Page 53 of Dirty Valentine
“From what I can piece together she managed to run into the woods behind the house, and lose the attacker there.When night came she moved to the barn and that’s when we found her.”
“My God.”The pieces were starting to form a picture I didn’t like.“So our killer isn’t just targeting these family members randomly.”
“She kept getting more hysterical the more she talked.Most of what she said doesn’t make much sense—trauma and sedatives will do that.But she kept telling me they watch everything and they’re always there but never seen.”
“Who?”I asked.
“That’s the million-dollar question,” he said.“Could mean everything or nothing at all.”
“Paranoia is common with that level of trauma,” I said, though something cold traced down my spine.
“Maybe.But here’s the thing that really bothers me—buried in all the rambling about bloodlines and justice, she mentioned details about our investigation that haven’t been released to the public.”
“What kind of details?”
“The symbols on the graves.The stones and positioning.”Jack’s expression was troubled.“Either she’s involved somehow, or someone with access to our case files has been feeding her information.”
The lab suddenly felt smaller, more confining.“We already know we have a leak.Judge Morton proved that.”
Jack grunted in agreement.“I’ve got a deputy posted outside her room, but honestly?I’m not sure if he’s there to protect her or to watch her.We can’t rule out that she’s involved somehow.Maybe she’s just a really good actress.”
“If she is she deserves an award,” I said, remember the pale, bloody face that had looked at me out of vacant eyes.I shuddered and shook it off, remembering the newest occupant of my refrigeration unit.
“I’m finished up here,” I said.“I’ve got the ID confirmation on our victim from the fingerprint scanner.Victoria Mills.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.Before now those graves that had been marked were theory.Now it’s as good as a murder list.”
The drive home was quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts as the Tahoe’s headlights carved through the pre-dawn darkness.By the time we reached our house, exhaustion had settled into my bones like lead.Jack’s arm around my waist as we climbed the stairs was the only thing keeping me upright.
“Few hours of sleep,” he murmured against my hair as we collapsed into bed still wearing yesterday’s clothes.“Then we tackle this fresh.”
I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
* * *
The smell of coffee drifted up from the kitchen, followed by something richer and more complex that made my stomach do a little flip.Not the good kind.I’d been dreaming of carved symbols and terrified eyes, but it was the scent of bacon hitting the air that dragged me fully awake.
“Oh no,” I whispered, pressing a hand to my mouth as saliva flooded in that telltale way that meant trouble.
I barely made it to the bathroom before my stomach rebelled against whatever optimism I’d been feeling about this pregnancy getting easier.Jack’s footsteps on the stairs told me he’d heard, and by the time the worst had passed, he was sitting on the bathroom floor beside me with a damp washcloth.
“So much for progress,” I said weakly, accepting the cloth gratefully.“Every morning I think to myself that it’ll be the last time.But then the next morning comes.”
I leaned into him, letting his warmth anchor me while my stomach decided whether it was finished being dramatic.“I think it was the bacon.”
“Hmm,” he said.“You want oatmeal instead?”
“God, no,” I said with a shudder.“Throwing up is bad enough.Why would you do that to me?
“You’re right.Silly question.What about toast?”
The thought of any food sounded like a terrible idea, but I nodded because I knew he was just trying to help.
“Give me a minute to brush my teeth and I’ll be down.”
“Take your time.I’ll turn off the bacon.”
Twenty minutes later, I made it to the kitchen in fresh clothes and with a stomach that had settled into uneasy peace.Jack had indeed turned off the bacon, opened windows to air out the smell, and was sitting at our kitchen island with coffee and what looked like plain toast waiting for me.
