41. Colt
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
colt
I locked the front door and kicked off my boots, propping them next to Sarah’s shoes. The boys giggled from the couch as Sammy attempted to kindle logs in the fireplace. Sarah was snuggled up next to them in pajamas searching for a movie to watch.
We’d all had a quick dinner at the Harlow house before splitting up. Cam and Hal headed home, Hunter decided to stay with his parents, and Emma had offered to go back with Honey. After some time, I learned that both Emma and Honey liked watching the Golden Girls and shared an affinity for gossip—I suspected that me, Sammy, and Sarah were the topic. At least that’s what Emma implied when she sent the rest of us to Sarah’s house.
For the first time, it was Sarah, the boys, Sammy, and me. I felt at home.
The temperature had dropped dramatically and the rain was definitely going to turn to ice.
“Do you think there will be snow?” Davy asked.
“Maybe,” Sammy said. “Hopefully it all melts, otherwise we’ll be trapped in the snow until the end of time.”
Jake gasped dramatically. “But I want it to snow forever.”
Sarah snorted, ruffling his hair. “Forever trapped drinking hot chocolate.”
“And eating s’mores,” I said.
“That sounds fine,” Davy said.
Fire started to spread in the hearth, finally catching on the logs. Sammy sat back triumphantly. “Got it. I am a god.”
The boys laughed and I grinned, grabbing my laptop out of the bag I’d stopped to pack on the way here. Our plan was to put on a movie, but I was going to do some research while it was on.
But first…
“I think we should make a giant bed on the floor,” I said.
Sarah started to get up. “No, no, stay put,” I said to Sarah. “We got this.”
“Yep, we do,” Sammy said.
Jake ran upstairs with me, and we dug out blankets and pillows, hauling them back downstairs to create a cozy nest in front of the sofa. Sammy was already shoving the coffee table out of the way to make room, the fire flickering in the hearth and warming the house. Sarah turned on the TV, flipping through movies as we got everything set up.
Soon, the five of us were spread out on the floor, watching The Nightmare Before Christmas . I leaned my back against the couch as I opened my laptop next to Sammy. Sarah was between him and the boys.
I angled my laptop away from them as I pulled up my notes from the last few weeks.
I started with David’s truck. Something was up with that. Somehow this all connected to him, and by proxy, Thomas—which meant maybe …
Could that couple be related to someone who was killed?
My stomach twisted as I pulled up a list of the names of women killed by Thomas. It made me feel sick.
Sammy glanced up at me with a frown. “What’s wrong?”
Was my body language really that obvious? “Just researching some stuff.”
He sat up slightly, taking a peek. “Ah.” He raised a brow.
“I’m trying to connect some dots,” I said quietly.
He nodded and settled back down next to Sarah, looping his arm over her waist. I looked at them for a moment and smiled. It was hard to remember that earlier today, our entire world was damn near torn apart again.
All I wanted to do was find the people doing this and get them out of our lives, so we could focus on what really mattered.
I slipped my phone out of my pocket and emailed myself the photos taken at the cafe from when Sarah was attacked.
The door had been covered in articles, all about the Citrus Cove Killer and the destruction left in his wake. The house on the outskirts of the town had been his hiding place. God, he’d ruined so many lives. Every day, I was thankful that Haley had made it out, and that Sarah hadn’t been one of the victims.
Although, in many ways, she had been.
I visually combed over the photos, looking for anything that could be a clue. Something . We needed some sort of thread to connect things together.
What is it? Why would someone go after Sammy and the boys? Why would they attack Sarah? And where the fuck was David Connor?
In the article that had been taped to the cafe door, one of the photos of the women was circled in red. A chill rolled up my spine. Seeing You’re Next circled was still terrifying.
If the couple was somehow related to someone who had been killed by Thomas, maybe they were trying to deliver some sort of twisted justice on Sarah. It didn't make any sense to me—inflicting pain on an innocent person certainly didn't solve anything. But grief could push someone over the edge, and whoever was behind the events of today—they were certainly already unhinged.
