Page 45 of Property of Scythe
She sees the coroner’s van arrive and tells me to have a good night. I don’t think I will.
When I climb into the Hummer and sit behind the wheel, I clench the steering wheel. We never got Lottie’s things. Worse, her apartment door is still probably open. I have to handle this for her before we can leave.
“Baby, I’m going to go up to your apartment and pack a suitcase for you. I’ll lock up when I leave.”
She doesn’t speak, only bobs her head.
“Do you want anything specific? What should I bring?”
“My school bag and the stack of papers on my desk.”
She sounds sad. I hate seeing her like this.
“Anything else? Clothes, shoes, makeup?”
“Whatever you can bring. I’ll figure it out.” Lottie’s hands are folded in her lap, and she’s no longer shaking, but I know that doesn’t mean she’s okay.
“Stay in the Hummer. I won’t be gone long.”
“Scythe?”
“Yeah, baby?” I pause, wondering what she wants to know.
“Do you think he’s still around? Watching us?”
“No,” I firmly answer. “Not with all this heat. Boomer and his deputy are here. So is the coroner. Plus, everyone inside your building is looking out their windows. Too many witnesses.”
“Okay.”
“Hey, you have my number. Call me if you get scared.”
She fishes in her purse and pulls out her keys. “Here. So you can lock the door.”
I stuff them into one of the pockets of my cut and wink. “I’ll be quick.”
One of the other deputies is inside Lottie’s building, ushering everyone back inside their apartments, when I step into the lobby. He says he’ll get statements one at a time and knock on their doors. That’s good. Maybe someone saw something we didn’t.
I slip around him and take the elevator up to the fourth floor. Lottie’s apartment is on a corner suite, and one of the farthest from the elevator. Her door is still ajar as I approach.
My gun is missing, but I have my hunting knife, and I reach for it, not wanting to be caught by surprise in case that sick fuck knows a back entry into the building. I walk in and shut the door with a loud click, turning the lock. There’s not any damage, so I don’t think he entered her apartment this way.
Since it’s located on the fourth floor, I don’t know how else he could have gotten access. The only other option is the windows, and I’ll check them next. My gaze sweeps the interior. It’s been tossed a bit. Nothing is broken.
Lifting my knife, I move from room to room, clearing each one. I’m being cautious, but if someone is in here, I’m dealing with them alone. And no one is coming in behind me.
The place is empty. No intruders.
I check all the windows and glance outside. That’s when I notice the platform. Window cleaners recently worked on this side of the building. Shit. That’s how he got access.
I lock all the windows and check for damage. It’s the one in her room that’s been tampered with. But I’m not prepared for the fucking shock as I step inside.
The killer is obsessed. There’s a shrine to her erected on her bed. He placed bloody rose petals on her comforter, and there are photos. A fuck ton of them.
I store my knife and look over them, pissed to see he’s been keeping tabs on her. Most of the pictures are of her alone, but there are a few of us together. On my bike. The hayride. Kissing. The day we sat down and ate sweets from Butter Bliss Bakery. It’s all there.
My face has been scratched and gouged out in each one of them. He clearly thinks I’m competition. It’s ridiculous. He’s fucking nuts.
I’ve got a feeling that his obsession didn’t start with Lottie. No, it originated with me. That means he’s got a vendetta against me or my club. He’s fucking with us. That’s not hard to figure out since he left the severed arm.
