said easily. “I’m going to belay her while she practices getting comfortable out here where no one is around. What are you doing here?”
Sam sounded cheery. Easygoing. As if nothing was wrong and he talked to serial killers every single day.
“I’ve been working on this project for months,” Jason admitted. “I’ve been telling Denver about it and how slow it’s been going for a while now. He offered to come out with me and belay me today. It will be so much easier without having to use a top rope.”
Stella heard Jason as if from far away. She’d already taken a step away from Denver so she could look into Jason’s face. She wanted to see his expression when he answered Sam. She did her best to process Jason’s statement. To make it fit with the facts.
This couldn’t be his project. It had to be Denver’s project. Jason had to be the one to volunteer to belay Denver. None of this was making any sense. She looked up at the boulder and then again at Jason’s face. Then to Sam. As always, his features were set in an expressionless mask. No help there at all.
Had she heard right? Again, she tried to twist Jason’s statement around to fit with what she was certain were the facts, but no matter how many times she replayed the audio, it came out the same. This was Jason’s project and Denver had volunteered to belay him. Which meant …
She turned back to her beloved friend, heart sinking, lashes lifting, and her eyes met his.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Mommy, Daddy’s doing the bad thing again.
The camera lens focused on a dark room. The room appeared to be rectangular. Stella did her best within the narrow vision she had to take in as many details as she could, but it was dark. The only light came from what appeared to be a penlight that was being flashed around the room, and that was even shielded, as if the person holding the light feared it would be seen. She caught a quick glimpse of the edge of a crash pad. Just the tip, but she was certain it was a crash pad. The lens was already closing down. Just as it was, she saw the light flash across the pair of hiking boots in the corner. The lens snapped closed.
STELLA SAT UP, fighting her way out from under the covers, kicking at them, scissoring her legs in desperation to get blankets and sheets off, her breath coming in painful gasps. She leapt up, trying to get out from under the remnants of the nightmare, uncaring that she’d gone to bed in practically nothing and it was very cold this time of year. Sam was a furnace at night and he took any clothes off her anyway.
“Sweetheart.”
Sam was in the chair across from the bed like always when she had her nightmares, but she didn’t even look at him. Truthfully, she didn’t even see him. She didn’t notice the freezing floor under the bare soles of her feet, or that Bailey scrambled to a standing position in his crate. She just ran from the room, heart thundering wildly in her ears. The back of the house was dark and she hadn’t thought to bring a light. She stood in front of the back door leading to her mudroom— the same room someone had tried to break into the night Bailey had been attacked.
“Stella. Talk to me.” Sam came up behind her.
She stood in front of the door shivering, but not because of the cold. She was numb— unable to feel anything in that moment. She just stared at the closed door. She didn’t want to turn on the overhead lights. If she did, and the killer was watching, he would know she was onto him. She bit her lip. She still couldn’t bring herself to say his name. To let herself think it was him. Her friend. One of her best friends. Why? Why would he start killing? It didn’t even make sense.
She put her hand on the doorknob and started to twist it open. Sam placed his palm above her head and leaned, preventing the heavy door from moving.
“Talk to me, Stella.”
“You knew it was him, didn’t you?” She was afraid it came out an accusation.
“I had no way of knowing, but I became suspicious when Bailey was stabbed four times so viciously and not killed. It took nerves to do what the attacker did. Nerves. Strength. Knowledge of anatomy.