Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
And yet, it was happening. He’d claimed her as his own and there was no turning back. The unmistakable look in his eyes. The way he made love to her. It didn’t need to be said. There was no misunderstanding this… Nikolai wanted her, and damn it, she wanted him, too…
She drove on and after a few minutes, her phone buzzed. She waited until she was at a red light—it was two in the morning after all—and read the text.
Nikolai: My sheets now smell like you. I love that, baby.
She sniffed her arm again. And then the other. Her eyes sheened over with how much they “got” one another.
She quickly typed back in response: Keep them warm for me. I’ll be back before you even have time to wash them.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
…Several days later
Porsche sat on her living room floor with her second glass of red wine, dressed in an oversized T-shirt that read, ‘We’re the granddaughters of the witches you didn’t get a chance to burn.’ She pulled a wedgie from her ass—her tiny pink panties kept trying to eat her behind like supper. She surmised they were too small, but like her underwear, she was in too deep to pull out now.
“Damn it!”
She tossed the papers onto another pile, tried reorganizing the whole mess, but her eyes were beginning to cross. Reports. Police records. Interviews. Photos of the victims. Photos of the crime scenes. Crime scene facts. Charts and maps. No DNA…
It was four in the morning now, and she was obsessing. She even went over her phone call with Ava from the night prior, regretting that she couldn’t provide any relief to the poor woman. She’d been saying the same thing over and over, but nothing had changed. They had a few suspects that may be linked to her brother’s death, and the investigation was active. But she could make no promises. This had potential to go cold if she or the police didn’t find something to hold onto, and it needed to happen fast. Memories were beginning to fade. Hers, however, remained fresh in her mind.
She picked up her cellphone and dialed.
After the third ring, Captain White answered. “Porsche… what… what is it?” He sounded groggy.
“Sorry to call so late, but did you ever locate the Appleton report?”
“Porsche,” he sighed, “no… That’s not an emergency. Couldn’t this have waited?”
The Appleton report was about the supposed first victim, a murder that took place over a year prior. Another report had also gone missing from the system. White blamed it on a clerical error, but she found that highly unlikely. Someone, somewhere had that information, and she needed it.
“Look, I’m sorry to inconvenience you with this call, and yes, I could have waited, but I’ve been trying to get this report for over a week. Time is slipping away, Captain. Killers are typically sloppier on their first kills as they try to learn the ropes. You know that. If we’re going to find any evidence that was missed, have a shot at this, it would be best to begin with Julian Appleton. I need to see crime scene photos. I need the toxicology reports. I need—”
“To go to bed, Porsche. I will call you back in a few hours. I promise. Now, goodnight.”
The line went dead.
Porsche had been hounding Captain White, and though he’d been cooperative and demonstrated a true desire to solve these murders, she suspected he felt overwhelmed, as well as shorthanded. She’d been giving him information almost daily, including handing over Ethan’s trash to the police department.
Of course, it was a waiting game for that, too. She had photos of the treasure trove for her own safekeeping as well. There was no way she was going to do all of that grunt work, hand it over, but not have her own copies for analysis. Not only for legal matters that may arise, but for her own eyes. Study materials.
I’m so damn tired of the brick walls!
Following Ethan in recent days didn’t yield much, either. He was fairly routine. A creature of habit. Shifting her focus, she looked at the dates of the murders once again.
These are spaced out every two to three weeks. There hasn’t been a murder in over two months…
She flipped through a notebook she’d created, detailing each murder of the young men left on the beach.
The killings stopped before I started working on the case, but maybe, just maybe, they didn’t continue because word spread that the police are actively trying to solve the murders, and that I’m here…
Portland, Maine was not a humongous place after all. Word got around fast and these murders, which the police still refused to say were the work of a sole person, a serial killer, had rocked the town and turned it upside down and inside out. The motive? No one had a clue.