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“You okay to be left alone?” I asked her quietly.
She wouldn’t really be left alone. I had a few prospects keeping an eye out on the house, but I’d ask her anyway.
She nodded. “I’m fine.”
She didn’t look fine. She looked wary.
“If you need me, you’ll call me, right?” I asked.
She nodded, but stopped mid-nod. “I don’t have your number.”
I wanted to smack myself in the head.
Taking my phone out of my pocket, I dialed her number.
Her phone rang from the direction of her back pocket, but she didn’t reach for it.
Once I was assured she had my number, I put my own phone away and walked up to her until our lips were only millimeters apart.
“Be good,” I said against her lips.
I felt her lips open up into a smile underneath my own as she answered.
“Never anything but.”
***
I knew as soon as I pulled onto June Street that this case was connected with the one two days ago.
As I pulled into the drive, parking directly next to the police line now encompassing the entire lot, I looked directly across the street to where Channing and I were not even two hours before.
The funeral home’s front exit was directly across from the gas station the victim died at, and the side door we’d rushed out of shared the same street that the side of the gas station did.
Which meant that we walked outside right about the time the man was being murdered across the street from us.
“Goddamn,” I said as I hauled myself out of the car.
The first person to walk up to me was Tunnel Morrison, and I knew him being here as the first responder for the second murder wasn’t a coincidence, either.
“You were first on the scene?” I asked, praying for a different answer than the one I knew was about to come out of his mouth.
He nodded grimly. “Yes, sir.”
His voice was quiet and serious. He knew just as well as I did what this meant.
We had a killer on our hands. One that had my name etched on the edge of his sword.
He was gunning for me, and he wanted me to know it.
“Walk me through what you know,” I said to Tunnel as we walked towards the scene.
He turned and walked at my side.
“I arrived after the convenience clerk called in a dog barking at the back of his shop. It was the victim’s cell phone ringing. His wife was concerned because the man was supposed to be home over an hour ago. He stops here every night for a 6-pack and a scratch off ticket. ID on him identifies him as Brian Jones, 32,” he said clearing his throat. “He’s got stab wounds to his chest and neck. Clothes are in a pile near the back door.”
Twenty minutes later, I’d observed the scene and then turned it over to the crime scene techs to do their magic.
I found myself facing my boss, and a look of haunted fury was etched all over his face.
