Obsession Falls(89)

He’d gutted a squirrel but that didn’t necessarily mean he’d gut a human.

Or it might.

But I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I wasn’t going to wait for him to hurt Audrey. I had to take care of this now.

Not that I was going to kill the bastard, satisfying as that might have been. I’d seen what Asher Bailey had gone through and I wasn’t about to do time on account of this piece of shit.

But I was going to get him to admit everything and turn himself in. Even if I had to hog tie him and toss him in the back of my truck.

That, I was more than willing to do.

Finding where he lived had been all too easy. Property ownership was public record. The question was, would he be there?

He, or someone he’d hired, had been in Tilikum to follow Audrey and leave the note on her car. If it had been Colin himself, I was convinced he’d left immediately. Maybe he’d stayed long enough to watch her find the note, but I doubted it. He didn’t have the guts. And he’d want to secure his alibi.

And if he had hired someone, which seemed pretty likely, my gut told me he’d be home with his wife all day. Make sure he was seen by his neighbors, show his face somewhere around town. All to be sure no one could tie him to the stalker terrorizing his ex-girlfriend in neighboring Tilikum.

His house was every bit as douchey as I expected. The circular driveway had a fountain in the center surrounded by neatly trimmed hedges. A balcony jutted out from the second floor, supported by fluted columns that flanked the front entry. I half expected a butler in a black suit to appear.

There wasn’t a butler but a peacock strutted through the grass. A fucking peacock? Who had a random exotic bird just wandering around the yard?

Unreal.

There weren’t any cars out front, but there was a four-car garage with closed doors. It was very possible he was home.

I didn’t creep around the edges of the property, measuring the angles of the security cameras, like a coward. I walked my ass right up to his front door and knocked. Hard.

A woman dressed in a leopard print tank top and mini skirt answered the door. There was no way her platinum blond hair was natural, her nails were at least an inch long, and it looked like she was wearing stage makeup. Maybe under the glare of spotlights, she would have looked normal, but in regular daylight she looked like her face had been painted on.

“Can I help you?” she asked. Her eyes were a little glassy and her speech had the hint of a slur. Definitely day drinking.

“Are you Mrs. Greaves?”

“Yeah.” She shifted her weight onto one leg and put a hand on her hip. “Who’s asking?”

“Is your husband home?”

“Maybe.”

“Can I see him?”

“Who are you?”

“Josiah Haven.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“No.”

“Are you a client? Clients aren’t supposed to come here.”

“No. This is personal.”

“Oh.” She looked me up and down. “Did he bang your wife?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because you wouldn’t be the first.”

“I thought you’re his wife.”

“I am.” She shrugged.

I raised my eyebrows.

“He has his fun and so do I. We both come back. Anyway, what do you want with him? You look very menacing.”

“I always look like this.”

“Oh.” She sighed, as if she were bored, and turned. “Colin!”

“Has he been home all day?”

She turned back to me, her head wobbling, like she was having trouble keeping it on straight. “What?”

“Has your husband been home all day?”

“Now you sound like a cop.”

“I’m not a cop.”

She groaned, like a petulant teenager who’d just been reminded of her curfew. “I don’t know. He might have gone out earlier. But maybe that was yesterday.”

“Got it.” I stepped past her into the house. “If you point me in the right direction, I’ll find him.”

“Suit yourself. He’s either in the study or out practicing his golf swing. Study is down that hall and there’s a door to the back.”

“Thanks.”

The entryway had a wide double staircase leading to a landing on the second floor. A crystal chandelier hung above, taking up too much space. It was the type of thing newly wealthy people bought because they thought it made them look rich. It just looked tacky.

My boots clicked on the marble tile. It was white with streaks of black, almost zebra striped. The walls were sea foam green, a shade that clashed with the dark cherry baseboards and trim.

Whoever had designed this place had done an absolutely horrible job.

But I wasn’t there to critique their design choices, tasteless as they were. I found the study and went in through the already open door.

It was empty. The room wasn’t as gaudy as the entry. At least the colors coordinated. The wood paneling was good quality—and expensive—and the walls were a deep forest green. Cherry furniture, leather executive chair, shelves filled with law books.

Double French doors led to a patio. The outdoor furniture looked like it was rarely used, covered with a light sheen of dust, and a set of stairs led to an upper deck.