The bathroom holds brand-new skincare, makeup palettes, and hair products in my favorite scent.
Behind the door, my bag is hanging up, and folded on a chair underneath is my change of clothes. And my boots, gleaming from a fresh polish.
He thought of everything.
My phone rings again. It’s Diego Silva.
“Silva?”
“Head’s up, Ramos. We just got an anonymous tip—a dead body was found in a warehouse. Another druggie skinhead stabbed to death. There’s evidence that he was held and tortured for several days. I wanted to warn you because they’re gonna want you to come in and identify him.”
“What? Why me?”
“He used to run with Joseph Daniels, the vic left on your doorstep. This new body might be the second perp who attacked you outside the bodega. He matches your description.”
“Got it.” Diego is doing me a favor, warning me about this. He’s promised to give me information, and so far, he’s more than come through. “Coming.” I hang up and take a faltering step as the room swirls around me.
Another dead body.
He touched you, little bird. No one touches what is mine.
The whole time Rex Roy has been stalking and scening with me, he’s also hunted my attackers. He sent me a dress and gave me a fairy tale night dancing in his arms. And all the while, he had my attacker in a warehouse. That makes three murders in the span of a few days. He is a psychopath. A serial killer.
“Oh my gods.” I cover my face with my hands to stop the world from spinning too fast.
You’re the only one who knows me.
I’m the only one who knows it’s him. The only one who can stop him.
If this were an ordinary case, I’d profile him. But with Rex, I’m eyeball to eyeball with the abyss, one step away from being sucked in.
I ignore the beautiful new clothes hanging in the closet and dress in my work clothes from yesterday. Freshly laundered, they feel brand new. Rex really did think of everything.
The fabric of my shirt holds a whiff of his cologne. He’s everywhere. Keeping me. Stalking me. Killing for me.
What have I gotten myself into?
On the way out, I realize my bag feels light. My wallet and things are still there, everything but my most treasured possession.
My sketchbook, with all the drawings I did of the crime scene, the killer, and the now-revealed mystery dom, is missing.
* * *
My wayward Swallow,
I watch you leave the hotel where you’ve recently made your nest. You look cold but determined.
You’ve done quite well for yourself at your job. I’ve discovered details about your past cases and spoken with a few of your colleagues. They speak of how you have superpowers. They are uneasy around you. They don’t deserve your genius.
Do they know how your powers awakened in the darkest night?
Or is that a secret only you and I share?
It pleases me that only you and I know the truth.
BK
16
