Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
A boot mark has been half covered up in the dirt. Whoever is doing this is good about not leaving any evidence besides the body, almost flaunting the fact they can’t be caught. I study the footprint. It looks narrow, but without the whole thing, I can’t tell if it’s a man’s or woman’s shoe.
“Fuck.” This is going to create chaos in the media tomorrow once they realize the latest victim is related to a detective who’s been working on the serial killer case. And, once again, a different method of killing. Not to mention, Kylie being killed ruins the consistency of the murderer only targeting men.
My phone buzzes, but I ignore it, scanning the bushes for hints of evidence. I look at the street and surrounding houses, hoping to spot any cameras, but in this part of town, it’s unlikely. My phone buzzes again, and this time, I take it from my pocket.
I’m disappointed when it’s not Hope returning my call. My eyebrows furrow as I notice it’s one of my colleagues calling for a third time. And a bad feeling sinks into my stomach.
“Braxton,” he says. “There’s another body.”
“Where?” I grit.
Two in one night? Are you fucking kidding me?
“A nightclub called Lucy’s.”
My jaw tics. Lucy’s is owned by Eli Monti, the fucking boss of the Italian mafia. It’s very rare a body is found at any of their establishments, and I’m certain the moment I arrive it’ll be gone.
“Who called it in?” I ask.
“A woman found it and called us, but I don’t think she’s local.”
No, because if she were, she wouldn’t have ever dared call the police while at a Monti establishment.
We can’t fucking touch them, and yet I don’t fucking care.
Someone’s getting ballsy about their kills, and they’ll have to answer for it.
CHAPTER 34
Braxton
A week later, I attend Kylie’s funeral. Lucas hasn’t been in the office all week despite his efforts to try to work on the case. I stopped answering his calls, where he would claim to have made breakthroughs that are dead ends we’ve already marked off.
The media is eating us alive, and I’ve barely slept. I’ve done numerous interviews and given many statements. The official statement is that this is unrelated to the other murders. She was a female victim, so this was an entirely different matter. It doesn’t make it any easier to provide them with the answers they’re demanding, though.
As I suspected, on the same night I snooped around Lucy’s club, there was no body to be found. I took the woman’s statement, then informed her she’d better leave town. She was stricken, just another person caught in the crossfire. Apparently, the body she saw was a man in his twenties with a green mohawk. She recalled a distinct tattoo on his arm, however.
As Lady Luck would have it, I’d studied Hope Ivanov so thoroughly that a man with a similar description who attended one of her classes came to mind. For most, this detail might’ve slipped by, but I have a knack for remembering things after seeing them only once.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” Lucas growls from beside me as he glares at Hope, who is just visible in the crowd of mourners. She stands with her agent, Candice, who I know also worked closely with Kylie.
She offers Candice a handkerchief.
“Calm down,” I say quietly. “We can’t prove anything.” She has an alibi, having been with her friend Ivy Walker. I’ve had to be careful this last week because I know my every move is being watched. My personal interest in Hope aside, I need hard evidence to prove her guilty or I have to wait it out until I lose the sense that my work’s being analyzed.
“It’s not fucking right,” he seethes. And although I have my suspicions, Hope might be involved in some way, if he gets any closer to her or her family, they will take him out.
“I know. Just trust me,” I say, placing my hand on his shoulder as we listen to one of Kylie’s friends deliver the eulogy. I’d later found out Lucas did know about the man his sister was seeing, and it was as I suspected; he didn’t think the guy was good enough for her, which is why he pressed so much for us to go on a date. And we only had that one date. I left Kylie behind that night after Hope left the event.
Now I wonder if anything might’ve changed if I’d stayed. Most likely not.
I wait for the eulogies to end, and when people begin to quietly speak among themselves, the tension is palpable. I make a point to walk in Hope’s direction. In the distance, on the edges of the cemetery, I can see Hawke’s car. He’s leaning against it, most likely making sure nothing goes awry.