Chapter Thirty-Two #2
She nods, returning to one of the last pages on a guy named Dakota Peterson. He was the first guy I knew June must be responsible for, because there was an obvious connection to her. The cops ruled it an accidental overdose, which fit his reputation, but Lorry disagrees.
“Sadie’s ex,” I supply.
“He was an asshole.” The words are like grinding gravel as she holds in her rage.
“If she had one more drink that night, or if she didn’t go to those self-defense classes with me, or if…
” The sentence breaks, and she pulls in a long breath through her nose.
“Just because he failed at raping her that time doesn’t mean he would’ve failed next time.
Or that he failed with other women in the past.”
“You’re right,” I agree, imagining my little reaper finding her best friend hurt and terrified, having just barely escaped an attack from her boyfriend, then turning around to seek vengeance.
The idea of her, pissed and bloodthirsty, turning that guy into another nameless asshole defeated by his own vices makes my cock harden. “You left a body.”
She rolls her neck back, eyes flicking to the ceiling with annoyance.
“It was an impulse kill. I’ve only done that three times.
Well, four now, I guess. But it wasn’t hard.
We were at this club, and I just kept supplying him with alcohol laced with drugs and drugs laced with more drugs.
Then I told him to meet me in the supply closet and locked him inside.
I figured if the alcohol and drugs didn’t kill him that night, I’d plan something better in the future. ”
“What about cameras?” James tried to access the video recordings but didn’t have any luck. The cops got them, though, because there are notes about it in Lorry’s file.
“They were just in the main area of the club, not the back rooms or hallways. I made sure it saw me dancing in the middle of the room, then I snatched a hat from this guy, tucked all my hair inside, lured Dakota to the closet, and was back dancing in less than five minutes. Not enough to make the police suspicious and definitely not enough to convict me.”
Fuck, I shouldn’t be rock hard from listening to how good she is at murdering people. I shift, trying to reposition myself without drawing June’s attention. Fortunately, or unfortunately, her attention is back on the file, where she’s flipped to an earlier page.
“Tim Bidwell,” she says, tapping her finger on the guy’s picture.
He’s an average-looking man, cheeks a little full and brows too thin, but he was young and popular, which earned his disappearance more attention.
“Pastor. You know, out of the fifteen people I’ve killed, four of them have worked in a church of some kind.
That might not seem like a lot, but it’s kind of a crazy percentage when you think about it. ”
I scoff. “I’m not surprised.”
“Tim is my most recent pastor. His high school girlfriend, Alexandria, was in the same MSW program as me. We weren’t super close, but the nature of the program meant we shared a lot of our pasts with each other.
I could tell he hurt her, but didn’t realize to what extent.
Then one day, she told me that a girl she used to babysit reached out.
Turns out, Tim’s tastes didn’t grow out of high school with him.
Alexandria was gone, but as the youth pastor, he had a steady stream of girls for the picking. ”
My hands curl into fists, anger stretching the tendons. “He suffered?”
Her lips curl into a full smile, though one without any real joy. It’s all malice, the smile of someone who knows they’re going to hell but plans to be ruling it before the night is over. “One of my longer kills. Five days.”
I whistle, leaning back in my chair. “Damn, reaper. Impressive.”
She gives a fake little bow in my direction, which brings her face closer to my dick.
It’s softened since she started talking about this Tim guy, but with her proximity, it stirs again.
Then she’s lifting too soon, her eyes meeting mine.
“He took a while to break, I’ll give him that.
But once he did, he cried and begged more than most.”
“The cops looked into his disappearance, didn’t they?”
“For a few days,” she says. “Then his family got some messages about him finally deciding to follow God’s calling to Cambodia.
He continued messaging and posting updates for a few weeks.
Enough to make the police lose interest. That was over two years ago.
I haven’t revisited him much, so I bet his family started worrying again when he stopped replying.
But you know how dangerous those Godless places can be.
Anything can happen.” She sounds so innocent when she says it, I’d almost believe her.
But I know her face and the intricacies of her cadence and voice.
