Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
“Trouble is,” Henri says, “that kind of suspicion’s not grounds to arrest him.”
“Maybe not,” Grant answers. “But we can sure haul his ass in for questioning, anyway.”
“We sure it’s Culver?” I rub at one gritty eye. “I don’t know. Something’s not sitting right. Emma Santos was found killed before Delilah even showed up. Before Culver ever met her. Yeah, it’s possible he could’ve searched her or heard about her around town, but that doesn’t explain the instant obsession.”
Bowden frowns, resting his hands against his large belly. “Emma Santos wasn’t killed. She died of a self-inflicted overdose. That case has nothing to do with this one.”
“I have a theory that—”
“—that you’ve got a bug up your ass about the Arrendells. We know. You’ll do anything you can to string these two cases together and shackle it to them,” Bowden replies impatiently. “Give it a rest, Lucas. If you can’t be objective about this, I’ll pull you off the case.”
Goddamn.
It’s probably the first time in ages I’ve ever heard that useless lump exert his authority in any meaningful way. I work my lips helplessly, casting a glance at Grant, but he only shakes his head, his eyes hard with warning.
Not now. Let it go, man.
My guts twist.
There’s a waiting silence in the room.
Gritting my teeth, I look away and force myself to say it.
“Yes, sir.”
This isn’t over.
Also, I’m not the asshole who brought up the Arrendells.
What if I wasn’t wrong after all?
What if—
Goddammit, something stinks and it’s right in front of my nose. Close enough to smell it and sour your stomach, but almost too frigging close to see clearly.
What the fuck am I missing?
The meeting ends after working over a few more theories and divvying out assignments to follow up on the case.
Henri goes off to bring in Culver.
I wind up on stakeout duty at the house, keeping me far away from the station when they bring that little hill rat in. That was the chief’s decision.
I don’t think it’s a coincidence.
As I get up to head out, Micah catches my arm, leaning in close.
“She’s okay. You don’t need to worry,” he growls.
A knot I hadn’t realized I’ve been holding on to all day loosens in my chest. “What, you saw her?”
“On my way in.” Micah nods. “Captain gave approval for me to fetch her things, take them from her house to The Rookery. She’s holding up all right. Stubborn as hell, that woman.” He smiles. “The two of you are a lot alike. No wonder you fight like wolverines over the dumbest damn things.”
“It was a pretty dumb fucking fight.” I smile faintly.
“Most fights are. We get ourselves all worked up, then later, we realize it was all egos and useless crap that got in the way of time we could’ve spent together.” He sounds like he’s talking from experience, and he gives me a long look, letting go of my arm. “Give her time. She’ll talk to you again.”
I hope like hell he’s right.
I’d give anything for a chance to make it right again and bring my pretty Lilah home to my arms.
19
Cherry Red (Delilah)
Sleep? Impossible.
Every time I try, I just see him again.
Roger.
Spread open like a rack of lamb, his vacant eyes cutting and sharp.
Like he blames me.
Oh, I know it’s not my fault.
He never should have stalked me to this cursed little town.
If he’d just gotten the help he needed and stayed in New York and called me a bitch to his drinking buddies like a normal ex-boyfriend, he’d still be alive.
I sigh.
What’s really keeping me awake is the great unknown.
Wondering who would kill my stalker ex-boyfriend just to send a message.
Who could possibly be that focused on me?
The walls of The Rookery feel too thin tonight, even though it should be the safest place in town. But even knowing the chief of police and his wife are close doesn’t help.
I’ve never been more alone, and when you’re alone, you can’t feel totally safe.
I want Lucas so bad it kills me.
I miss his heat, his wall of a body just waiting for me to curl up, to burrow into him, to hide against, but my head’s gotten him all tangled up in this mess.
My feelings are all spikes, ready to stick anything that gets too close.
If I saw him right now, I don’t know if I’d kiss him or scream until I throw out my voice.
But Lucas isn’t some stalker freak killer making my life a living hell.
My problems with him are mostly me.
I’ll even admit it’s not totally about Emma or the fact that he lied.
Not about some vague promise that was never fully broken, just delayed for the purpose of the investigation.
The truth? I’m afraid.
I’m a bitter, screwed up little mess who’ll find any excuse to push away a man who could be too good for me. We were getting too real, and he was so close to rewriting the stain of my past.