recent murders. Therefore, you were ruled out. Hugh and Utah were ruled out for being into dudes, and Hugh wasn’t in town when one of the girls died. Pom-Pom didn’t live in Kentucky during a few of the deaths. Joey Wickcock is a disabled eighty-year-old.”
“There are thousands of people in Shasta.”
“Yes, but I rule out the women and the children and the very old and the disabled. Also, people who couldn’t have done it like you. Then I work my way through the names left on the list. Statistically, the killer is in his forties or fifties by now. Possibly older, but not by much. He probably owns a home because he needs a place to keep the women before he kills them. I have a hundred men left to go through.”
“What if you never find him?”
Shelby’s confident smile disappears. “I don’t know. I guess I start over and see what I missed. I haven’t reached that point yet. I figure it might take a few years, but no one else is doing anything about finding him. River and Shane have Reapers riding by the trailer parks daily. That’s where most of the victims were grabbed. We also have spies keeping watch in that area, but this guy is a local. No one will think anything wrong when they see him.”
“What happens if you find him?”
“I kill him.” When I smile down at her, Shelby rolls her eyes. “I’ve killed before. I blew a guy’s head off with my rifle. I know how to kill, and I wouldn’t have any trouble slaughtering this serial-killing fucker.”
Her eyes flare with rage when she talks, and I shiver at how close she is to me right now. I could lean down a few inches and place my lips on hers. Would she stop me? She keeps acting like she wants me. I don’t know, though. There’s something about Shelby that leaves me unsure. She’s not Becklyn or Jaymes. She isn’t like any woman I’ve known.
“What’s happening?” she says, losing her anger and eyeing me. “What’s that look on your face mean?”
“I’m thinking about kissing you.”
“Oh, well, then carry on,” she says, as her expression softens immediately.
I look around her office, trying to make sense of this woman. I want her to fit into a box where I can keep track of her. I need to see the real her. I believed a lot of lies about Jaymes and Becklyn. They weren’t the ones telling me bullshit. It was all me. Now I want to believe lies about Shelby Campbell.
Stepping back, I study her board as if I believe she can actually catch a serial killer. Everything about Shelby feels off. She looks like one of those pinup girls, sexy without trying.
But her thinking isn’t cutesy. There’s malice in this woman. Not like the flighty fuckups that Becklyn pulled or the nagging dullness of Jaymes. They were bitches, but even at their worst, they made sense. One craved drama that came from fucking with a bad man. The other wanted to reform a bad man to give her life meaning. They were weak women desperate for what no one could give them.
Shelby isn’t weak despite the little pout she wears now that she realizes I don’t plan to kiss her. She’s sneaky, weird, violent, goofy, or maybe none of those things. She could be faking it all. I don’t know. I can’t read people. I grew up thinking my mom was a bitch to me because of her cult-like church. But she doesn’t seem particularly religious otherwise. While in prison, I thought back over all the people I thought I knew. My mom being the main one. That’s when I wised up to the fact that she was a bitch because she didn’t like me. Never had. It wasn’t Jesus or the church. She looked at me and felt a burden because that’s all I was to her. It’s all I’ll ever be.
I read people wrong. Fuse seemed like he wanted strong people at his side, but he fucking sold me out. Swamp Thing and Grabby made sense to me. We’d been screwed over. I was planning on rolling with them no matter what their plans. Then I find out they sent one of the assholes they met in prison to kill women and a fucking kid. The Skullz weren’t Boy Scouts. We did bad shit. That was the life, but I only cross certain lines when my life’s on the line. Swamp Thing