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“What?” I turned back to him and saw his gaze wasn’t on me. It was directed just beyond me at my side.

Call it that sixth sense I’d had with Forde but missed out on with Greig, but an appallingly awful shiver rippled down my nape and spine as I slowly turned with my torch to shine it on the space next to me.

At first, the light caught the glimmer of silver. The hunting knife I recognized from two years ago, next to a dark pole attached to a branding plate. Arm shaking hard, I waved the torch over the bottom of the plate, lighting up the serpent detail.

Forde sucked in a breath behind me. “Cam …”

And then I lifted the torch ever so slightly because it was causing a glare off something.

That’s when I realized it was glaring off plastic bags trimmed with a black fabric zip.

And inside the bags … locks of blond hair.

Rust-colored flecks were dotted here and there in the bags … and my stomach turned when I realized it was dried blood.

Uncontrollable sobs burst forth out of me, and I vaguely heard Forde curse as he launched forward to open the attic. As I tried to breathe through the sobs wracking my body, horror having taken over, I could do nothing but wait for him to get out of the attic and reach up to help me.

I lost my footing because I couldn’t see. My vision had blurred so badly.

Forde caught me, stumbling off the ladder. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

He tried to pull me close, but I shoved away from him and dove out of the room and straight for the bathroom. I made it just in time to empty the entire contents of my stomach into the toilet.

11. Forde

Part of me wondered if it was because of the way I looked. Covered in tattoos. I had visible ink on my neck, my arms, my hands. Beneath my shirt were more. The only places I hadn’t tattooed were my legs, and that was because if I got a tattoo again, I wanted it to be really meaningful. And lately, I’d run out of things to say in the ink.

Years ago, someone like me was treated with wary caution by many people. Tattoos all over the body carried connotations of antisocial behavior. These days, it wasn’t an unfamiliar sight in Scotland.

But I felt like the police were treating us like suspects. Most specifically me. From the moment we walked into the police station.

Cameron must have thought so too because before I could say it, she rushed to confess that she was the one who broke into Greig’s flat. I’d tried not to glare at her in annoyance for that because if I contradicted her, it would be worse.

A female officer who introduced herself as PC Colins interviewed us. She took one look at Cameron who was white as a sheet with a glazed look in her eyes that screamed of shock, and her demeanor was different. She was respectful and interested in what we had to say. Her male colleague PC Hill detained us in the interview room before she’d arrived, and he was the one acting low-key aggressive toward us.

“So you broke into this man’s flat?” Hill sneered at Cameron.

I clenched my hands into fists under the table, trying to smooth my expression.

PC Colins flicked her colleague an annoyed look.

“Why are you wasting police time?” Hill huffed.

Cameron showed a little of her usual fight. “I’m not. I have everything on my laptop. And then there’s what we found in his flat.”

“Och, I⁠—”

“Do you have your laptop?” PC Colins cut off her colleague’s incredulity.

“Aye. It’s in my car.”

“We’ll need that.”

PC Hill shot his colleague a confused look. “Eh?”

She ignored him. “Wait here.”

When she left the room, the male officer sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. I could read him like a book as his gaze moved between us. Lazy, entitled. Got into the job for the power trip. Now, of course, I could be wrong. I’d only known the man for a few minutes. But I didn’t think I was wrong.