Page 31 of Lovely Violent Things

“Fucking hell,” Kallum mutters beneath his breath. He drives a hand through his wet hair.

I escape his embrace completely at the sound of a door opening.

“Halen, why the hell are you in the rain?”

Shielding my eyes, I turn toward the sound of Devyn’s voice. I open my mouth, willing some explanation, but simply shake my head. She waves a hand, motioning me over. I look at the SUV, then Kallum.

“Don’t leave,” he says, the plea reflected in his darkened eyes. “Stay with me.”

Two directions.

And I have to choose one.

“I can protect myself,” I say to him, then slip out of the beam of light. I don’t look back as I walk toward Devyn’s car.

Once I’m settled in the passenger seat, Devyn is mercifully silent as she backs her car around to start in the opposite direction of the gothic mansion. I wait three fierce heartbeats before I look up at the last second to see Kallum still standing in the beam of the SUV’s headlights.

I grip his suit jacket around me and then touch my fingers to my lips, the heady mix of sandalwood and rain a torturous scent that sears this moment into my memory.

7

THE CHASM BETWEEN

KALLUM

With a clear sky also comes a new form of clarity, one where the FBI task force realizes that a small town doesn’t mean small thinking.

What remains of the storm travels through the killing fields as a biting wind, bringing the scent of foul death with it to match the bleak surroundings. The marsh waters rose with the downpour, requiring every member currently trekking through the wetland to wear wading boots.

I glance down at mine, a single thought spared for the ankle monitor presently submerged under the murky water. Agent Alister leads the way through the tall reeds, swatting the grass with zeal, as if the very marsh is at fault for the latest report.

At some time during the night, when the rain drove most people to take shelter, there was at least one busy bee buzzing around the fields up to no good.

As we come up on the second crime scene marked by tattered caution tape and a black willow tree, the only thing that remains of the hemlock grove are the bare canes. The poisonous patch has been stripped.

“Goddammit—” Alister shouts. He rounds on one of the federal agents nearest him. “I want eyes on every scene at all times.”

I glance to my right, tempted to make a bad joke to Halen about how the eyes were already on the first scene…but decide against it as Alister’s tapered gaze falls on her in accusation.

“Since you like to traipse around crime scenes at night,” Alister says to Halen, tone patronizing, “do you know anything about this, Miss St. James?”

“If I had, I would have reported it right away,” she says.

Alister gauges her suspiciously before he instructs the task force to start processing the scene. I don’t know what transpired between them during the interrogation last night, but she’s not barred from the scene today.

When she chose to leave me standing in the rain like some cliché movie scene, I had to restrain myself from following after her. The next time she decides to befearlessand go off without me, I won’t let a tracking monitor or the threat of being locked up hold me back.

It was late when I heard her enter her room. Then the sound of a chair being slipped under the doorknob. The chain lock on the conjoining door remains broken. It was a long, restless night where I fought the temptation to simply kick in the door.

Other than returning my jacket, Halen’s been actively avoiding me all morning. As I watch her diligently setting up her gear, I decide I need something stronger than a lame icebreaker after my confession last night.

What does one do after one rips out their proverbial heart? Greeting card? Flowers?

I’d rather pin her down in the mud and fuck her hard and filthy until she’s forced to break her silence. But since we have an audience, I settle for clandestine glances in a dirty marsh.

When a gust of wind sends another blast of decay through the reeds, I bury my head close to my jacket collar and inhale her sweet scent that still clings to the fabric. Hunger sparks anew and burns at the back of my throat.

My willpower won’t last another night.

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