Chapter 10
MAEVE
I throw the security camera package on the grass, and bite down on the screwdriver between my teeth. The cardboard box lands with a dull thud, barely cutting through the static in my head. I grip the ladder, pressing it against the wall of my house, and glance over my shoulder.
The trees shift with the wind like unseen figures. But there’s nothing out of the ordinary. No shadows lingering where there shouldn’t be one. Just the overgrown yard, empty but never quite at ease.
Still, a slow prickle works its way up my spine, crawling under my skin like something unseen breathing against me.
If Caleb, or anyone else, for that matter, is watching me, I’ll know soon enough. Unless he already knows how to navigate the darkness. Then these cameras will be useless.
The guy at the hardware store didn’t even try to hide his confusion when I dumped ten boxes of them onto the counter. “Big house?” he’d asked, forcing a smile.
“Something like that,” I’d said, willing him to hurry up.
With the device in one hand, I climb the ten rungs, my heartbeat pulsing in my throat, and screw it to the underside of the roof.
Caleb’s shock at the box of fingers had seemed genuine, like it might swallow him whole. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of chopping them off.
Honestly, the smart move would have been to take the evidence to the police. But my gut tells me that’ll only make things worse.
Besides, it’d feel like betrayal, like breaking an oath, one we forged long ago. All I want is to find where Bethany is, or at the very least, what happened to her. And if that means ignoring Caleb’s revenge killing spree, then so be it.
Truth be told, my investigation was never really about the murders. They were my foot back in this godforsaken town. It just so happens that the information I need is stored in the minds of the people being hunted.
Talk about irony.
Plus, I can’t ignore the way he stepped in to protect me last night. It felt real, even if his cold, hard stare did set my skin aflame.
I keep replaying it in my head, searching for cracks, for tells. But it’s not what he said that lingers. It’s what I felt.
It’s that drop in my stomach, like missing a step on the stairs. Or the cold, creeping certainty that I had seen that exact expression before.
I don’t remember where. I don’t remember when.
But the feeling won’t leave. It’s settled into my bones as though it knows he won’t hurt me.
I shake my head, exhaling slowly.
Focus.
With a tilt of the camera, I adjust it to capture the forest edge. If something—or someone—is out there, I need to be ready.
My only hope is I’m not too late, and this isn’t all for nothing.
Sighing, I climb down the ladder, the rungs wobbling beneath my feet. This thing is as old as the house, but it’s still holding on. Much like me, I suppose.
I grip the sides and drag it behind me to the back of the house, the sound of metal scraping against the gravel path, setting Teddy off into a frenzy of excited barking as he zooms around the yard.
“Teddy!” I whisper sharply. “Be quiet. People will think you’re being skinned alive.”
Not that anyone’s close enough to hear him.
Or to hear me.
I glance over my shoulder once more, a cold sweat beading down my back.
Teddy trots away, panting, tail wagging, utterly unbothered. I wish I could pretend nothing’s wrong too.
The backyard camera proves trickier to install. The thick vines that have claimed the rear wall as their own, leave barely any brickwork exposed, so I shove them aside, snapping off leaves and vines, and tighten the screws.
Inside, I place cameras in each room, paying special attention to the windows and doors. Most serial killers break in through either of them. Not that I have the statistics to back up my claim, but it just seems logical.
Plus, I’ve seen enough murder cases and crime documentaries to know that if someone wants into your house, it doesn’t matter if you have security cameras or not.
They’re just a little peace of mind.
I huff out a hollow laugh and swipe the back of my hand over my forehead.
Who am I kidding? I haven’t known peace in years.
A breeze rustles the trees at the edge of the property, sending a handful of dry, brown leaves skittering through the open doorway. They swirl in the air, like an invisible string has them strung up, twisting, manipulating. They continue their chaotic dance, then suddenly, they drop to the floorboards.
Unmoving. Dead.
My muscles tense up. My imagination really is doing a number on me today. If I repeat the words enough, maybe I’ll believe them.
Still, I can’t seem to shake the familiar sensation of being watched.
The crunch of tyres on gravel shatters the stillness, sending my heart into full-blown panic mode. I grip the ladder and duck down, peering under the doorframe.
A car.
I groan, my stomach tightening. What the hell is she doing here?
“Maeve!” Lydia’s voice carries through the air as she waves from the open window of her beat-up Volvo.
Great. Just what I need.
She pulls to a stop in front of my house, and I climb the rest of the way off the ladder, lifting a hand in a half-arsed attempt at a wave.
My heart is still jumping around inside my chest, so I take a deep breath to compose myself. “What are you doing all the way out here?”
Lydia climbs from the car and holds up two takeaway bags, one in each hand. “I brought dinner. I was worried about you after this morning. Everything okay?”
I open my mouth to say yes. To lie. But the word sticks in my throat, like it knows it doesn’t belong. My grip tightens around the rung of the ladder, grounding me. I force a small smile, even though I know it doesn’t reach my eyes.
Part of me wants to pretend I’m not a bundle of nerves, to tell her I’m fine, that nothing is wrong.
