Dead Pretty - Samantha Towle Page 0,64

I bolt upright. Heart thumping in my chest.

There’s someone in the room. A shadow in the corner.

Parting my lips to scream, I blink.

And it’s gone.

No one is there.

My eyes scan around the room.

I press my hand to my chest, my heart beating wildly.

It must have been the remnants of a dream. A nightmare.

It’s not the first time this has happened to me. Thinking there’s someone there. Seeing the shadow of a person, haunting me.

I guess it’s not surprising after everything I’ve been through.

My eyes move to Jack lying beside me. Asleep on his stomach. Arms stretched up above his head. His face turned toward me.

He looks beautiful. The shadows lining his face. The glow of the light from the hall framing it.

I’m tempted to touch him. But I don’t want to wake him. He looks so peaceful.

Checking the time on my cell, I see that it’s only ten thirty.

We came to bed early. We started watching a movie on Netflix in bed, using Jack’s laptop, but got distracted by each other.

We must have fallen asleep after screwing each other senseless.

Getting off the bed, I search for my discarded pajama shorts on the floor.

Locating them, I pull them on. Taking my phone with me, I quietly make my way into the living room, heading for the kitchen to get a drink of water.

Eleven is asleep on the sofa. She lifts her head as I pass and then lays it straight back down.

She spends a lot of time over here now. As does Jack.

I like them both here.

I know I don’t deserve the happiness that I have right now, but I’m reluctant to let it go.

The thought of losing Jack fills me with a hollowness that I can’t even contemplate.

I get a glass from the cupboard and pour myself a water from the purifier in the fridge, bringing it over to the sofa with me. I take a seat next to Eleven, tucking my legs underneath me. I stroke her soft fur.

She starts to purr, snuggling closer to me.

It makes me smile.

Tapping my screen, bringing it to life, I see that I have some notifications. They’re from local news sites.

With Detectives Sparks and Peters not willing to tell us anything about Mike’s death, the only resource left to me is the press.

In the days following the discovery of Mike’s body, I have learned that he was found in the closet of Sarah’s apartment, his body hidden behind some luggage stored in there. It had been missed in the first search of Sarah’s apartment when her body was first discovered. A screwup on the part of the police department.

They initially found two blood types at the crime scene. Knowing one was Mike’s, they first thought he was the killer and that he’d most likely cut himself in the attack on Sarah.

But he hadn’t.

Mike had been stabbed to death. Thirty stab wounds found on his stomach, chest, and hands. The press said they were defensive wounds on his hands. They said the knife pierced his heart, which was the killing blow.

A violent murder.

In contrast, Sarah had been tortured.

Knife wounds were found all over her body.

She had been cut close to a hundred times.

Then, finally, her throat was slit.

She hadn’t been stabbed like Mike.

The news said it was likely that Mike had interrupted the killer, and that was why his wounds were in such stark contrast to Sarah’s.

Mike wasn’t her killer.

And she was murdered in a very similar way to the other recent murders.

Am I afraid?

Yes.

All of the murders are comparable to the murders that Tobias committed in Chicago.

I’m trying not to freak out. Link them together. Let my mind believe that there is a copycat here. But it’s really hard not to think that way.

The only thing keeping me sane at the moment is Jack.

Not that he knows the depths of my thoughts. He knows I have an interest in what happened to Mike and Sarah because I worked with Mike. But Jack doesn’t know my thoughts on the other murders.

Because if he did, then I would have to tell him about my past.

And that is the last thing I want.

My cell vibrates in my hand, startling me.

A look at the screen tells me it’s Cole. It’s not unusual for him to call me late. He’s a night owl.

It’s been a little over a week since I last spoke to him now that I think about it.

He’s not going to be happy with me. I’m supposed to call once a week.

It’s just that I