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“Shh.” He rubbed a soothing hand over her back. “It’s okay. It’s probably Ash. I’m sure he’s impatient to get your statement. You know him.”
The knock came again, louder this time. All the warmth and peace that had filled the room a moment ago seemed to evaporate.
“I’m not ready,” she whispered and buried her face in his shirt.
“Want me to tell him to get lost?”
“No.” She sighed and stepped out of his arms, and he instantly missed the warmth of her body against his. He could see the anxiety in her eyes as she glanced toward the door. “No. Let’s get it over with.”
“How about you stay in here and brew a fresh pot of coffee for us? I’ll go let him in. Give you some time to steady those nerves.”
“Okay. Coffee.” She straightened her spine. “Yeah, I can do that.”
He watched her for a moment longer, his gaze taking in the determined set of her shoulders and the way she was nervously biting her lower lip.
“Just remember to breathe, Vee.” He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before moving towards the door. “Rebel. Alfie. Come on. Away from the door.”
The dogs instantly obeyed, but not without whines of protest.
He opened the door to find Ash standing on the other side, his clothes rumpled like he’d slept in them—if he’d slept at all. Judging by the shadows of exhaustion around his eyes, he hadn’t. His expression was always serious, but today it was grave.
“Ash,” he greeted, stepping aside to let him in. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backward. Long night?”
The sheriff gave him a curt nod as he stepped over the threshold. “You could say that. How’s Veronica?”
“Honestly, she’s better than I expected. She’s making coffee.” He closed and locked the door, then led Ash into the kitchen.
Veronica looked up at their entrance, her eyes wide, but her hands were steady as she pulled mugs down from the cupboard. “Morning, Sheriff. Do you want coffee?”
“I won’t turn down caffeine.” He sat heavily in one of the chairs at the table, dragging a hand over his reddish-brown beard. “You wouldn’t happen to have an IV bag lying around so I can mainline it?”
Veronica’s shoulders relaxed, and she even gave a soft laugh. “Sorry, you’ll have to drink it the old-fashioned way. Black?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She poured mugs for the three of them—black for Ash and Connelly, cream and sugar for her—and carried them over to the table. When she sat, Connelly pulled his chair close enough to hers that their legs touched under the table.
The sheriff eyed them over the rim of his mug, and a smile flitted over his hard lips before he took a testing sip. “How are you two holding up after yesterday?”
Connelly started to answer but closed his mouth and looked at Veronica. She was the one who had faced down a killer yesterday, and he didn’t want to put words into her mouth.
She took her time in answering, drinking her coffee in silence for several long seconds. “I’m okay. I think... it put some things into perspective for me.” She looked at Connelly with a soft smile, then over the table at Ash. “Did you find him?”
“No.” Ash’s eyes hardened. “And I’m afraid I have bad news.”
“Shit,” Connelly said and set his mug down. “Lucy?”
“No, no. She’s still in the hospital, still fighting. Getting stronger and angrier every minute, according to Sawyer.”
Dread curdled the coffee in his stomach. “Then who?”
“We don’t know. Haven’t ID’d the body. It was...” Ash swallowed, and the color left his face. “Horrific.”
“Which scene was it?”
“I believe he was trying to reenact the aichmophobia scene.”
“Fear of sharp objects.” Connelly shut his eyes and took a moment to breathe through the flood of anger and regret. He never should’ve written that scene. “Fuck. That’s a bad one.”
