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“I see it.” He parked behind a squad cruiser. “That’s Grady.”
She and Cannon dashed from the truck. The wind penetrated her suit, and she shivered.
Grady met them halfway. “A family coming into town this morning let their dog out to pee and found a dead body. They flagged me down while I was on my way home. Female. Raped and stabbed like the victim found near the hospital.”
Rosalie’s scar flared. “No.”
“I’m sorry.” He grabbed the nape of his neck and rubbed it. “And the killer left something on her body meant for you to see.”
“A rose,” she whispered.
Grady nodded. Pancakes churned in her gut. Cannon pressed his palm into her scar before she could. She brushed him and his concerned touch away and started for the woods. “Where’s the body?”
“Wait.” Cannon caught her elbow. “You don’t need to see that.”
She stopped without turning around. “Yes, I do.”
Cannon spun her to him. “You can see pictures later. Don’t do this.”
“I have to. That woman—both women—died because of me.”
He gripped her chin. “Their deaths aren’t on you. They’re on that psycho. This is not your fault.”
“It is my fault. If I had caught Malgor already, these women wouldn’t have been raped and stabbed to death. My failure caused them to endure so much worse than I did.”
“Stop it.” He dropped his hand to her shoulder. “Guilt will get you nowhere.”
She barked a laugh. “Are you really lecturing me about guilt?”
“I know what it does to a person. You may be fearless, but you tell me your fears when you sleep. Knives and being the victim of one again are two of them.”
She stared at him and his accurate assessment. How could he profile her so well in less than a week? “I need to see the victim. You can stay back if you like.”
“No way, Snow Angel. I’m with you.” He extended his arm for her to lead the way.
She brushed past him, grateful for his hand on her scar and his breath on her neck as he followed. Despite his lack of a badge and the uncertainty of their future, she needed his strength to calm the fears only he knew.
“Here.” Grady pointed to where the gravel sloped.
Cannon slid to her side as she peered down. Her gut spasmed, and she fought to keep the pancakes in her belly. He placed a steadying hand on her elbow.
“I’m okay,” she whispered.
She’d seen plenty of dead bodies but never one left for her to find.
Malgor had placed the victim face down in the snow. Her dark ponytail trailed down the pale, bluish skin of her back. Like an arrow, the tips of her hair pointed to a dried rose, the color as dark and ominous as the blood that congealed around the hours-old stab wound.
Rosalie didn’t have to roll the body to know the lifeless eyes matched her own. Didn’t need to look closer to know what kind of blade he’d used to inflict the wound. Nor did she need to imagine the agony the woman had suffered while Malgor had carved a pit in her back.
She knew. She also knew the next time Malgor used his knife, it would be on her.
Her skin prickled.
He was here.
She felt his gaze as strongly as she felt Cannon next to her. Slow and careful, she sidestepped down the steep embankment.Cannon called her name over the approaching sirens, but she ignored him. Malgor had to be in these woods somewhere.
Walking farther into the trees, she drew her gun.
