Page 81 of Lovely Violent Things

Before we reach our destination, I angle myself toward the agent. “Hernandez,” I say, my tone serious.

He briefly glances over at me. “Gael,” he says, offering his first name.

I smile wanly. “Gael, there’s something amiss here.”

He makes a sound of amusement. “Yeah, there’s a lotamisshere.”

“The locals shouldn’t be working the case. In fact, I think—”

“That Childs isn’t acting alone,” he says, reasoning.

“Yes,” I say simply. “And if I remain on this case, I think we should keep our theories to ourselves for now.”

Devyn couldn’t have done everything on her own. She had to have had someone on the inside helping her. There was too much to access, to monitor and alter in the forensics department, for any one person to oversee.

Then there was over thirty people with semi-to-serious procedures—removal of eyes; partially severed tongues—who needed medical observation. The person who dissected the eyes, who removed the tongues, they’d have to have some kind of medical training and experience. They’d need access to blood clotting agents. Possibly pain medication, more than the wine of their god and ecstasy tinctures for their rituals.

There’s thewhyDevyn is doing this that needs answered, but also thehow.

There is someone else involved.

“Yeah, I agree,” the agent says, not offering anything further as he focuses on the road ahead.

I stare down at my phone, running my thumb over the crack webbing the corner. I light the screen and tap my email icon, feeling oddly out of touch with reality and needing some semblance of my routine.

The email at the top of my app doesn’t offer any solace. I click on the message from Dr. Torres and scan the letter, reading the last sentence of the short missive twice:

There is something imperative you need to know about your charge, Dr. St. James. Contact me right away.

I exhale a breath and dim the screen. “How does he even have access to the Internet,” I mutter to myself. The last I’d heard about the head psychiatrist of the Briar institution, Dr. Torres had been remanded to his own mental hospital after suffering a psychotic episode.

Staring at the darkened phone screen, I feel a sliver of apprehensive curiosity rise up, but I tamp it down just as quickly. Doubt is a dangerous emotion. Whatever Dr. Torres needs to make me aware of about Kallum, it will have to wait. There are only so many delusional people I have time for on my roster today.

I take a long swig of coffee, and as I hold the thermal in my palms, savoring the warmth of the mug, a sudden memory from last night flashes across my vision.

“Shit.” I touch my forehead. “Tabitha. The waitress from the diner.” I look at Hernandez. “She’s the one who handed me the coffee. It was laced with something. She might not be involved directly…but she needs to be questioned.”

My insides buzz at the thought the waitress could know how to locate Devyn.

Hernandez is already pulling out his phone. “I’ll have her picked up for questioning.” But he halts, sending me a guarded look. “Unless we should question her ourselves.”

Taking a moment to think, I glance out the window at the town. I push the tangled layers of my hair over my shoulder, my fingers brushing the sensitized marks from the leather along my neck. “I want to be in on the search for Devyn,” I say, admitting the truth. I want to search for her myself. “My expertise in behavior will be needed if she’s apprehended in a similar state as the victim in town.”

His silence pulls on the threads of unease banding tightly around my chest.

“But I don’t want to get you or anyone else reprimanded for my choices, Agent Hernandez. I also really don’t want to go through Agent Alister for approval.” I expel a lengthy breath. “However, I don’t have a choice in the matter. So, go ahead and make the call to him.”

Saying Alister’s name and the wordchoicein the same sentence raises my blood pressure. Once I speak with Charles Crosby, I’ll deal with what happens next.

As the agent halts at a stop sign, he turns darkened eyes on me. “You’ll have no issue remaining on the case,” Hernandez assures me. “Alister is no longer in charge of the task force.”

“Agent, tell me what’s going on,” I demand.

The SUV lurches forward, and Hernandez says, “There’s another crime scene.”

Gravity falls away, leaving me suspended in a violent heartbeat.

“Take me there.”

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