No One But You (Silver Springs #2)(3)

She drew a deep breath. “The weather’s not too bad. Sitting outside would be a great idea. If you don’t mind,” she added lamely.

“I don’t mind. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he disappeared, she twisted around to see her car, trying to gauge the distance in case she had to kick off her shoes and make a run for it. The El Camino wasn’t all that far. Since she’d parked it outside the gate, where there’d be no danger of getting blocked in, she could make a quick getaway, if necessary.

Somewhat relieved to have Dawson occupied elsewhere for the moment, she hurried to the porch as best she could without turning an ankle and gazed at the dry rot and warped boards that needed to be replaced while telling herself to calm down.

When he returned with a small table and then a tray supporting two cups of coffee, as well as cream and sugar, she wished she had said no to the coffee. She’d been so preoccupied it hadn’t occurred to her he might’ve spiked it.

“Have a seat.” Next, he brought out chairs and placed hers—rather strategically, she thought—near the stairs and away from him. “It’s great to meet you. I appreciate you coming out here in spite of...in spite of everything.”

She didn’t deserve any gratitude. She wouldn’t have come if she’d had a better choice. “Sure. It’s okay.”

“Would you like cream? Sugar?”

She went through the process of adding cream and one packet of sugar to her coffee even though she couldn’t drink it.

“So...you live in Silver Springs?” he asked when she finished.

She met his eyes, tried to determine if they were lifeless. She’d heard that serial killers had emotionless, flat eyes, like those of a shark. But she wasn’t sure a man who killed his parents for the sake of financial gain counted as a serial killer. Probably not. And there didn’t seem to be anything unappealing about Dawson’s eyes. The reverse was actually true. They were such an odd, arresting color and fringed with the longest, thickest gold-tipped lashes. “I do,” she said.

“How long have you been in the area?”

“Since I was ten. My folks moved here, wanted to get out of the rat race of LA.”

“Your parents are in town, then?”

The wind came up, but other than trying to hold her hair back with one hand while gripping her coffee, she resisted the temptation to react to the cold. After making him bring everything outside, she didn’t want him to suggest they go in. “No, not anymore.” She set her cup on the stand with the cream and sugar. “My mother had a rare kidney disease. That was part of the reason for the move, although I didn’t know it at the time. We lost her when I was fourteen. My father finished raising me, but he died of a heart attack—while jogging—the year after I was married.”

“I’m sorry you lost your parents so early.”

“I guess we all have our problems.” She felt silly after she’d made that statement. No question his problems had been worse. At least she hadn’t been accused of killing her parents.

He took a drink of his coffee. “Any siblings?”

“No. I was an only child.”

When his free hand came up, she flinched before realizing that he was merely swatting a bug, and her cheeks began to burn with embarrassment when he scooted his chair even farther away. Obviously, he’d noticed that she wasn’t quite comfortable with him. She hoped he hadn’t also noticed that she had yet to take a sip of her coffee.

“So you’re married.”

She picked up her cup and cradled it with both hands, trying to leach the warmth from it. “Not anymore. Well, the divorce isn’t quite final, but that’s a technicality. We’ve been separated for over a year.” Conjuring what she hoped was a pleasant smile, she marveled that she was able to condense the hell Sly had put her through—was still putting her through—into such a mild statement. “Trying to work out the details, you know.”

He watched her closely, seemed intent on figuring out what she was thinking and feeling. Did killers do that? “Those things can take time.”

“Are you speaking from experience? Or...” She didn’t remember reading anything about him having a wife.

“No.”

“No children, either?”

“Not for me. You?”

“One. A boy named Jayden. He’s five.” She couldn’t help smiling, vaguely, when she thought of her son.

“Does he live with you or—”

She felt her smile wilt. “Yeah, he’s with me. His father has visitation every other weekend, but... Sly’s a police officer, so he works long hours.” Or he was at the gym. “I have Jayden most of the time.” Which was why it didn’t make a lot of sense that Sly would ever sue her for custody. He didn’t really want custody. He was using Jayden, along with anything else he could, as a weapon against her.

Dawson pursed his lips. “So that’s the connection.”

She peered at him. “What’re you talking about?”

“I thought maybe you were Officer Harris’s sister or something. But no—you’re married to him.”

She stiffened at the mention of her ex-husband’s name. “Was married. Why? You know him?”

“Not personally.” Leaning forward, he poured a bit of cream in his coffee, added one sugar as he’d seen her do and slid the cup over to her. “You saw me drink out of this, so other than a few germs you wouldn’t otherwise encounter, you should be able to trust it.”