Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 70488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
It was a good thing Creed wasn’t here.
“Your brother is worried about you,” he finally admitted, not sounding too happy about it. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing that he’s calling.”
He sounded like it was a bad thing…
“No,” I agreed. “But it’s a bad thing when he’s calling every hour, on the hour. He’s driving me nuts. He already drove over here once, too.” I stopped checking out his chest to look at his face, noticing that he appeared tired. There were black circles under his eyes. “What was it that you called about?”
“I’m not sure you’re going to like the reason I’m here, either.”
My brows rose. “What? Is it serial killer related?”
He pushed off the window ledge and walked to my coffee table, picking up my remote and switching to the first news station he found, which happened to be Fox News.
I tended to avoid the news at all cost, because no one liked being depressed when your life was depressing enough. But this time, the news anchor talking about a murder had me stilling.
“…FBI agent. No one knows if this is related to the Corpse Violator or not, but officials are fairly sure that the FBI agent’s death is tied to the serial killer.”
“Oh, shit,” I breathed. “Do you think it was the serial killer that killed one of the FBI agents on the case?”
He scrunched up his nose. It was surprisingly adorable.
“No. But that agent did a whole lot of talking and not a lot of investigating. The way I always heard that agent talking on the news, this was his breakout case. He was going to catch Corpse Violator and make sure he never saw the outside of a jail cell for the rest of his life.”
I leaned my hip against the countertop opposite him, mirroring his stance.
He looked amused that I’d done so, but kept talking anyway.
“It’s unclear whether the Corpse Dude killed this agent as a ‘fuck you’ to the man that said on national television that he was going to make his career on catching him. Or because he was pissed that you were hidden from him. He probably thinks that they helped you escape and they know where you are.”
“The FBI agents weren’t the ones that would be handling my new identity. It was the US Marshals,” I pointed out.
“Regardless, the FBI would’ve known some details,” Hux contradicted. “But that’s neither here nor there. I did some digging with Apollo and contacted a few of my friends that have clearance that can find them answers. Turns out, in the three months that you’ve been missing, there have been six deaths. All of them related to you and this case in some way. Your old landlord was killed. Your boss at the hospital. And four other women that look exactly like you.”
My stomach sank. “What?”
“Silas Mackenzie, he’s the national president for the Dixie Wardens MC, was able to get in touch with a few of his contacts. I also have a friend named Wolf that lives in Uncertain, Texas, that’s also an FBI agent. They’ve both come back with the same information. They think that the UNSUB…” He saw the confusion on my face and clarified. “UNSUB means unidentified subject. Corpse Violator is a mouthful, and I can’t even say it. It’s so stupid and generic. I swear to Christ, why can’t the media come up with something else?”
My lips twitched.
“Anyway, the UNSUB is pissed, they think. A profiler came in and determined that he’s unstable now that he hadn’t been able to finish your kill. He’s starting to make mistakes, and he’s killing women that look like you indiscriminately. They think that eventually, he’ll fuck up and make a mistake big enough that they’ll catch him. But until then…”
Until then, the death toll was rising. And it was all my fault.
“Shit,” I said quietly. “What does that mean? What do I do about that?”
“You keep living your life,” he ordered. “You don’t feel bad about anything, because this serial fuck’s actions aren’t your fault. It’s his messed-up brain and his actions that are hurting innocent people.”
I held up my hand. “I’m not one of those lame-ass heroines in my romance novels that does the gallant thing and give themselves to the serial killer so he’ll stop killing indiscriminately. I’m a realist. I’m not a fighter. I’m not a runner, either. I won’t put myself in danger for someone else, so you can calm down.”
He relaxed. “Good.”
“I also have no plans on helping with this case,” I continued. “My brother’s life is more important to me than just about anyone else’s. I won’t bring trouble to his door. I want him to have a good life, because he’s never had one before. It’s my turn to take care of him.”
“You deserve to be happy, too,” he replied softly.