Chapter 16
KANE
“Let me guess, you’re texting Jess again?”
Oliver looks over from his desk with a little smirk, busting me red-fingered, so to speak, as I finish typing my message. I hit send—yes, to Jess, of course—before putting the phone down and meeting his amused gaze.
My eyebrow arches up as I retort, “I seem to recall you texting Shea pretty often when you first got back together.”
“Maybe,” he admits. His smirk shifts to an outright smile. “I’m just giving you shit. I don’t blame you for wanting to make sure she’s doing okay.”
I lean back in my chair with a sigh. “I’d feel better if she wasn’t at work. Even with all the precautions we’re taking, I still can’t help worrying.”
Oliver sets aside the files he’s holding and focuses his attention on me. “There’s no reason to think she won’t be safe, Kane. We’ve got added security set up at her lab, and the guards know not to let Eliza inside, no matter what kind of sob story she gives them.”
My jaw clenches. “I’d be happier if Eliza was in jail. The judge should never have granted her bail.”
“I don’t disagree,” he replies. “But with the limited space at the jail and the charges she’s facing, I’m not surprised. Unfortunately.”
I can’t say I’m surprised, either, as much as I wish the outcome had been different.
But since none of the charges against Eliza Webster were considered violent—although I’m not sure what else you’d call a razor stuck in a teddy bear or rocks thrown into Jess’s house while she’s home—the judge granted bail at her arraignment four days ago.
When I cornered the judge afterwards to question him on it, he was apologetic but firm.
“She’s not a flight risk,” he said, “and she’s not facing any felonies.
From what her attorney said, I don’t think the woman’s going to try anything else.
But you’ve got the restraining order as backup. Just in case she gets any ideas.”
I almost laughed in his face at that. After ten years on the force, I know damn well that a restraining order can’t do much if the perpetrator is determined to break it.
That’s why I’m taking my own precautions when it comes to Jess’s safety, like driving her to work and back, insisting she stay at the lab until I’m there to get her, and dropping very unsubtle hints to the building security guards letting them know the consequences if they screw up.
Plus, we have a tracker on Eliza’s car—no, it’s not legal, but that’s one of the great things about working with Blade and Arrow.
They can do things I can’t without losing my job, and I just pretend I don’t know anything about it.
Obviously I do, since I’m the one who asked them to do it. Just like I asked the team to hack into the lab’s security cameras and alert me if Eliza’s spotted trying to enter the building.
So she should be fine.
Rationally, I know she is. But the rabidly protective part of me wants to bundle Jess up in layers of bubble wrap and cart her off to some remote island until all this is over. Or barring that, keep her at my house instead of sitting here worrying about her constantly.
And my mind isn’t just busy constructing imaginary catastrophes, but reminding me of all the little things that could upset Jess as well.
One of the employees being cruel to her.
An anxiety attack if something happens to trigger her.
Or fucking Brian—who might be innocent of the attacks against Jess but not of being a raging asshole I’d like to punch in the face—comes back and upsets Jess again.
“Is this what it’s like?” I ask. “Worrying about her all the time?”
Oliver’s eyebrows shoot up. “Is what like?” Then he smiles, a knowing one this time. “Oh. You mean being in love.”
“Yeah.” I’ve never been one to talk about my feelings with my friends, but after being partners for years, Oliver feels more like the brother I never had than a friend.
“I love her. And whenever I’m not with Jess, I’m worrying about her.
Shit. Even when I’m with her, I can’t help wondering if she’s feeling okay, if she’s upset, if she needs something… ”
“Sorry to tell you, but yes,” he affirms. “That’s exactly what it’s like.
Just because I don’t text Shea as much as I used to doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about her all the time.
If I’m working a night shift, I can’t stop checking the security system.
Worrying that she’s feeling anxious that I’m not there.
And if something stressful happens, I worry she’ll have a setback. ”
Before I can respond, he continues, “But it’s worth it. When Shea wasn’t in my life, everything seemed… darker. Emptier. With her back, I know this sounds cheesy, but it’s like the sun came out again.”
I nod in agreement. “That’s what it feels like. It’s crazy; I had no idea how much I was missing until I met her. Until?—”
“Montague. Kingston.” Chief Zimmerman approaches our desks with a somber expression.
