Page 154 of Bad Blood

Jenks perks up, nodding his head at the man without hesitation. He lifts his mic, and his gaze follows mine in Dax’s direction. But Dax is nowhere to be seen.

“You need to make it quick,” I say, twirling the ring on my pinkie finger.

I stare into the camera and clear my throat as Jenks lifts his mic, the words rolling off his tongue. “We’re here live at the location where a fourth body was found under suspicious circumstances. Authorities are saying this is the work of a serial killer. We have it on good authority that they’re getting information from someone on the inside . . .”

The world tilts. And everything unravels. What have I done?

43

If Only

Dax

Saturday, June 10 th

8:27 a.m.

My phone pings with an incoming text as I steal a glance out the window, watching Brighton’s interaction with Chris. Tension coils tight in her movements as she takes a couple of retreating steps away from him.

She shoves a hand at the mic. Chris thrusts it into her face, and she shakes her head, her hair whipping around her face. He stalks after her as she turns and races up the stairs. She rounds on him at the last second, bouncing down the steps as she closes the distance between them, jamming a finger into his chest as she meets him on the sidewalk. He throws his hands in the air, his face reddening as he yells at her.

I rip open the door, and she jolts around to face me, relief replacing the fear in her eyes at the sight of me. She rushes past me to the open door.

“We’re done here,” she growls through gritted teeth. “Do not set foot on my doorstep again.”

Jenks scowls, raking a hand down his face. “You can’t hide forever.” He watches us, his sharp eyes not missing anything. His nostrils flare as he stalks off, waving his hand for the camera guy to follow him.

“Hey,” I holler after her as she stomps down the hall toward the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

She turns, leaning against the counter behind her. “I wasn’t thinking. This isn’t good.”

My phone chimes again, reminding me of the text. I drop my gaze to it, confused by what it says.

Liam: Can you come home?

“Is everything okay?” Brighton comes to stand beside me, glancing at the screen over my shoulder.

“I don’t think so.”

“You can take my truck. Or I can drive.” She leans over the table, grabbing a set of keys from the middle, sensing the urgency in my stiff posture. She is clearly confused, but before she can ask any more questions, I take off.

I hurry out of the foyer and onto the street, her footsteps following me. I hail a cab, waiting as one passes. Another comes to a stop a few car lengths ahead of me. The commotion draws the reporters’ attention, but I hurry past them, ignoring as questions are hurled my way.

“. . . any information pertaining to the recent murder.”

“. . . was the victim associated with the hospital murders? Does she work at Mount Sinai?”

“. . . What about the one at the bridge . . . ?”

“I’ll call you later.” I yank the back door open, halfway leaning in as she comes to a stop beside me next to the cab. I lean out of the backseat and peck the top of her head. “I’ll text you if we need anything.”

The cabbie drives away as I shoot off a text.

Me: On my way

There’s no reply.

“West Fifty-Seventh and Eighth.”

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