I zoomed in on the woman’s face on the door, squinting. Jane Bell.
A soft snore drew my attention. Sarah had passed out, and it looked like the boys were on their way to falling asleep too. I ran my palm over Sammy’s shoulder gently, the connection warming me.
We were going to be okay, I reminded myself. All of us were going to be just fine.
I Googled Jane Bell and grimaced.
She’d gone missing about five years ago. Lived in a small town outside of Dallas. She’d only been twenty-three.
I held my breath, blinking back tears. It was devastating. I opened up Instagram and searched her name, scrolling through profiles until I found the one that used to belong to her. I clicked on one of the photos, my stomach twisting. It was just a picture of a sunset, but knowing it was the last post before she died added an eeriness to it. I frowned as I looked at the list of accounts who had liked the photo. The profile picture was a red dot. I clicked on it.
The words ‘Never forget’ were in their bio. Wasn’t this the account Sammy had mentioned? The one who’d left countless comments on his videos?
“What the fuck,” I mumbled to myself. I searched his profile and picked a random video, scrolling until I found a comment from the same account.
So this definitely had something to do with Jane Bell.
I switched back to her old Instagram page and scrolled through accounts that followed her, freezing when I spotted a familiar face.
That damn woman from the cafe. The one who’d been stalking Sammy. Elizabeth Bell. Her Instagram was full of photos of Citrus Cove and articles about Thomas Connor. My palms turned sweaty as I continued to scroll. There was a Facebook page linked to her account. When I clicked on it, my stomach dropped.
“Sammy,” I whispered. I looked over at him, but his eyes were shut.
“Mmm.”
“ Sammy .”
He pried them open, rolling over to look at me. “I am cozy and sleepy and you should stop working and enjoy the movie.”
“No, look.” I showed him my screen. He frowned, clearly not getting it. I clicked on the ‘about’ section, showing him the names.
His eyes widened.
Elizabeth Bell was Jane’s sister .
She was also happily married to Ron Bell. Ron.
I hovered over her photo, recognizing her pinched features and while she had a blonde bob here instead of copper-brown hair, it was definitely her.
I nodded my head toward the kitchen and rolled to my feet. Sammy got up, the two of us glancing at Sarah and the boys. The living room was warm and cozy with the movie playing in the background, and they were sound asleep.
Sammy followed me to the kitchen. “I’m making us some hot chocolate,” he said. “I’ll need something if I’m going to be looking at this.”
“Can you put whiskey in mine?”
“Yep, if I can find some.” He rummaged through the cabinets.
I kept my voice low as I spoke. “Should I call the station and give their names? Maybe it would help?”
“I think that’s a good idea, but with the ice storm hitting, you know they won’t do shit until next week.”
Sadly, he had a point.
I scrolled through Elizabeth’s profile and shook my head. “What the fuck?” Every post was either about the Citrus Cove Killer, David being released on bail, or Sammy’s videos.
Why was she so obsessed with Sammy? Was it because he had a large platform? On one of his videos she reposted, she’d added a caption ‘ He’s dating a killer! ’ More and more posts had the same unhinged messages. It all started around the time the three of us started dating. Any posts before that were entirely about Citrus Cove and the Connors.
I breathed out slowly as I came to the post about her sister’s death. The caption rattled me.
My sister has been missing for years. They did nothing to help find her. They failed her and now she’s dead. She was killed by a man who should have been caught. OUR SYSTEM IS brOKEN. HOW COULD THIS HAVE HAPPENED? JANE, you will be missed. I love you.
“Fuck.” I put the laptop down on the kitchen table, sliding into the seat.
Tears pricked my eyes. I hated this woman for what she’d done to us, but I also hated that she’d been hurt too.
“This is sad,” I said, rubbing my chest.
