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“What do you think?” Sloan asked.
“I’ve seen stuff like this before.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So you know this sicko?”
“Guy’s name was Lester Seed. It was, at least.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Seed is dead.” I paused and looked at him. “I killed him.”
Sloan was quiet for a second, but I could see the faint surprise in his expression. “I knew you had a bust go bad but . . .” He trailed off and gathered himself before starting again. “So this is him then.”
I nodded slowly. “Or someone that worked with him.”
“An accomplice. What’s he doing here?”
“I think he’s sending me a message, Sheriff.”
“What message?”
I looked back at the body, at the poor girl. “That he’s coming for me.”
There was a hush in the woods in that moment as I watched the tech finish up her pictures. She stood and walked back toward the trucks, probably to drop off her film and to grab another camera.
“But you said this isn’t like him,” Sloan said finally.
I nodded. “Seed never left his victims out in the open like this. The ritual dismemberment, the lack of DNA evidence, and the sexual assault are all consistent with Seed, but the way he left the body here isn’t.”
“So whoever this is, they’re changing the pattern.”
“Seems to be the case.” I began to circle the tree again with Sloan in tow. “And if it’s not Seed, then whoever this is may get sloppy. I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of finding something.”
“I’ll tell the techs to keep a close eye out,” Sloan grunted as we stopped walking. “Is he going to do it again?”
I looked him in the eye. “I’d be very surprised if he didn’t.”
“Fuck,” the sheriff said softly.
“Yeah,” I answered. “Fuck.”
There was not much else to say at that point. I promised to send him over my file on Seed, and he promised to share whatever they found. We got back in Sloan’s truck and started heading back toward town.
My mind was a mess, ranging out through the possibilities. Who was killing, if it wasn’t Seed? Definitely someone with a connection to him, but also with a connection to me. Someone that wanted to find me, and to send me a message.
I couldn’t help but start thinking about Laney. I wished I hadn’t answered the phone, wished I had just kissed her instead, told her to stop talking.
But I also knew she was in danger. Actually, my whole family was. I couldn’t rule out the possibility that whoever was doing these killings would come at me directly.
As Sloan dropped me off at my office and I climbed the stairs, I made a decision. I opened my office door and began to pack a duffel bag, hastily throwing stuff in without much thought.
I was going to do something I’d never wanted to do.
I was moving back into my mother’s house.
11
Laney
I rolled out of bed, eyes a bit bleary. I stretched, my head still fuzzy with sleep as I opened my bedroom door and padded down the hallway.
I didn’t get much sleep the night before. Visions of serial killers sneaking in through my window kept me tossing and turning until it was almost pointless to try to sleep.
Without thinking, I pushed open the bathroom door.
“Hey there, sis,” Easton said.
I stopped short, my mouth hanging open.
He was standing in front of the sink wearing only a pair of tight black boxer briefs. I took a small step backward, pretty much ready to panic and run away, but I couldn’t stop staring at him. His body was lean and muscular, tall and built, and he was just grinning at me like it was no big deal.
“Um, good morning,” I mumbled.
“Get much sleep?” he asked, going back to shaving.
“Not really. I’ll give you privacy.”
I turned and started walking away, my cheeks flushed red.
“Stay and enjoy the show, Laney,” he called after me. “You can barely stop staring anyway.”
I retreated into my room, shutting the door quickly behind me.
I was so embarrassed. I had just walked in on him like it was no big deal. True, he didn’t seem to mind, and he probably got a kick out of the whole thing, but still. I didn’t know how it had slipped my mind that he was living with us now, my asshole stepbrother, the strange darkness that I was undeniably attracted to.
I curled back up in bed and waited fifteen minutes before finally venturing out tentatively.
Fortunately, he was gone, his bedroom door standing open, his room empty.
I went through my normal morning routine, still a little shaken, still a little excited. I dressed, trying not to imagine how Easton would react to every outfit I considered. I needed to remember that he was my stepbrother first, my employer second, and whatever that kiss had made him a distant third.
