Chapter Eleven DAWSON

Chapter Eleven

D AWSON

Saturday, July 13, 2024

8:00 p.m.

Dawson sat at the bar and smiled as the bartender set his favorite draft beer in front of him. He’d spent most of the afternoon on the Sandra Taylor case, rereading his notes on the teen’s missing persons investigation, which felt woefully incomplete now.

A decade ago, his sources had described Sandra as a troubled young woman who partied hard and hated her homelife. So much like Scarlett and Tiffany Patterson when they’d been teens.

Next, he’d keyed in on his notes about Tanner. Polite. Neatly dressed. Seemed concerned. Tanner had grown up in a two-parent middle-class family. His father had been a carpenter and his mother a clerk in a hardware store. There were no siblings—just some distant cousins and a few aunts and uncles. He’d opted out of college for trade school and by nineteen was earning a six-figure income. He bought the house in Moyock, North Carolina, when he was twenty-one. The kid was a success.

No arrest record. No missing family animals, no complaints filed against him for sexual assault. Whatever he’d been planning, he’d kept it locked in his head until he was ready to act it out.

On June 12, 2014, Dawson had gotten a tip that Sandra had gone on a date with Tanner. Following the lead, he found Tanner at a jobsite—a home renovation project. What he’d not realized was that the jobsite was across the street from Scarlett Crosby’s house and Scarlett had already been missing for six days. There’d been no missing persons report, so no red flags. Maybe if he’d knocked on more doors, someone might have mentioned Scarlett hadn’t been seen in nearly a week. If he’d realized Scarlett was also in trouble, he’d like to think he’d have zeroed in on Tanner and saved both girls. However, maybes , like unicorns and birthday wishes, didn’t mean much.

Since he’d separated from his wife last winter, he came here often. The bar was dark and didn’t really attract tourists or the younger crowd but working-class folks who were either cops, navy, or dock or construction workers. The drinks were strong, and people left him alone. Most patrons were midthirties or older, and most were like him: they wanted to drink and hook up. He could always count on a cold beer and better-than-average odds that he’d find a woman close to last call.

A woman took a seat next to him and ordered a white wine. He caught the whiff of perfume, and peripheral vision revealed a thick shock of blond hair swept away from an angled face. Long, elegant fingers accepted a glass from the bartender.

The woman beside him now didn’t look like the kind to linger, but he’d been fooled before. When she twisted in her seat and faced him, he damn near fell off his stool. “Margo Larsen?”

A smile curled the edges of her lips. “Detective Dawson. I thought that was you.”

“What brings you here?” Her blouse was fastened above her breasts, but discretion made the look sexier.

She smiled. “Same as you. How’s the food?”

“Burgers aren’t bad, but beyond that I’d be careful.”

“Not the kind of place to get a salad.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “No.”

Margo traced the stem of her glass. “You know this place well?”

“Well enough.”

“But you come here often.” She nodded thoughtfully. “You look comfortable, as if this is your place.”

The observation was slightly unsettling. “Maybe.”

She raised the glass to her lips. “Why do you come here so often?”

He shifted toward her. Their knees faced each other and were inches apart. “Same as the rest.”

“Then I chose well, I suppose.”

He wasn’t thinking about her as a cop or colleague. And they both were off the clock, so what the hell. “Where did you live before here?”

“I was in the DC area; loved it, but I like the beach and decided to mix things up.”

He tried to imagine a couple of her blouse buttons opening. If she were interviewing a suspect dressed like this, she might ask great questions, but anyone with a heartbeat wouldn’t hear a word she said. Hell, he was having trouble concentrating himself.

Her tongue barely skimmed the edge of her glass as she drank.

He cleared his throat. “How do you like being near the water?”

“I like it. Town is smaller. Finding a place to live is turning into a challenge. But I’m getting by. What about you?”

“I’ve always lived here. Can’t imagine anywhere else.”

She nodded slowly, as if this weren’t a surprise to her. “Any word on our Jane Doe?”

