I listen to Hildy intently, connecting the image of Evie in my head to the photo on Bowen’s wall and the news clipping in his basement.
“It was only a few weeks ‘til graduation. One night, we all went to the skate park to hang out and she never made it home. No one knew where she went, she was just gone. They found her a week later. She was so far in the woods that it wasn’t even the park anymore. Someone murdered her and dumped her in the creek.” Hildy’s voice goes soft, “It was the worst day of my life.”
“Yeah,” I say gently, “Bowen said no one was ever arrested.”
“No,” Hildy snaps, a flash of momentary anger breaking through, “Granddad ran the investigation and all he said was there wasn’t much to go on—that it was probably some transient or a migrant.”
It takes all I have to suppress an eyeroll. Xenophobia at its finest—a faceless migrant, how convenient. I’ve been a fan of true crime for way too long not to realize what a cliché this is; a tactic often used by inept law enforcement who don’t want to expend the time or effort to find the real perpetrator. But clearly I can’t say this to Hildy, so I let her continue.
“But still, Evie’s family was lashing out at everyone because they were convinced it was someone she knew. They were angry with the police and they were angry at us for who-knows-what reason, especially since it was probably—” she stops herself short and hesitates, “Anyway, that’s all I know because it’s still an open case. I don’t even know how she died,” she mutters.
I knit my brow in confusion, “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Granddad wouldn’t let them release anything,” Hildy shrugs, “in case it went to trial.”
“But Hildy,” I stare at her for a few moments, “she was strangled.”
Hildy looks at me like my face is turning inside out. My stomach drops as soon as I say it and I realize I probably shouldn’t have just blurted it out like that. But how could she not know? Then I wonder if she’s in denial like Bowen said and I just royally messed with her head. I’ve spent enough time around Barrett to know how trauma works. Thank God I didn’t mention any of the other things…
She narrows her eyes, “Where’d you hear that?”
“From Bowen.” Obviously…
“Bowen knows fuck all!” she snaps, giving me a start, “Nobody knows how Evie died. And nobody ever will until they catch whoever did it. He needs to accept it and quit saying dumbass shit to make himself feel like he’s in control.”
And, with that, she jumps up and storms across the patio into the house, slamming the screen door behind her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The Hollow Watcher
One Year Ago
My girl is a distraction of the best kind. When I’m with her, she’s all I can concentrate on. And when I’m not, I’m thinking about the next time I’ll see her. And lucky for me, I’m with her tonight. The voices at the table mute to a dull hum when she stands up and walks to the bar with Hildy. They’ve been inseparable all night.
Brett taps the edge of the bar with her fingertip and swings her foot back and forth beneath her skirt. She likes her long, flowy skirts, especially since spring’s started inching closer to summer. Tonight, it’s a periwinkle blue floral print with a tight, white tank top that shows off every single curve. Every time her leg swings forward, her knee pops out of the slit that runs up the front.
Everyone at the table is distracted. It’s the perfect opportunity to whisk her off to the bathroom. She might resist at first, because she tries to be so proper and I doubt she’s ever been fucked in the bathroom of a bar, but once I hike that pretty skirt up and she feels me against her gorgeous ass, she’ll shut her dirty little mouth and do what she’s told. At least until I tell her to open it again.
Because I know her better than anyone else, maybe even better than she knows herself.
But as much as I love thinking about what she’s like when I get her alone, tonight’s not just about Brett. I shift my gaze slightly to the right and I see him.
He’s here. And he’s watching her, too.
He shifts in his seat when my stare triggers his gaze detection. He takes his eyes off her for one second and, as soon as he sees me, he looks like he’s seen a ghost.
Because he has.
After all this time, he still recognizes me. And he should. I hope I haunt his nightmares—that I still haunt his nightmares. My cheeks twitch with excitement as I smile at him. I’ve been waiting for this moment, waiting patiently and savoring the thought of such a sweet reunion. Before, he might’ve smiled right back, but not tonight. Tonight, he watches my eyes settle on her and there’s something different in his.
Fear.
Because he’s still a fucking coward at heart. He has no idea what’s coming. And once he lets it slip, it’s like bloody fucking chum in the water for me because I know Brett is everything to him, but not in the same way she is to me.
His intentions are unholy, vile, and corrupt, drenched in unadulterated malice and venom.
The bartender finally walks over to them and Brett starts giving him their order. He produces two shot glasses and sets one down in front of each of them. They’re planning on getting wild tonight. We both watch as the bartender grabs a bottle of Jameson and pours them each a shot. He grins at them and sets down a couple more glasses, presumably to make them another drink to follow.
I glance across the room and waggle my eyebrows at him as they clink their shot glasses together. I leer at Brett with a feral grin as they knock back their whiskey, which draws the attention of more than a couple other guys nearby, just like last time. But I’m not worried. Between us two psychos on either side of the room, these girls are well-taken care of tonight. At least I can count on him having just as bad of a temper as me.
I would say the girls have three sets of eyes on them, but Jay’s attention is elsewhere. I’ve been keeping an eye on him and he’s about four beers deep by now. Usually, he’d be itching for a fight, but when I follow his gaze across the bar, I find exactly what’s demanding his attention. Sydney, with her pageant smile and steely eyes, is sitting at a high top near the back wall with one of her friends. It’s not surprising—it’s a small town and this is the local watering hole. And as such, Jay had better fortify himself with more than alcohol to prepare for the inevitability that no less than two guys will approach her by the end of the night.
I have to laugh. As much as he tries, subtlety is not Jay’s strong point. And when he looks at her, I know exactly what’s going through his head, and it’s more than just undressing her with his eyes. He’s slowly dying inside, and she knows it. It’s sad, really, how people can be haunted by their own weaknesses and past transgressions to the point of profound regret.
Some people, that is. Others need reminding.
Not that I wish Sydney could take Hildy’s place. That would’ve been catastrophic, for sure. But everything that happened so long ago has clearly left him a tortured man. And all I can say is, better him than me.
With a roll of my eyes, I turn back to Brett and Hildy at the bar. They laugh and whisper to one another at the bar while their other drinks are made—a gin and tonic for my girl and a sidecar for Hildy. I make a point to catch his eyes so he can watch my gaze fall to her ass and linger on it like a hungry demon. Then I tilt my head back to him and lick my lips. If I wasn’t already hard from just looking at her, the look in his eyes finishes the job. His eyes dart back and forth between me and her, and it feels so good to fuck with him that I don’t want to stop. I want to give him a goddamn heart attack.
Their drinks are almost done, so I make sure he’s paying close attention when I nod at Brett and then pump my tongue against the inside of my cheek three times.
That one almost gets him to his feet.
Yes, motherfucker, think about all the things I’ll do to her—the things I have done to her. Think about my name rolling off her tongue while she kneels at my feet and begs for my cock in her throat.
Whenever he even thinks about kissing her, he’ll have to wonder if he’ll be tasting me on her tongue, too.
