Page 46 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

Gritting his teeth, he looks at me. “Lies. The bastard—he hit her a little too hard. And when he realized he’d gone too far and fucking murdered my sister, he fled. The motherfucker didn’t even try to get her help or notify the authorities. He left Jasmine in her room and just disappeared.”

Hate radiates from him and he breaks from my grip to kneel down at her head stone. His powerful hand grips the granite as he bows his head. I allow him his moment of silence as a storm of thoughts brew in my head just as quickly as the one closing in on us.

Did they find Chip?

Is he in jail for murder?

Where’s Jasmine?

Lightning followed by a loud thunderclap jerks Dillon out of his moment and he stands. Fat rain drops begin to pelt down on us and his white T-shirt quickly becomes soaked, revealing his sculpted torso beneath. We don’t run to the car. Instead, we stand in the pouring rain, staring at one another. With two quick strides, he eats up the distance between us, spears his fingers through my hair, and tilts my head up to look into his angry eyes.

“I searched for him tirelessly for almost three years. Three long years I spent every evening and weekend hour doing what my own department failed to do.” He leans his forehead against mine. “I obsessed over this shit. I wanted justice for Delaney and to know he could never come for Jasmine.”

My chest aches for him, but I know exactly how he feels. “Did you find him?”

A low growl escapes him. “I found him. Found him in some shit motel in another state. Tracked his ass all the way to Nebraska.”

“Did you get your justice?” Our eyes meet and understanding flashes through us like electricity from the storm soaking us to the bone.

“He died from a heroin overdose. His body was found with a rubber band tied around his arm and a needle hanging from his vein. Nobody called for help. Nobody fucking cared. Two days before they found him.” My fingers flutter over his soaked chest heaving with fury.

“You made him pay. He deserved it.” My words are but a whisper, getting lost in the howling winds.

His lips hover over mine, the only warmth in the chilly rain shower. “Finding Chip was my only thought. My only care. My motherfucking reason for living. And now that he’s gone, a weight has been lifted. He got what he deserved. Watching his eyes widen with fright as I shoved the needle into his arm was the highlight of my whole damn life. Then watching him drain from this world into the depths of hell became my new favorite moment.”

Yanking at his T-shirt, I pull him to me and our lips crash together with fury. His large hands find my ass and grip me so hard, I know I’ll be bruised for days. A needy moan pours from my mouth into his as he devours me.

A deafening crack of thunder jolts us away from each other and he steals my hand as we run back to the car. Once inside, safe from the storm, he narrows his gaze at me.

“I know how it feels, Jade. What you see as a social disability is something I can understand with each part of my poor broken heart. I’m not some pussy who gets his panties in a wad when his girl fights for justice.”

My heart flutters at his words. “Who are you then?”

A smile blooms on his soft lips. “I’m your partner,” he says, and then his voice lowers. “And I’m your friend. Hell, I may even be more than that if you keep kissing me like that, woman. But one thing is for certain…”

I blink at him, my eyes darting between his in question. “What’s that?”

“I’m going to help you get your justice. We’re going to find your sister and that fuckface who took you two.”

“And then?”

A murderous scowl passes over his features. “And then, we’re going to do much worse than shove a needle in his vein. We’re going to make him pay for every goddamned thing he ever did to you.”

Hope, for the first time in forever, blossoms inside me. Could we really track that psycho down like he tracked down his sister’s killer? Will this all finally be over soon?

“Together, Jade,” Dillon says, his voice grumbling like the thunder above us. “We do this together, every step of the way.”

“Think these two are linked?” I question, shoving two newspaper articles across my kitchen table toward him.

Dillon picks them both up and scans them. “Two young teens. Missing, but not thought to have run away. Bodies later found strangulated. Hmmm,” he says, his eyes narrowed, “doesn’t seem like his MO.”

I know I’m reaching. For eight years, all I’ve done is reach. Hence the reason I have five gigantic boxes full of articles about missing girls all over the US, including the ones my parents collected the four years I was missing. “You’re right. Benny doesn’t strangle them. He mutilates them.”

My stomach grumbles and Dillon chuckles, breaking the tension some. “I’m ordering pizza for dinner. Those damned pancakes are long gone from this big boy’s belly. You’re a slave driver, Phillips. I don’t even work through lunch at the precinct.”

A smile graces my lips and I glance over at him. After the cemetery visit, we swung by his modest home on the outskirts of town so he could shower and change clothes. It was his day off and he was spending it bringing me up to date on the case so far. We’d driven past a flea market and it was lively with people. But experience told me that even though we were taken on a Saturday from a hellhole like that one, it was a fruitless endeavor to go. Most of the vendors were regulars and after years of interrogating everyone there, I’d pretty much been banned from coming back. Dillon had slowed, but I waved him on. There were no answers there on a Saturday.

He steals my laptop to place the order. After a few moments, his brows furl together. “Check this out. When I pulled up local events between here and your hometown, several crafting fairs pulled up. Some even advertise doll vendors. Have you checked into any of these?”

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