Page 87 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

De Luca crouched by the body. “There’s another infinity pin.”

Bastian saw the silver glint against the cobbles. The pin was right beside Salvador, just like the other victims.

“What did you see?” De Luca asked. His somber tone—all business—made Bastian flinch.

“I heard somebody running away. And then I found Salvador. But before that…”

De Luca stood. He used Bastian’s shirt to gently mop the blood from Bastian’s chest.

“Before that?” he asked, tone softer. Bastian leaned into his touch, never wanting De Luca to stop touching him. And he didn’t want to say what he was about to say, because he was scared what it meant.

“Enzo wasn’t in his room,” Bastian said.

De Luca pulled back. “What?”

“Right before I heard Salvador scream, I went into Enzo’s room, and he was gone.”

De Luca snorted a mirthless laugh. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s what I saw.”

De Luca’s face went slack.

“That’s impossible!” he repeated, running back into the house. Whitby only just scrabbled out of the way in time.

“De Luca, wait!” Bastian called.

“How long was I asleep?” Whitby asked. “I feel like I’ve missed a lot.”

“Keep an eye on the body,” Bastian told her. He leapt into the air, jumping back through De Luca’s bedroom window. He crossed the room in four paces and went into the landing, heading straight into Enzo’s bedroom.

“I’m telling you—” he began, but then stopped.

Enzo lay in bed. Eyes closed. Breath soft.

His heartbeat was calm. Unhurried. It wasn’t the heartbeat ofsomebody who had been running around for the past few minutes. De Luca stood by the bed giving Bastian a confused stare.

“He wasn’t there a moment ago,” Bastian said.

“What do you mean?”

Bastian tried to stay calm. “He was gone, right before Salvador screamed.”

De Luca’s expression was like stone.

Bastian’s gaze went to the photos on the wall, if only to look somewhere other than De Luca. The picture of Enzo with Matteo caught his attention once more.

“Are they friends?” he asked. “Enzo and Matteo?”

De Luca appeared confused by the question, then looked at the photo.

“They grew up together.”

Bastian’s skull pounded. The same questions kept repeating in his mind no matter how much he tried to suppress them.

What if they were wrong?

What if the mayor’s husband wasn’t the killer after all?