in my mind. The gruesome picture the murderer would’ve had to create. A memory of Sam’s sneer filled my brain, the dark glint in his eyes. He might very well be capable of it.
“Has Parker announced anything?” Brody asked, his hand rubbing up and down my arm.
Bell shook her head. “No. We’ve just heard gossip at the bar. It makes sense, though. Working here, Sam might’ve heard about what happened to you in New York, Brody.”
Hunter winced. “He did. When we prewired the studio for security, Sam was asking a lot of questions. The next day, he came to work all jazzed to talk about what he’d found out about you and this serial killer. I told him to keep his trap shut, but that didn’t exactly work out so well.”
Brody laced his fingers through mine as if searching for comfort. And I would give him that anytime he needed it. I traced circles on the back of his hand with my thumb as he spoke. “It’s not your fault. And what happened in New York isn’t exactly a state secret. I just hope he didn’t use it to get rid of someone he had a beef with and try to pin it on me.”
“It seems like he has a vengeful streak,” Caelyn muttered.
Bell nodded. “Remember what happened to his neighbor?”
“Shit, I forgot about that,” Hunter answered.
“What are you talking about?” Ford asked.
Bell plucked up a graham cracker and proceeded to break it into tiny pieces. “It was before you moved back to Anchor. Someone called the sheriff’s department on Sam when he had a loud party. Two days later, the neighbor’s entire lawn had been bleached, and his truck windows smashed in. Not sure if anything else happened, but the guy moved.”
It all sounded a little too familiar. The uncontrollable anger and rage. The belief that he should always get what he wanted for no other reason than he deserved it. The need for vengeance if anyone crossed him. It sounded like Michael. If Sam had those tendencies, Parker had his work cut out for him. I just hoped he could make a case before someone else got hurt.
29
Brody
I smoothed down the strip of tape, making sure the bottom of the box was secure before flipping it over. The last thing I needed was boxes of paint and supplies coming apart at the seams as I tried to bring things down to the new studio. My gaze swept the sunporch, and I groaned. It was going to take more than a day to pack all of this up. But the studio would be done and ready to move into tomorrow.
The sunporch had been good to me. Between its light and Shay’s gentle pressure to continue painting, I’d finished a few more pieces in the last week alone. And the more people that had come into our lives, the more inspiration I’d gotten. But Shay was still my favorite subject. I didn’t think I’d ever tire of exploring every part of her. Just when I figured out one facet of her, she’d reveal a whole new layer I never would’ve expected.
Like the fact that she had an advanced green belt in karate. One morning on the beach, I’d discovered her working through moves that had my jaw dropping, and she’d shared that little tidbit with me. I’d of course demanded that she perform some of the moves for me in the sunporch so I could paint her.
I was still perfecting the details of the piece, but it might have been my best work yet. Strong and powerful, yet full of delicate grace. I was finding a new truth in my art. A more realistic balance between the darkness that lurked below people’s surface and the light. It led to work that was more vibrant than anything I’d done before. Richer.
For the first time in months, I had the itch to show it to other people. To see what they thought of the creations. It was a welcome relief that I hadn’t lost the urge. But I knew I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t show the pieces Shay inspired, at least.
I scrubbed a hand over my jaw and thought about calling Dante for an update. Shay couldn’t live like this forever. Locked away on a series of islands, never to set foot on the mainland again. She’d taken the first steps, but I knew if I pushed for more, she’d shut down.