did this leaf brand mean? What connected these three dead people, two murdered in violent, heinous ways, the third a potential suicide victim? Or was it that the killer had meant to take her eyes as well but either hadn’t had the time, or been thwarted in some way?
Reed looked at the date she’d been murdered. Three months ago. “If this was his first victim, and the two men were his second and third, it’s possible he’s advancing, that his fantasy is developing.”
“If that’s the case,” Duffy said, “he’s only just getting started.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Liza couldn’t sleep. She huffed out a breath, turning over and trying to make herself more comfortable. But after a minute, her eyes opened and she looked around her room, softly lit by a small lamp on her bedside table.
It had begun to rain about thirty minutes before and the soft pitter-patter sounded on her windows. Usually the rain lulled Liza, comforted her.
She turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, watching the shifting shapes of reflected rain patterns.
It was only a little past nine thirty, but she’d felt so incredibly exhausted, she’d gone to bed, and despite how tired she was, sleep eluded her.
She felt restless, confused.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Reed Davies.
With a grunt of frustration that emanated from the back of her throat, she threw her covers aside, and swung her legs out of bed.
Liza padded to the kitchen, filling a glass of water and standing at the counter as she drank it. She went back over the conversation she’d had with Reed the day before. He’d figured her out, figured out exactly what she’d been doing in that stairwell, and it’d shamed her to her core. It felt deeply personal, like he’d seen her naked. Which was hilarious considering he had literally seen her naked and bent over his bed. But, she’d felt ten times more exposed the day before in her office as he spoke one of her secret shames aloud.
And yet, Reed was right to question her. How must it have looked to them as they’d watched her enter the building and take so long to climb three short flights of stairs? She could only imagine how she’d looked when she’d emerged—shaky, terrified. Because she had been. But she’d been proud too, because despite the pitch-black, she’d made it up those three floors. She had hoped the police wouldn’t notice the lapse in time, but of course, they had. Reed had.
Yes, he saw things, Detective Davies. But then, she did too. She’d been forced to see, to be hypervigilant regarding every facial expression. To recognize which ones signaled coming danger, to notice the body language that meant shame and torture was inevitable. She might not be able to stop it every time, but at least she’d be prepared. Yes, Liza was a watcher.
And she was painfully aware that the reasons she was a watcher had changed her. Warped her.
But she’d hoped, God, she’d hoped, that seeing in such a way was also what made her a good doctor, a good listener, intuitive to the unspoken words of others.
Liza sighed, placing her glass in the sink. It was late, too late for this. Very quietly, she headed to her guest bedroom where she’d put a weighted blanket in the closet. It had been an impulse buy a year before that she hadn’t tried out, and it seemed like the perfect night to give it a go. She was desperate to shut her mind off.
She opened the closet, reached up and slid the blanket off the shelf, holding it against her chest as she turned.
Her father walked past the bedroom door.
Liza froze, her blood turning to ice in her veins.
Terror jackknifed, pounding so harshly that her vision went hazy.
No, no, God no.
It can’t be.
It can’t be.
She listened for another frozen moment, her ears pricked for any tiny sound. She thought she heard his footsteps in her hallway, moving toward her bedroom. She backed up slowly, stiffly, her muscles coiled tight, until she was standing in the closet.
She was shaking like a leaf as she reached out her hand, barely daring to breathe as she pulled the door closed, an inch at a time. Please don’t squeak, please don’t squeak. Don’t alert him. The devil of her nightmares who she’d watched bleed out on a cold cellar floor.
Later—after the fire—they’d removed his charred remains.
Confusion drummed inside her. That had happened. Hadn’t it?
Hadn’t it?
She tried to hold her breath, but she couldn’t for