Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“Nate,” I shout the moment I enter Nate’s haven, ignoring the loud boom of the door as it smacks against the wall. The entire lab goes silent, all eyes on me. Good. Let them see what happens when you cross Francesca DeMarco.
Nate looks up with a frown before he transforms it into a smile that makes his hazel eyes sparkle. That sparkle used to really get to me. It made me feel special even though it was a fucking lie. Now, it just makes me want to punch him.
“Frankie,” he says. “Good morning. What’s up?”
“What’s up?” I snort the question, derision heavy in my tone. I’m sure I’m creating a back draft as I sidestep the other tables and desks on my way to his desk. The click of my shoes on the linoleum floor echoes in the sudden silence.
“What’s up, Nate,” I hold up the stockings, dangling them in front of his face like a dead rat, “is that I don’t appreciate you breaking into my fucking house and leaving gifts.”
His frown returns, a crease forming between his brows. “I don’t know what you’re talking—”
“Save it, Nate. I know it was you, and I’m telling you right now, don’t ever do that shit again. I promise you won’t like my response.”
My chest heaves. I’m a little intense right now, but a constant lack of sleep will do that to a girl—that and finding creepy-ass lingerie in your bedroom.
Nate launches out of his chair, and walks around his desk, color creeping up from his neck to his brows as he closes the distance between us. Finally, he invades my personal space, but I stand my ground, refusing to back down.
He says slowly and evenly, “It. Wasn’t. Me.”
I laugh, and the sound is harsh. “See, if you weren’t such a liar and a cheat, I might actually believe you. But I don’t.”
No one else knows about that stupid fucking nightie I wore it as my attempt to recapture his waning attention. The memory of it makes me want to puke. “Stay the hell away from my house and from me.”
He takes a step forward, pushing his face into mine, but I don’t back down, and I don’t flinch. I’ve stared down worse than him.
Once again, he says, “It. Wasn’t. Me.”
“I don’t believe you.” My voice is ice-cold, matching the fury in my eyes. “Try a stunt like that again, and I’ll make sure you never work in forensics in this city again. We clear?”
“Frankie,” Jay calls out, but I wave him off because this isn’t his fight. I appreciate his protective instinct, but I don’t need it.
“Frankie!” It’s Jay again, this time with a firm tone.
I keep my glare on Nate. “Stay away from me.”
“Frankie, we got a body.”
Nothing else could have pulled me from the white-hot rage coursing through me faster than those four words. I shoot one final glare at Nate to let him know not to fuck with me again and turn away, ignoring the stares of his forensics buddies as I join Jay at the door. “Where?”
Jay’s lips tug into a lopsided grin. “Let’s get to the car first, killer.”
I snort-laugh and a smile crosses my face as we hurry out to the parking lot. I inhale the warm morning air and exhale deeply until my heart rate is back to normal and turn my focus back to the case.
“I’m fine,” I assure Jay, both of us jogging the last few feet to the car. “What details do you have?” I ask as I wrestle in my purse for the keys.
“Not much to go on. Body dumped behind a halfway house on Cloverdale. Manager found it while taking out the trash.” Jay swipes the keys from my hand without missing a beat, leaving me no choice but to claim shotgun.
We don’t hit too much traffic and Jay gets us to the scene in double-time. As we pull up to the address, I take in the massive sign on the front lawn.
“Sober living,” I mutter, the gears in my head already turning. “Two of our three vics had a history of booze issues. Could be the connection we’ve been looking for.”
Jay shrugs as we make our way down the narrow path between buildings, nodding at the officers who beat us to the scene. “Maybe,” he says, “or it could just be a convenient spot to ditch a body.”
Jay's right, and maybe I'm getting ahead of myself, but as we step into the alley with its golden glow and the stink of hot, old garbage, I just know it's not. The killer picked this alley for a reason. I’m sure of it.
Right beside the large blue dumpsters, a pair of blue and white sneakers peek out as the first sign of our victim. “Sneakers look new. About a size ten, eleven, so it’s safe to say not a robbery.”