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As long as he can place a signed copy on my bookshelf.
While Saint is in the shower, I brew Mack a calming, herbal tea. She’s been staying with me since that night at Nicholson Manor.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
She takes the cup of steaming tea from me with a grateful smile. “Paranoid. Anxious.”
“It was self-defense, Mack.”
She shrugs. “Partly. Maybe if I’d stopped shooting when he fell to his knees.”
“He had a gun. He could’ve reached for it and shot you. All of us. And he deserved it. After all the shit he put you through?—”
“Oh, I know. I’m not saying I regret it. I’m just worried about sharing a prison cell with Big Bertha.”
“Who’s Big Bertha?”
“The giant, terrifying woman who will take massive shits in our cell at two a.m. and shank me.”
“You’re not going to prison, Mack.” Saint strides into the kitchen, dark hair still dripping, shirt unbuttoned to display his chiseled chest and abs.
Butterflies burst from their cocoons in my stomach every time I see him. Along with Mack, he’s been staying with me while Nicholson Manor is being repaired. Fortunately, he can afford to hire around-the-clock workers to fix his home as quickly as possible.
He sweeps me up in a kiss, and I smile against his lips.
“How are you so sure?” Mack asks.
“I’ve taken care of it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I swear to god, if he did something to make the police shift their suspicions to him instead?—
A sharp knock sends him to the front door. Mack and I exchange a look before trailing after him.
Officers Rosario and Smith are on my front porch. Unfortunate déjà vu.
“Officers,” Saint greets in his bright, charming voice. The one that convinces people he’s not a serial killer.
Officer Smith cuts right to the chase. “We wanted to let you know that Trevor Hobart has become a suspect in the cases of Austin Emmons and Dr. Charles Barrett.”
I gape, but beside me, Saint shows no signs of surprise.
“What did you find?” Mack’s eyes are wide.
Rosario gives us a tight smile. “We’re not at liberty to say. But we found some DNA evidence in his truck linking him to the cases.”
That’s impossible. They couldn’t have found DNA evidence belonging to Austin or Dr. Barrett in Trevor’s truck. Unless?—
“We wanted to give you a heads up because you’ll probably be hearing a lot more about him in the news,” Rosario explains.
I nod. “Thank you for warning us.”
We’re in the clear. I don’t know how he did it, but somehow, Saint fulfilled his promise that I wouldn’t get locked up for his crimes.
Rosario waves. “Not a problem. You three have a good afternoon.”
Smith doesn’t follow Rosario back to the cruiser. Great. I brace myself for further accusations.
“I just wanted to...apologize.” Her lips are pursed like she swallowed a slug. “For my assumptions. It’s rare to find someone linked to two completely unconnected victims and that person not be involved.”
