Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
“What’s this?” Jay asks as he slips on some black vinyl gloves, lifting Zeke’s lifeless hand. “Probably was holding on to it when he died.” He tugs at the fingers, working gently until he frees the fabric. “Well, this is new.”
I gasp at the sight before me.
Blue. Silk. Panties.
My blue silk panties.
I wore them on the night someone drugged me on the yacht. “Shit.” My head is pounding, and my vision starts to blur. Anyone could have those panties, but this, like too many other fucking things in this case, feels really personal.
“You okay?” Jay’s brows dip into a frown, his face full of concern.
I nod my head, but when I open my mouth, the words don’t come. I can’t tell him I was wearing those panties when I was drugged on the yacht. It’ll make me sound exactly how I feel, which is like I’m losing my fucking mind. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”
I need to focus. Just one breath at a time. I bite my lip, swallowing down the rising panic.
He lets out a grunt as he pushes up to a standing position. “At least Zeke came to us with those photos. The killer has to be in there somewhere.”
“Along with the other victims,” I say, my mind racing. “We need to track down the records from Hope House. They’ve got to be somewhere if they were a state-funded facility, right?”
“Record keeping was a mess back then, but we have to try,” Jay says. “Let’s head upstairs.”
I nod, but the discomfort in my belly twists further as we move up the stairs. The killer’s twisted game isn’t just about murdering these guys. It’s personal, aimed directly at me.
And where did he get my panties? If they are my panties.
As we pass Nate and his team, I catch a glimpse of his face. “It’s not pretty,” he warns.
“Is it ever?” I shoot back, trying to mask my anxiety with bravado, though my heart is beating like a wild horse.
“No, but this is bad, Frankie.”
I nod. “Okay.” I take another few steps forward and stop. It’s bloody and much of the blood is all over the walls, the computer screens and gaming equipment. “This doesn’t make sense.”
“Agreed. It’s the same guy, but this is out of character for what we know about him.”
The scene is intentionally messy when the others have been so pristine. “This is personal, or more personal than the others. I think.” I can’t make sense of it especially with my mind whirling about the blue panties in an evidence bag down in the kitchen.
“It’s just blood. His throat was slit here.” Jay points to the chair. “The arterial spray is dry underneath the smears on the screens,” he says, pointing out the dots under the mess.
Jay walks around the room making notes and I can’t move. My mind won’t stop thinking about those panties—my panties, I’m sure—and what this all means. “Jay.”
“Nothing appears to be missing, so we can rule out a robbery. Junkies would surely take this expensive equipment rather than rub blood all over it.”
“Jay,” I say again and this time I get his attention.
“What’s up Frankie?”
I open my mouth to tell him about the panties. I trust Jay. He’s family to me but the first sound that comes out is incoherent and I shake my head. “Never mind.”
I can’t tell Jay about the panties or the benzos on the yacht because it’ll make me sound crazy. Hell, I think I sound crazy. What are the odds that someone on the ship stole my panties and placed them in Zeke’s cold dead hand?
The panties can’t be mine. I keep telling myself that, but I can’t even remember if I packed them when we left the boat. My mind’s a mess, all scrambled thanks to this killer. He’s in my head, clouding my thoughts.
Losing focus. Again.
Jay and I head downstairs, but I veer off into the kitchen, spotting Nate. I give him a quick nod toward the backyard. He follows, curiosity on his face.
“What’s going on, Frankie?” His voice is laid back, but there’s something more behind it. That same old Nate swagger.
“I need a favor.” I glance around, making sure we’re alone. “I need you a rush on those panties for DNA.”
His eyes light up and I want to smack him. He leans against the house, a smug smile growing. “Panties, huh? They aren’t yours, are they?”
“No,” I shoot back, too quickly.
He laughs. “Are you sure, Frankie? ‘Cause if they are, well, that’s a whole different kind of request.” He winks.
I roll my eyes, feeling heat creep up my neck. “Just do your job, Nate.”
He leans in slightly, still smiling. “I dunno, Frankie. You asking me for this? I thought we were past this favor thing, but I guess some habits die hard.” His tone drips with innuendo, his eyes raking over me.