Page 93 of The Tomorrows After You
I frowned and ran the program again before pulling up my email to go through the photos of the documents.
The crime scenewasgrizzly but Emery Plainbottomhadbeenright. Grace’s bodywaslying on her back in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. Therewereblood smears on the door jamb and more photos of the trails like Riothaddescribedfrom the family room to the kitchen.He’dbeen right about those. If shewasstill alive after Riotleftthe house, itwaspossible shedraggedherself into that final position.
But somethingbotheredme about all the blood spatter around her. I could see a chairknockedover in the dining room and her phone in the corner, alreadysmashed.
Iclickedon the next file. Itwasa close-up of Grace Asher’s head and shoulders on the medical examiner’s table. Shelookedcold and my heartachedfor Riot and Brennan. She mighthavegonea little crazy, but shewasstill their mother. A sense of intrusionplaguedme to beexaminingher like this but my journalistic instincts wouldn’tletme stop now.
I almost clicked off when something else in the photo caught my eye. I zoomed in and my blood ran cold.
“Holy, shit…” I hit the print button.
Slamming my laptop shut, I scooped everything in my arms up and ran to my car.
I had to get home to Riot.
36
Nicolette
“Riot?” I called. Sweeping the double-wide, I scanned the kitchen and living room but they were empty. “Riot!” I peered into his bedroom but it, too, was empty.
A light rufflecaughtmy attention, and Ispunto cross the length of the house to the sitting room at the opposite end.
Riot’s head was bowed, flipping through pages of a small binder.
“Riot?” My voice was weaker and something hit my stomach hard when he didn’t look up at me but I ignored it, too eager to care what he was looking at. “Riot, I have to tell you something I found today—”
“You know, I found something interesting too.” Cold eyes gazed up at me. “Your uncle dropped this off earlier today. He opened a package he didn’t realize was addressed to you.”
“That can wait.” I tried to reign in my impatience but I was about to burst. “There’s something I should tell you f—” I froze in place. My uncle dropped off a package addressed to me? My throat tightened, remembering the only thing that I had anticipated getting in the mail at his house.
No, no, no…
Riot closed the binder and threw it on the table in front of me.
My heart stopped when I saw the cover page.
“Riot, no, this isn’t what you think…”
“No? Because what I thinkisthat thisissome kind of outline for an episode of that garbage documentary series. But it isn’tfinished. It’smissinganending. And what I think—”he roseto his feet andcrossedthe space between us,“isthatyouarehere to try to help them finish it.”
When I didn’t acknowledge the binder, he picked it up and shoved it to my chest. I stumbled backward. The adrenaline of what I’d found about Grace was still coursing through me. But a whole new rush of adrenaline was fighting for my attention.
His distrusting eyes were cold, assessing me and it broke my heart.
“Riot, I never wrote the story.”
Riot’s angry expression faded to sadness and disappointment and my insides continued to unravel.
“So, it’s true. This is why you came back.” There was so much despair in his voice. He’d been hoping he was wrong. He had been hoping there was some kind of explanation.
“Yes, initially,” the words rushed from my lips, “but I never wrote the story, I decided very early on that I wasn’t going to. That’s why I’ve been poking around all this Chimera stuff with the church. I was looking for a bigger story and, Riot, I think I have it. Your mother. I went back over her autopsy report.”
“Youwhat?” His words were laced with such heat it sent shivers down my spine.
“Riot, it’s good. It could exonerate you.”
His mouthdroppedopen, and hestumbledbackward, sitting back down on the couch andrakinghis fingers through his hair.
