I did. If it came down to it, I could shoot Jareth Davey. “I know.”
“It’s different face to face, Angel.” Tension swelled from him. “You’re tough and sweet, and I need to know in that situation that you can follow through. This is not a guy you show mercy to—it’ll never end. I’ll do my best to make sure I’m between you and him, but in the off chance I’m not, I need to know that you can squeeze the trigger.”
My stomach cramped. “I can, Aiden. I know I can.” I yawned, finally relaxing. “I’m exhausted. Bed?”
He looked down at his files. “You go ahead. I have to get some of this organized before I meet with the team tomorrow. I’ll be in shortly.”
“Okay.” I walked into the bedroom and got ready for bed, sliding beneath the covers and wondering if I should get him something more generic for Christmas than what I’d planned. But what? I heard the fridge open in the kitchen, and I grinned. Not hungry? Right.
I dropped off to sleep faster than I’d expected, feeling him come to bed a couple hours later. Then I slept like the dead with no nightmares, waking up early morning feeling much better. Aiden slept quietly next to me, so I gingerly slid from the bed, hit the bathroom to brush my teeth, and then wandered out to the living room, hoping there was huckleberry pie left.
My tree twinkled merrily at me, and peace filtered through the cottage. I padded to the kitchen and started my one cup coffee maker, turning to pull out the huckleberry pie.
I cut a generous piece, poured my coffee, and looked at the mess on my table. Shrugging, I moved into the living room, placing my plate on the coffee table and sipping my coffee. The warmth poured through me, and I sighed, rolling my neck to loosen the muscles. The snow fell gently outside, peacefully, and I turned to watch it.
Something red caught my eye.
I frowned, setting down my mug. Then I stood and moved toward the curtains, sliding them aside.
The world halted. Sharp and quick. A man knelt in my small front yard, in the freezing snow, with a massive red ribbon on his head. “Aiden!” I screamed.
Aiden cameout of the bedroom at a dead run, wearing only his boxers with a gun in his hand. His muscled chest was bare and his thick hair ruffled. “What?”
I pointed outside the window. “There’s a man.” I hustled to the entryway, jumping into my boots.
He reached me, stepped into his boots, and gently pulled me back. “Stay here.” Then he grabbed a coat, slugged into it, zipped it over his naked torso, and opened the door.
I reached for my coat, pulled it shut, and followed him out into the snowy day, keeping to the walkway. The wind and cold pierced the bare skin on my legs, nearly sending me down. “Oh,” I whispered, bile rising in my throat.
“You know him?” Aiden asked.
Numbly, I nodded. “His name is Crackle, and he’s the guy who hit me and came after Violet.”
Crackle knelt in the snow, a bullet hole square in his forehead, his body frozen and icicles coming off his chin. His skin was a bluish-white, already frozen, and his blank eyes stared unseeingly at the heart still painted on the side of my garage. The large red bow flopped on the side of his head, and a matching ribbon wound around his body to be tied in another bow at his waist.
Aiden stepped through the snowy lawn, crouching down and looking over the body. “He’s missing his pinkie finger.”
I gagged and swallowed several times to keep from throwing up. “How is he kneeling so perfectly?”
Aiden prodded Crackle’s shoulder and the body didn’t move. “Best guess? He was killed in this position, and the killer waited for rigor mortis to set in before moving him.”
Crackle still wore the dirty shirt and jeans that I’d seen him in the day he’d hit me. “The killer? It has to be Jareth Davey,” I whispered, my breath creating clouds in the frigid air.
Aiden looked over his shoulder and at my bare legs. “Go inside and call this in. I want to scout the area, even though snow has already covered any tracks that might’ve been left.” He turned and looked toward the tree line and then the road, which hadn’t been plowed yet today.
“You come put on jeans,” I countered. “It’s below freezing out here.” It was probably around ten degrees Fahrenheit, and Aiden could get frostbite easily, even though it looked like furious steam was coming off the guy. When he didn’t move, I shoved my chilled hands into my pockets. “I’m not going inside until you do.”
He moved then, right at me, tossing me over a shoulder and stomping through the snow.
I rolled my eyes, happy he was coming inside. Keeping my view on his butt, I purposefully didn’t look back at the frozen man in the snow. Crackle had been a jerk, but he hadn’t deserved to die like that. He had deserved to be arrested and put in jail, and denying any of his victims that result had taken something away from them.
Had Jareth Davey done this? I’d learned enough during my brief tenure as a lawyer that making assumptions like that was often a mistake. But I couldn’t imagine anybody else who would’ve done it.
We reached the cottage and walked inside, where Aiden flipped me back over and made sure my legs were steady before releasing my arms. “Call it in.” Then he hustled to the bedroom.
My phone was on the counter, and I reached it, calling Pierce directly.
“Detective Pierce,” he answered, a printer humming in the background. Good. He was already at work.
