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I snatched the card from her manicured hands, staring at the name and trying to run through where the fuck that could be.
“I don’t understand,” I said, sounding stupid.
She smiled brightly, her pearly white teeth gleaming. “I wanted to help you, Ella. And I did. I found your big bad guy. After my flake of a boyfriend ran off, I wanted to be useful.”
My heart squeezed, and my fear spiked. My poor sister just got in a literal bed with the devil. Why? All so she could help me because I was too incompetent to find the idiot myself.
I wanted to throw up.
“Oh, and guess what? He has a friend named Pedro. And I gave him my ticket for the art gala tomorrow.”
I continued to stare at her. My mouth and tongue were not able to function. The art gala was directly adjacent toBlack Mirrors. The club had just had a triple homicide in the alley next to it, and it was possibly connected to a kidnapping and my serial killer.
Cassie just set me up on a date, and not just any date, but with a known drug cartel leader’s partner and possibly a part of the largest Russian mafia.
Moya Kotova…My blood.
I wondered just how much of my blood was going to be shed in this crazy plan or if I would even come out alive.
Stretching out of my curled-up position on the park bench, I checked my phone. It was a little past three in the morning.
Damn.
Those meth slingers from the club the other night had a fair amount of cash on them, and their bank accounts were plentiful. I was happy to clean them out.
Got a good forty-grand, so I was able to acquire some needed essentials for everyone in the camp.
I made my way back to the cove, ensuring my hoodie was pulled over my hair. The homeless community was fast asleep, so I tried to tiptoe back to the docks as quietly as possible. At each of the twenty-four cart areas where their other things were stored, I dropped a bag of goodies as soundlessly as I could at each spot. They were full of water canteens, battery-operated stove tops, reinforced netting tents, and a multitude of foods. Plus, there was an envelope of a thousand dollars for each dwelling.
After delivering my last bag, I paused to scan the area. The dock was comforting as usual, the humid salty air clinging to my hair and skin. The seasons were changing from frigid cold to a sweet springtime. Rochester was infamous for having fifty-four-degree weather one day and a blizzard the next, though, so just because it was spring technically didn’t mean much.
The breeze from the river picked up a sour smell, and my nose scrunched up in distaste. I peered at the river, leaning over, expecting to see the wheezy man floating on the river’s top. But no, he was fish chow by now, and I didn’t see anything resembling that I’d made a mistake in his demise.
Still, the air continued to sour with that metallic scent that could only be blood. I furrowed my brows, looking over to the tunnel that was never used. The thing was pitch black, and the only thing in it was stairs leading out of a maintenance hole to the city.
As I walked toward the dark space, the smell intensified.
Did an animal wander in here and die?
The iron smell was insanely strong, making the entire tunnel a perfumed box of rot.
Walking deeper in, trailing my hands on the rusted, rough, textured walls, I felt something wet at my feet. It could be rain from the cracks in the overhead bridge or a pool of blood-based on the smell.
The tunnel was the darkest part of the docks. It was always a dimly lit place, but there was usually enough light for me to make out my surroundings. But at the moment, I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face.
I strained my ears to listen for any noise.
The roar of the highway above and the distant water dripping echoed around the space, but I couldn’t detect anything else.
Crouching down, I ran my fingers along the pool, seeking the disturbance in the energy of the air. There was a heat to the area, my breaths bouncing back to me as they collided with whatever the object in front of me was.
Finding purchase on what felt like a human foot, I kept trailing my hand up.
First, my fingertips hit large breasts with a sticky pool in the center, and the fabric, soaking in what could only be blood, spilled over with my touch. Finally, I found the neck of the female had been sliced, a gash opening from ear to ear.
I glared into the darkness.
Who the fuck killed this woman?
