Page 117 of The Murder Club

“Why tell Eric he was a serial killer?” She forced out the question, determined to keep him talking. “Did you think he was going to confront Dom?”

Thorpe glanced toward Eric. “That coward? No. I simply warned him that you would never listen. Not as long as your new friend Dom was close by, whispering in your ear. I insinuated that he needed a way to separate you from the bastard and force you to listen.” He glanced back as he raised his hands to gesture around the empty bathroom. “He was the one who suggested that he create a soundproof room where he could keep you safe. Naturally, I assured him it was a perfect idea. I knew we would eventually end up here together.”

Bailey kept her gaze locked on Thorpe. She didn’t want a reminder that the likelihood of anyone finding her trapped in this abandoned building was close to zero. Or the fact that she was completely at his mercy.

“And now here we are.” She couldn’t disguise the tremor of fear in her voice. “What are you going to do to me?”

“So impatient,” he chided, even as he eyed her with blatant satisfaction. No doubt he’d been visualizing this encounter for weeks. Maybe months. He wanted her to be traumatized. “You’re getting ahead of the story.”

Bailey swallowed the urge to scream at him in frustrated fury. This was his game. She had no choice but to play it by his rules.

“Okay,” she muttered. “You murder your grandmother and then come to Pike to write a book about Kaden, befriend Eric, and randomly start killing people.”

“They weren’t random,” he argued. “What would be the fun in that?”

Bailey’s stomach clenched. “Why would you kill them?”

“To punish my mother.”

Bailey frowned. “You mean your grandmother?”

“No. My grandmother was already dead.”

With a wink, he turned to stroll out of the room, as if he had all the time in the world. And maybe he did. It wasn’t like anyone was looking for her. Not unless Dom was back at the nursing home. A minute later he was returning, wheeling an office chair into the bathroom. Bailey’s eyes widened as she took in the slumped form that was tied to the chair. It was an older woman dressed in a bright yellow pantsuit.

Arranging the chair in the middle of the floor, Thorpe grabbed a hunk of the woman’s dark red hair and forced up her head, revealing Lorene Donaldson’s pale face and the gag shoved into her open mouth.

“This is my mother.”

* * *

It had been years since Dom had gotten blackout drunk. He’d quickly discovered that the few hours of fun weren’t worth the blinding headache and heaving stomach that was inevitably waiting the next morning. But as he grimly clawed his way through the clinging darkness, he couldn’t imagine another explanation why his head would feel as if it might explode and his entire body throbbed as if he’d been hit by a freight train . . .

Or a silver BMW.

The memory of the vehicle barreling toward him seared through Dom’s foggy brain. Shit. He was no longer worried about a massive hangover. He was worried that he’d died and been sent to hell.

“Dom.” A hand grabbed his shoulder. “Dom, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Dom rasped, relief blasting through him. He recognized Zac’s voice. Which meant he wasn’t dead.

“Open your eyes,” Zac commanded.

Dom groaned, too exhausted to make the effort. “Do I have to?”

Zac gave his shoulder a shake. It was small, but it was enough to rattle Dom’s aching brain.

“The ambulance is on the way, but I need to know where Bailey is.”

Bailey. Dom grimly forced open his eyes, ignoring the pain that throbbed through him from head to toe.

“She’s at the nursing home,” he said, carefully turning his head to discover Zac crouched next to him wearing his sheriff’s uniform and a matching baseball cap. Dom struggled to sit upright. “What are you doing here? I thought you were taking your wife to Madison?”

Zac’s hand moved to the center of Dom’s back, keeping him steady as he glanced around. The sun was shining brightly overhead, which did nothing for his aching head, but it did assure him that he hadn’t been out for long. And he was still in front of the gates that led to Kaden’s house with Logan Donaldson’s corpse wrapped in a blanket just a few feet away.

The only change was that he was no longer on the hood of the silver BMW that had seemingly disappeared, and there was a deputy in a brown uniform taking pictures of the area around the body.

“Rachel asked her parents to drive her down to Madison,” Zac told him. “She has an apartment there, for when she’s working out of the cold case office. She knew I’d be worried until I checked out why Bailey called. I’ll drive down tomorrow for our appointment.” He grimaced as his gaze darted toward the hole in the center of Logan’s forehead. “Or at least that’s the plan. Tell me what happened.”

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