Page 75 of Call Back

“Okay,” I said, suppressing a yawn. “But I need some coffee first.” And the opportunity to stall and think things through.

A slight grin tugged at his lips. “Good idea.” He dropped his hold on me and returned to the coffee maker.

I needed to go to the bathroom, but my phone was still sitting on the table, unlocked. I hesitated to leave it there, allowing Brady full access while I was out of the room, but it would look suspicious if I took it with me. “I’ll get the creamer.”

“Sit,” he insisted. “You must be emotionally exhausted.”

“Thank you.” How could I doubt Brady when he’d always been so insistent about protecting me? But then again, was it normal for him to be this protective? I understood he was a cop, so it was probably an instinct, but his attention had always seemed so personal. Colt, I understood to some degree. We’d been friends for four weeks, and while he’d offered help in the beginning, it was only in the last week or so that his intentions had begun to seem more genuine and from the heart. I’d grown to trust him, which now seemed foolish after he’d revealed he was caught up in something dirty.

My mind was whirling with half-formed thoughts, suspicions, and theories, though, and there was no way I was going to figure this out now. I sat down, and before I knew it, Brady was handing me a steaming cup of coffee. He took his seat and watched me.

I resisted the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. It was becoming more and more clear to me that I’d been drawn to Brady because I’d thought he could protect me. Not only that, deep down I’d been sure I would reach a point where I could entrust him with this terrible secret and that he’d make me feel safe when I did. Only, I wasn’t feeling that way at all.

“So let’s consider your options,” he said.

My stomach tightened into a ball.

“If you don’t file a report,” he said, “the killer will have no idea you’ve told anyone. And since we can’t provide protection . . .”

“But why can’t you protect them?”

Sympathy filled his eyes. “Budget constraints, the fact that there haven’t been any substantive threats other than a text . . . And even if we did, it wouldn’t last very long. This guy’s been at this for years. I suspect he’d be patient and wait for the protection to go away.”

I cradled my hands around the mug to hide their shaking. “So you’re saying that this is a way to protect them. He’ll leave Momma and Belinda and everyone else I care about alone.”

“So far no one else has picked up on the strange marks on the victims. They go back twenty years, but the bodies were spread all over Middle Tennessee and separated by several years. Then ten years ago, as far as I can tell, they stopped.” His gaze held mine. “Until you showed up. A few days later, his first victim in a decade appeared, and for the first time, the body was found in Franklin. Before Amy Danvers, they were all scattered around.”

My peripheral vision began to darken and tunnel. “He killed Amy.”

How could I be so stupid? Of course, Amy. The police had asked Belinda if Amy had been a cutter. While I’d started to suspect someone else had murdered Max Goodwin and Neil Fulton, it hadn’t occurred to me until today that the man who’d tortured me could be responsible for Amy’s death. And if she had been killed to conceal the identity of Max and Neil’s real murderer, didn’t that mean the serial killer was connected to whatever conspiracy my father had been involved in? But I wasn’t ready to make that connection, at least not with Brady.

I lowered my head between my legs to keep from passing out. I’d personally known two of this serial killer’s victims, and a third had been murdered in front of me. It was too much.

Brady’s hand rested on my upper back and began to rub up and down in a soothing motion. “I’m sorry. I thought you saw her file in the packet.”

“Her photos were in there?” I asked in a shaky voice.

“No. Just her report.”

I took several deep breaths, then lifted my head. I refused to look weaker than I already had. “You told me it was a suicide.”

“The report ruled it a suicide,” he said softly, “but it always felt a little off. Yes, her wrists were sliced and there was a note, but she had that strange mark on her leg. The one you have. It was a little too neat for me.” His expression turned earnest. “But I’m worried for your safety, which is another reason I want to keep your involvement quiet. I told you I suspect there’s corruption in the police department . . . Let’s just say I think it would be better if your name stayed out of any reports.”

I sat back in my chair, my heart kicking into a gallop. “Am I in danger from the police too?”

“No. But I would feel better keeping any attention off you, which means I need to tell Owen. I need help.”

Should I tell him about the little chat I’d had with Owen two days ago? Or the possibility that he’d either installed those cameras in my apartment or knew who had? But it didn’t seem like the right move to ask Brady to pick between me and his best friend. “No. No Owen.”

“Maggie . . .” he said in frustration.

“No. His uncle was involved in all of this years ago. I don’t trust him.”

“He likes you, Maggie. He’s concerned about you.”

I stilled. “How do you know that?”

“He’s asked about you. Everyone in the department knows Emily was your attorney, and he’s worried how you’re handling it.”

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