Page 101 of The Hunted
Amra couldn’t be happier. He was doing most of the leg work for her. If she didn’t find evidence here, and she doubted she wouldn’t, but if she didn’t, it would be easier to plead her case. It was simple for people to believe bad things about bad people before they ever believed someone who pretended to be good and nice could be capable of such heinous acts.
It was how so many people got away with things. Your friendly neighbor who waved and helped shovel the snow out of your driveway could be hoarding all sorts of dirty secrets, and no one would look in their direction when things went bump in the night.
“The duality of humans,” she mused. It was one of the reasons she’d been drawn to psychology in the first place. People knew there were bad seeds out there, but they expected the bad seeds to be in your face about their dirty deeds. They never expected it from those they held on a pedestal.
That drop was always the hardest to navigate.
“Shit.” She hit her arm, hoping to kill the mosquito that seemed to take a liking to her. Her skin and eyes itched from the trees. She should probably turn around, considering her stomach kept dropping the deeper she went, but she’d come this far she couldn’t turn back now.
“Especially since I’m already here.” She marveled at the cabin when she broke through the foliage. It was almost homey and welcoming on the outside. She could picture herself retiring in an aesthetic like this.
Or take a vacation to some place like this once this case was over.
Amra marched on, pulling her gloves on. She was already breaking the rules by snooping, she didn’t need Santino to get off on a technicality or find a way to twist things to his advantage. She snuck around back, noting the locked cellar door, and hesitated. What she wanted to find was probably in there, but she didn’t want to bust the lock open just yet. He had to have a spare key inside somewhere.
She crept up the back steps, looking for signs of a camera, and was surprised to find none. She would think he’d have this place decked out with security to keep unwanted eyes from prying.
“I guess when you’re in the middle of nowhere you don’t anticipate anyone finding you.” She gripped the doorknob. She held her breath and turned it to find it opened with a softclick. “You are a cocky bastard. No locked doors here, really?”
She peeked her head behind the door and held her breath. She listened for any sounds in the cabin and when none came she stepped over the threshold. Her body buzzed with excitement. She could feel in her gut she was on the right track. Whatever Santino was hiding she’d find here and finally bring him down.
Movement caught her eye to her left.
Shit.
She turned, putting her hands up to brace herself for the hit, but she wasn’t fast enough. Black spots danced in her vision, and her knees buckled. She hit the floor, trying to keep her eyes open and her head up right to face off with her attacker. She knew it wasn’t Santino; she left him in the office. Was this someone who was working with Santino? She hadn’t figured that into the equation.
“You stupid…unbelievable. You really couldn’t leave well enough alone could you?”
Amra knew that voice, but the surprise wasn’t enough to keep her eyes open. She succumbed to the darkness, annoyed she missed what was right in front of her.
ChapterThirty-Eight
“Santino this, Santino that.Should have known you’d find your way into something that has nothing to do with you.” Silva was crabby. She’d been like this for a couple of days now.
All my carefully laid out plans up in smoke off a lucky hit.
Her hands shook as she tied a passed out Amra Benson to Santino’s kitchen chair. The fact that this man even had furniture here surprised her. She thought this place would be barebones since his workshop with all his cool toys was in the cellar. Imagine her surprise when she’d done her snooping to find a fully furnished cabin. She didn’t think he spent any actual time here if it wasn’t necessary. Most of his kills happened at his marks’ homes. He couldn’t be the Midnight Strangler if he brought his marks here.
What would he need a second home for?
And he’d been here frequently. It smelled like him. She could feel his lingering presence in the walls around her. The pine and citrus scent she associated with him tickled her nose and made her body run hot. She tried to ignore the low hum coursing through her or the way her chest hurt when she thought about him. But every so often she had to stop to catch her breath.
You miss him.
She did. She’d gotten used to the man he became. She didn’t realize how well they’d fit together, and as soon as she orchestrated that run in at the café she almost forgot why she’d come to Nova Springs.
Saint Alonso was all grown up, and the man in his place had called to every part of her soul that had been hurt and forgotten. It felt like he genuinely cared for her. It was almost too easy for her to forget what she was after.
“But I can’t.” She flexed her hands, hoping they would stop shaking. “I can’t forgive or forget the way he left me behind to a worse fate.”
I have no memory of my childhood.
Silva scoffed. She didn’t believe him. She remembered the way he reached back for her as that woman scooped him up and cradled him into her chest. Silva had expected the same treatment. She thought finally they had found kindness in a world in which she only ever knew pain.
But the woman took one look at her, smirked, and walked away. She left Silva to rot in the pool of blood while she took her best friend. She took any chance of Silva not becoming the Poet and the Reaper with her when she walked away.
Silva had been a fool too. She waited two days before she realized no one was coming to save her from the hell she lived in. “And that’s why you learn to save yourself.” She tied the last of Amra’s binds before she stood up and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “You, however, aren’t going to be saved.” She sighed. “Who comes here with no back up? I’m glad you did, but shit.”
