Shaking my head, I snatch up the trash bag and take it out.
I force myself not to look at Nosy Nellie’s. I’m fully aware that my episode last night is probably from stress and that I need to get a grip. Who cares if I watched my neighbor get shot? So what if I’m going to be arrested for murder? And big deal if I fucked the guy who burns bodies for a living.
It’s all fine. And I’m fine. Like I said, I feel better.
Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I focus on the front door and the sound my teeth make as they grind together. Once inside, I take a deep breath and start putting my pills back in their bottles. I’ll have to put a reminder on my phone so I don’t forget to take them again. And I’ll call Rach from Bell’s to see if she wants to give me any of her shifts so I can replace the groceries I spoiled. And I should probably see if anyone at Pete’s Garage is willing to tow the truck in for free. There’s this one older guy who’s pretty friendly, and he’s done it—
…Officer Marshal Wayne…
The bottle in my hands falls to my feet, pills scattering as I jerk my head up to the TV.
A picture of Marshal is on the screen, and my breath catches. He looks soalive. Clean-shaven and straight-backed in his uniform—his badge and nameplate polished.
…reported missing by his fellow officers when he failed to appear for his shift on Friday. He was last seen Thursday evening at the intersection of Grendel and Marquist Street. Cloverwick PD is asking for anyone with information to please call the station. That number is…
My ears buzz as the news anchor continues. Grendel and Marquist? That’s… that’s right down the street. The CCTV hashim that close? The corners of my vision pulse with booming black, a sheen of sweat dampens my neck.
No.
I force a breath in and pull my vision from the TV.
It’s fine.
I look down at the fallen pills and bend to pick them up. The police already knew he was missing. Of course, it would end up on the news. What else did I expect? I clutch at the bottle as my hands fumble to pick up the tiny ovals. I mean… how is this worse than a detective coming to the door?
It’s not.
“Set a reminder. Get extra shifts. Call Pete’s,” I say to myself. “That’s all you can do. Set a reminder. Get extra shifts. Call Pete’s.” I repeat it like a mantra as I pick up the pills. “Set a reminder. Get extra shifts. Call Pete’s….” my voice cracks. “And then go to jail.”
A single tear escapes my eye before a hot rage floods me. I can’t go to jail. I fuckingcan’t. I throw the bottle and sweaty pills back onto the floor. This is bullshit. I’m literally talking to myself.
I stand abruptly and crush the tablets under my feet. I pace back a few steps, breath coming hard, chest tight. I press my fists against my temples, squeezing my eyes shut.
Think. Justthink, Kira.
Caleb saidno body, no problem.And they don’t have a body. If they did, that would have been a different kind of broadcast. There would have been a mugshot of me flashing on the screen right next to Marshal’s. That detective would have arrested me. They don’t know what happened. Not really. Because they don’t have a body.
And they never will.
I try to conjure an image of Marshal reduced to ash, my stomach rolling with the intention of trying to remember that night.
But I come up blank.
Everything is a blur—smoke and dirt and the sound of Jax’s voice telling me not to look. I remember that. And I remember the smell—the heat. I remember the way the flames danced in his eyes. I remember being tired, my body sagging, but…
Fuck.
I can’t remember.
Ican’t fucking remember.
What if he wasn’t completely burned? What if there’s still something out there—something big enough to test, to match? What if we missed something? A tooth? Do teeth burn? Jax said something about bones, but what about the teeth?
I have to get them. I have to do something. I have to. I can’t go to jail.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jax
