Tears burn and itch in the backs of my eyes, blurring my vision. “W-what did you do?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He releases my leg, only to hook his hand around the back of my head and drag me closer, then he crushes a dry kiss against my temple. “None of that matters anymore. The important thing is we’re together again.”
ROUND FIFTY-SIX
OLLIE
“Doctor Douchebag? Please report to the nurse’s station as soon as possible.” Eliza’s voice plays over the speaker system throughout the hospital. Her playful snicker grating on my nerves because I’m stuck here, working the ER after a handful of bikers—the Lycra-wearing kind, not leather—slipped on the road coming into town and ate the asphalt. I gnash my teeth and fake a smile, careful to control my expression while I clean my patient’s gravel-torn thigh. “Doctor Douchebag?” she repeats. “To the nurse’s station, please.”
“Would you excuse me for just a moment?” I roll my chair back and peel my gloves off. “Please.”
The cyclist snickers, his cheeks burning a bright red under the dried mud already hardening on his skin. “You must be Doctor Douchebag, huh? The wife giving you trouble?”
“Worse. My baby sister.” I stand up from my stool and drop my dirty gloves in the trash. Passing the long line of men who could probably clean their own wounds and apply a Band-Aid, saving themselves the work of claiming on insurance, I move along the wide hall and away from the ER. I dip my hands into my coat pockets, snagging my phone in my left hand and pulling it out to check the screen as I walk.
I have a missed call from Rose, but no message.
A missed call from Billy, and an accompanying voicemail.
Then I check my email and find half a dozen with his name attached.
Opening the one at the top, with the subject fieldWilliam “Liam” Porter, I scan a coroner’s report with a fast sweep of my eyes and scowl as I enter the main ward to find my sister hovering by Janine’s desk.
“There you are!” She pushes away from the desk in an oversized sweater drowning her frame, but little denim shorts exposing her long, lean legs, and a pair of kick-his-ass boots I know for a damn fact belong to Raquel. “You have no time for me anymore, Oliver?”
“Kinda busy over here.” I walk straight past her, my shoulder brushing hers as I go, then I stop by the desk and rest my elbows on the high section, my eyes locked on the words ‘death occasioning from blunt force trauma’. Confused, I scroll back to the top of the report and read his name again, just to make sure I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.
Eliza turns and sidles up on my right, tilting her head to the side. “Why so grumpy?”
“Why so annoying?” I swipe out of the autopsy report and read Billy’s quickly typed message:Liam’s dead. Has been since late November. Body was found at the bottom of a hiking trail. Cops completely botched it, claiming misadventure. Said he wasdressedfor hiking,lookedlike a hiker, and there was evidence of a fall. Medical examiner identified death via blunt force trauma, but said he smacked his head during the fall, and that’s what did him in. But get this: I called Raquel and sent over the pictures from the scene, and she did me a solid and ran them by her chief ME. Chief ME said, and I quote, ‘coroner’s a brainless idiot. Cops were negligent. I can see the actual imprint of a weapon on his skull—hammer, crowbar, tire iron, something like that. Unless your vic fell while holding this instrument and landed on it, headfirst, you’ve got yourself a homicide. Suggest you get a new medical examiner. And new cops. In fact, you should bring in the Feds or something, because everyone who touched this in the past is dirty or completely inept.’
At the top of my screen, a ribbon drops down to let me know I have another email in my inbox. But above that, where Wi-Fi and battery status sit, a small flag flashes white.
A flag I’ve never seen before.
“You’re seriously just gonna stand there and ignore me?” Eliza huffs. “Jesus. I came to see how last night went with Rose and that fuckwit with the thin lips.” She pinches her lips in my peripheral vision, scowling until her brows jut forward. “Ever watched those Netflix true crime specials? The well-to-do, white-collar,perfecthusband who inadvertently killed his wife and swore he didn’t,alwayshas thin lips.”
“Shush.” I drag the top of my screen down and search for the flag notification. “Stop talking.”
“No, I’m serious! They should study it! Notallmen with thin lips. But always a man with thin lips.”
“Rose turned her tracking app on.” My heart stutters and jerks, mythumb slamming down on the notification so fucking fast, I’m surprised when the screendoesn’tcrack. “She turned it on, Lize. She—” My phone buzzes with an incoming call, Billy’s name flashing on the screen and stealing my view of Rose moving… away.
Answering, I swing the phone to my ear. “Billy?”
“Rose isn’t at the house!” His tires scream against the asphalt, the engine roaring through the phone. “She wasn’t due to go out with Darcy till eleven. I was talking to her just before! But now she’s not at the house, and she’s in danger.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Fury pumps through my veins as I dart around Janine’s desk and yank the top drawer open. I snatch out the keys to my truck and peel my coat off while I walk. Then my walk turns to a run. My run turns to a fucking sprint along the hospital hall, dodging patients and skipping over a bucket half-filled with rainwater, because the roof leaks and the board doesn’t care enough to fix it. I explode through the hospital doors and skid on the slippery concrete. “Billy!? What the hell is going on? That email says Liam was murdered?!”
“What?” Eliza bursts through the hospital front doors and grabs on to my arm, her feet slipping and her breath racing. “Ollie!”
“Murdered! Darcy claims Liam lost his shit when Rose got engaged and took off. New medical examiner says differently. Liam’s body—unidentified at the time—was discovered in late November and handed off to an inept coroner. The cops didn’t eventryto formally identify him. He was filed away as a John Doe untilright fucking now, which is insane, considering his military record. Heshouldhave been easy to identify. And get this— Fuck.” He slams on the brakes and skids through town, revving the engine and peeling away from wherever the fuck he is. “Rose’s parents’ death: same fucking coroner! And no one mentioned the second set of skid marks on the road that night. Tire tracks matched those of an Audi A1. Guess who drives one of those?”
“But he…” I turn on my heels and sprint into the rain, across the parking lot, and around an unused ambulance. “He’s driving a BMW, Billy!”
“He’srentinga BMW. He owns a fucking A1. Dammit!” He skids to a long stop. “His car isn’t at Camille’s.”
“No, shit.” Rain dribbles through my hair and onto my face, blurring my vision as I slam against the side of my truck and unlock the doors. I swing the driver’s side open and jump in, the whole vehicle rocking on its chassis. Jamming the key into the ignition, I turn the engine over and press my foot to the gas pedal. “Rose turned her phone tracking on, Billy.” I whip the phone away from my ear and set him on speaker, then I swipe across to the tracker and damn near wheeze. “She’s just gone past picnicpoint. Headed toward Barlespy.” I drop the phone into my lap as Eliza wrenches my passenger door open and climbs in, then I shove the gear into first and tear out of the parking lot. “Are you seriously saying Darcy killed Liam?”
