Page 37 of Tainted Truth
The serial has been quiet, which makes me nervous. A man like that isn’t quiet for long. He’s escalating his timeline. Pretty soon, his ritual isn’t going to be enough.
The fact that we still haven’t nabbed him is grating on me. Security cameras are always erased, or he chooses areas where security cameras aren’t present. There’s never an eyewitness willing to talk to us.
I’m tired of the odds being stacked against us.
Setting my mug on a coaster, I lean forward with my elbows resting on my knees and notice a few of my notes are on the ground—crumpled. Rio must’ve accidentally done that.
A creak sounds from upstairs and I angle my head towards the staircase, waiting for another sound. These old houses squeak and creak every ten seconds, making me feel like Casper is going to come and drink a beer with me or something.
I’ll do a perimeter sweep in a few minutes and check on Spencer to make sure she’s sleeping well. Her sleep quality shouldn’t matter to me, but I can’t help that it does. I want her happy, smiling, and satisfied from multiple orgasms, given by me. I want her pussy squeezing the life out of my dick while I pound into her . . .
I fucking hate babysitting.
I shake my head, turning on the TV. The local news showcases my least favorite reporter.
Goddamn Sherry Jenkins.
The biggest mistake of my adult life was sleeping with her when I was a beat cop. She didn’t disclose that she was a journalist who was only after the scoop on an open case. I tossed her ass to the curb when I caught her digging through my things.
Sherry sits up straight with her blonde bob and navy pantsuit. “Tonight, on Channel Nine, we have breaking news. A serial killer is at large, on the streets of New York City. People are calling him the Bride Butcher . . .”
I groan. “Fuck!”
My phone vibrates on the couch cushion next to me. Hesitantly, I answer. “This is Dawson.”
“Have you seen the news?” Kowalski asks.
“I have it on now. Is there another body?”
“Yeah, here in Chelsea.”
My stomach drops. Chelsea. Where Spencer lives. Where Spencer would be right now if the events of the last few weeks hadn’t unfolded.
Fate is playing in our favor, but it may not be that way forever.
“You gotta get down here, man.” Kowalski pants like he’s going to be sick. “It’s bad.”
My hand drags down my face. “Are you sure it’s our guy?”
“You need to see it for yourself. I’ll text you the address.” He hangs up before I can ask any more questions.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself. I can’t leave Spencer here alone.
Scrolling my phone, I dial the two idiots who left me to babysit.
“What’s up?” Zane’s voice spills from the speaker of my phone.
“I got another body.”
“What? You had fun without us? And with Spencer there? How does that work?” Rio whines.
“Not me, dumbass. The killer dropped another body. I have to go to the scene. Where are you?” Right when I ask, I hear tires outside, and I peek out the window. Zane and Rio exit the Honda, darting up the steps.
I end the call and wait for them to come inside. Turning towards them, my eyebrows inch upward. “Where’s Dustin?”
“Probably fish food by now,” Rio explains and takes my spot on the couch.
“What happened?”
