Page 58 of Lovely Violent Things

But I’m barely listening as I feel the hand-sewn seam along the yarn. Releasing my hair, I bring the hairband closer and turn it over, examining the intricate patterned detail of threadwork, the precise stitching. The flawless technique.

Crosby’s voice drones on in monotone in the background of my thoughts. My chest prickles as awareness floods me, rushing too fast.

I pick up my coffee and move off the sidewalk into the empty street, turning to look down the dark road toward the police building, to where a silver Honda is parked.

The driver behind the wheel flashes the car’s high beams.

“Mr. Crosby, I’ll need to call you back.”

I end the call and pocket my phone, my feet already moving in the car’s direction. The frantic pulse of my heart riots in my veins. The hairband wrapping my wrist is hot against the rope burn.

The sound of a car door opening reverberates against the darkness, then Devyn appears beside the vehicle. She drapes her forearms through the open car window, setting the door between us.

Her smile is soft, inviting, making me feel at ease. Safe even. The same way she made me feel welcomed that first day at the ritual crime scene.

Devyn tosses a glance at the police station. “I heard the bad boy got in trouble.”

“That’s kind of his reputation.” I slip the hairband off my wrist. “How did you find out he’d been locked up?”

She shrugs. “This town has eyes and ears.”

My mind flashes back to the moment Devyn quoted the proverb at the first scene.The trees have eyes, and the fields have ears.

I extend my hand, holding the hairband out to her.

“Keep it.” She waves me off. “I make them, so I have plenty.”

“I insist you take it back, Devyn.”

Her head tilts inquisitively at the sharp note in my tone. “Laying it on a little too thick?” The levity of her persona falls away. She accepts the band, looking at it briefly before connecting with my gaze. “I was getting worried you’d never see me.”

The warmth of the cup in my hand does little to lessen the chill crawling over my skin. A sickness pits out my stomach. “I see you now.”

“I’m not so sure. No one truly ever sees us, do they?” She reaches down and hits a button, popping the trunk of the car. “It’s like what you said at the ravine, how no one wants to believe a woman is capable of horrific things.”

“I don’t want to believe it,” I say, not masking the plea bleeding into my voice.

Her smile falls. “Just like you refuse to believe what you’ve done, Halen,” she says, presumably referring to what she overheard the night of Kallum’s ritual, his insistence that I’m the one who murdered Professor Wellington.

“That’s different.”

Her pretty features relax into a kind expression. “I think we’re more kindred than you realize.” She then turns away and walks to the back of the car. “We’re so easily disregarded on a daily basis. I mean, we could be angry about that fact, or—” she hauls my canvas bag from the trunk and shoulders the strap “—we can embrace the opportunity that disregard provides us.”

The coffee cup becomes heavier in my hand as I stare at my bag—the one I entrusted to her. The understanding of what Devyn has done…of what she’s capable of doing, sinks in fully.

I take a fortifying sip of coffee, needing the caffeine, the comforting warmth, the familiarity as I stare at my friend—the woman I thought I knew.

I still know her.

Sweat prickles along my brow as I mentally comb my memories. I see Devyn lining up her tools at the crime scene. An OCD tic I discounted as organized, proficient. I recall her at the house party, not questioning her claim about keeping an eye on the youth. Yet it’s where Kallum took me to spark the frenzy, a more logical reason for Devyn to be there, feeding that same desire.

Devyn has access to crime files. She’d have access to the Harbinger case, the details, to stage the crime scene.

I see her parked outside the hotel the day after I was attacked. I assumed the carving knife was taken at the hospital, but it wouldn’t have been difficult for her—a trusted member of the community; a friend of the inn owner—to gain access to my room.

I missed the obvious markers. From day one, she was the first on the crime scene. She pointed out the philosophical connection. She has access to the forensic lab. She could have tampered with evidence at any point, like transferring the rope fiber to the Harbinger crime scene.

All of which I should have noticed, if not for my obsession with Kallum.

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