Page 26 of Not This Night

Scott's face contorted, a mixture of confusion and shock. "Killed? Jenna?" His voice faltered, as if the ground had slipped away beneath him.

“That’s what this is about? I didn't kill anyone."

“Then why run?” Ethan cut in. Now they were rapid-fire, refusing to give him an ounce of breathing room.

"Your store, 'Artifacts'," Rachel continued, undeterred, "we have a warrant to search it. Every nook, every cranny." She let the words dangle in the air, a silent ultimatum.

A sigh escaped Scott's lips, the sound heavy with resignation. He looked down, nodding slowly. "Fine. You'll find some items that... aren't exactly acquired through... traditional channels."

"Stolen goods," Rachel clarified, the corners of her mouth twitching downward in disapproval.

"Yeah," he admitted, eyes still lowered, "but I swear on my life, I didn't lay a hand on Jenna or any other soul."

Rachel stood back up, her movements deliberate, controlled. She jotted something in her notebook, a quick scribble. "We're going to find out, Hawkeye. If you're lying, we'll dig it up." Her tone was as hard as the Texas soil under a summer drought.

"Believe what you want," Scott said, finally meeting her gaze once more, "but killing's not my style."

"Let's hope for your sake you're telling the truth," Rachel countered, pocketing her notebook.

"Where were you last night? The night before?”

Scott Hawkeye leaned back in his chair, his leathery face set in hard lines. "With my parole officer," he said, his tone flat but clear. "In Kerrville, an hour away from this dump.”

Ethan's pen paused over his notepad. "Can anyone confirm that?"

"Talk to him. He'll vouch for me." Scott's gaze didn't waver.

Rachel's brain clicked into high gear. Her eyes narrowed as she processed the new information. Scott's alibi, if true, blew holes through her theory like buckshot. She felt the familiar twinge of frustration knotting her stomach. If Scott wasn't their man, who was?

Her voice was a low grumble. “If we find out you're lying, if your alibi doesn't check out..."

"It will," he interjected, his confidence unwavering.

"Then you have nothing to worry about." The promise hung between them, heavy and ominous.

Scott nodded, a flicker of something crossing his otherwise impassive features. Relief? Defiance? Rachel couldn't tell.

But it wasn’t fear… the thought of them checking with his parole officer seemed to give him a sense of relief…

Not good.

If he had an alibi, then he couldn’t have been at the old farmstead, murdering Sinclair.

The turquoise, the old bumps of scarred skin on the two white women, the burial-style poses of their bodies—what did it all mean?

She felt a flicker of frustration as she pushed away from the table.

Ethan leaned in, speaking in the far more amiable way of his.

She didn’t wait to listen. She pushed out the door, scowling as she moved. She was going to check Scott’s alibi personally. To see if the parole officer he’d mentioned could really vouch for his whereabouts.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Midnight draped the police station in shadows, a cloak for the Reaper's silent rage.

And that’s what he was. A reaper.

They didn’t know—they couldn’t. But it was only just beginning. He prowled its perimeter, a ghost among men, his footsteps soundless against the concrete. Every nerve fired with tension, a live wire hidden beneath the nondescript garb of night's anonymity.

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