But something is wrong. Very wrong.
My pulse hasn’t settled since I installed the first camera and Caleb Blackwood is living in my head like he’s paying rent.
Lydia stops at the bottom of the porch stairs, a frown drawing her thin eyebrows in. Her concern is palpable, her gaze searching mine, waiting. Expecting an answer.
“Breathe, Maeve. Breathe.”
I shift my weight, forcing myself to release the ladder. “Yeah,” I say finally, lifting a shoulder. “Pet emergency. Come on in.”
Lydia rushes past me, the contents of the takeout bags smelling mouth-wateringly of garlic and spices. My stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten since breakfast this morning.
She stops abruptly in the entrance. “Maeve, what on earth?”
I follow her gaze to the living room where wires snake across the floor like vines, tangling around the legs of my coffee table. And half-empty boxes of security cameras and motion sensors litter every surface.
She glances over her shoulder, eyes wide. “What sort of pet emergency are we talking about here?”
I sigh. “Teddy had a run-in with some sort of poison—I don’t know. But he’s fine now,” I say, running a hand through my dishevelled hair. “The vet called and asked me to pick him up. Apparently, he was disturbing the other animals with his barking.”
Wow, that lie just rolled off my tongue.
Lydia narrows her eyes, and drifts into the kitchen, keeping her gaze on the mess, concern etched into the lines around her eyes. “Okay, but what’s with the security cameras?” She sets the food down on the kitchen counter, an eyebrow raised.
“I know it seems extreme,” I say, wiping my hands on my worn jeans. “But, I’m just being careful. At least I can keep an eye on Teddy now. Plus, you never know what sort of people you might bump into . . .” I trail off, biting my bottom lip, and focus on the camera in the corner where the living room meets the hallway.
It stares at me, watching, accusing.
Lydia approaches, her heels clicking on the hardwood. “Maeve, honey, talk to me. What’s really going on? This is a little excessive for a dog. Is there something else going on? You’ve been . . . absent lately.”
The weight of the truth presses down on my chest, threatening to suffocate me. The grandfather clock in the next room chimes.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
It continues, increasing the tension between us. By the sixth chime, I’m about to spew my insides out, so I move into the kitchen, keeping my face neutral.
“It’s nothing, really,” I say, peeking into the paper bags. “How was the rest of your day? Anything exciting happen at the office?”
It’s not like I can just blurt out I accused the man who saved my dog of cutting someone’s fingers off for touching me. And that man in question is Terry.
The heat of Lydia’s gaze lingers on me for a moment longer, then she sighs, resigned to my diversion. “Oh, you know, same old, same old.” She waves a hand. “Except . . .” Her voice drops as she leans in slightly, her eyes darting to the front door for a split second. “Terry never showed up for work today. It’s weird, right? He’s usually glued to his office chair. Honestly, though, I didn’t miss him leering at everyone. Especially you. He’s obsessed with you, Maeve. It’s creepy,” she says, wrinkling her nose.
My stomach plummets, like being dropped from a high-rise. Cold sweat dampens my forehead.
It means nothing.
I’ll pretend he’s sick.
Hungover.
Not missing two fingers.
“He’s not obsessed with me,” I murmur, forcing a weak laugh as I shove my hands into one bag and pull out the plastic containers.
Lydia nods, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “We tried calling him, but it went straight to voicemail. No-one has heard from him since last night.”
My breath catches in my throat, and the kitchen suddenly closes in on me, the walls shrinking, squeezing every drop of oxygen from my lungs.
I can almost smell the metallic tang of blood, the rotting of flesh, as though the fingers have somehow crept inside and are waiting to jump out at any moment.
“Maybe he’s just sick,” I say, the lie bitter on my tongue. “People do that sometimes, you know. Get so sick they forget to call in.”
“Yeah, maybe. Not that I care anyway.” Lydia shrugs, reaching into the second bag like this is just another normal night. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got one of everything.”
The smell of Chinese food wafts from the containers, but my appetite is almost non-existent now, my suspicions about Terry practically confirmed. At least in my mind.
“So,” Lydia says, her tone casual but her eyes piercing mine. “Who was that guy I saw you leaving the bar with last night?”
My hand stills, hovering over a container as though I’ve forgotten how to move. “How did you know I left with someone last night?” I force out a laugh, the sound foreign to my ears. “I thought you would be too busy sucking face with Mr. Tattoos.”
I’m aiming for casual. I miss entirely.
Lydia grins, but there’s something calculating in her gaze. It’s sitting there like an accusation. She doesn’t quite believe anything I’ve said to her since she arrived.
“Oh, I have eyes everywhere,” she says, her laugh a little too smooth, a little too loud for the room.
“I-it’s not . . .”
“Oh my god, I’m kidding.” She nudges me with an elbow. “I just caught a glimpse. He looked familiar, though. Does he live around here?”
Yes, he lives around here. Yes, I can’t seem to stop thinking about him. And, yes, I might be going just a little insane. Even though I accused him of cutting off Terry’s fingers, I still like the way my insides spark to life whenever he’s around.