Jane Doe. In his mind, the victim was Sandra Taylor. “Waiting for the autopsy. DNA, X-rays, dental records.”

She leaned a fraction closer, ensnaring him in her soft perfume. “If there are any records for Sandra Taylor, they shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

He didn’t want to talk to her about the case. That was part of the reason he was here.

Margo moistened her lips. “Can you do me a favor, Dawson?”

“Depends.”

“I swiped right on a guy, and he’s just arrived.” She glanced over her shoulder and then leaned even closer to him. “Let’s just say, not as advertised.” Her shoulder brushed his. “Mind backing me up if he comes this way?”

He’d hung up his white hat a long time ago. “I’m just having a beer.”

“Oh, come on, Dawson. Help a girl out.”

He didn’t want to know what shit pile she’d fallen into. But he also wasn’t anxious to send her along. Nice to have the company of a sexy woman. “That sounds like trouble.”

Her laugh was throaty, deep. “You’re intrigued by me, am I right?”

“Am I?”

“Sure. I saw the surprise on your face when you recognized me.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m a cop. I’m good at summing up people.”

He caught the approach of the man in the corner of his eye. Out of habit, he shifted, freeing his jacket from his weapon. “Don’t count on me.”

“Oh, I don’t. But I figure my chances are better if you back me up.”

The man approaching Margo was tall and dressed in jeans and a blue shirt. He had a phone in hand and was glancing at the picture and then her. “Margo?”

Margo sipped her wine. “No, sorry.”

“I’m Brad.”

She shook her head as if the name meant nothing.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “You sure? This picture looks just like you.”

“You got the wrong gal.”

The man’s quizzical expression hardened. “Are you fucking with me, lady?”

Margo stilled but didn’t flinch. “You’ve got the wrong lady.”

“Why would you drag me here?” the man demanded. “Is this a game?”

“She’s with me,” Dawson said.

The man directed his attention to Dawson. “Who the fuck are you?”

Dawson shifted so the badge clipped to his belt buckle was visible. “I’m the guy that’s going to cause you trouble if you don’t back off.”

“Is that badge supposed to scare me?” the man demanded.

Dawson stood and glanced toward the bartender, who reached below the bar and pulled out a bat. “He’s a former cop. And there are about ten other cops in this bar I know. We’ll all happily escort you out of the establishment, or better, to a holding cell.”

The man held up his hands. “I haven’t done anything.”

“You’re harassing me,” Margo said. “Detective Dawson, what would you like me to do? Do I press charges?”

A few men around them stood at their tables. None moved toward the bar, but it was clear they were paying attention.

The man’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Margo, but finally his hands raised. “Fuck you, bitch.”

“A man of words,” Margo said.

Brad turned and left the bar. Margo reached for her glass, as if the matter were closed. Dawson remained standing in case Brad doubled back.

“What’re you doing tonight, Dawson?” she asked.

“Trying to stay out of a bar fight.”

Margo tossed a twenty on the bar. “My hotel is across the street. Care to join me, or would you rather wait until last call and see what’s left?”

His gaze settled on her face. Fuck, she was a stunner. Women like her didn’t go for men like him. “Are you playing games with me now, Margo?”

She wriggled off the stool, drawing his gaze along the thin column of her neck. “Nope. Just a gal who doesn’t have the best taste in men.”

That teased a smile. “But you want me?”

She arched a brow. “Is that a yes or a no, Dawson?”

Maybe he wasn’t the cream of the crop. He sure as shit had been passed over for promotion, and his ex-wife’s drama had likely tanked his future in the department. But he was smart enough to understand a lucky break. He took a long pull on his beer.

“How did you pick a dump hotel like the one across the street?”

She arched a brow. “Are you familiar with it?”

“I am.” What were the chances they were staying in the same hotel? “And I don’t picture you there.”

She laughed. “Yes or no?”

“It’s a yes.”

She trailed long fingers over his shoulders and walked toward the door. He tossed a couple of twenties on the bar and followed. She had a tight ass, and when she walked, it swayed seductively. He grew hard.

