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“Rest assured, if you’re ever lost in the woods, I won’t stop until I find you,” he said with a cheeky smile, but he meant every word.
She tipped her head back, laughing. “If the past is any indicator, you’ll be the one lost in the woods with no phone, no radio, and no pistol.”
“That was a one-off, I assure you,” he said, not offended in the slightest. He felt a sense of partnership with Bethenny.
He paid the bill and stood, looking forward to climbing into bed and closing his eyes.
“Where are you parked?” he asked. Clearly Bethenny could take care of herself, but he still wanted to see her safely to her car. Just because someone could protect themselves didn’t mean that they had to do it alone all the time. It was nice to know someone was able to watch your back, even if you didn’t need them to.
“Just around the corner,” she said, gesturing to her right.
He nodded. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.
He’d barely taken a step forward when their phones rang in unison.
They pulled their phones, looked at the caller ID, and quickly realized they were not going home to bed any time soon.
“Mitch,” Lachlan said as Bethenny held her phone to her ear, being connected into the call.
“I know I gave you the day off, but an officer just called in a homicide at 11 Memory Lane. Female deceased—a friend called it in after she found her. No perp identified. Crews are on their way now.”
“Thanks, we’ll head there,” she said, her eyes meeting Lachlan’s. He nodded and motioned toward his car, which was parked a few feet away from where they were standing.
“I’ll drive,” he said, and Bethenny nodded, ending the call but keeping her phone in her hand.
He unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat while Bethenny climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Should you be driving with an arm in a cast?” she asked, eyeing him as if she was doing her own medical assessment.
“It’s my left, I can drive with my right. And I didn’t take anything but Tylenol so I’ll be fine,” he said.
She looked like she was going to argue but then began rattling off the directions, instructing him as he drove.
They made it to the crime scene within a few minutes. Mitch and a team of officers were already at the front of the home, securing the crime-scene tape.
The advantage of a small town was that there weren’t media crews on standby, so at least they didn’t have to deal with that.
Lachlan locked the car behind them as they walked up the path toward the house.
An officer greeted them. “Female. DOA. No eyewitness... It’s bloody in there.”
Lachlan nodded, motioning for Bethenny to move ahead.
They entered through the front door. At first glance everything seemed in place, but as they walked down the hallway, following the echoes of officer’s voices, the scene unraveled in front of them.
The second half of the hallway was lined with blood, like the body had been dragged down it. A look into the room on his left all but confirmed this theory. The dining table was covered in blood like someone had tipped a bucket of wine over the table. It pooled in spots and dripped over the edges in others. The messy blood trail started from there, went into the hallway and down to the room at the end. They stopped at the doorframe and Lachlan sucked in a sharp breath. It was like he was back in the woods again: a blonde with a slashed throat.
“You need to see this,” an officer said, moving toward Lachlan. He held out a piece of paper enclosed in an evidence bag with three words scribbled on it.
You’re too late.
BETHENNY
She peered across at the paper.
You’re too late.
Her spine tingled.
“Where was that left?” Bethenny asked, noting Lachlan hadn’t responded—he was still staring at the paper.
