“Please tell me what happened.”
“We were working a lead on our serial.” Chauncey spares me a glance before punching the gas and making my head jerk back from the sudden momentum. I grip the door handle with one hand and the seatbelt over my stomach with the other. “Anonymous caller hit the tip line with just enough information to seem credible, but they were light on details. The contact number she left behind was bogus—one of those stupid fucking online phone numbers. I swear they think of new shit every day to make it easier for people to get away with murder, literally.” It sounds like this is something he’s taken issue with before. He’s talking while driving faster than I’ve ever driven in city traffic, but all I care about is getting to the hospital.
“I wanted to let it go and wait to see if she called again, but Boone is like a dog with a fucking bone. Come on!” he shouts at the car in front of us, as if the driver should know to get the hell out of his way. “I indulged his ass because I knew he wouldn’t let it go. We did a little more research on the ex the caller was reporting, and things got fucking weird. The last time he renewed his ID was seven years ago. He has no work history, and the house she reported he lives in is in the name of a woman whois either the oldest living person on record or long dead, making this guy a virtual ghost.”
Chauncey turns a corner without even slowing, and I have to grip the door harder to stay in place. “So we took a drive. Have you ever been to West Virginia?”
His question catches me off guard, but I answer, eager for him to continue the story. “No.”
“It’s beautiful,” he admits, “but there’s something you can’t quite put your finger on. Those rural mountain towns… Fuck.” He pulls his phone out of his inner jacket pocket and puts it to his ear before barking out, “Yeah, what’d ya got?” Seconds later, he darts his narrowed eyes in my direction before he returns his attention back to the traffic. He lets out a soft hum I wish I knew how to interpret.
I want to ask if it’s an update on Boone, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Are you sure?” he says after what seems like forever. There’s another long pause before he speaks again. “No, I’m almost there. I’ll let you know when I do. Yeah, bye.”
Chauncey ends the call and exhales long and low. Whatever he learned doesn’t seem to be good. A sign directing us to turn left for the hospital comes into view. I glance up at the tall building, wondering where Boone is inside and praying he’s okay.
Chauncey enters a roundabout for valet service but doesn’t pull up to the waiting attendant. “Harlyn.” The way he says my name, part sorrow, part frustration, makes me think he’s about to deliver a warning about what I might see or hear, but I’m completely unprepared for what comes out of his mouth next. “That was Kel, she’s working the scene?—”
“What scene?” I interrupt, already knowing the answer but needing confirmation.
“She found pictures.” His face is twisted into some semblance of grief and regret.
“What pictures? I don’t understand what’s going on. I just want to know if Boone is okay.”
Chauncey moves his hand as if he’s about to reach over and touch me, but I jerk my arm back. I don’t want him to touch me, don’t want his comfort. I want answers. “Of your sister,” he says, not making a big deal of my rebuff.
“What?” My mind is reeling, trying to connect dots that are so far apart, I can’t even line them up on the same page, let alone put them together. “The tip you were investigating was on my sister’s case?”
“No.” He huffs out an exhale while staring out the front window. The urgency to get here appears to have faded, and there’s a part of me that understands it. While I want to know what is going on with Boone, I’m also a little terrified to find out. “I can’t imagine how the cases could be connected, but I trust Kel. If she said they found pictures of your sister, then I believe her.”
“Wait a minute.” I cradle my head in my hands, trying like hell to make my brain work so I can make sense of what he is telling me, but there are too many thoughts rolling through my head and not nearly enough information.
“Our serial and your case?—”
“Not mine,” I interject, because I don’t want to acknowledge just how easily I could have also been a victim.
“Your sister’s case,” Chauncey amends to appease me. “They don’t have any similarities, not the manner of death, victimology, or signature. There is no evidence our guy was a stalker. We profiled him as an opportunist, someone who targeted high-risk victims that wouldn’t be as easily missed.” He shakes his head slowly, giving me the impression he’s alsohaving a hard time wrapping his head around what he just learned.
“It has to be a mistake.” I reach for the door handle, no longer willing to allow this to derail me from what’s important, which is Boone.
“It’s not a mistake, Harlyn,” he says as I climb out.
I duck my head back into the car so he can see my face when I respond. “Either way, he’s dead, right? You said Boone killed him, so it doesn’t matter. What matters is Boone. Where is he?” If Chauncey wants to sit in the car, thinking about the cases and how they make sense, so be it.
He blinks once, and resolve hardens his features. “Let’s go find out.”
CHAPTER 27
Boone
Sharp pain stabs my stomach when I shift to get more comfortable. I hiss and open my eyes. The room is dark, but not black. There’s a glow coming from an unfamiliar large window across the room. Disjointed thoughts pierce my brain as I try to piece together what the hell happened, but my mind is hazy, as if I went on a weeklong bender.
Cool fingers wrap around my hand, and I turn my head. The muscles in my stomach scream again, and I squeeze my eyes shut while absorbing the pain. Damn, did I get shot? That thought brings a barrage of memories. I entered a house, where the pungent smell of decaying wood and soil layered with dust and rotting food made me want to gag and cover my nose, but I kept my arms raised, gun in hand, as I crept through the back door. I should have known something was wrong when I found it cracked open as if it was an invitation.
The fingers squeeze my hand, and I’m torn from the memory, or maybe it was a dream. “Boone.” More fingers, just as chilled,brush along my forehead, and I know whom they belong to—Harlyn. I try to blink again, and the outline of her face comes into view. I swallow, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth as a wince tightens my features. Damn, everything hurts, including my throat.
“Wha…” I croak.