I nod, too quickly, my fingers absently tracing the edge of a container, over and over. “It was . . .” The pause stretches, so I yank open a drawer, the clatter of cutlery filling the silence as I snatch two forks out. “Just an Uber driver.” I set them down. “Nothing to get excited about.”
I know I told Caleb to stay away, but what if I can’t stay away from him ? He still holds the answers I need. The lies, the shadows beneath his eyes, the way he flinches—all signs that he hides things out of necessity, because if he digs too deep, the pain might consume him.
We’re not so different, him and I.
Maybe that’s why I want to protect him. Why I need to protect him the way Bethany protected me. We’ve only got each other, after all.
“Damn.” Lydia huffs out a laugh. “And here I thought you were going to break your celibacy streak.” She spears her fork into a piece of chicken and shoves the meat into her mouth, watching me like she’s waiting for something. “Thought he might have been the one who sent you that gift this morning,” she says, shrugging.
My muscles tighten, and my fingers curl around my fork.
I don’t answer. What is there to say?
“Anyway, have you met with any of the Pinnacle executives yet?” Lydia shoves another piece of chicken into her mouth, her eyes darting over my face.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I consider Lydia’s question. Something about her interest in Pinnacle feels off. Why does she care about the story? She’s never been interested in the political side of journalism.
“Not yet,” I say, twisting some noodles around my fork. “I’ve only just been assigned the story. I haven’t even reviewed their file properly.”
Lydia nods, her fork hovering over her takeout container. “Of course, of course. It’s just . . . fascinating, isn’t it? A medical research company on the cutting edge of biotechnology. I’ve read they’re doing groundbreaking work in gene therapy. You’d think a company like that wouldn’t need a PR cleanup from a small-town news outlet.”
I raise an eyebrow, my dinner momentarily forgotten. “I didn’t realise you followed medical research so closely.”
She laughs, the sound oddly rehearsed. “Oh, you know me, I’m just naturally curious about everything.” She waves her hand dismissively, but her eyes remain fixed on mine, probing.
“Right.”
Lydia and I have worked together for years, sharing countless lunches and after-work drinks, but I’ve never known her to show even a passing interest in my work, let alone the specifics of any stories I land.
With a sigh, Lydia places her fork down, giving me a tight smile. “I suppose I should be honest. My visit isn’t entirely personal. I might . . . have an ulterior motive.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”
She rubs her hands over her black pencil skirt, the slight sound grating against my frayed nerves. “Holloway doesn’t see me the way he sees you, Maeve,” she says, twisting her lips to one side. “I was hoping you’d talk to him, ask him for my help on the Pinnacle story.”
She’s kidding, right? I can’t have her getting close to my investigation. What if she finds out the local veterinarian is a serial killer?
Thornhaven and Pinnacle are too close. No way.
Placing my fork down, I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Lydia, listen, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Holloway hates story sharing, you know that. Besides, it’s just going to be a one and done type article. Nothing of substance. Pinnacle just wants to set the story straight.”
Her hopeful smile falters, her shoulders slumping forward. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I’m better at breaking stories of kittens stuck up trees, and the like.”
Her focus finds her plate, a flicker of sadness washing over her features.
I place a hand on hers. “You need to give yourself more credit.” I throw her a tight smile. “Let’s talk about something else. Anything else. After the day I’ve had, I need some good news.”
“It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt to ask, right.” Lydia pats my hand, but I didn’t miss the innuendo in her words, or the tightness around her eyes that wasn’t there before.
Doesn’t stop her from launching into a story about her neighbour’s noisy dog, and how it got into her garbage bin and pulled out her used tampons for the entire street to witness.
I nod and smile, but as the evening wears on, I become increasingly aware of every little detail around us. The ticking of the grandfather clock seems unnaturally loud. Teddy’s nails clicking against the hardwood as he paces restlessly.
Outside, the wind has picked up, rustling the leaves of the trees that surround my property. Shadows dance across the walls, creating an eerie, shifting backdrop to our conversation.
Lydia has never once shown up at my house, unannounced. It’s possible all she wanted was a favour. But I get the sense that’s not entirely true.
Is she up to something? Has Holloway sent her to spy on me after I raced out of the office this morning?
“Maeve? Are you even listening to me?” Lydia’s voice cuts through my daydreaming, sharp and tinged with irritation. “Earth to Maeve.”She snaps her fingers in front of my face.
I jump, clearing my throat. I’ve been staring at her without really seeing her.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, rubbing a hand across my forehead. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought. It’s getting late.” I stand and gather the plates. It’s time Lydia left. “Do you mind if we call it a night?”
Lydia purses her lips, sighing, and pulls me in for a hug. “Of course,” she says, her voice soft. “I wouldn’t want to keep you up past your bedtime. Will you be in tomorrow?”
I shake my head and rub my eyes. “I have another lead I’m chasing up.”
Or more like, I have to figure out how to break and enter.
Lydia gives my hand a quick squeeze, glancing at the numerous security cameras one last time. “Well, no-one will be sneaking into your house any time soon.”
I hum out a small laugh. “That’s the plan.”