No Rep (Madd CrossFit #1) - Lani Lynn Vale Page 0,60

she pointed at Heather Trudell, “decided to plaster my sister’s face, her goddamn home address, and her motherfuckin’ business in the damn paper all because she’s a little twat who thinks that she can ruin people’s lives! And, let’s not forget, it’s not going to just annoy her. It’s got Fran’s freakin’ head on a platter sitting directly in front of a serial killer that’s killing people that look exactly like her!”

“Fuck,” I hissed.

Fran’s eyes turned to me, and I realized my mistake. I’d been kicking the clues around in my head and trying to put my finger on the connection between all of the women. The part that I couldn’t quite lock onto fell into place.

Every single one of the deceased women of this serial killer did, in fact, look exactly like Fran. Not in skin color or hair color, but in eye color, bone structure—all small, compact, and athletic looking—and each had very curly hair. The type of curly hair that required some sort of taming stuff be put in their hair or it’d go wild.

I looked at Fran, then looked at Schultz, followed by Easton, who were tilting their heads in understanding.

“Who does your hair, Fran?” I asked, a thought occurring to me.

“Umm,” she hesitated. “A new girl in town. She specializes in hair like mine. Actually, she owns a traveling hair salon. She services three states. Makes a shit ton of money doing it, too.”

My mind locked onto the link like it was wildfire, all the tiny little pieces adding up until only one thought occurred.

“What’s her name?” I wondered.

“Why do you need to know her name?” Heather asked.

Mavis whipped her head around and glared. “Why the fuck are you here?”

“I want to make sure that you’re penalized for vandalizing my car,” Heather snarled. “I have to take that to a dealership in Austin now because they’re the only ones that service them!”

Murphy snorted. “Bring it to my shop and I’ll get it fixed for you in an hour.”

“I’m not bringing it to a shop that has the likes of you working it.” She rolled her eyes.

“I’ll have you know that Murphy’s shop is a pristine business. The only thing that could make it even remotely bad is to have your taint, both figuratively and literally, walking into its doors,” Mavis sneered.

“Is that really a way to talk around your son?” she asked. “Who is the father, anyway? Him? Is that why y’all hate each other? Because you got pregnant on purpose?”

She gave Murphy a pitying look, as if she felt sorry for him.

Murphy narrowed his eyes, however, and said, “I’ll pay for any damages that incurred. And I’ll fix it for free.”

“Whatever. Protect the little bitch. It’s not like you have any taste, obviously,” Heather hissed. “Now, back to this…” She waved her hand at me, but Vlad started to cry, catching her attention. “Can’t you get that thing to shut up?”

Francine’s back stiffened, and before any of us could move, Mavis shot forward and planted her fist right into Heather’s nose.

Heather dropped like a freakin’ weighted-down barbell. Hit the ground with a resounding clang, and then went still.

“Who the hell taught you to throw a punch?” Schultz asked as he walked over to where Heather was down on the ground and stared at her.

Mavis shook out her hand and hissed. “Murphy did. When we were twelve.”

My brows went up at Murphy. Murphy shrugged.

Apparently, answering me wasn’t going to be something he did today.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Chief Wilkerson groaned. “This is a massive shitterfuck.”

“What is a shitterfuck?” Mavis asked Murphy as she shook out her hand.

Murphy gently wrapped his hand around Mavis’s and brought her closer to him. “Get your kid and let’s go.”

Fran handed Vlad over and the three of them left without a backward glance.

Chief Wilkerson didn’t even stop them.

Heather woke up and groaned. “I want to file charges!”

Fran walked over and then leaned over her. “No judge is going to begrudge me a hit when you put me in the line of sight of a serial killer.”

“You didn’t hit me. Your sister did!” she whined, pressing her hands to her nose. “I could’ve choked on my own blood.”

“I hit you,” Fran lied. “And I’m a nurse. I would’ve known if you were in peril.”

“You were fired from the hospital for a medication error that almost killed someone,” Heather said, pressing her hands to her nose as she rolled over and stood in the next instant.

“Actually,” a cultured, distinguished