Page 9 of So Wicked

She nodded. “First Sergeant Delroy.”

“Ooh, a sexy older Marine buddy.”

“Should I tell David you said that?” Faith said drily. “Besides, you don’t know that it’s a he.”

“It’s a he.”

“How do you know?”

“You get along better with guys than girls.”

She chuckled. “How enlightened of you.”

“I’m a detective, not a social worker. You like guys because most guys are intimidated by your stern, take-no-prisoners attitude, so they leave you alone.”

“Before you make a horribly broad generalization about most girls, I should point out that Delroy isn’t intimidated by anything.”

He grinned. “I’ll bet he isn’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure what dirty joke you were trying to make, but I’m visiting First Sergeant because I haven’t seen him in a while, he’s retired now, and if anyone comes trying to kill me in his presence, he’ll rip them into strips.”

“Wow. Well, if you catch him dismembering any unfortunate murderers, take video and send it to me.”

“Will do.”

Her smile faded slightly. Michael reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Hey. It’s gonna be okay. We’ve dealt with worse.”

She sighed. “I’m getting sick of telling myself that.”

He looked over her shoulder at the fading dusk. “Yeah. Me too.”

They finished their meals, then Michael dropped her off at the station. She picked up her car and texted David goodbye. She had a go bag in the car with changes of clothing, toiletries, and cash, so she didn’t need to stop by her apartment. She felt a little guilty about leaving without seeing David in person, but if she stopped, she’d spend the night, and if she did that, she might wake up in the morning determined not to leave at all.

So, she pulled onto the freeway and headed east, away from her home, away from her friends, and hopefully away from the grasp of a crazed killer who sent messages to her using the blood of his victims.

CHAPTER FOUR

Lillian Martin smiled apologetically at the irate guest in front of her and wondered what her fat lips would look like stretched inside out over her skull. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but I’m afraid that without a receipt, there’s nothing I can do.”

The woman planted her hands on her hips and said, “Yes, there is.”

Lillian’s smile widened. “No, there isn’t.”

“Yes, there is.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“Yes, there…” the woman sighed. “I’d like to speak to your manager.”

Lillian continued to smile sweetly at her.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

The woman—Glenda? Glinda? Glimmer? Something like that—stiffened as though she’d been slapped. “Get me your manager right now!”

“No.”

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