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“I’ve got bad news,” she said solemnly. Was there any other kind? His first thought was of Pescoli. His heart seized. If someone had found her frozen body tied to a tree . . . “Yeah?”
“Dispatch just called.”
Grayson steeled himself. Set his jaw.
“Brady Long’s been killed.”
Grayson thought he’d heard wrong. “What?”
“Homicide.”
“Brady Long?” he repeated, stunned. “Where? When?”
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Lisa Jackson
“The call just came in. Nate Santana phoned from the Long estate.”
“Santana? Wasn’t he just here?” Grayson was certain he’d seen the guy pull out of the station just as he was driving in.
“About an hour ago. Units are on the scene. Deputies Watershed and Connors are there. Ambulance as well.”
“Good.”
“And Ivor Hicks is there, too.”
Grayson closed his eyes and sighed. Could things get any worse? His boots hit the floor. “Does anyone have any idea why Hicks and Santana are there?”
“I think Santana works for the Longs.”
“And Ivor?”
“I don’t know.”
Grayson’s bad day just took a nosedive.
“I’m on my way out there now.” He hung up, slipped on his shoulder holster, checked his sidearm, and slid his arms into his jacket sleeves. He’d been back less than two hours, hadn’t even had time to round up his dog yet, and all hell had broken loose. Again.
Sometimes he wondered why he didn’t resign. Because you love it, Grayson. Who the hell do you think you’re kidding? Muttering under his breath, he grabbed his hat off the coatrack and walked down the hall to Alvarez’s cubicle.
“You heard?”
She was at her desk examining copies of the notes taken from the crime scenes where the victims of the Star-Crossed Killer had been found. On her computer screen were anagrams using the initials of the women who had been abducted. He noted that she was already trying to add the initials of Elyssa O’Leary
CHOSEN TO DIE
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and Regan Pescoli into the cryptic message from Star-Crossed.
“About Brady Long?” She nodded.
If she was still pissed about their last conversation, she didn’t show it. “I’m on my way there now.”
“Wanna go together?”
“Sure. You can drive.”