A comment from Ron Bell on his wife’s post caught my attention. Justice will be served. We’ll get them, Lizzie.
Was he the one who attacked Sarah? It would make sense.
I stared at his picture, anger bubbling up.
Sammy slid a steaming mug in front of me. “Whiskey and hot chocolate.” He leaned over, looking at my screen. “He’s the husband? ”
“Yeah. Ron. He looks like the guy we saw at the cafe, right?”
“He does…” Sammy pressed his lips together. “Isn’t Ron the name of the man who has David’s truck? Since we have their names, can we find where they live?”
My jaws stiffened. I took a long sip of the hot chocolate, thankful he’d made it strong because I needed something for my rattled nerves.
“I think the profile that was harassing you belonged to them,” I said. “Let me call Hunter and see if he knows how to find their address.”
Sammy held out his phone, already ringing Hunter’s number. I snorted and picked it up as he answered.
“Everything okay?” Hunter grunted.
“Hey, it’s Colt. Sammy is here too. We were doing some research and I think I found something. Are you able to find someone’s address if you have a name?”
“Yep,” he said.
“Just like that, huh?” I teased. “You sure you’re not a spy?”
Hunter sighed dramatically. “No, I just know how to google things. What’s the name?”
“Elizabeth and Ron Bell,” I said.
Sammy raised a brow and took a sip of his drink, watching my expression. I heard Hunter moving in the background and fought the urge to call him an old man. He wasn’t, but he sometimes grunted like one.
“Well,” Hunter said. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll text you their address.”
“Thanks.” I hung up and leaned back in my chair, frowning. “I don’t like this,” I said.
“Me neither,” Sammy agreed.
We sat in silence until Hunter’s text came through. I clicked on the address.
“No fucking way,” Sammy said.
“That can’t be right,” I whispered.
But if it was, then they’d moved into a house.
In Citrus Cove.
In this neighborhood. Right down the street.
My chair scratched as I stood up abruptly. “I’m going to go check it out.”
“No, you’re not,” Sammy said, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. We need to sit tight, weather the storm, and then?—”
The lights went out, dipping us in darkness.
“Goddammit,” I sighed. I leaned over, peeking out the kitchen window. “It’s just us.”
“Maybe a breaker flipped,” Sammy said. “I’ll go take a look.”
“No, it’s okay, I’ll do it. I need to stretch my legs anyway.” I needed to do something , because what the fuck?
“And maybe walk off the desire to do something stupid?”
“Yeah, that too,” I sighed.
I slipped on my jacket and boots before stepping out onto the porch. Carefully maneuvering down the icy steps, I walked around the side of the house. The grass crunched underfoot, the blades coated in ice.
Every other house in the neighborhood had lights on, so that was good news. My breaths puffed out into the still air as I shone my flashlight.
The metal door to the electric box was hanging open.
“What the fuck?” I muttered.
I leaned in and flipped the breaker, looking up at one of the windows. The lights flickered back on.
“Shouldn’t have come out alone.”
I jumped and spun around right as a fist hit me square in the face. I fell back against the house, recovering quickly enough to move out of the way as the man swung again.
He wore a black jacket with the hood up, but I still saw the angry burn marks from the coffee that Sarah had splashed on his cheeks. I saw his face, the same one I’d been looking at on my computer screen only minutes ago.
My phone hit the ground as I threw my body at him, knocking him back.
“You chose the wrong fucker to fight, Ron ,” I snarled.
“You’re just getting in the way of the inevitable,” he said. “My wife won’t stop until they’re dead too.”
He moved surprisingly fast, drawing out a black pistol. Fuck. I dove to the side as he pulled the trigger, but the bullet hit my thigh.
Pain erupted like a lightning bolt and I cried out, hitting the ground. The scent of gasoline and smoke filled the air and I jerked my head back, my eyes widening.
Fear gripped me.
They’d set Sarah’s house on fire.