Page 100 of Cold as Hell

I bristle, and that makes him laugh.

“Oh, don’t be so offended, Casey,” he says. “I know you’d never do that. Which is what makes this so much easier. And I also know that we have a limited amount of time together before Will rides to the rescue. It’ll take him a while. First, he’s going to find Grant, and that’ll slow him down. Then he needs to track us, and the fact that we retraced our steps partway is going to screw up what little tracking ability he has. He’ll get here. Eventually. But you know who I’m really hoping shows up?” He leans to my ear again. “Your husband.”

I must flinch, because he laughs before continuing, “Yep, my ideal scenario has Will Anders blundering around before shouting for Eric, who’ll track us easily. Then he’ll show up and… No, let’s save that part. For now, yes, I know you don’t want to go where I’m leading you. But I also know you will, because you don’t have a choice.”

He moves the gun barrel, and I resume walking. I’m moving slow, hissing in pain that’s only fifty percent feigned.

He digs the barrel into my stomach. “None of that shit, Casey.”

“I’m really having trouble. My water broke.”

“Oh, did it? And I suppose when I question that, you’ll want me to check, which gives you a chance to do something. Not sure what you’ll do, since you don’t have your gun, and you’re a little unwieldy right now, but even if your water did break, I don’t actually give a shit. Walk.”

I continue the way he’s prodding me. We soon disappear into the curve between that peninsula and the shore.

“Over here,” he says. “Remember this spot?”

It takes a moment. Then I do. We’d come ice fishing here just last month—Dalton, Anders, Marlon, and me. The remains of our party are still here, in the cut logs we’d sat on.

I slow. “That ice won’t be safe.”

“I know. That’s the point.”

My knees lock. Ahead, I can see the spot where we fished. Anders and Marlon had gone out ahead to make the hole, and instead of making a bunch of ten-inch holes, they cut a single big one, nearly three feet square. I’d laughed at that. A couple of big guys proving their strength with an epic ice-fishing hole… when small ones would have been fine and much safer.

That hole has iced over, but I can see the divot of it, and that ice won’t be more than a few inches thick.

“Walkaroundthe hole,” Jerome says with a dramatic sigh. “Sit your ass down on that stump, and if you think of trying anything, let me remind you that I’m an excellent shot and that stomach of yours makes a very prominent target.”

He is a very good shot. He’d gone hunting with us a few times, and we never questioned his skill with a gun because he was supposedly ex-military. Now I know the skill comes from hunting with his stepfather instead.

“Hands up,” he says. “Walk to that stump, face me, and lower your ass onto it.”

I do as he says. As soon as I start to squat to sit, my body screeches in joy. I’m finally getting into the right position. I clamp my legs shut, as if that’s going to help.

“You were always my first choice,” he says. “If I could have picked anyone, it’d have been Detective Casey Butler. There’s a certain thrill to taking down prey that thinks it’s smarter than you. But with that bun in your oven, Eric wasn’t letting me get near you, and if he wasn’t around, there was Will, your sister… everyone keeping such a close eye on Casey.”

“Yolanda made a decent substitute, though,” I say. “Especially since she turned you down.”

His cheek tics, and I try not to smile. I might not have wanted to piss him off earlier, but I’m away from that gun barrel now. I can see his finger isn’t on the trigger. That hunting experience also ingrained trigger control.

He covers the reaction with a smirk. “Sure, that’s the answer. The killer who targets women who turn him down. Such a cliché.”

Another contraction. I struggle to think past it. I can’t pause. I must keep him talking.

“Did Emma Kim turn you down, too?”

He blinks at the name of the girl he locked into a high-school bathroom.

“Nice work, Detective, but no. I was just a curious boy, and Emma was a convenient target for that curiosity. Notthatkind of teenage curiosity, though. Mine is a little more complicated.”

He’s lying. He’s trying to lift himself above the “common killer.” Act like he didn’t make a move on Emma. Like she didn’t reject him. That would be passé, the teenage boy held hostage by his hormones. He was more complicated.

He continues, “As for Yolanda, that was feigned interest. She isn’t my type. I knew I’d be rebuffed, and so I could play the potential suitor, interested but not aggressive enough to be a suspect in her murder. If I liked her and hoped for a relationship, why would I kill her? It was cover.”

He’s full of shit. Or maybe full of self-delusion. From the articles I read, Emma Kim had been a lot like Yolanda—smart, opinionated, and far more focused on her future than romance.

She’d rejected Jerome. I’m sure of that. Then he’d realized he’d dodged a bullet there—if she’d told friends he’d pursued her, he’d have been a suspect. So I doubt his other victims hadany connection to him. Until Yolanda, because in a town this small, everyone has some connection to you, so he might as well let his bruised ego pick a victim.

---