“This guy is really starting to tick me off, Sheriff.”
Matt crossed his arms, his expression darkening as he stared at the body. “I’m way past ‘starting to’ get ticked off. Can we take some fingerprints before you take her? I want to find out who she is as fast as possible.”
Hansen nodded to one of the attendants. “Make sure you scrape under her nails before doing the prints.”
As the team moved into action, Sean stepped back, forcing himself to breathe through the rage inside him. The killer wanted him rattled. Wanted him distracted. But Sean had spent years hunting men who thought they were smarter than law enforcement. This one had just made things personal.
Brian moved to his side and lowered his voice. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
He frowned. “For what?”
“Winner sits in on the autopsy. Loser tells Uncle Dan his beloved beach house is now a homicide crime scene.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Grace waved goodbye to Elsie Whitmore as Tim finished up with Mr. Berkeley across the treatment room. The clinic had barely slowed all day. From the moment they’d opened that morning, patients had moved through Pro-Care in a steady stream of rehab appointments, follow-ups, and evaluations. It was the kind of problem she’d hoped to have when she opened her practice, though she hadn’t expected business to build that fast. Watching the schedule fill had her thinking she might need to bring on another physical therapist for part-time hours sooner rather than later.
Her gaze drifted to the clock on the wall.
Five fifty-three.
Sean had called earlier and said he’d be there by six, when she closed, so he could follow her home. The thought still made her smile despite herself. A few weeks ago, she would have rolled her eyes and told him he was overreacting. Now, after watching him recover from being struck by that car and seeing the strain this investigation had carved into his face, she understood his caution, even if she thought some of it bordered on excessive.
If he wasn’t there by closing, she’d walk across the street and wait in Dan’s apartment above the hardware store. That was another arrangement Sean had insisted on. While part of her bristled at being fussed over, another part found comfort in knowing he was doing everything he could to keep her safe.
When he’d stopped by the clinic after breaking the news to Dan, the strain etched across his face had told her the conversation hadn’t gone well. Once he’d filled her in on what happened at the beach house and the note the killer had left behind, she’d understood the weight pressing on him. The sadness lingering in Dan’s expression when she’d seen him afterward stayed with her. That little cottage held decades of family memories, and now some monster had stained it with something none of them would ever forget.
She hated seeing the frustration etched across his face. She knew his years with the FBI had exposed him to the worst kinds of people, but this case had become personal in a way no case ever should. She prayed they’d catch a break soon—for Sean, for the task force, and for every resident of Dare County waiting for this nightmare to end.
Gathering the top of a plastic garbage bag, Grace pulled it free from the can and glanced around for anything else that needed tossing. Across the room, Tim focused on the ultrasound treatment he was giving Mr. Berkeley, the soft hum of the machine filling the space between the muted conversation drifting from the reception area.
With Tim occupied for the next several minutes, Grace headed for the back door that opened into the private parking area behind the row of storefronts. Most of the employees from the neighboring businesses would have gone home by now, though a few cars usually remained scattered through the lot. The shared dumpster sat two stores down.
She slipped the small wedge into place so the door wouldn’t latch behind her. As she walked toward the dumpster, she swung the bag at her side while a ridiculous little tune drifted through her mind. Maybe she’d pull up a comedy on Netflix tonight. After the kind of day Sean had endured, he could use something that might coax a smile out of him.
When she reached the dumpster, she lifted the lid, tossed the bag inside, and let it fall shut with a hollow clang.
She had just started to turn when strong arms closed around her from behind. One locked around her waist. The other slammed a cloth over her mouth and nose. A sickly sweet odor flooded her senses, and panic exploded through her.
Grace clawed at the hand that crushed the cloth against her face and twisted with everything she had, her pulse hammering as she kicked and thrashed against the body pinning her in place. Terror sharpened every movement, but within seconds her limbs began to weaken.
The alley tilted. Her thoughts blurred. She tried to scream, but the sound never made it past the cloth.
Her foot lashed out one last time, and her slip-on sneaker flew free, skidding across the pavement.
The strength drained from her body. Darkness crowded in at the edges of her vision. The last thing she heard before everything went black was a man’s voice near her ear. “Sleep tight.”
Parking the Mustang in a space in front of Grace’s clinic, Sean glanced at his watch. 6:02. Not bad.
For the first time all day, he let himself think about what came next. The hours since discovering Natalie Bowers’s body had dragged like an anchor, each lead hitting a wall and each conversation adding another layer of frustration. Right now, all he wanted was to leave the case behind for a few hours and spend the evening with Grace. Eating takeout on the couch, some mindless comedy, and Rico purring loud enough to drown out the television sounded about as close to perfect as life got.
When the cat wasn’t sulking over some imagined offense, he liked to stretch across the back of the couch behind them and rumble his approval into their ears. The thought pulled the corners of Sean’s mouth upward as he climbed from the car. Somehow, he’d gotten attached to the little guy, but he couldn’t say for sure if the feelings were reciprocated. With Rico, it was hard to tell.
Across the street, Uncle Dan was locking up the hardware store. The older man spotted him and held up a finger before crossing the street with Jinx trotting at his side. The dog’s tail swished as he reached Sean and gave his jeans an enthusiastic sniff, no doubt catching Rico’s scent.
“How was the rest of your day?” his uncle asked.
Sean leaned against the hood and crossed his arms. The tension riding his neck and shoulder had worked its way into a steady ache, and judging by the look Dan gave him, every bit of his mood showed on his face.
