Chapter 21
Kade
Thank God, I waited when the cruisers entered the parking lot. What the hell was Griffin thinking? The moron nearly got her killed.
Before I can take two steps toward the building’s entrance, her brother gets in my face. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage, Kade?”
For the first time since accepting the temporary position, I consider handing in my badge. I don’t want any part of this kind of justice.
Powerless, I watch the State Police take Briana away in cuffs. As she’s put inside the back seat of a cruiser, something inside of me cracks. It’s not physical, but it hurts worse than a punch to the gut.
Screw protocol. It’s time to take the lead.
Beside my truck, ear to my phone, I walk Hunt through what happened. “No shit, Scott, if a squirrel had dropped an acorn, the coroner would be taking her to the morgue.”
Silence lingers, followed by a hiss. “I swear I had no idea. Griffin’s probably cozied up to a local judge. Don’t worry. I’m on it. He won’t know what hit him.”
Picturing the trooper stripped of his rank, or worse, I move on. “While I have you, did your forensics get any DNA hits? What about the sketch?”
“Nothing yet. Budget cuts. Labs are backed up. I do have a friend who works at a private security firm. They may be willing to do some pro bono work. Hopefully, they’ve got bandwidth.”
“Thanks, whatever you can do. Are you at your office?” I hop behind the wheel of my still idling truck.
A cardinal whistles while his keyboard clicks. “No, working from home.”
“Mind if I come over? I need your access to the FBI database.”
A few minutes later, we sit across from each other at what was my grandmother’s house. He moves around the kitchen like he’s done it a hundred times, comfortable in a way I’ll never be. While I take in the surroundings, the coffee maker gurgles, emitting dark-roasted aromas into the room.
Since the last time I visited, the ancient cabinets have been painted a soft robin’s egg blue, and the handles replaced by sleek chrome pulls. It’s subtle, respectful. He’s tried to preserve the past without getting haunted by it.
Knowing he’s taking care of the place—probably better than I ever would—breaks loose a piece of bitterness.
I used to think this house was mine by birthright.
Now I can’t wait to leave it behind. The man who wanted to live here, raise a family here…
doesn’t exist. I’d rather start my married life in a ghost-free zone.
Wait. Married?
I rub a hand over my face. Hell, Briana and I can barely keep civil for two seconds. How could we possibly commit to a lifetime?
And yet, the heart wants what it wants.
“Here.” My sister’s husband sets a chipped mug in front of me, full to the brim.
As the earthy steam curls into my face, I wrap my palms around the ceramic. “Briana’s convinced her stalker is a serial. She also swears the first time she saw him, he wasn’t alone—said there was another guy.”
Even though the cup is too hot, I don’t let go. It’s way easier to focus on physical pain than the ache circling my fucking heart. Briana’s in jail and I let it happen.
Taking a deep breath, I walk him through it all. Beginning with her best friend’s betrayal, ending with her plowing into me on the path.
“Gollum? Mr. Mumbles?” Scott barks out a laugh. “She’s got quite the imagination.”
“Yeah.” I stare into the dark brew. “She is rather… unique.”
I try to sound neutral, but no fool, his brows shoot up. “She’s gotten under your skin, hasn’t she?”
Rather than meet his knowing gaze, I focus on a fascinating crack in his turquoise Formica. “She saved my life in Afghanistan. I owe her. That’s all there is to it.”
Hand in front of his smirk, he leans back in the creaky chair. “Understood. Don’t let Kelly see your face. You’ll never hear the end of it.”
“I’m not asking you to lie to your wife. However, if it doesn’t come up…”
“Mum’s the word.” His fingers fly across the keyboard. “Let’s broaden the search to the East Coast—Appalachian Trail. Solo female hikers, any deaths ruled accidental. Might get a few hits.”
The kitchen falls into a rhythm—soft clacks of keys, distant hum of the fridge, the occasional sip of coffee. It's weirdly domestic for a serial murder investigation. Peaceful, serene…
On cue, his phone rings, shattering the quiet.
“SA Hunter here… Say again… Andrea?... Sure, put her through.”
He shoots me a question mark before placing the phone between us. “Hello, Miss Bratner. This is Special Agent Scott Hunter. Sheriff O’Malley’s here too. How can we help you?”
The pause is so long, I check the screen to see if she hung up.
“Hello? I heard you wanted to talk to me again?” A New Jersey accent laces the soprano’s nasal tone.
Scott leans closer to the mic. “Yes. If you don’t mind, could you explain what your boyfriend was doing in the woods the night he died?”
“You don’t think I had anything to do with his murder?” When her defensive voice goes up a notch, I can’t help cutting in.
“Did you do it?”
“Of course not. He wanted a second chance with Briana. I said I’d help. What are best friends for?”
It’s hard to keep the scorn from my voice. “Isn’t it true you cast him in a bad light?”
As I grip the mug, her fake laugh falls flat. “Is that what she said? L-O-L. Figures. She’s not exactly all there, but she would never murder him. No way.”
We ask a few more questions, but she doesn’t give us much. Other than implicating Briana, the rest of her story is vague—too much so, if you ask me. Like she’s practiced this version in the mirror.
After she hangs up, Hunt and I dig into the database. Over twenty questionable deaths fit our new criteria—solo female hikers, accidental causes, Eastern Seaboard.
Once we get DNA back from the skin under Briana’s nails, we’ll cross-reference the samples with the victims. I pray we can find some way to connect the missing dots.
Much later, the FBI Agent leans back, grinning. “This is exactly what we’ve needed. I’m calling the lab. Serial killers get bumped to the front of the line.”
While he steps into the other room, I stare at the sixties countertop, nursing the last of my lukewarm coffee.
Hang in there, Bree. Thoughts of our life-altering sex cloud my sleep-deprived brain. Underneath all her snark lies an intelligent, brave, witty woman. The only one I’ve ever imagined sharing my life with.
My musings come to an end at Hunt’s sharp thwack on the table. “Wulf said he could move her sample to the top.”
“Excellent.” Pushing back my chair, I stretch until my spine cracks. “I should go. Got sheriffy paperwork to do.”
In his front hallway, I stop to check on the notifications blowing up my phone. I thumb through the alerts, tap on a video link, and—
Holy crap. Over a million hits and climbing fast, my parking lot heroics have gone viral. Red-faced, fists clenched, I sound possessed as I shout at the State Troopers.
Whatever her family’s paying John Ito? It’s not enough. He caught the whole episode, then posted it on TikTok. This clip alone should be enough for a judge to grant bail.
More importantly, it will buy us time, perhaps enough, to find the real killer.
I scroll through the hearts, opening favorable comments.
Run for sheriff.
Finally, someone with a spine.
This is leadership.
Wow. My head spins. Before right now, I never considered making the position permanent. However, should I get married, a steady paycheck could come in handy. Most importantly, I could make a real difference.
We Vermonters deserve better than those bunch of trigger-happy yahoos. Someone needs to stand up for what is right.