Chapter 1
Logan
Ireleased Tony, my German Shepard mix, into the backyard. His paws thumped eagerly against the dew-kissed grass as he bolted out the back door. The steam from my coffee mug curled up around my face as I took a sip, disappearing into the faint chill of the fall morning air. I drew my robe tighter around me and leaned against the cool glass of the bay window, watching him play with a half-smile.
He raced in circles with the untamed energy of the zoomies. Doug had always said no to pets.“They’re messy, Logan. They’re needy,”he’d insist. But the empty silence of my thoughts since his passing gnawed at me. I should probably be grieving, right? Or panicking? But if anything, it was like this weight had been lifted off me.
It was almost peaceful. I sipped my coffee before opening the door again.
"Tony!" I called, ready to let him back inside. He bounded toward me, a lopsided gallop that ended with his dirty frontpaws skidding. His tongue lolled out, his sides were heaving, and his eyes were bright with mischief.
As he reached me, I noticed the odd angle of his head. Something was clenched in his mouth. What gift was he adding to my collection? He’d already brought me some pinecones, a few sticks, and there’d been a bird that one time, which I’d not been very pleased about.
"Drop it, boy," I said, reaching down. His tail wagged furiously as he obeyed, eyes fixed on mine. "Whatcha got, bud?" I crouched to his level. The moment the words left my lips, Tony dropped his prize into my hand. A cold, rigid object, slick with dog drool, landed with a nauseating plop against my skin. My eyes widened in horror as I registered the severed human finger sitting in my palm.
I squealed and flung it away from me. “Goddamn it, Tony!"
With trembling legs, I stood and followed Tony's muddy paw prints around the corner of the house, dread coiling in my stomach. I rounded the bend, and there it was—a dead man's hand jutting out of the earth, its four pale fingers reaching skyward since Tony had decided to gnaw one off as a snack.
Fucking hell, I didn’t want to deal with this again.
I spun on my heel, my robe flaring behind me as I barreled back into the house. I should’ve called the cops, but they'd never believe me. They would come, note my recent, messy divorce, and concoct a story of a crime of passion or some other crazy affair gone wrong.No, sir, I swear I didn’t do it. He just showed up and died, and I got scared and buried himwasn't going to cut it with anyone wearing a badge, especially not a woman in my current position.
I needed clothes and a better plan. I tore through my drawers, yanking out black jeans and a hoodie—dark colors would hopefully make me less noticeable. The fabric clung to my already sweat-slickened skin as I pulled them on. What else?Uh . . . gloves. I needed gloves. I snatched a pair of hot-pink rubber ones from the junk drawer in the kitchen. I hustled back outside, and the morning air felt hotter now, or maybe it was just me and my nerves since it was fall and this weather had been nice before a sloppy man finger had dropped into my hand.
Ugh.
I retrieved the shovel from the small shed in the backyard. The digging, apparently, would be the easy part. It didn’t take me long before the body was fully visible to me. I needed something to put him in that would look normal in the back of my truck, and the only thing I could think of was my favorite rug in the living room. It was big enough to wrap the body in. Oh, how I loved that rug, the intricate patterns, the way it tied the room together. I hated this man more and more by the minute and I didn’t think that was possible. Why did he have to ruin everything?
I went to my living room, carefully moved my furniture around to retrieve the rug, and then dragged it outside with me. Laying it next to him, I then moved over to his other side and used all of my strength to get him just onto the fabric so I could use the edge of the rug to roll him up like a burrito. Damn, a breakfast burrito sounded really good right about now. All I’d had was a cup of coffee and it wasn’t helping my nerves right now. I was practically vibrating.Fucking focus, Logan. Dead body now, burrito later.
I glanced over at Tony sitting a few feet away, watching me with his head cocked to the side and his tail wagging.
“I love you, but fuck you, Tony.” I heaved out a breath as I finished. Grabbing one end of the roll, I began dragging him through the side door that led to where my truck was parked in the garage, and it took everything I had, my muscles burning, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I didn’t know how I was going to pick this thing up. I lowered the tailgate and then took aanother breathing break before placing my hands on my knees.Fuck, I was out of shape. I definitely needed to start hitting the gym more often, but then again, it wasn’t like I planned to have to lift a dead man into my truck for funsies on the weekends. Standing, I glanced at the rug and decided the easiest way to do this would be to stand it straight up to give myself some leverage and then teeter the first half in before shoving it the rest of the way. I wrestled the dead weight for a few moments, but I did it. The thud of his body against the truck bed echoed hollowly in the confined space of the garage.Ouch. Sweat mingled with dirt on my brow, and I wiped it away with a shaky hand.
“Okay,” I whispered to Tony. “Let's get this over with.”
I hopped into the driver’s seat, my hands trembling against the steering wheel with the amount of adrenaline that was coursing through my veins. Tony vaulted into the passenger seat with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, just happy to get to go on a car ride. I pushed the button and the garage door groaned open. I did a quick scan of the neighborhood and then hit the gas. There were some woods next to what looked to be an old Christmas tree farm on the outskirts of town that would make a good grave. As far as I knew, the farm had closed down, so there wouldn’t be anyone for miles. The truck rumbled beneath us as I made my way there.
Chapter 2
Logan
Ijabbed the shovel into the ground. The dirt was stiff but still diggable. and although it was getting chilly at night, the days were still fairly warm. The sun was starting to peek over the tall trees. The woods had gone on for what had seemed like miles, but when I’d driven past the tree farm, it was silent, the lights were off, and it looked to be abandoned, just like I’d thought. Now, the only sound was the rhythmic thud of metal against earth. "You know"—I grunted, flinging a clump to the side—"if you hadn't dug him up, we wouldn't be in this mess."
Tony panted, his head tilting. He just blinked, tongue lolling out in doggy amusement. I rolled my eyes and kept digging. I had been digging for well over an hour at this point—hell, maybe a few hours. Time was blending together.
Thud.
Thud.
Squish.
That sound was wrong. I froze. “What the . . . ?” Slowly, I bent down, letting my hands sift through the cold soil, and my fingers touched something clammy. Not a root. Not a rock. I finally got my hand around it and pulled out a fucking severed arm.
A human arm.
My heart leaped into my throat. I squealed, recoiling in horror. I hurled it from me, watching in disbelief as Tony bounded after it with the enthusiasm of a puppy chasing a ball. “No, Tony! Bad dog!”
