Page 71 of Kiss of Deceit
I didn’t give a damn about anyone in town except one. “Dani?”
“She ran to the bar for help,” he explained before lighting his cigarette, not caring that he was inside. “She wanted to go into the woods to find you, but I made her go get checked for injuries. She left with Miles in the ambulance. I had no idea it still had a working engine.”
The weight on my chest dissipated once I knew Dani was alive and okay. I scrubbed a hand down my face, realizing for the first time that I was lying to her. And to myself. Whatever it was that I was doing with her—it wasn’t just sex.
“You’re bleeding.” Harry nodded to my arm as he blew out a cloud of smoke.
I glanced down, tugging up my sleeve to see a deep gash. Blood was steadily trailing down my skin as Harry walked closer to inspect it. My gaze drifted to the hundreds of papers scattered over the floor. I narrowed my eyes, reading the thick, black text.Danielle?The name wasn’t familiar to me.
“You need stitches,” Harry said, pulling my focus back to him. “Looks like a bullet nicked you. Come on, I’ll drive.”
I scowled, holding out my good arm. “Keys. You’ve been at my bar all damn day. You shouldn’t have even driven here.”
I hated hospitals, and would have fought him more about going, if I didn’t know Dani was there. He reluctantly handedover his keys, mumbling something under his breath. He began following me to the front entrance and I paused, turning to face him.
“I can go by myself.” I scanned the destroyed room. “You have a lot going on.”
He shook his head. “No, no. I’ll come with you. I need to get a statement from everyone who was here.”
I didn’t comment. He had a dead body in his police station, and he was trying to do as little work as possible. I wasn’t sure how that would work when Natalie helped do the bulk of everything. The four men he employed did what they were told, but none of them had the experience to work a case like this. Hell, Harry didn’t even have the knowledge to deal with this.
We exited the station and were greeted with a wall of people. At least half the town was here. I searched the faces I’d known for years, wondering if the killer was here. Anger licked down my spine. Whoever I chased in the woods was familiar with the area, which was how he was able to get away. There wasn’t a soul in Winterlake that I didn’t know—meaning I’d met the murderer at some point.
“What happened?” some called out from the crowd.
“Who died?”
“Was it another murder?”
Harry raised his hands, and everyone fell silent. “The case is still ongoing. Once we can share more, we will. Please—everyone go home.”
No one moved, fear thick in the air. Some eyes darted to me, and I turned my attention to Harry’s truck, not wanting anyone to start asking me questions. Harry stood there, uneasily shifting on his feet. He opened his mouth only to close it again. He’d never been in a position where he had to be a calm voice for the town.
“Let’s go,” I said gruffly, opening the truck door, cursing under my breath when I moved my bad arm. A throbbing pain was radiating down my arm now that the adrenaline was wearing off.
The moment Harry got in, I shoved the truck into reverse before taking off down main street. Harry lit up another cigarette, and I noticed his hand shaking slightly. “I’m too old for this shit,” he grumbled. “Wanna take over for me?”
He chuckled as if he was joking when I didn’t give him a response. He would hand it all to me in a heartbeat. It wasn’t my damn job. Something people forgot far too often. But with this? I was already involved. And for once, I was happy about it. I wanted this bastard caught.
A minute later, I pulled in front of the clinic, staring at the ambulance ahead of me. The thing was so old, the paint was littered with patches of rust, and half of the emergency lights on the roof were busted and broken.
After pocketing the truck keys, I headed for the entrance. My heart rate escalated, and I sucked in shallow breaths when the sterile smell all hospitals seemed to have hit my nostrils. My mother’s beaten and battered face flashed through my mind, and I shook my head, shoving those memories away. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d sat in a waiting room with my sister, waiting for my mom to get stitched up, or fitted with a new cast, because the current man she was with used her as a punching bag.
That was when I was still young—when I believed my mother would choose her kids over the assholes she kept moving into our home. By the time I was eleven, I realized how wrong I’d been. Even during the rare times she was clean from drugs, she never chose us.
“You can’t smoke in here, Harry,” someone chastised, pulling me back to the present. “Put it out or leave.”
I glanced up, seeing Martha sitting behind the small desk in the reception area. Her curly, gray hair was short, just covering her ears. Wrinkles lined the skin around her mouth and her blue eyes. She looked like someone’s sweet grandma but had a sharper tongue than anyone else in town.
Harry stubbed the cigarette out on the side of his boot before pushing the door back open and tossing it outside.
“Both patients are in the back,” Martha informed us. “Is it true? Was Natalie murdered?”
“Yes,” Harry grumbled, clearly still annoyed about being forced to put out his cigarette.
“Fix this,” Martha said, her curls swaying as she shook her head. “This town will be ruined if we don’t catch the bastard who’s doing this.”
Harry strode across the room to the other door. “What do you think we’re doing, Martha? We’ll get him.”
