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Bile hits the back of my throat as my mind swims.
Whose fucking hand is that?
My first thought is Denver. The stalker already sent his heart. Maybe all the pieces of him will show up, bit by bloody bit.
Please let that be Denver’s hand.
I inch forward for a closer inspection.
“Stay back.” Monty’s face hardens, his jaw clenched in fury.
When I take another step forward, he pulls me back, shielding me from the gruesome sight.
“Stanley!” he shouts.
The security guard rushes over, his eyes widening in shock. “I was here the whole time, sir. I didn’t see or hear anything.”
The rest of the guards spread out around us, securing the perimeter.
“We need to alert the authorities,” Carl says, his voice steady.
Monty nods. “Do it. And get more men out here. Lock this place down.”
“I need to see it.” I push around him, crouching down. “I need to know.”
He lowers to his haunches beside me, grabbing my arm, ready to yank me back as if I’ll try to touch it.
I dug human bones out of the ashes at Hoss. But this is different. It still has skin and blood, and it’s fucking fresh.
“It can’t be Denver’s,” I whisper. “The fingers are too thin, too smooth. I know every scar on both of his hands. There were a lot of them. This one…”
“Doesn’t have any distinguishing marks.”
Except for the knife running through it.
Not just any knife. I recognize the faded wooden handle, cracked with use.
“That’s the fillet knife.” A gasp escapes me. “The one Denver used when he stabbed Kody’s hand on the table.”
“Are you sure?”
“I would never forget it. I had to wash it after Kody removed it.”
“Are you okay?” His blue eyes search mine.
“I’m not panicking.” Not yet. I pull out my phone and illuminate the grisly appendage with the flashlight.
“Here.” He takes the device from me, shining the light. “Do you recognize the hand?”
“No. It doesn’t belong to Leo or Kody.”
I know their hands better than my own. But I’m desperate to call them, hear their voices, and confirm they’re okay.
“Wolfson?” He chokes.
My vision blurs as I peer closer, trying to rule him out.
“It’s a man’s hand. Wolf didn’t have scars on his. But he always had them covered in black ink.” My chin quivers. “I don’t know, Monty.” My entire body trembles. “We need to see what the note says.”
