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“I guess you look for signs,” Bo said. “Notice how they behave in certain situations, especially when they’re under stress.”
“Remy’s always under stress,” she said. “It’s been a long hard road to get to where he is now. But if people are smart—like he is—they’ll know how to behave even if that’s not who they really are, right?”
That was what he’d tried to tell her the first night during the storm. She needed to look twice at Remy—at whether she really wanted to tie herself to someone as spoiled and narcissistic as he was. But Bo was so attracted to her he didn’t know if he dared to say that. He was afraid those words would make his own admiration of her too transparent.
“Think about serial killers,” she continued.
“Serial killers?” he echoed. “That’s a big leap. What makes you think of serial killers in the same breath as your fiancé?”
When she didn’t answer, he realized she didn’t find his comment funny and stopped chuckling. “Ismay?”
“I’m just thinking about how difficult it is to catch a serial killer—because they blend in. Many live regular lives—have wives, kids, jobs. No one suspects them of such heinous crimes. And when the truth comes out, it seems like the family is always shocked.”
“There are signs those people aren’t like everyone else,” he insisted, and he should know. He’d lived among some of the worst human beings. “Someone just has to be paying attention.”
She scooted forward, her eyes focused and intense, despite the wine. “But the signs that signal something is wrong could also be completely innocuous. How would you ever tell the difference?”
He rubbed his chin. “From what I’ve read on the subject, lack of empathy is a big one.”
“But a person can lack empathy andnotbe a murderer. You’d hate to falsely accuse someone of a terrible violent act without proof.”
“I guess a lack of empathy is just the first sign. Then you have reason to look deeper.”
Her gaze fell to the carpet.
“Ismay?”
“What?”
“Are we talking about that photograph again?”
When she covered her mouth in regret, he understood that they were. “Where’d you find it?”
“I can’t say. I’d feel too guilty if I was wrong and it meant nothing.”
“Did Remy have it somewhere?” That had to be it. Otherwise, she’d be able to say. “If so, that picture could be a girl he knew way back when, a girlfriend. I get the impression there’ve been a lot of women in his life. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
She didn’t react to the “a lot of women” comment. She seemed genuinely concerned that photograph signified more. “But...what about the other things?”
“What other things?” She hadn’t mentioned anything else...
She shook her head. “Never mind. Please. I’ve already said too much.” Picking up her phone, she got to her feet. “I’d better go. I’m hoping to beat Bastian home, so I won’t have to lie to him about where I’ve been.”
Bo got up, too. “If you won’t tell me where you found that picture, or what you found with it, will you at least tell mewhenyou found it?”
At first, he thought she wasn’t going to answer. But then she squeezed her eyes closed and said, “The night of the storm. When the power was out.”
For years, Bo had been housed with violent men, so he’d come to know some of them quite well. He’d never thought his experience with the criminal element would carry over into life after his release, especially on Mariners. Since he’d come here, there hadn’t even been a major crime committed—other than the usual drunken brawl at one of the bars or a domestic dispute. So, even though she was a bit rattled by whatever she’d found, it couldn’t mean anything, could it?
A ding sounded, causing Ismay to look down at her phone. “Oh, God,” she said.
“What is it?” Bo asked.
“Bastian just sent me a text asking where I am.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I’m definitely not going to tell him I’m here.”
