And the deputy—Eugene—had been right. There had been scratch marks on the wood. Because Bridget had been alive when she’d been buried.
We didn’t get to her fast enough.
We got out, we escaped, but she didn’t.
Adam paced about five feet away as the rain drenched them. The poor guy appeared dazed. Eugene had been assigned to stay with Adam. But Eugene seemed just as dazed as the EMT. Sloane figured that there weren’t a lot of murders in this county. Might even be Eugene’s first dead body.
He kept putting his hand to his mouth every few moments, and Sloane worried he might vomit at the scene. She’d seen green cops do that at plenty of other crime scenes in her time.
Not my first dead body. Not even close.
But, still, you didn’t forget the bodies. The people. They stayed burned in your mind.
“How?” Debra repeated as the rain dropped from the brim of her hat.
Sloane stood underneath an umbrella with Preston. A big, wide umbrella. Frankie had dug it out of the Range Rover for them. Not like it was gonna do much at this point. Goosebumps covered her, and she shivered every few moments. But were the shivers from the cold or from finding the dead victim?
I wanted to find her in time. Why couldn’t we find her in time?
“We were looking for Sloane’s bracelet.” Preston held the handle of the umbrella. He’d positioned the umbrella so that it fully covered her. She knew his left arm and shoulder were getting drenched.
Everyone was drenched out there.
“Her bracelet?” Debra shook her head. “What? Why on earth were you looking for it?”
“It had a tracker in it,” Sloane reminded her. She was sure that they’d discussed the tracker with the sheriff before. When Debra had interviewed her at the hospital, this topic had definitely come up. “This perp was trying to draw our attention. He wanted us to know what he was doing. With the shooting at the station. With the shovel in the back of the Honda.” He was nearly drawing them a map. “He wanted us to know so that meant there had to be a way for us to find her.” She glanced toward Adam. He’d turned away from them. His shoulders hunched. He’s crying again. “My bracelet should have been at the sheriff’s station.”
“It was.” Debra shoved her hands into the pockets of her rain coat.
“Was,” Preston emphasized. “Someone took it from there. Turned off the tracker, then turned it on again. Sloane has a friend who told her the coordinates for the device. We came here, and then I saw the a mound of dirt that was higher than the ground around it. One to two inches higher. I saw it, and I started digging.”
“And you just what, happened to have a shovel with you?”
Was that suspicion in the sheriff’s voice? Sure seemed like it to Sloane.
“You try being buried alive twice.” Preston’s voice held no emotion. “See if you decide to start carrying around your own shovel.”
Debra’s shoulders slumped. “This is a mess. An absolute clusterfuck of a situation.” She edged closer to them. “The Feds are coming in fast and hard. Two burials. Two days. This is a quiet town. A safe place. We don’t have crimes like this. We don’t have—” She broke off. “Bridget was my goddaughter.” A hard shake of her head. “She…” Another hard shake. “Get out of here. Go home. Take your bodyguards with you. There will be more questions, but this scene is a mess, and I have to handle things. I have to take care of Bridget.”
She turned and hurried away.
But Adam whirled and stepped into her path after just a few steps.
“She didn’t suffer.” Adam’s voice was loud, carrying easily. “Tell me she didn’t—she didn’t suffer, right? She was…Bridget was gone before he put her in the ground. She didn’t suffer.”
There had been scratch marks on the wood. Bridget definitely had not been gone before he put her in the ground.
“Come on, Sloane.” Preston’s rumbling voice. “There is nothing for us here.”
Nothing but death. They’d arrived too late. If they’d found out about the bracelet sooner, if they’d tracked the signal sooner, could they have saved Bridget?
They headed for the Range Rover. Two deputies glanced at her. A tech stared hard. Cursing, Preston moved in front of her. Why was he doing that?
“Keep your fucking eyes up,” Preston snarled.
What?
Then understanding dawned. Her white shirt was probably see-through. Nope. No probably about it. It was see-through. Muddy in plenty of spots, but the rain and the cold had her nipples pebbling. Great. Just great.
