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Stolen? I should make sure. I flew through the gate, headed for the garage, and entered to find the motorcycle. Uncovered. Leaning on its kickstand.
I perused it tip to tail. I didn’t know what I expected to find. Bits of flesh, maybe some dried blood. The bike appeared clean and unmarred but for one difference. The tip of the front fender, ending in three raking strips, now shone a ruddy red. I ran my fingers over the smooth, new color and shuddered. I couldn’t have said how or when it’d happened. The taint appeared to be part of the alloy.
My imagination ran wild with possibilities that all ended in one conclusion.
My bike’s alive and killed those two druggies!Possibly even the cops.
Not the worst thing in the world, except for the fact that I owned the bike. If anyone traced the murders back to it, it would lead right to me. No one would ever believe that a hunk of metal was the real murderer.
“It’s not the bike doing it.” Mahoney spoke from behind me, and I whirled.
“Because it’s you.” I shoved at his chest. “Brayden was right. You’re a killer.”
“Am I? Deflect much?”
“Are you implyingIhad something to do with it? Because I didn’t.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the screen. “The only motion alerts are from me just now. Nothing overnight.”
He leaned close. “Nothing? Then explain how the bike got from the house to here.”
I couldn’t. Rather than reply, I fled the garage and locked it. Would that keep my possessed bike from joyriding for a new victim? A locked door certainly didn’t stop Mahoney.
He stepped through, and I backed away. “Leave me alone.”
“Would you calm the fuck down while I explain what’s happening.”
“Explain what? I thought you couldn’t remember?”
“It’s coming back to me slowly.”
“Let me guess, if you kill more people, you might get all your memories back?” A hysterical exaggeration on my part, only he appeared pensive.
“It’s certainly possible. After all—” He abruptly stopped talking and turned his head. “We have company.”
Nice use ofwe, considering he disappeared. The gates rattled, and someone shouted, “Anyone in there?”
I shouted back. “Hold your horses. I’m coming.”
Now, more than ever, I needed to not rock any boats and appear normal as a business. A great attitude to take until I saw who stood outside my gates.
The po-po had come for me.
CHAPTER24
A pairof police officers in dark uniforms waited beyond my locked gate. It took me a moment, due to trembling hands, to undo the lock. “What can I do for you, officers?”
“Are you Ms. Collins?”
“Yes. Can I ask what this is about?” I did my best not to let my nerves show. I clasped my hands and tried to project calm. Inside, I was screaming. Had they come to arrest me?
“Do you recognize this?” The officer with the thick mustache held up an evidence bag, holding a keychain I used to keep in my office. All kinds of keys, none that fit anything I’d found—yet—but I didn’t want to toss them in case I eventually stumbled upon the stash.
“That keyring was stolen from me a few weeks ago during a robbery. Where did you find it?” As to how they knew it belonged to me? It held a metal tag with the junkyard address on it.
The officers glanced at each other before the female said, “It was located on the body of a deceased male.”
I slapped my hand over my lips and did my utmost to look appropriately horrified. “Oh, no. What happened?”
“What usually happens to folks who live the high life,” the male officer informed me somberly.
