Chapter 93
Chapter ninety-three
Remy
We’re at Christianna’s. She’s inside with Meg and Erik.
I stand at the edge of the brightly lit pool, staring down at water turned red. Dye packs bob near the surface. Others lie ruptured on the stone, stains radiating out like splatter marks.
The chairs sit off to one side. One cushion is split straight through.
An arrow is still embedded there.
The note had been tied beneath the fletching. Plain printer paper. Aptos font. Bold and stark against the white paper.
His blood is on YOUR hands.
I pivot away, then back again, hands flexing. This was planned. By launching from outside the property line, completely avoiding the cameras and motion sensors.
I pace, turn, and stop. My elbows flare as I lace my fingers on top of my head. After a moment, my hands slide down the back of my neck and my breath hisses out of me.
The piano music coming from the house is an echo of my emotions: rage, frustration, and helplessness. Must be a new piece or one he is creating based on how he feels tonight.
Coulson and his team are prowling the perimeter. They will take most of this to send to their lab.
I go to the filter lid and flip it over and dial the number on the sticker. I can get the pool drained and the stains removed.
My head snaps up as the sunroom door opens.
Christianna steps onto the patio, arms wrapped around herself, picking her way carefully across the stone.
I move to her and stop at her side. My hand cups her elbow.
“I wanted this cleaned up before you saw it. You don’t have to deal with this.”
She nods slowly, eyes scanning the scene in the harsh light. Then she turns to me, drops the arm I’m holding, and laces her fingers through mine.
“I appreciate it. I really do. But you can’t protect me from this.”
Her gaze settles on the arrow. She steps toward it.
I tug her back. “Coulson’s taking it in as evidence.”
“I need to see it for myself, Remy.”
She squeezes my hand, and I let her lead me to the chaise.
She stares at it without blinking.
“I was calling a pool cleaner,” I say. “Trying to get things back to normal.”
“Was it really dye? That’s it?”
“According to Coulson. Dissolvable packets. Like laundry pods. Thrown over the fence.”
“Okay. Okay.” She says it quietly, more to herself than to me.
She straightens, shoulders squaring.
“I don’t understand it yet,” she says. “But time will tell. Have Coulson do whatever security upgrades he thinks are necessary.”
Then she steps in and hugs me.
For a second, my heart stops.
“Thank you, Remy,” she says softly. “For coming over. For handling this. Come inside when you’re done.”