Lorna met me at the door with steam rolling off her hair. The towel she’d wrapped herself in must have been her daughter’s. She arched like a goddess, misty fog of her own creation surrounding her, the makeshift garment revealing the soft curves of her motherly figure beneath. The aroma of shampoo and conditioner wafted off of Lorna’s hair, mixed with a hint of lavender from the towel, creating an inviting and sensual calm.

“Sorry,” she said, turning to let me pass. “Needed a quick rinse. Kayla hasn’t been sleeping. This morning’s the first time since—” Her wide, clear eyes blinked the thought away.

I imagined the moisture from Lorna’s hair tasted as fresh and clean as water from a mountain spring, and resisted the urge to lick the droplets forming on my lips.

“Where’s Vicky?” I glanced around the room. Lorna’s feminine heat crept up on me.

“Not sure.” She moved around front, eyes locked on with the warmth of a heat-seeking missile. The towel rustled against her near perfect skin, soft, swishing. Steam from her hair brushed over the back of my hand, prickling it with warmth, leaving droplets of water behind.

“Your boyfriend? He around?” It was a mistake born out of discomfort. “I mean—”

“You don’t need to explain.” She stepped closer. The towel pulled loose as she arched her back. A quick grab with her hand prevented it from falling to the floor. “Can I help you with anything?”

Was this really worth a tiny bit of information on Derek Cooley? My lower self said yes while my higher mind sought a puritanical solution. If that towel came down it could ruin the effort to save my sister. Then again, if I didn’t make progress on the investigation, self-control wouldn’t matter.

And something else. Timing. Cold, erratic Lorna, almost dissociated, suddenly engaging in the most distracting way. Right when I started to place her possible involvement in the crimes. This felt deliberate. Calculated.

“Maybe,” I said, allowing a subtle smile. “You seem ripe with knowledge.”

She loosened her grip enough to reveal a length of nudity along her side. “I’m keen.”

I cleared my throat, making myself focus. Lorna’s seductive manner was a diversion I couldn’t afford. Stay with the mission at hand — finding the truth about Derek Cooley and saving my sister.

Lorna shifted a bit, letting the opening in the towel sway wide. 

I studied her form. No need to give away my ruse with false modesty.

“What can you tell me about Derek?” I asked, pulse ramping. The whirlwind of desire fragmented certainty and disrupted the steadiness in my voice. 

Her eyes flickered, a mix of curiosity and apprehension. She tightened her grip on the towel, as if its minuscule presence offered protection from the vulnerability she was allowing me to see. Her gaze locked with mine, and I could sense an unspoken connection forming.

“He likes older women. If they have the energy to challenge him.”

“You have that kind of energy?”

Lorna’s smile was enigmatic and full of mischief, eyes shimmering with a forbidden knowledge. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the towel. The scent of lavender grew stronger, mingling with the pulsating tension between us.

“And more,” she whispered in a seductive melody. “But Derek is impossible to tame. He’s not a keeper. He’s a drifter, always pursuing new conquests. A voracious adventurer. I hold no expectations with him.”

This creature captivated me. It took all of my energy to tear my gaze away. The desire to untangle the psychology of the seductress threatened to ransack my focus. I had to tread carefully if I wanted to extract the prized information from her.

“I hear he does handy work around town.”

“He does. That’s how we met.” She winked. The towel winked as well. “People like him.”

“So he gets a lot of odd jobs around town.”

Lorna twisted her body at the hips, ostensibly reaching for a cup of coffee. The small towel couldn’t make the entire journey with her. It broke loose half-way into the turn, exposing the naked profile of an unexpectedly youthful body. The sensuous curve of her back ended in smooth, round buttocks. She shifted with grace to capture the falling cover, a firm breast pointing directly at me. The rosy nipple stood proud, taut and erect, tempting enough to hang a ring of keys. She took time to reposition the cotton wrapper, ensuring a clear view of the aerodynamic curve of her belly and comfortable tuft of pubic hair. Musky desire filled the room. After an eon of exposure, she finalized the burlesque show with a firm clutch of her hand.

“Sorry,” she said with a blush the perfect shade of false modesty. 

False. The word resonated. Her timing. The performative nature of her movements. The way she steered the conversation. But why?

Through some bit of gymnastics magic, her body had moved fifty percent closer than when she reached for the coffee. My attention turned wholly to the heat of her steamy mug where it brushed my middle shirt button. “He gets the job done around here.” 

“I can understand how he might be motivated.” An agonizing twist in my breeches increased the discomfort. Adjustment was out of the question. A single step backwards could derail the ruse. “You met when he came around to do some work?”

“A friend raved about this handyman, how he used his remarkable skills to fix her washing machine. She was so impressed, gushing over his good looks and handiness. Luckily, our dishwasher needed repair. He came by and fixed it. I tipped him. Generously.” Her molten smile threatened to tip me, as well. 

“So, he hasn’t been around long?”

“Couple of months.” She pressed the cup against that shirt button. A gentle pressure aptly applied. “I imagine he’ll move on soon. He gives that impression. A rolling stone. It’ll leave a void.” Her lips pouted. “In the community.”

“I’m sure that will be sad for many townfolk.” I waited a moment, my breath thick and shallow. “I best leave you to finish your bath time.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, pushing against me to pass. The towel dropped. “Let me know if you have anymore questions,” she said, knuckles brushing my crotch. “And know that I have enough energy to handle whatever a man throws my way.” 

Seduction tugged hard. But the threat flowing beneath the surface held those lustful urges in check. Lorna had a way of enchanting a man. Redirecting his focus away from logic.

“But I have to warn you,” she said over her shoulder as she sashayed into the depths of the house. “I’m not an easy woman to manage.” 

I indulged in her retreat, awed by the youthful firmness of her body and the sensuous roll of her hips. The motion made me believe that Aidan Peale had gone crazy for a much simpler reason than psychologists would have one believe.