“He’s toying with me,” Ellie said in a low voice. “Torturing me by making me wonder when he’s going to kill Shondra.”
“Bastard. We’re going to find him, Ellie.”
Ellie wanted to believe Derrick, but they needed something concrete. So far, they were running around chasing their tails, looking for bodies, and had no real suspect.
Pausing to scan the crowded bar for Bryce, hushed whispers floated around her, and a couple of deputies she recognized gave her skeptical looks as she crossed the room.
As a teenager, boys had steered clear of her because her father was sheriff. At the academy, she’d had to fight harder, be tougher, and prove she could hold her own with her fellow officers as well as the criminals. When she returned from the academy, they assumed she’d survived because of who her daddy was. When she’d made detective, the scrutiny had gotten even worse.
Working for Crooked Creek’s police department instead of the sheriff’s office in Stony Gap had given her a reprieve. Until the Ghost case.
Now stares and suspicious looks dogged her everywhere. Bryce looked up with an eyebrow raise, then a frown at the sight of Derrick. All these damn testosterone-laden men were too territorial.
The guy beside Bryce moved over to flirt with a thirty-something female, and Ellie slid onto the seat.
“You wanted an update. Here we are.” She didn’t bother to hide her disdain that he was here drinking on the job.
“You found another victim,” Bryce said.
She nodded and showed him the text. “It wasn’t Shondra though. She’s still out there.”
Bryce plucked a French fry from his plate and wolfed it down. “You’re sure it’s the same killer?”
“Same signature, with the lips sewn shut. Although this time he carved a heart on her chest.”
Bryce’s eyes darkened, then he tossed back a shot of whiskey. “Any clue who she is?”
“Not yet,” Ellie said. “Dr. Whitefeather will let us know lab results after the autopsy.” She gritted her teeth as he ordered another drink.
“I thought you were working, too,” Ellie said, indicating the shot. “He’s going to kill again. And if Shondra is still alive, the next victim could be her.”
“For your information, my people are still searching for Shondra and locations where this killer might be hiding out.” He arched a brow. “But a man has to eat.” He shot her a sarcastic look. “Or don’t you have to, Ellie?”
He made her blood boil. “Food is one thing. Whiskey is another.”
“You’re walking the line here, Detective,” said Bryce, gripping her wrist. “Being insubordinate could be dangerous.”
“Is that a threat?” Ellie asked, lifting her chin in challenge.
Bryce’s eyes narrowed. “A warning.”
Derrick’s expression was lethal as he noticed the sheriff’s hand clenching Ellie’s wrist. He started to speak, but Ellie held up a warning hand and shook her arm away.
She didn’t want––or need––a man fighting her battles.
“Did you learn anything from talking to Carrie’s coworkers or the staff at the club where she worked?” Derrick asked, clearing his throat.
A vein throbbed in Bryce’s neck as he tilted his head toward Derrick. “Bartender said she was a good dancer, liked entertaining the men. Took some lap dances and did some after-hours work but was always discreet.”
“He give up the names of any of her special clients?” Ellie asked.
Bryce accepted the second shot and swirled it around in the glass. “No, said she handled her own business and respected her clients’ privacy. I searched her dressing room and car but didn’t find a client list anywhere.” He downed the whiskey. “Although one of the other girls said she was saving up enough money to get out of the business. She planned to go to college and study finance.”
Ellie rubbed her throbbing head. So Bryce had actually done some background work. That was something, at least.
“A special guy in her life who inspired this decision?” Derrick asked.
Bryce shook his head. “Not that she knew of. Said Carrie’s friend Samantha might know, but I’ve called her and she didn’t answer. When she phones back, I’ll go by her place and find out what she knows.”
“Be sure to ask her if one of her clients is into domination or S & M,” Ellie said.
“Don’t worry,” Bryce said with a sly smile. “I’ve got it covered.”
She just bet he did.
Frustration knotted her shoulders as she turned and left. Three women were already dead, their lives on her head. There had to be some clues in the Weekday Killer’s MO or the victims themselves. What in the hell were