Page 98 of Deeper

“Do you have any proof for your whereabouts after you left your counseling appointment?”

“Proof?”

“Were you with anyone? Talk to anyone? Maybe you kept a receipt from your day?”

“Um, yes, I think so.” I stand to retrieve my purse from across the room. “I usually keep my bank receipts, and the one from the store probably landed somewhere at the bottom of my bag. Let me check.”

The officers follow my movements, as if I’ll attack at any moment.

I bring the purse back to my couch and search for the receipts like I don’t know exactly where they are. “Yes, here they are.” I pull the crinkled pieces of paper out for the officers to see.

The two men inspect them like they hold secrets far greater than their standard black-and-white information.

“Oh, and I signed in at the gym. I suppose you could check with them.”

After a few more questions, they make their way to the door, seemingly disappointed with their finds. I can’t help but have a little smug satisfaction, but I do a good job of hiding it from the officers as they exchange pleasantries with me before they cross the threshold on their way out. They don’t go far though. Their cruiser leaves my driveway and parks just off my property, facing the front of my home.

I go about my night, business as usual. I make dinner, pretend to be interested in a television show, and get into bed.

It’s only after I’m completely hidden from prying eyes that I let the anxiousness surface. I toss and turn, jittery and unable to sleep. The jeans I’m wearing cut too tightly around my legs. The buttons on my shirt become restrictive. The house is silent, and I strain to pick up every possible sound. Just when I think I can’t take the waiting anymore, it happens. A creak of the floorboard, the quiet swing of my bedroom door being opened, and the clearing of a throat.

“We need to go. Quickly.” Callen’s whispered words have me sliding from my bed.

He takes my hand in his, and we leave my house through the back door. Together, we run through yards and cross a few streets. Callen’s truck waits for us, parked in the shadows. Neither of us speaks until we’re comfortable in our seats, and the truck is in drive.

“Are you positive we couldn’t have been seen leaving?” I ask him while looking out the back window.

“This is what I do, Rylan. We’re fine. No one will know you left your house tonight.”

“Did you have any trouble at Laurence’s?”

“None.”

We stop at a red light.

“Kiss me,” I demand.

Callen leans over the armrest, and his hands warm my cheeks while his lips press against mine. Death lingers from his lips. It’s coming. One more, the final kill to put this to rest. I moan against his mouth. Visions of blood and pain fill the forefront of my mind. Callen’s kiss and Laurence’s coming death have my panties wet.

The light turns green, and we move forward—to Hartford.

The highway is relatively free of travelers, and we make it to the twenty-four-hour low-budget storage facility without incident. Still, I scan the area around us as Callen opens the door to the unit.

One short stuttered inhale and a rushing exhale.

“You’re welcome, baby,” Callen gloats.

A wicked smile lights up my face. My man couldn’t have given me a better present.

“Thank you. This is perfect. It’s exactly how I imagined it.”

Tears fall from Number One’s eyes, his expensive trousers are stained with his own piss, and he tries to push the gag from his mouth, which is pointless. He ignores me and watches Callen, as if he’s the bigger threat. I have news for him. Laurence has no bigger enemy than me. He’ll be sure of that after tonight.

“Do you know who I am?” The words seethe from my tongue.

Laurence nods affirmatively. His spit coats my fingers as I remove the gag from his mouth.

“I’ve waited for this for years.”

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