“We just got a call about a body found in Rockefeller Park, right by the Pocantico River. Sounds like it could be suspicious. I need you two to head out there ASAP. Secure the scene, talk to the woman who found the body. Hank’s in the middle of a meeting, but he’ll meet you there as soon as he’s done. ”
Shit. While Sleepy Hollow has its share of crime—Jess’s situation, for example—homicides are rare in our small town. And I’d prefer to keep it that way.
Pushing up from my chair, I slide my Glock into its holster and shrug on my jacket. “Any chance it’s not suspicious? Maybe someone drunk, went for a walk in the park… it got down below thirty last night.”
The chief frowns. “The dispatcher said the witness was very upset and was hard to understand, but it doesn’t sound like natural causes. Possible ligature marks on the throat, bruising…”
Oliver grabs his coat and gun as he follows my lead. He swipes the patrol car keys from my desk and says, “Gotcha. We should be there in less than ten.” Then he smirks at me again. “I’ll drive. So you can check on Jess one more time before we get there.”
I shoot him a hard glare. “Not when we’re on a case.”
As we hurry out to the parking lot, Oliver claps my shoulder. “It’s going to take us some time to get there. No harm in telling her hi. Maybe how much you miss her.”
Man. Maybe it was better when I didn’t tell my friends about my personal life.
But given that I just sent a text to Jess less than fifteen minutes ago, another one would probably be overkill. I want her to know I’m thinking about her, but not worry that I’ve become a controlling boyfriend who needs to check on her all the time.
With the sirens on, it ends up taking only eight minutes to get to the scene.
It’s easy to spot, with a woman bundled in a thick puffer coat and clutching her dog’s leash as she stands near the edge of the water, staring in.
There’s a trampled path of snow leading to the riverbank, and the instant I see it, I know there’s no chance of finding a usable footprint.
Not with dozens of crisscrossing boot tracks and indentations where her dog followed beside her.
Oliver and I hop out of the car in unison, and we exchange a quick look. Through a series of chin lifts and sideways glances and eyebrow raises, we silently divvy up the responsibilities.
While I carefully pick my way towards the water’s edge, choosing fresh snow to walk through, Oliver makes a beeline to the young woman crying quietly while her dog whines softly at her feet.
If it truly is a homicide, I feel for her. Finding a dead body, regardless of the cause, is never something you want to experience. But to see the evidence of violence, the harsh reminder of how quickly life can be snuffed out… it’s something she’ll likely have nightmares about.
Once I get within ten feet of the river, I can see the body.
Sprawled across the snow, limbs akimbo like a broken doll, the woman is motionless as she stares up at a brilliant blue sky.
As I draw closer, I can clearly see the blue tint to her skin, and the violent bruises wrapped around her throat.
Her face is bruised, too, and while I’m not a forensic expert, the coloring would indicate she died shortly after receiving them.
Not an accidental death, then.
My mind switches into investigative mode as I scan the scene.
The snow directly around her is crisp and clean, almost like she was tossed there as an afterthought.
She’s not wearing a coat, which makes me think she must have been taken from somewhere and not accosted while walking through the park on her own.
Though I shouldn’t feel a tiny surge of relief, I do.
If she was killed by a person she knew, that would at least decrease the risk to the rest of the women in Sleepy Hollow.
They won’t have to fear walking through town or crossing a parking lot on their own, like they would if this woman was randomly targeted.
Although there’s really no way to know for sure. Not yet. Not until we identify the deceased, get forensics out here…
But the first thing I have to do is confirm that she’s dead. So I snap on my gloves and walk even closer to the woman, then crouch down to lightly place my finger on her neck.
There’s nothing. Not even a faint thump. And from the growing stiffness of her skin, it’s pretty obvious there’s nothing more that can be done for her.
Next, I take a closer look at her face, searching past the array of bruises across it.
At first, I don’t recognize her. Which, selfishly, brings another brief surge of relief.
A beat later, recognition slams into me, driving the air from my lungs. I reel backwards, almost falling into the snow before catching my balance. My heart thuds in a crazed, erratic rhythm as I drag myself to a standing position.
“Oliver,” I call over. Is that my voice? It doesn’t sound like my own. It’s too reedy. Too strained. Too laced with fear. “I need to talk to you. Now.”