I see the truth behind the facade. The pride at ridding the world of one more scumbag without an ounce of suspicion pointed her way.
Well, until Lorry, that is.
“Lorry is operating under the, I presume correct, assumption that you sent those messages from his phone,” I say.
“Did he check the IP addresses? They’ll say Cambodia.”
Shit, she’s brilliant. “I don’t know.”
“What makes him think I did it?”
“Lorry’s cousin’s wife was in a sorority with Tim’s sister.
That’s what originally got his attention.
I think he was looking for other disappearances within a year of Solomon’s.
The fact that Tim wasn’t the type to disappear and that all his family and friends had were a few messages and social media posts kept his suspicion fueled.
He was looking for more connections to you, but I’m assuming you used a fake name and disguise when you went to the church. ”
“Who says I went to the church?”
I raise an eyebrow, and she dips her head forward, conceding. “Black wig, platform shoes, bigger, padded clothes, no one looked my way.”
“Lorry doesn’t have much on Tim’s disappearance,” I lie.
“So, I doubt it’s one of his main cases against you.
I also don’t know if he’s tried linking anyone else to you since I stole these files a few weeks ago.
You’ve killed fifteen people total, right?
” She nods. “How many since moving to Tucson?”
There’s a moment's hesitation as she studies me, fighting a decades-long instinct to keep that part of her life hidden. When she gives in, I can’t help the warmth of pride that fills my chest at realizing I’ve gained her trust. “Eight,” she says.
Then shakes her head and corrects, “Nine. Including the guy two weeks ago.”
Nine people in five and a half years. And only four of them have caught the attention of anyone in law enforcement.
“And you’re positive none of them, other than these guys, can be linked to you?”
“You doubting my skills, Tink?”
“Not at all. But no evidence for a crime no one knows exists is a lot different than no evidence for a crime someone is actively trying to link to you.” I slide Lorry’s file to the center of the table and open mine, moving past the basic stuff, like where she’s from, when she graduated, who her friends are, and land on her crimes.
Most of it is stuff I picked up when she was following me.
Information from the cameras in her house, times she spent with her friends, and how often I caught her following me.
Past that is what I’ve been able to pick up in the weeks since Lorry called.
“How did you know about Jared?” she asks.
“I watched who went into your office a few times. Then I looked into Clarissa’s past after we… met.”
Color drains from her cheeks. “My clients… You…”
“I wanted to know why you were following me. Then why you wanted to kill me. But I didn’t document anything about any of them,” I say, knowing that clients’ privacy is a big deal to therapists.
“Do you think Lorry knows who my clients are? I’ll have to email them if my client list was compromised.”
I hate how scared she sounds now. Reaching over, I lay my hands over hers. “He’s watched you arriving and leaving your office a few times. But he’s never had time to sit outside your office and watch people come and go.”
She sniffs, though no tears have welled in her eyes, and looks down at our hands. “Okay.”
“Lorry doesn’t have anything.”
“Nothing substantial. But how am I supposed to…” She gestures into the air, “with a cop watching my every move?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
Her lips press together, and she bounces her knee, staring dully at the table.
I don’t think she has a specific picture in her vision, just smoke from the fire clouding everything she looks at.
I hook my foot on the leg of her chair, turning it so she’s facing me.
Keeping one hand over hers, I move my other to her jaw, fingers touching her hair.
The smoke clears enough to let her hold my gaze.
“I won’t let you burn, little reaper. Even if I have to drag a victim into my living room and strap him down for you. I promise.”
Her eyes jump between mine, then down to my lips. Her body softens in my direction, and she relaxes her head into my hand.
“Why?” she whispers.
My brows cinch together. “Why what?”
“Why do you care to help me this much?”
The answer is growing in my chest, aching to climb up my throat and pass my lips. But I won’t say that. Not now.
“I’ve lived most of my life either running from death or chasing it. You’ve shown me how to respect it. That’s no small thing, June Graves.”
A little breath passes her lips. Then, before I can blink, she swallows the distance between us and crushes her lips to mine. After over a week without this, the kiss feels suffocating. I smile and tug her closer, ready to empty my lungs if she asks.