Chapter Twelve
Michelle watched in a daze as Utah slowly leaned toward her, his lips parting a second before stopping to hover above her own.
He was going to kiss her.
The feel of her heart pounding didn’t hold a candle to the butterflies taking flight in her stomach.
She dropped her gaze to his mouth, marveling at the feel of his warm breath fanning across her face.
He was a spirit. How was it that she felt his breath?
And then his lips were on hers, and she suddenly didn’t care anymore.
Michelle couldn’t recall the last time she’d been kissed with such infinite care. Slowly, softly, he caressed her with his mouth. A slight suction, a gentle pressure.
And then his hands were cupping her face, holding her hostage for the passionate onslaught of his tongue.
Her eyes slid shut, and she opened for him, allowing him, no, wanting him to explore her depths.
He abruptly broke off the kiss, but continued to hold her face in his hands.
Michelle’s eyes fluttered open to stare into his tormented gaze.
His forehead came down to rest against her own, and his uneven breathing shattered the quiet of the room. Or was that sound coming from her?
She could feel a slight tremor in his arms, which only made her want to kiss him again.
Instead of speaking, his hands dropped away, and he vanished as quickly as he’d appeared.
Michelle remained rooted to the couch, staring at the spot that Utah Baines had recently vacated.
She took an unsteady breath, sliding her palm over to the cushion he’d sat on. It felt warm to the touch. As warm as if she had sat there herself. “Utah?”
Silence. No evidence of his existence remained in the room, save for the heat beneath her hand and the tingling he’d left on her lips.
The police scanner squelched once more, snapping Michelle out of her daze.
She reached over and turned up the volume, listening as her fellow dispatchers conversed with deputies about a motor vehicle accident on the interstate.
Michelle glanced at the clock hanging on her living room wall. It was well after midnight.
Yawning, she turned down the volume on the scanner and pushed to her feet. “Come on, Peanut. Let’s go to bed.”
The little dog looked up from his perch on the chair across the room. His ears twitched, and his head cocked to the side, but otherwise, he didn’t move.
“Suit yourself,” Michelle mumbled, locking the front and back door before trailing off to her bedroom.
She eased down onto the side of the bed, peering into the mirror above her dresser, half expecting Utah to appear in front of her.
Strange how things had changed in a matter of days. She’d gone from attempting to save lives to conversing with the ones who’d already passed on.
But Utah hadn’t passed on, she silently admitted, bringing her fingers up to touch her recently kissed lips. He remained behind, wandering aimlessly in search of what? Redemption?
With a sigh, Michelle dropped back onto the bed, her arms thrown out to her sides while she stared up at the ceiling.
Where had Utah gone? Was he planning on coming back? Had that kiss been one of goodbye? So many questions ran through her mind at once, she couldn’t process them all.
She threw an arm over her eyes and blew out a frustrated breath. He didn’t have to leave when he had. She could have withstood his company for a little bit longer.
Who was she kidding? Michelle had been enjoying him being there right up until the moment he’d disappeared.
The soft squelch of the scanner in the living room caught her attention, bringing her mind back to the situation at hand. Sheriff Dennison’s daughter was missing.
Michelle stood, removed her sweatpants, pulled back the covers, and climbed into bed.
What if April’s boyfriend had nothing to do with her disappearance? Suppose she’d been taken by the same man responsible for the dozens of other women vanishing from the area over the past twenty years.
Michelle shuddered, glancing at the small handgun resting on her nightstand. She made a mental note to keep the weapon on her person at all times, especially since the West Coast Strangler remained at large.
Unable to shut down her thoughts, Michelle threw back the covers and wandered to the kitchen for a glass of water.
She stopped next to the refrigerator, deciding instead on a glass of wine.
After pouring a healthy portion, Michelle downed the contents, refilled the glass, and carried it back to her bedroom.
She set it on the nightstand and snagged her laptop before climbing back into bed and pressing the power button.
It took the computer a moment to warm up and another to connect to the internet.
Once the screen lit up, she typed in “West Coast Strangler.” He’d been dubbed the name after Jane Doe, later identified as Cara Perez, had washed up on the banks of the Choctawhatchee Bay with ligature marks on her neck along with several strange-looking burn marks.
Cara had been branded with something that appeared to be a small circle with a half-moon shape in its center. It was obvious the girl had been tortured, her injuries similar to another body found years before in a shallow grave.
Cara Perez had been with Leanne Baines the day both girls had disappeared. Though the FBI had no evidence to link Leanne Baines to the West Coast Strangler, it was assumed she’d been taken by him as well.
Two hours passed by the time Michelle closed down the laptop and set it on the nightstand next to the handgun.
She leaned back against her pillows, her eyes wide in the darkness while thoughts of her gorgeous ghost continued to plague her.