Page 73 of There Are No Saints

“They think after midnight,” Erin says. “She was still warm when they found her.”

I left the show at 11:00.

I grabbed a date on the way out the door.

What if Cole did the same?

It sounds ludicrous. I’ve been spending hours at a time with Cole. We’re often alone. If he wanted to turn me into mincemeat, he could have done it by now.

And he really doesn’t seem crazy. Controlling and manipulative, sure. Intense, absolutely. But could he actually put his hands on a woman and rip her to shreds?

I force myself to bend over the phone once more.

Erin scrolls down a little further.

There’s the girl’s head, her features strangely unmarked, her eyes wide open, milky as glass marbles.

She was beautiful.

And very, very afraid.

I run over to the sink and vomit.

* * *

21

Cole

Sonia comes running into my office. She stands in the doorway, transfixed by the destruction inside.

“Oh my god, what happened?” she cries.

I already set the golf club back in its bag.

Still, there’s no hiding what I did.

“I smashed the solar model,” I say.

Sonia stares at me, horrified, tears filling her pale blue eyes.

“How could you?” she says.

“It belongs to me,” I snarl. “It’s mine to keep, or mine to destroy.”

She stares down at the thick drifts of shattered glass, the downward tilt of her head causing the tears to spill down her cheeks.

In all the time she’s worked for me, I’ve never seen Sonia cry. She’s competent and capable, and keeps her emotions securely buttoned down. That’s why we get along. I would tolerate nothing less.

I don’t blame her for the tears in this moment, however. The solar model was one of the most stunning works of art I’ve ever seen. Truly unique and irreplaceable.

I destroyed it on impulse.

Something is happening to me.

Something is taking me over—twisting me, changing me. I’ve been infected. And Mara is the disease.

“Get someone to clean that up,” I order.

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