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“Can you take a deep breath with me?” His pretty eyes lock with mine and I’m shocked by the sincerity in them. I nod. “Alright. Breathe in…one…two…three.” My lungs stretch uncomfortably in my ribcage, like I haven’t taken a full breath in ages. “And out…one…two…three.”
His eyes don’t leave mine the entire time, and when I finish my exhale, a soft smile is tugging at his lips. “Good.” I can’t help but smile back. Actually, I wouldn’t call it a smile. I’m just not scowling or crying anymore.
“Close your eyes and think back. You come to and he’s attacking Beth. What do you see? Anything identifiable? Scars, tattoos?”
My eyes slam open.
Tattoos.
It’s like slowly waking from a dream. The world comes into focus slowly and confusingly. There’re orange pools of light, dotted blurs of red. Street lamps. Passing cars.
And black. Whirling black. The black pavement under me, the black haze still fading from my mind, my black car. And the black figure.
Pink. But it’s not really pink anymore.
It’s red.
Red like blood.
Beth!
Everything sharpens with the realization, my surroundings coming into focus instantly.
There’s a person—a man—standing crouched over Beth’s body, which is unmoving except for when he brings down his fist. Again and again. Making her body rattle from the impact and then the force it takes to pull the knife—not fist—from her torso.
I scream, but nothing comes out. Beth’s head rolls to the side, and we’re face to face. I scream and scream at her lifeless eyes staring back at me. I scream until my voice must be hoarse, but I realize with horror that my mouth never opened. I reach for her, but again, my hand doesn’t move. It’s like giving commands to a body not my own. No matter how desperately I demand my body to move, it doesn’t. I’m frozen in this nightmare.
A fox’s face catches my eye, a snake caught in its jaws. It’s like something out of a fairy tale. Suddenly, it all makes sense: The paralysis, the soundless screams. I’m dreaming.
A siren blares in the distance, but I don’t wake up. Because this isn’t a dream, and that thing is a tattoo on the attacker’s hand. Every other visible part of him is covered in black fabric. He freezes at the sound of the sirens. The fox on his hand stares back at me. The pause is short, barely a few seconds, until he’s jumping upright and bolting away. His black shape disappears into the dark expanse of the parking lot.
Officer Quincy slaps the detective on the back, glee painted across his face, and they exchange a knowing look.
A stampede of excitement rushes through me.Do they know the tattoo I just described?
“Quincy, I have Barnes looking into him already. Go see what he has.” The officer practically skips out of the room and the detective turns to me. “Good work.” And the straight-A, overachieving perfectionist in me melts a little at his praise. That’s one thing about having a hyper-successful mother with sky-high expectations, you’ll do just about anything to hear “job well done.”
“What’s your name?” I ask while we wait.
He laughs. “Wow. I really made a good first impression, huh? Detective Saxon.” I don’t know why, but it hurts that he only told me his title. “Or just Leo.”
Leo.
I warm slightly, but then jump when Quincy slams the door open. He doesn’t look even an ounce as excited as he was when he left, and my heart sinks. He looks at me apologetically, then his expression becomes stony as he turns to Leo and shakes his head.
“Is it ironclad?” Leo stands up, fists clenching at his sides. My gaze ping-pongs between them, heart thumping while waiting for an answer.
“Airtight.” I assume they’re talking about an alibi—I’ve heard those words thrown around in my crime shows plenty of times before. The small balloon of hope I’d felt just minutes before pops sharply and painfully.
“Fuck!” Leo roars. I jolt back as he slams his fist onto the table. It’s almost like he’s startled himself with how quickly he jumps back into his calm, all-American charm. I must look terrified because he speaks to me like a scared animal. “I’m sorry. But we’re gonna need a hell of a lot more than a hazy recollection from a likely concussed witness.” He rubs his knuckles that I notice are already coloring with a faint bruise.
I understand his outburst. If all the events of the last twenty-four hours didn’t drain me of all my energy, I would be pounding the table until my knuckles were black and blue too.
“So what now?” I can feel the tears welling again in my eyes.
“Now? Now, you’re free to go, Miss Hargrave.”
Chapter two
