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He’s not the one with bodies dropping at his feet. “Humor me.”
Gathering the news clippings, he doesn’t look at me as he says, “He’s a psychotic serial killer. They don’t have logical reasons. It could be that he sees you as a loose end. Psychopaths who fixate on someone or something usually become obsessed with it. It’s what makes them so dangerous. If this is Willis, we will know soon enough.”
A cold river of fear snakes up my spine. When I’m dead?
“You have no clue where he is, do you?” I snort, amusement drumming through me at the absurdity of it all. “If you’re not sure it’s him, who else could it be?”
“Honestly? I’m hoping forensics is going to help me with that. We believe this may be linked to another case.”
“Really? Another murder?”
“One that didn’t receive as much attention but had similar markers.”
“Here in town?”
“No, just outside of town. A sex worker.”
“Oh god, so serial killer?”
“Lizzy, we’re not jumping to any conclusions. Let me do my job,” he states, matter-of-factly.
“And what about Charlotte and me? Do we just wait around for his next game?” I stand, leaning my hands on the table, my eyes cold and accusatory.
“I’m going to have one of the officers here checking in with you and patrolling your street.”
“What about our apartment?” I snap.
“You won’t be able to go back there until forensics clears the place. Maybe a couple more hours—a day at most.” He pushes out from the table and stands, and I lean away. “Do you have someone you can stay with?” My aunt flashes through my mind, making me cringe. She will drive me bat shit crazy fawning over me like I’m a wounded butterfly.
“I can figure something out,” I mumble through tight lips.
“Thank you for coming in. I’m going to find whoever is doing this. I promise I’m going to keep you safe.” He reaches across the space between us, placing a hand on my shoulder, making the skin beneath it burn.
Swiping his hand off, I grind out, “Like you did my mother?” He flinches at the low blow meant to wound him. “I don’t need your promises, Detective.”
When he walks me through the corridor, my feet falter and my mouth pops open. Green Eyes. The breath flees my lungs as he passes me, his eyes boring into me, the back of his hand brushing mine. No words are exchanged as an officer invites him inside a room.
“Do you know him?” I ask Detective Hernandez, my gaze riveted.
“No. Do you?” he counters, an inquisitive gleam in his eyes.
“No.” It’s not a lie. I don’t actually know him. But I want to.TenStephan’s car almost skids to a stop in front of me as I pace outside the station. Jumping out, he races toward me.
“Are you okay?” He checks me over like he expects to find an injury.
“I’ll be fine.” I shake my head, pushing my hands into my pockets. “I’m just waiting for Charlotte. Do you mind waiting?”
Concern creases his brow. “Of course not. What the hell happened?”
Taking a step toward a bench to avoid his eyes, I say, “I don’t really want to talk about it tonight.”
“You want to wait in the car? It’s freezing,” he offers, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. I hadn’t noticed how cold it had gotten. I feel numb.
“Sure.” Just as I step off the curb, the reception doors open, and Charlotte walks through. I run to her, folding her in my arms. Tears cascade down her cheeks as she sobs. Her embrace pinches the skin on my back, but I don’t let go. “I’m so sorry, Char.”
“You didn’t know what was going to happen.” She sniffles, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her top as she pulls away.
“I should have just let you call the police. That guy would still be alive.”
“Lee,” she says, her voice broken.
“What?”
“His name was Lee.” Her eyes are red-rimmed, tears glistening. “The guy they say fell,” she elaborates. Lee. I add his name to the ones etched in my brain.
“Should we get out of here?” Stephan asks, looking at some questionable people hanging around, no doubt waiting for their friends to get out of jail.
“Where are we going to go?” Charlotte asks, wrapping her arms around her stomach.
“I don’t suppose you have a spare room?” I raise a brow in Stephan’s direction, only half-joking.
“I can put you guys up in a hotel for a few nights. I know the manager,” he offers with a concerned impatience.
“Really?” I breathe, relieved I don’t have to rely on my aunt.
“Sure. Come on,” he grunts, already moving toward his car.The hotel is more a motel, dingy and small, and there’s a musky smell. Probably why he could get us the room. Charlotte doesn’t pay it any attention. Shucking off her boots and jacket, she climbs beneath the duvet.
