Past Will Haunt by Morgan Kelley Page A

navigate this one on her own.
    “You’re bailing?”
    “Yep, and you’re going to attend this meeting and knock his socks off.”
    She laughed. “He’s going to skin you alive. The second you don’t show up, he’s going to lose it. Gabe is going to flip his shit on me.”
    Elizabeth laughed. “No, he won’t. He’s going to be outside his comfort zone, but you’ll get him trapped. Isn’t that what you want?”
    She thought about it. “No. I want him to want me.”
    Elizabeth touched her arm. “He does. You just freak him out.”
    “Why?”
    “He’s a control freak who has to be in charge. You made the first move, and now he’s reeling. Just go to dinner, update him, and don’t hit on him too much.”
    “Too much? It’s like being half pregnant, Elizabeth. You can’t really make a pass halfway. If you tried it more, you’d see that.”
    “Hey! I was helping you out. I know how to make a pass, and catch one.”
    Livy laughed. “Uh, you do not. Chris keeps sending you the ball, and you’re not catching anything.”
    “Well, there’s a reason for that. I’m not in the mood to get tangled up with a man. You are.”
    “Okay, how is this really going to work?” Livy asked, hoping her partner was right.
    “Simple. He’s going to crack, think it was his idea, and before you know it, you’ll be a couple.”
    “He won’t…”
    She cut her off. “Darlin’, I’ll bet money on it.”
    “I hope you’re right.”
    “Trust Cupid.”
    “What?” Livy asked, staring at her. “When did you decide to take on that role?”
    “Just recently.”
    “I’m screwed.”
    “Zip it. It’ll work. Trust me. Now, you drive. I have some research to do.”
    “On what?” she asked, looking worried.
    “Chill. It’s on the case we’re working.”
    Livy still couldn’t relax. This whole thing had her worked up, and she was pretty sure it was going to be a huge mess.
    After all, Elizabeth LaRue was calling herself Cupid. That should be her first sign.
     
    And it was a bad one.
     
     
     
     
     
                  * * *   B l a c k h a w k - W h i t e f o x   * * *
     
     
     
     
     
    When they pulled up to the scene, he watched them out of curiosity and fascination. It was amazing to find that so many people cared about the worthless wretch he’d killed.
    But they did.
    For some reason, they were fawning over her. Before him, she was nothing. He made her beautiful in death.
    He made her art.
    Strangers, neighbors, and friends were putting out flowers, candles, and anything else they could find for the makeshift memorial.
    It was pathetic.
    He was amused.
    If they only knew the man who stole her life was there among them, mourning by their sides and hiding in plain sight, they would be shocked. Yes, he was there.
    How could he not be?
    The lure called to him. He’d created this, and now he was able to watch it unfold. This was better than art. It was living, breathing sorrow.
    This was perfect.
    If they saw what was obvious, they wouldn’t be so sad. This was a creation that took time. This was his masterpiece. Watching them mourn, he was compelled to do more.
    He was urged on to kill again.
    He laughed.
    Oh, they’d given him motivation. It was like silent applause, cheering him on.
    They weren’t anything like him, and they would never comprehend what he was doing, but they got the end result. They understood his art.
    He was making them something beautiful. In death, there was immortality. He was taking their bodies, opening them up, and making them something so beautiful to see.
    He was an artist.
    With a blade and the naked eye, he made them memorable. What more could they ask for?
    They were part of history. From flouncy nobodies to pictures on the front page, he was giving them immortality.
    They should be grateful. If they were alive, they would be thanking him. He took simple and made it extraordinary.
    As his payment, all he took was a simple bout of sex beforehand. In that, he was