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Shoulders slumping, Lynch turns and tugs down his collar to reveal the fae symbol etched into his skin.
My breath catches. Despite everything, I had hoped I was wrong.
“How?” Sharpe stands to inspect the glyph. “Did you encounter a black dog?”
“I was at Judge Collin’s house last night.” He straightens his shirt. “We were toasting Shawe’s death when the black dog attacked.”
I remember the two glasses next to the pool and kick myself for not making the connection.
“So you just hid inside while he was murdered?” Fury twists Sharpe’s face. “While my people were almost killed?”
“I didn’t know what else to do.” Shame darkens his cheeks when he turns around. “I had no reason to be at the judge’s house so late at night. There was nothing I could do against the monster!”
“It doesn’t matter.” Sharpe’s lips part, but I place a hand on his arm. “We need to move you, Lynch. You’re in danger here.”
“Move me?” He feigns nonchalance, but a tremor enters his voice. “Where?”
“Bailey’s already at a safe house.” Sharpe snatches his old sidearm off the desk where it still lies. “You’ll join him. It’s our best bet to keep both of you alive.”
“I can’t just disappear in the middle of these murders.” Lynch stares around his office. “I have a city to run.”
“If you die, it puts Clearhelm at risk. Hiding out here won’t work, either. The black dog can get in the middle of the building.” I reach over and close his laptop, then thrust it toward him. “Pack what you need to be away for two days.”
“And when this is over?” He clutches the computer to his chest. “What will you do?”
“Worry less about your pension and more about staying alive.”
I didn’t think the new badge would feel heavy so fast.
stages of grief
- Marc -
Rain pelts against the windows of the safe house, the staccato rhythm punctuating the blessed silence while the scent of coffee left too long on the heating element fills the air.
I pace from one window to the next, squinting through the downpour to the shadows outside, searching for a flash of flame-red eyes, or any sign of the black dog stalking Bailey.
For the first time in a month, I wish for the return of the scorching heat. I can’t see shit in these conditions.
A flush sounds, followed by the bathroom door opening, and I stiffen, my momentary reprieve from babysitting over too fast.
“I’m beginning to question this whole protection detail.” Bailey’s voice cuts through my efforts to pretend he’s not in the same room with me. “Do I even have to be here? There’s been no sign of this monster you’re all so scared of. How do we know it was even after me?”
“Aside from the fact it tried to kill you at Judge Collins’ house?” I arch a brow at him. “Has the mark on your ass suddenly vanished?”
Annoyance puckers his features. “No.”
“You sure about that?” My gaze drops to his hands. “How about you go check again? Wash up while you’re at it.”
His face reddens. “I already did.”
“I could hear your shit hitting the water. You think I can’t hear when you don’t use the sink?” Disgusted, I turn back to face the window. “And turn on the fan. We have to share this space.”
“Let in some fresh air if you’re that delicate.” Bailey stomps back to the bathroom, and the faucet squeaks as he turns it on. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole protection duty is just some elaborate ploy by you and your people to run me out of town. This is the second night with no attacks.”
His words churn inside me. It bothers me, too, that the black dog hasn’t tried again. But maybe it’s going after easier targets and saving him for last?
The water shuts off, and his heavy footsteps rejoin me. “The other victims didn’t have external marks. How do you even know what the one on my ass means? You don’t. This is all guesswork.”
