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“Better than a stab to the gut, don’t you think?” I retorted with full-on sarcasm. “This killer isn’t someone to mess with, Michelle. He could’ve madeyouhis next target for doing that story. It’s not worth your life.”
Her green eyes flashed to me, outlined in smoky eyeshadow and black liner. The anger faded from her face, and her delicate features softened.
“You really think so?” she asked.
“I do.”
Thankfully, she let the matter drop. Unlike Rick, who only cared about getting hold of the hottest stories, regardless of the price paid to get them, Michelle was more level-headed. She understood the severity of it and seemed grateful for my interference.
By the time we went on air, the tension between us was gone. She still had a segment about the FBI investigation, but the details were left out.
“Stay alert, and if you notice any suspicious behavior, please inform the police,” Michelle said during her broadcast. “As far as the authorities are aware, the killer might still be in Addersfield.”
We went on a commercial break, and people rushed over to fix our hair and adjust the lighting. The newscast lasted thirty minutes, but it was so fast-paced that it seemed like seconds at times.
“For the first time in Addersfield’s history, we’ll be hosting the infamous Spring Fever Festival,” I said as the break ended, reading from the prompter. “The festival takes place in mid-April and moves to different locations throughout the US each year. Not only will there be musicians from several genres, but there will also be artists and world-famous chefs in attendance.”
It wasn’t until I’d left the news station and was on my way home that I realized how horrible an idea it was to have the festival in Addersfield. A serial killer who targeted public figures and celebrities was still on the loose. Bringing famous bands and other popular artists into town would be like dropping mice into a snake’s cage.
The festival had been planned before the killings started. Money had been put into promotion and hotels had already been booked, some of them to capacity. Canceling so close to the date might not have been an option.
Who knows? Maybe the killer isn’t here anymore.
But even so, I double-checked all the locks on my doors and windows once I got home. Just in case.
***
“Gray and I are kind of talking again.”
Mom glanced up at me, shock written all over her face. “You’re not still a suspect, are you?”
“No! Not at all,” I said, stopping her before she could jump to the worst conclusions.
Losing Jonathon had made my mom’s anxiety and stress shoot through the roof. She’d always been easy-going and carefree. Now she was a bundle of nerves. She’d started taking anti-depressants shortly after Jon’s death, and those helped the worst of it, but she still had her moments.
“The investigation brought us together again, yeah, but we decided to see where it goes from here. As friends.”
“As friends, huh?” She lifted a dark brow.
“Mom. Stop.” I smiled and looked away. “Justfriends.”
I doubted my heart could handle anything more than that. Not yet anyway.
Over the last few days, we’d texted quite frequently. I would text him good morning, and then we’d message back and forth for about an hour as we both started our days. During the week, I didn’t have to be at the station until about two, but I still woke up early so I could talk to him before he went in to work.
Poor guy was working himself into an early grave.
I understood the importance of finding the killer, but Gray didn’t seem like he was getting any rest. He was getting home after midnight nearly every night and arriving at work around seven the next day, sometimes earlier.
Throughout the day, we’d message a little, but I tried not to bother him while he was on the job. When he took a lunch break, he’d call me and we talked on the phone for about fifteen minutes.
It had only been four days, but it already felt like a routine I could get used to, talking to him so much. Having him back in my life, even as a friend, had done wonders for my mood.
“I think it’s a good idea to give Grayson another chance,” Mom said before standing and grabbing the coffee pot to refill our mugs. “People can change in eight years. Maybe he’s finally grown up a little.”
“I think so, too.”
Since it was Saturday, I’d gone over to Mom’s house early to have coffee and chat. Things had been hectic with the investigation and dealing with the stress from going back to work, where everyone continued to cast judging eyes my way, plus the stuff with Grayson, so it was nice to visit my mom in the house I’d grown up in and forget about everything else for a while.
