Free Killer Image (An Allison Campbell Mystery) by Wendy Tyson Page A

looks and his troubled past and his crippled brother. Had Vaughn been born with less smarts and less character he might have been happy, but instead the stupidities of his youth served to rein in his future. Mia gave him what she could: the mother’s love he yearned for and the sexual release he craved. What strange bedfellows we are, she thought. What would Edward think of that?
    Damn Edward, too. Mia had tried to escape the anxiety her ex-husband’s visit wrought. The events of four years ago plagued her as it was, but Edward’s appearance stood as a great reminder of why she’d purchased this farm, thirty miles from anywhere that counted and down a barely passable dirt road. She would never— could never—forgive him for killing their daughter, Bridget. How someone she gave her body and heart to could kill his own and then use the legal system to rationalize his actions was beyond Mia. Further proof that you never really knew someone.
    That’s why her relationship with Vaughn worked. There was no pretense of love, no expectations for a future, and no way to disappoint. As long as he kept his word and didn’t tell Allison. Jason must never know.
    Outside, a cruel wind rattled the window frames and howled through the woods that bordered her land. Night was so absolute here. Living alone, Mia had trained herself to listen for unfamiliar noises. Eventually she heard tires on gravel, Buddy’s welcoming bark from his spot in the kitchen. She smiled. Good noises, indeed.
    Mia opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a black silk negligee, one of her few nods to vanity. She slipped off her flannel pajamas and stood in front of the mirror, her naked body haloed by the watery lamp light. Her breasts still stood high and firm and her waist and hips were slender. The frustrating inability to store fat as a young girl had served her well in later years. Only the slight bagging skin at her throat and the etched lines on her hands gave away her age. That and her wild gray hair. The tight curls hung in long, thick, wiry ropes across her shoulders and down her back. She’d stopped coloring it when Bridget was killed. Everything had seemed so pointless then.
    Mia heard the front door open and close. She heard Vaughn’s hello to Buddy, then his steps across the kitchen floor, soft and sure. She felt his presence in the bedroom doorway even before she caught sight of his reflection in her mirror. She made no move to cover herself. Instead, she studied his reflection: the cropped black hair, the tiny Lennon glasses, the thin scar that ran from his nose to his lip, the broad shoulders and defined pecs that spoke of hours at the gym. She watched him unbutton his shirt, take off his watch, then unbuckle his belt and pull his khakis down, all the while his gaze on her reflection. Her nipples grew hard. She turned to face him and saw that his excitement matched her own.
    “I’m glad you came,” she said.
    He didn’t say anything, just closed the space between them and joined her by the mirror. He wrapped his arms around her, one hand on her stomach, the other on her breast. The contrast between their skin colors—hers full-moon white, his night black— stole her breath. She watched his hand move across her body like a shadow. Despite his strength, his touch was gentle.
    She turned to face him, then kissed his eyes, his neck, his lips. She led him to the bed. “Will you stay the night?”
    If he’d heard the pleading in her voice, he didn’t let on—and for that she was grateful.
    He said, “Jamie.” She nodded her understanding.
    She pulled him close to feel the weight of his chest against her own. Strength, substance. That was what Vaughn was to her. Strength, substance and...oblivion. Beautiful, merciful oblivion. Gently, he kissed her throat. Mia threw back her head and moaned.

    Vaughn punched in his pass code, waited for the familiar buzz, and then pulled open the security door to his apartment building. He took the