“Here.”
His head whipped to the right. The faintest touch of rain slid over his cheek.
Fraser firs, oaks, maples—all kinds of trees filled the area, but Sloane had stopped near one particular maple. One about twenty feet away from their grave. She seemed to be staring very intently at something on the tree.
He hurried to her side. “You’re supposed to stay close. Close as in…I want my eyes on you, Sloane. Every moment.” Especially out there. Near the spot where they had nearly died.
Frankie had driven them to the grave. First, the bodyguard-slash-driver had taken them to the ambulance company, then he’d rushed them over to this site. Preston’s second bodyguard had tailed them. Noble had orders to stay close.
Both men also understood that, even though he was paying their salaries, he was not their priority. Sloane was. If anything bad happened, if any attacks were made, Sloane came first. They were to get her away from danger, to remove her from the scene.
And then I’ll take care of the sonofabitch.
He didn’t intend to let the killer escape.
Preston had made a point of instructing both Noble and Frankie on Sloane’s importance. Not in front of her, because she would have argued with him. So a simple text had gotten the job done.
Her hand reached out and touched the tree’s thick trunk. Automatically, his gaze followed her hand. Wait. Something had been carved into the tree. Letters…
PB + SA
What the hell?
It almost looked like the kind of old carving that kids would make. Sweethearts, carving their initials with a pocket knife. Except…
PB. His initials.
SA. Her initials.
This wasn’t some sweetheart memento bullshit. It was more like a headstone. “The Last Breath Killer didn’t do that.” He hadn’t marked the spots where he’d buried his victims.
“No.” A faint tremble in her voice.
The rain drops began to fall harder.
“He knew who I was.” Soft. A bit shaky from Sloane. “I thought he just grabbed me because I interrupted, but…he knew?”
Preston ducked his head closer to hers. “What made you look for this? How did you know?”
“I didn’t know—I wasn’t searching specifically for this, I—” Her head turned. She stared up at him with fear. “I thought I was taken just because I was at your house. Because I tried to stop him. I didn’t have my ID on me when I tried to stop him. How did he know who I was? How did he know my initials?” Then she shook her head and her voice lowered as she seemed to say, more to herself than him, “He must have gone back and searched my vehicle after I was knocked out. That’s how he found my ID. It was in my purse. Has to be it. That’s how he knew my initials.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Calm down, Sloane,” she mumbled to herself.
“No.”
She blinked. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean he didn’t search your vehicle. He picked you up and he put you in the back of the van. He never touched your car.”
“How do you know that? How can you be certain?”
“Because I reviewed the video footage this morning, right after you were uh…driven away in the patrol car.”
“What footage?”
Thunder boomed. Not just drops of rain now. Actual rainfall. “Time to go.”
“What footage?” She did not go. If anything, she seemed to root to the spot.
“The security footage from my house. I wanted to see what was on it.”
