No such luck.
With annoying clarity, he envisioned Carmen’s curly blond hair that formed a halo around the perfect oval of her face. Her big eyes that were the precise color of bluebells, and the disarming flash of dimples.
It was the sort of face that inspired men to act like idiots.
Something he’d learned the same way he usually learned things about pretty women.
The hard way.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
The phone stopped buzzing, only to start up again ten seconds later.
“What does she want now?” Rylan asked.
Griff was uncomfortably aware of a heat crawling beneath his skin. It had to be anger, right? Maybe embarrassment that he’d been so easily fooled by blue eyes and dimples.
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” he said.
Rylan narrowed his gaze. “You look—”
“What?”
“Flushed.”
Crap. Griff scowled, pointedly glancing toward Rylan’s wristwatch. “Don’t you have a plane to catch?”
“Fine.” Rylan held up his hands in defeat. “But don’t blame me if Jaci cuts off your supply of blueberry muffins.”
Griff was genuinely horrified. Jaci’s blueberry muffins were works of art. Moist and sweet with tart bursts of flavor from the berries.
“She wouldn’t be that cruel,” Griff protested.
Rylan’s lips parted, but before he could speak, Griff’s phone went on another buzzing rampage.
Griff muttered a low curse, in no mood to appreciate Rylan’s sudden chuckle.
“You might give Ms. Jacobs a call back,” Rylan told him. “Any woman that persistent is worth the trouble.”
Griff folded his arms over his chest. “Ms. Jacobs and trouble are two things I don’t need.”
Rylan shrugged, turning to head toward the side gate. “Take care,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll see you for Christmas dinner.”
“Annoying ass,” Griff breathed, snatching the phone off the table before he headed into his house.
Twenty minutes later he was on his favorite stretch of beach, jogging away his frustrations.
Breathing deeply of the salty air, he cleared his mind as his feet pounded against the hard-packed sand and a layer of sweat covered his skin. This was the best part of living on the coast. The early morning solitude when it was just him and the ocean and the beat of his heart.
Hitting the five-mile mark, he turned to stroll back at a leisurely pace. The slower speed not only allowed him time to cool down, but he could actually appreciate the view.
He climbed the steps to the parking lot, his mind already starting to turn to the work that was waiting for him at home. A mistake, since his distraction meant that he didn’t notice the woman who was leaning against the hood of his red Tesla.
Not until he was less than a few feet away.
Crap.
His ex-girlfriends were right. He was too wrapped up in his inner thoughts. Otherwise he would have spotted the woman while he was still on the beach and taken evasive maneuvers.
Certainly, no other man in the area was so oblivious to the sight of Carmen Jacobs.
The swelling crowd hustled toward the ocean, many of the men coming to a halt to gawk at Carmen’s slender body, which was curved in all the right places beneath her jeans and tight cashmere sweater. A few of them even managed to tear their gazes from the sweet swell of her breasts long enough to admire the silver-gold curls that brushed her shoulders and framed the delicate features of her face.
He knew what they were thinking. It was every man’s fantasy to lure the sweet, innocent girl into his bed and thoroughly corrupt her.
It’d been his fantasy six months ago. For an entire week he’d shared his morning run with Carmen, stupidly assuming it was fate that had crossed their paths. He hadn’t suspected the truth even when she started to question him about his work. Or when she acted as if she was fascinated by every word that left his lips.
It wasn’t until he’d been reading the morning paper and ran across an article that featured Carmen Jacobs’s lecture series at a local college that he realized there might be something dodgy about her sudden interest in him.
Digging into the pocket of his shorts, he pulled out his keys.
“Don’t say a word,” he warned, refusing to meet her gaze. He’d been sucked into those glorious blue eyes once before. Wasn’t happening again. “Just get off my car and walk away.”
“Hello, Griffin.”
Her voice was as light and feminine as the rest of her, brushing over him like a caress. Griff clenched his teeth.
“What part of don’t say a word wasn’t clear?”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her flinch. Had she expected him to do backflips at the sight of her? Probably.
“I need your help.”
“Tough.” He moved to open his car door.
She quickly hurried to stand in his path. “You have to listen to me.”
He instinctively lifted his eyes at her fierce plea, a jolt of awareness blazing through him as he met the clear blue gaze. It was as swift and potent as the first time he’d seen her on the beach.
Annoyance sizzled through him.
“I don’t have to do a damned thing,” he growled.
“Please,” she whispered, lifting a hand as if she intended to touch him.
Griff stepped back. “I’m sure you’ve been able to flash your dimples and get what you want your entire life, but they don’t work on me,” he informed her, giving a sharp motion with his hand. “Now get out of my way.”
She folded her arms around her waist. Not surprisingly she didn’t move.
Obstinate female.
“Look, I know we didn’t get off to the best start,” she said.
“Really?” He released a sharp laugh. “Which part? When you stalked me?” he demanded, referring to the mornings he’d found her waiting on the beach for him. “Or when you lied to me?” he asked, reminding her that she’d teasingly told him her name was Jane Doe. “Or when you tried to use me?” he concluded his indictment.
“I didn’t . . .” Carmen’s words trailed away as she took in his grim expression. Apparently, not even she could look him in the eyes and deny her sins. Not after she’d hounded him for weeks with endless calls trying to interview him for a new book. Then, when he’d bluntly refused, she’d decided to use the old “incognito” ruse. Pretty woman. Teeny, tiny bikini. Casual meetings on the beach. No doubt she hoped she could seduce him into blind lust before he could realize who she was. “I need your help,” she repeated.
He snorted in disbelief. “Searching for some new victims you can exploit to create a blockbuster book for yourself?”
She paled, as if he’d hit a raw nerve, but her expression remained determined.
“This has nothing to do with my career,” she said.
“Right.”
With jerky movements she reached into her large purse, which was sitting on the hood of his car, and pulled out a manila envelope.
“I think a copycat is killing women and sending me the evidence,” she said, shoving the envelope into his hand.
Griff froze. Had he heard her right? Did she say she was getting mail from a serial killer?
He studied her pale face, absorbing the brittle tension that vibrated around her before he opened the envelope and reached in to grab a stack of pictures.
Polaroids? Unusual.
Then he turned them over and his breath was jerked from his lungs.
Holy . . . crap.
“If this is some sort of joke, then it isn’t funny,” he breathed, shuffling through the rest of the pictures before shoving them back into the envelope.
He felt tainted.
As if just touching the disturbing photos was enough to infect him with evil.
“Of course it isn’t a joke.” Her voice was hoarse, her hands clenched into tight fists.
It was hard not to believe her. She projected a fierce sincerity that would be difficult to fake.
Still, he wasn’t a total idiot. He’d been fooled by this woman before.
“Then you should take them to the cops, not me,” he told her, shoving the envelope back into her hand.
She grimaced. “I tried.”
He felt a small surge of relief. If the cops knew about the pictures, then surely they were investigating.
“And?”