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Not cool.
Upon entering Brayden’s room, the soft beep of machines met me along with the still form of the man lying in the bed. One who’d tried to shoot me because he’d thought the ghost of a serial killer possessed me. How ironic that the detective had never once realized he’d been the one who needed to be taken down.
The murders had stopped the moment Brayden went unconscious. Soon, he’d die. The cycle of violence ended here.
Maybe. I had to admit a certain fascination with the killings. People online were clamoring for more vigilante justice. They wanted the scum taken from the streets. So did I. But I no longer had the bike to help me.
The doctor came in and offered me a nod. We’d already spoken. A nurse unhooked the machines and wheeled them out. Once they left, the room became silent.
Brayden’s breaths turned shallow and far between. The end neared. I didn’t feel like watching it. After all, there was a time I’d wanted this man inside my body.
Rising from his bedside, I didn’t say goodbye, but my dog did, pouncing on the bed to bestow a tongue kiss on Brayden’s lips.
Gross, but better him than me.
Over the next few days, I kept expecting to get a call from the hospital.We’re sorry to inform you…To see something on the news.Local detective dies while in the midst of a case. How long could a body survive without machines feeding it? Surely, the internet would have some mention of the detective who’d passed away from an accident during freaky sex.
Instead, the dead man showed up at my door.
CHAPTER29
Unthinking,I opened my door at the first knock and then tried to slam it shut. Brayden wedged a foot in—obviously, not dead as hoped—and grunted. “Ow. Really, is that how we’re saying hello these days, babycakes?”
“Go away! I don’t want to see you.”
“And yet, you were by my bedside each day.”
“Waiting for you to die.”
“Guess you’re surprised to see me back.”
I swung open the door to growl, “What do you want?”
“You.”
“That chance sailed off a long time ago.” As if I’d forget his attempt to murder me.
“Can’t say as I blame you. Brayden was rather gauche from the sounds of it. Don’t worry, babycakes, I’ll help you forget all about him.”
That was the second time he’d said it. I angled my head. “What did you call me?”
“My sweet babycakes. Did you miss me?”
“Something’s different about you.” It wasn’t just his choice of clothing either: jeans, Sherpa-lined leather jacket, a cocky grin. Or his referring to himself in the third person. Disbelief smacked me. “Mahoney, is that you?”
“In the flesh. Just not mine.” He grimaced down at the body. “The good detective liked his donuts a bit much. Nothing I can’t fix in the gym, though.”
“But how? The bike. It was crushed, and you were gone.”
He shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure. All I know is I suddenly went from being part of the bike to dreaming I was a dog, and then I woke up.”
“In Brayden’s body?”
“Yeah. I’ll admit, not exactly my first choice. Still, I guess I could have done worse.”
“Worse how? The guy was a sadistic murderer.” I had no doubt who the bad person was anymore. Not after everything Brayden had done.
“He might have been a killer, but he was never caught because he destroyed all the evidence.”
