling him she wasn’t a murderer, but she knew the evidence—as circumstantial as it was—certainly pointed to her as being at least a person of interest. “It could be.”

Max looked at Jaime, who shrugged. She was intrigued enough to see Anya’s reaction to the gory details and how they would affect her answer. So, Jaime told her most of the details, leaving only a few specifics out. Oddly enough, the paler Anya got, her features remained… stoic.

Anya rounded the kitchen island and grabbed a glass with a shaking hand. She filled it with water from the fridge and drained it in one big gulp.

“I would offer you two something, but… I don’t want to.” Anya took a breath. She imagined each crime scene reluctantly. The gore of them. The torture. None of these women deserved that.

“Your unsub is someone they trusted.”

Max eyed Anya curiously. “Why do you say that, Ms. Grant?”

Anya tapped one of the photos with her fingertip.

“Brenda was a force. She was strong and well-versed in self-defense.” She chose another photo.

“As a real estate agent, Veronica always carried pepper spray. She’d been…

assaulted before, so she was cautious and aware of her surroundings.

” Another photo. “Mary always carried a knife with her. She always told me it was a ‘chef’ thing.” The fourth photo, Anya pulled towards her, tears pooling in her eyes.

“Julie was a survivor. She had endured years of abuse from her husband. Then he died. The best thing that ever happened to her. But Julie never saw the world the same way. Everyone could cause her harm, and that’s how she lived. On edge and on alert.”

“And Maisie?” Max asked softly when Anya stopped talking to study the photos.

Anya drew in a deep breath. “Maisie was meek. Scared of her own shadow. Then some of the other girls told her she needed to learn how to defend herself against the assholes who couldn’t control themselves. They all took Muay Thai classes together.”

A streak of jealousy coursed through Jaime’s veins.

Anya knew way more about these women than someone who was just a client.

She knows a lot about you, too. “Who were they exactly?” Jaime asked.

“I’m sure you have hundreds of clients.” Her voice wavered at the word clients.

“What’s different about these? Why do you think these specific women were targeted? ”

Anya caught Jaime’s eye and held her gaze.

“The difference between these women and my other clients is that I’ve slept with them.

” She tore her stare away and focused on Max.

“I believe your unsub is male, perhaps in his mid-thirties. He’s been rejected before, perhaps by me.

That would explain why he’s targeting women I’ve been intimate with.

I don’t have sex with everyone who comes into my chambers, especially not the men, but these women…

” Anya had fond memories of each of them.

“He’s most likely an incel, using the brutality to punish the women who have either taken something he wanted or shunned him. ”

Again, Anya thought about what Max had told her about the murders.

Surely, he left facts out. That’s how things went in investigations.

“He takes the eyes, so he’s the last thing they see before he takes their lives.

Odds are, he’s keeping them as a souvenir—a trophy.

The mouth is taped so they can’t say no to him.

The hands, so they can’t push him away, and feet so they can’t run.

By choosing the women I’ve been intimate with, I would hazard a guess that we have, indeed, met, and I was not interested. ”

Max and Jaime stared at Anya as if she had grown another head.

“Dominating a psychiatrist doesn’t qualify you to make these assumptions,” Jaime sneered. Yeah, she was bitter after hearing Anya had slept with all the victims. Still, it was a rotten thing to say, and Jaime regretted it the moment it left her traitorous mouth.

“Baros.” Max hit Jaime with a dirty look, and she backed off. “Ms. Grant…”

“Doctor,” Anya corrected.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s Dr. Anastasia Grant. I didn’t fuck my way to that opinion or pull it out of my ass. I was a profiler for the FBI for fifteen years.”

“You’re an agent?” Jaime asked incredulously.

“Was. Now I just dominate those in law enforcement.” Anya smiled sweetly, but there was venom in it.

“That could explain the background check,” Max said, cutting through the tension he seemed oblivious to.

Anya lost this round of the staring contest with Jaime. “Background check?”

“You’re a person of interest, Dr. Grant. We had to do a check,” Max explained.

“Fantastic.” Anya sat heavily on a bar stool, but didn’t offer her ‘guests’ a seat. “I’m back on the grid.”

“What are you hiding from?” Jaime asked.

Her tone was much friendlier than before, but Anya barely spared her a glance.

Damn it. Jaime knew she’d royally fucked things up with Anya.

And it had all started with the idiotic decision to leave money on Anya’s nightstand this morning.

Jaime was still kicking herself for that.

“I’m not your killer, Detective Fraser,” Anya said, ignoring Jaime’s question and what could only be phony concern.

“But it is highly likely that I am your killer’s obsession.

And if that’s true, he knows what goes on in my chambers.

” This time, she did glance at Jaime. Ice-cold fear flowed through her veins.

She’d had sex with Jaime. Did that make her next on the list?

Even being pissed off at her, Anya didn’t want to know Jaime could be harmed in any way.

“Does this flow over into your personal life, A—Dr. Grant?” Jaime asked softly. She was on the same wavelength as Anya. “Have you ever seen these women outside of the club?”

Anya shook her head. “No. I keep my private life very private, as you’ve seen.

I’m inclined to believe this is a former client who has somehow gained access to what goes on in my chambers.

” At least, that was Anya’s hope. She wasn’t insanely careful, taking alternate routes home for nothing.

Yes, Jaime had followed her, but that didn’t mean the killer had, too.

“Or an employer,” Max suggested. “What are your thoughts about Frank, Doctor?”

“Frank?” Anya raised a brow. Even though he was a disgusting misogynist, women seemed to trust him enough not to fear him if he approached them.

“I have rejected Frank before. And he’s known to be predatory.

Though I’ve only heard that he’s handsy and speaks a big game.

” She paused. Was Frank a killer? Could she have missed signs?

What fucking signs? You shouldn’t even be giving your opinions on this case.

You’re no longer a professional. “Where were the others killed?”