Page 57 of High Density

“You would’ve been safer with Logan,” he stubbornly persists, digging himself a deeper hole, because now I’m good and pissed off.

“And Logan would’ve what? Protected me?” I scoff. “Do you even realize how sexist it is to suggest a twenty-something-year-oldboywould be better equipped to look after me than I could? Do you even hear yourself?”

Belatedly, I realize my raised voice is drawing an audience; a few passersby slow down and gawk. When I turn my back, I catch sight of the wrangler, leaning against the chute, his arms crossed and a smirk on his face as he openly listens in to what he probably thinks is a lover’s quarrel. Which, I guess, technically it is.

Ugh.

Annoyed, I retrieve my can of KeriCure and toss it into my medical bag, which I then throw over my shoulder. With a nod at the wrangler, but ignoring JD, I start walking back to the other side of the stockyard. Wordlessly, he falls into step beside me, which annoys me even more.

I need a moment to myself, but he’s not giving me the space. So instead of heading straight back to the clinic, I make a sharp right and aim for the restrooms. I’d like to see him try and follow me into the ladies’ room.

With the rodeo well underway, the restrooms are not as busy as they were earlier. I feel a pang of satisfaction at JD’s unhappy grunt when I duck inside. I’m of a mind to leave him waiting out there for a while.

I find an empty stall and slip inside. It only takes me a minute to pee, but I stay seated when I’m done, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I’m tired and stressed and now I’m feeling emotionally wrung out as well. Tears burn my eyes, but I don’t think I can afford to let even one roll, or all of me might dissolve into a puddle. Instead, I practice deep breathing—in through the nose, out through the mouth—to try and regain my equilibrium.

Another hour or so for today’s rodeo events to close down. After that the fair will stay open, but I won’t need to stick around. I can do another hour, although the groceries I was planning to pick up on my way home will have to wait, I don’t think I have it in me today. All I want is to go home, soak in a nice hot bath, and then go straight to bed after. I’ll worry about food tomorrow.

Armed with a plan, and feeling a little better, I get out of the stall and step up to the sink. The bathroom doesn’t have the best lighting, but I don’t think it would’ve made a lot of difference to the reflection staring back at me. I look horrendous, my braidshalf undone, smudges of dirt and God knows what else on my pasty cheek and forehead, sunken, red-rimmed eyes looking shades darker than they’re supposed to be, and sharp lines bisecting my eyebrows and bracketing my mouth.

I’m a mess.

I use hand soap to wash myself, scrubbing my hands, face, and neck, and using paper towels to pat myself dry. It actually does make me feel a little better.

But the moment I step outside, JD is there and takes one look at me before grabbing me by the arm and pulling me around the back of the building, which is butting up against the tree line. There he turns me to face him, pressing my back against the wall, as he lowers his head so his eyes can stare straight into mine.

“I almost came in after you,” he growls in a low voice.

JD

Fuck.

My heart is still hammering in my chest, and I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Getting back to Janey had been the only thing on my mind after the discovery Deputy Dale Bastian and I made.

We’d been paired up for the search, and I’d been getting pretty annoyed at the young deputy after listening to him chatter on about everything under the sun for hours, while we slugged around the thick brush. In hindsight it was probably nerves that had him run at the mouth.

He’d recognized Janey as his sister’s boss—apparently Janey’s assistant, Frankie, is Francesca Bastian—which led toa detailed family history. Then he brought up Logan, who was apparently in his graduating class and used to be on the high school football team, and the two of them had a crush on the same cheerleader. Unfortunately, that led the conversation to relationship woes. Apparently, he’d won the girl, and they’d been together until this spring, when she broke it off with him.

I hadn’t exactly been much of a participant in the conversation—it was more a monologue than anything else—but it was at that point I started actively tuning him out. At first, he didn’t even notice I’d stopped walking and was still talking when I pushed aside the low branch hanging over the ditch, not too far from the main road.

But not for long.

She was lying on her back, one arm up, covering her eyes, and the other stretched out, her hand clutched around a clump of quackgrass. Her jeans and underwear were tangled around her ankles and she was left exposed. My mind was already trying to detach as my training kicked in and I began to catalog everything I could see.

There was definitely blood at this scene, it looked like this girl may have fought hard. The hand clutching the grass looked to have blood under the fingernails, and from what I could see of her face, she’d been badly battered. Her death looked to be the result of a number of stab wounds, visible on her bare chest. The arm covering her eyes had some cuts as well, leading me to believe she was trying to ward off her attacker.

Deputy Bastian lost his cookies on the edge of the ditch, and I have to admit, I almost joined him.

Finding two dead women in a span of two weeks was not fun. Neither was having to stand guard over a crime scene for the second time, waiting for Sheriff Ewing to show up, when all I could think about was getting back to Janey. Only to find, whenI finally was able to leave, Janey wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

I was sick to my stomach when I couldn’t immediately find her, and imagined her lifeless body ending up in a ditch somewhere. So I may have overreacted a bit when I finally located her.

Staring into her pale face, I see a mix of anger, fear, and exhaustion swirling in her eyes. She looks at the end of her tether, and I may be partially responsible for that. Repentant, I cup her face in my hand, stroking my thumb over the dark circles under her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, leaning my forehead against hers. “That was fear talking.”

As her eyes examine mine, they go from hard and cold to shiny and soft.

“You found her…”

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