Page 40 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

Richard looked smaller in death, the way they all did. In a day or two someone would find him. In a week the investigation would be grinding forward, another ugly murder in a town that didn’t see many. Two throat cuts, three weeks apart, both Thomas Black’s men. Sooner or later the pattern would click.

On my way out I stopped at the thermostat and cranked it all the way up. Heat would speed decomposition and blur anything I might have missed. Small details. They were what kept people free.

I pulled the door shut behind me and stepped into the night.

The forest swallowed me. I ran until the house was miles behind me, ribs protesting with every stride. At the burn spot I stripped and pulled the battery from the nail gun. I lit the clothes, added dry sticks, and dropped the tool into the fire with everything else. The metal wouldn’t burn, but the heat would destroy prints and DNA.

I waited until the worst of the flames died down. Then I shifted. My cougar form hit the ground on silent paws. I dug a deep hole a few meters from the fire, pushed the still-hot, blackened nail gun into it, and covered it thoroughly with dirt and leaves.

I shifted back, breathing hard. The pack and boots went into the hollow tree. I pulled out the sneakers I had left there earlier, put them on, and kept moving until I reached the small river. I toed them off and stepped in. The cold hit like a wall, stealing my breath and locking every muscle. I waded until the water reached my waist and began scrubbing.

Face first, careful around the cut on my nose and the swelling along my jaw. Then my neck. Then my hands, front and back, between every finger, under the nails. Blood was stubborn. I worked each surface twice, then a third time on my hands.

When I was clean, I climbed onto the bank, shivering as the cold air hit my wet skin. I shifted, grabbed the sneakers in my mouth, and ran. I didn't stop until the familiar scent of home reached me. At the edge of my yard, I shifted back and slipped silently into the house. The rooms were dark, my roommates already asleep.

A few minutes later I stood beneath a hot shower, letting the heat work through sore muscles and bruised ribs. I stayed there until the water cooled and the knots in my shoulders finally loosened. When I looked in the mirror afterward, the damage seemed worse than it had during the fight. My lip was split. My jaw had already started to swell. Bruises darkened beneath my skin.

My shifter body would take care of most of it.

I'd heal. Richard wouldn't.

I turned off the light and crawled into bed.

Two down. Two remained.

Chapter 16: I Didn’t Say No

On Fridays there was no morning practice, which my ribs appreciated more than I wanted to admit. After I woke up, I lingered in front of the mirror longer than usual. The bruise under my left eye had darkened into a deep purple-green that would draw stares from across the room. The cut across my nose had closed to a thin dark line.

I reached for the powder and worked it in carefully, blending what I could, softening the edges. It helped, but not enough. I leaned back and studied the result in the mirror. Good enough. It would have to be.

My phone sat on the counter. Jackson's last message waited there unanswered, something about the project methodology. I’d been busy, but the thought of him pressed in anyway. We had Behavioral Analysis first thing, and I was already dreading it. He hadn’t missed the bruise on my jaw Monday. These new ones would be impossible to ignore. I pulled on my jacket and left for campus.

I saw him the second I reached the main building: Jackson leaning against the brick wall, hands in his pockets. A group of girls hovered nearby whispering, but he ignored them. His eyes scanned the grounds with quiet focus, searching for something. Then he found me. His expression settled the moment our eyes met. He straightened and watched me approach.

I could tell the exact second he noticed the bruises. Everything in his face shifted. The easy expression he’d been wearing vanished as he stepped forward, eyes tracing every mark like he was memorizing them.

“Harper.”

“Morning.”

It sounded weak even to me. Jackson didn’t bother with pleasantries. He closed the distance, lifted my chin with two fingers, and turned my face into the light while his other hand brushed my hair back. The touch was gentle. The look in his eyes was not.

“Who the fuck did this?” Low. Controlled. Lethal underneath.

I pulled back slightly. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s not what I asked.” He stepped closer, crowding me just enough that I felt the heat coming off him. "Someone put those bruises on you. That makes them my business."

I met his stare. “Since when?”

"Since I realized walking away wasn't happening."

I held his gaze another beat, then glanced toward the doors. “We’re going to be late.”

“We have four minutes.” He held the door open until I stepped through, then fell into stride beside me, his shoulder brushing mine in the crowded hall.

We had only gone a few steps when he spoke again, voice low. “Was it in the ring?”