Outside, she didn’t glance back as she crossed the street toward the hotel. It wasn’t fancy, midgrade at best, and he’d been honest when he said he didn’t place a woman like her here.

In the lobby, he glanced toward the reception desk. The clerk was watching his phone screen and not paying any attention to them. Margo moved with ease down a first-floor hallway, and he followed her to room 109 as she fished a key from her purse. Despite the many warnings of on-the-job complications his left brain was all but shouting, he continued onward.

She unlocked the door located five doors from the emergency exit and twenty feet from the lobby and the distracted clerk.

Her hair framed her face, highlighting a relaxed profile as she pushed open the door. He lingered back a step, watching as she flipped on the light.

His hand on his weapon, he followed, glancing in the bathroom and confirming there was no one there before closing the door. Old habits.

She sat on the edge of a bed covered in a paisley-print comforter and pulled off her high-heeled boots. Her toes were painted a bright pink.

“You aren’t scared, are you?” she asked.

“Cautious.”

She stood and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her hard nipples pressed against his chest. “Think I’m going to hurt you?”

He ran a finger along her cheek, neck, and down to her narrow waist. Her muscles were firm. “Like I said, cautious.”

“This isn’t an HR sting.” She unwrapped her hands, stepped back, and unfastened her blouse. The fabric fell open, bracketing a red lace bra cupping full breasts.

He clung to reason, but his grip was slipping.

She wriggled out of her skirt, leaving her wearing only red panties, the bra, and the blouse. “Getting undressed, or are you going to just stare?”

“I like looking at you.”

“There’s more to see, but you have to undress first.”

Dawson shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on a chair. He moved to the door, threw the dead bolt and security lock, and then dimmed the lights. He removed his weapon and put it in the top dresser drawer, along with his badge, handcuffs, and keys.

He closed the distance between them and rested his hands on her shoulders. Slowly, he traced her collarbone with his thumb and then pushed the folds of the blouse apart until it slid down her arms. She moistened her lips as his hand cupped her breast and squeezed. He suckled the taut swell. She hissed in a breath and arched into him.

“Tell me what you want,” she said.

“What’s that mean?”

“Tell me what you want, Detective Dawson. Name it.”

Was there a hidden camera? That would be his luck. But she was asking and consenting. And the more he looked at her, the more he wanted her.

He looked down at her body and skimmed a finger over the panties. What did he want? An old boss had warned him to always keep his dick out of the payroll. He’d stuck to that, and still it all went sideways. “Take your bra and panties off.”

She reached behind her and unfastened the bra, letting the straps fall down her arms. As she tossed it aside, she slid off the silk lace panties and let them fall until they ringed her ankles. She stepped out of them. “Now what?”

“Lie on the bed.”

“Okay.”

He watched as she slowly settled in the center of the bed. His erection throbbed, and it was all he could do not to climb on top and pound inside her. He removed his shirt, unfastened his belt buckle, and toed off his shoes. He fished a condom from his wallet and let his pants fall.

She piled the pillows against the headboard and leaned back. “What now?”

Naked, he climbed on the bed. His hands slid up her smooth legs. “Spread your legs.”

A smile flickered over her lips as she teased her nipples with her fingertips and then slowly opened her legs a little for him. “Like this?”

Her compliance was intoxicating. “Wider.”

She spread her legs wide and slid her manicured fingers over her belly. “Do you want me to touch myself?”

“Not yet.”

He wasn’t sure what kind of fantasy she was acting out, and it didn’t matter. She’d picked him as easily as the guy she’d swiped right for. This was a onetime thing, but he didn’t care.

He moved between her thighs, again stroking his fingers over her pale skin. Her gaze didn’t waver from his, and he was slightly nervous as he slid latex over his erection. He positioned himself at her moist opening.

“What do you want?” he asked.

She tilted her pelvis upward, pressing against his tip. “Do I have to say it?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck me.”

Dawson shoved inside her with more force than expected. He halted, waiting a beat. “Good?”

“Harder.”

When she cupped his ass, he slammed into her.