Don’t do it, Morgan. She tiptoed toward Travis’s bedroom. You could learn so much from what a man kept in his room, and she just couldn’t help herself. Taking in a deep breath, she pushed open the door and scanned. Way too neat for her taste. Not a stitch of clothing lined the floor. He had a few magazines on his nightstand, but even those were organized.
She glanced around the room and had to admire his taste as she ran her hand across his hunter green bedspread. The walls were a lighter green and the curtains were blue and green with some khaki folded in. She chuckled. Travis Brown was unique.
She picked up the latest fishing magazine. “Oh my.” She tossed that one aside and glanced at some French cooking magazine. “Fishing to cooking to…well.” She laughed, tossing the fishing magazine over his girlie mag, mildly amused.
A warm sensation filled her body. Just thinking about him sent her hormones into overdrive. In hopes of stifling her inappropriate reaction to her partner, she glanced at the ceiling. “Oh, God.” Pictures of girls stared down at her. “Good, God. Is that…oh shit, it is.”
Without a second thought, she climbed on his bed and glossed over her own picture, which was next to Marie’s and slightly separate from all the other girls she knew to be his victims. So many more than she’d found, but Travis had been doing this longer. Thank God he knew the real killer lurked behind a dark shadow.
“What are you doing?” Travis asked.
The bed didn’t hold her footing and she fell over, landing on her butt. She bounced.
“What are you doing?” he asked again.
He had the sheet from her bed wrapped around his waist and a gun in his hand. And his hair was…messed up, but still looked damned good. Not fair. She ran a hand through her hair, then squinted. “Care to explain?”
“Victims who I think were murdered and
raped by the same guy, but no one else does.” His tone was terse.
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