She rested her chin in her hand. “I don’t know yet. Spivak has a record of sexual assault. A perv doesn’t need a reason that you and I would understand. He just wants who he wants, whether she’s someone who looks like his mom or the first girl who spurned him. But the fact that Missy wasn’t raped nags at me. From the way he acted in the interview, my gut says Spivak would have sexually assaulted her.”

“You already said motivation is hard to predict. Maybe the torture is what drives him.” He set a bowl of soup in front of her. “Sorry. This is all I have on hand. I haven’t been grocery shopping.”

She ate without tasting, her mind occupied with the case.

She told him about Adam’s reaction, the press conference, and the cash she’d found in Missy’s apartment. “Everyone said Missy was broke. Where did she get over two thousand dollars? And why was it stashed under her floorboard? She had a bank account.”

“Are you sure the money is hers?

“I’ll have our fingerprint examiner see if she can pull any prints tomorrow.” Stella’s first stop of the morning would be the county forensics lab.

Mac set a cup of tea on the table. Leaning over her shoulder, he reached for her bowl. He smelled like the forest. She turned her face to his body and inhaled. “Were you outside?”

“For a while.”

“You smell like pine trees.”

His breath quickened, and he froze. “Is that good?”

Standing, she placed both hands on Mac’s arms. His biceps were hard under her touch. The wind blew across his kitchen, bringing the scent of trees and earth into the room.

“Very.” She rested her forehead on his chest and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to think about the case anymore tonight.”

“I don’t blame you.” His hand settled between her shoulder blades. “You’ve had a hell of a day. You need to take a break, even if it’s just a short one.”

Images of Dena’s body flashed in her head. She raised her eyelids. Mac’s bright-blue eyes studied her. Much better.

Something unfurled inside her. Want. Like a young moth testing new wings, desire opened and closed, indecisive. What did she want? She hadn’t had so much as a date since the shooting the previous November. Her focus had been on her career, and she hadn’t met a man who warranted her attention.

Or once she’d met Mac, she hadn’t met anyone as interesting. He was more than he appeared. Mac was layers of kindness and humor, intelligence and determination, vulnerability and courage. And he sparked a need inside her that could only be described as primitive. With him, she didn’t have to be perfect. She didn’t have to contain anything. She could let go.