Page 20 of Savagely Scarred

“Well… I sort of figured there wouldn’t be a second date after she excused herself to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back.”

“Jesus Christ, Dorian. What did you do?”

“Nothing!” He holds his hands up and I raise an eyebrow in suspicion. “Okay, maaaaaybe I might have mentioned that there’s a psychopath who could be stalking all of us.”

I flick him in the forehead. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“I don’t know! It just slipped out. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You never think. That’s your problem.” My shoulders slump and I run a hand down my face. “And we don’t even know if he is. There have been no signs.”

“Aren’t you worried he’s going to come for her again?”

I swallow hard. “Every damn day.”

He nods his head slowly in understanding. I’m not the only one worrying about her well-being. We all love her and would do anything to protect her. That’s why we rarely leave her alone.

We step out into the hall and I hear a familiar creak coming from the apartment next door. Large, magnified eyes peer at me behind an oversized pair of glasses.

“William?” she timidly asks.

“Mrs. Ilgenfritz!” I smile wide.

“I thought I heard your voice,” she exclaims.

Blind as a bat but still has the acute hearing of a dog.

She opens her door a little wider when I step closer. Her pink fluffy robe touches the floor while engulfing her petite stature.

“I hope Dorian has been taking good care of you.”

“Hmm.” She narrows her eyes at him and then looks at me. “Not the same without you.”

I chuckle. “I miss you too.”

Dorian takes a step forward. “I’ll bring up your mail tomorrow, Mrs. Ilgenfritz.”

She glares at him and then proceeds to slam the door. I smile and shake my head.

“I think I’m growing on her.” He grins in triumph.

“Shut the door,” Roberts commands.

I oblige and take a seat in front of his large mahogany desk. The dark green room currently matches his mood—somber. He called me in here as soon as we arrived at work this morning. Never a good sign.

“We have a problem,” he says, running his hand over his salt and peppered beard. He slides a manila envelope across the desk towards me.

I open it and inside are police reports and photographs of two women. Their dead bodies are positioned in a sleeping beauty pose, with their hands resting on their upper abdomen. I flip through and find more pictures of them when they were alive and healthy.

Brown hair.

Blue eyes.

“What is this?” I look at him nervously.

“The Commissioner has informed me that we may have a serial killer on our hands. This is the second woman in two weeks with the same pattern. Both were found in parks and posed in that position, strangled. Both women resemble—,”

“Olivia.”