Mine.
As I watched the steady rise and fall of her chest and the moonlight sparkle off her hair, something ignited inside me, so intense, so passionately, that I’d made a decision right then and there.
I’d take a bullet for Sunny Harper. She’d been through enough. I’d take a damn bullet for her.
With that unsettling realization, my thoughts shifted tothe case, which carried me through the rest of the night spent laying on the floor next to her.
After the nocturnals had gone quiet and the birds began their early morning rounds, I’d gotten up, brushed my teeth using a bottle of water, changed clothes, and waited until I heard the hum of a truck making its way down the driveway. At exactly five a.m.—because a Steele brother was never late—Phoenix delivered Sunny’s truck with four, gleaming new tires. No news of Rees’s whereabouts—yet. I transferred her old tires to my Jeep, drove Phoenix back to his place, then made my way into town, leaving Sunny asleep in bed, with a note and an extra gun by her side.
The station was quiet that morning, people still sleeping off the energy they’d used from gossiping about my outburst at Donny’s the night before, and the break-in at the “witch’s” house.
I beelined it to the break room for a cup of coffee.
Three cups and one bag of beef jerky later, the sun had risen along with the noise in the station.
I’d just left another message for Briana Morgan, the elusive art investigator, when a pair of knuckles rapped at my door, followed by Colson stepping inside, phone to his ear. After barking a few orders, he clicked it off and slid it back into his pocket.
He sank into the seat, combing his fingers through his hair.
I nodded to the Styrofoam cup on my desk. “Coffee?”
“Baileys?”
“Not yet.”
He grinned. “No thanks. I’ve had a gallon already. Coffee, not Bailey’s.”
“Of course. Busy morning?”
“We’ve got every volunteer officer and firefighter onstandby tonight. The Moon Magic Festival is officially double what it was last year. Hotels are sold out within a sixty mile radius. The campgrounds,” he laughed a humorless laugh, “we’ve already responded to five calls between the four of them.” He shook his head. “I gotta tell you, something’s in the air, man.”
I couldn’t agree more.
“Listen…” He said. “About Donny’s last night?—”
“I get it. I shouldn’t have gone off like that. I know. You don’t need to say it.”
Colson nodded. “Okay, good. That’s your second public outburst in two days, Frank’s, now Donny’s. I’m gonna choose to believe it’s not gonna happen again, ’cause, Jagg, I’m not putting my neck out for you anymore, got it? I’ve got too much to lose right now. A wife, a baby. I need my job. I’ve got too much to lose.”
“Clear.”
“Okay.” He waved his hand in the air to dismiss that topic. “So, I came by to tell you two things. One, the switchblade found at the Slaying in the Park belongs to Julian Griggs. His prints are all over it. No one else’s.”
“He had it pulled then, when he attacked her.”
Colson nodded. “Seems plausible.”
“What else?”
“Jessica just forwarded me the toxicology report on him. Seems like the ol’ pastor’s kid had been dancing with the devil, so to speak.”
“How so?”
“Kid was as high as a kite on coke.”
Cocaine.
My spine straightened. “You sure? Coke?”
