The Ripple Effect (Rhiannon's Law #3)(8)
Disco ripped free of my embrace. I’d seen him this angry once—when he’d learned I’d been with another man and forcibly entered my mind. It was then he’d learned the man was Paine—a future version of his best friend, but Paine nonetheless. The memory of that night came rushing back, along with the misery I’d endured at Disco’s hands. Fear assailed me. I took several steps back and reached for the knife at my side. Disco glanced at me and his expression changed. The outrage marring his features became sadness. I lowered my hand when I realized I was prepared to fight the man I loved and detested.
“He wants you,” Disco said quietly. “If he thought there was a chance you would consider him more than a friend, he’d sever our ties and do whatever it took to make you his.”
“I don’t feel that way about Paine.” I cared for Paine deeply—even loved him in my own way—but it was nothing compared to the feelings I had for the vampire before me.
Disco looked at me through his long, dark lashes. “I know that, but it doesn’t make it any easier for me.”
“That makes two of us.”
We stood across from each other, so close that all it would take was a few steps to bridge the gap. Neither of us moved. The pain was too fresh, the betrayal too deep.
Disco slid his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “Are there any other stipulations I should know about?”
“Just one.”
“Which is?”
I picked up the pet carrier, reminded myself that I had to be strong, and looked him in the eye. “I might be staying at your home while Marius is here, but that doesn’t mean we’re picking up where we left off.” I stepped past him, started walking toward the door, and called over my shoulder, “If we share a room, I’m calling dibs on the bed. You can sleep on the floor.”
Chapter Two
Although I should have spent the following morning in the library—in an attempt to locate Marigold Vesta’s resting place—I decided to swing by a crime scene instead. After all, I was working on repaying my debt. Only my attention was on the sacrifice portion of the deal instead of the logistics. In order to revive Marigold, I had to kill a person. The bigger the spell, the higher the cost. Fortunately, not all lives are created equal. Someone who could kill an innocent woman in cold blood would be a perfect sacrifice.
At least that’s what I told myself.
I found where Autumn Geoffreys had been killed within minutes. The crime scene wasn’t difficult to spot. Yellow police tape decorated the alley, along with large brown stains on the concrete where the unfortunate woman had bled out. The evening news provided a few intimate details—her throat had been cut and she’d been raped—but it wasn’t enough to go on. If I was going to find the killer, I needed more information.
A lot more.
I studied the side of the building, instinctually knowing where she had died. The poor woman had been trapped with nowhere to go, and in an area like this one—isolated except for a wandering drug dealer or prostitute—no one would come running if they’d heard her screams. Considering blood was smeared all over the side of the building, as though she’d fought her assailant even in the grips of death, I was fairly certain her throat was cut during the rape. Had she fought off a sadist? A serial killer? A man with a mommy complex? Or was the grim reaper just your average crazy person?
It was too early to tell.
I glanced around the alley, taking my time and soaking in my surroundings. No one would have seen much. The alley was small, nothing more than a sliver between two condemned buildings. The club where Autumn had worked was only a few blocks away. I was tempted to go to The Pink Flamingo and ask questions, but since I worked for the competition I wasn’t sure that was a good idea.
Instead I strolled up and down the narrow stretch of walkway, hoping for a ghostly glimpse of the twenty-three-year-old who’d stripped as means to support her three-year-old son and pay for college. That was the primary reason she’d made the evening news. An exotic dancer who’d gotten herself killed wasn’t likely to cause a fuss, not when reporters could spread the good word about meth busts and convenience store robberies. An exotic dancer who’d left an orphaned child behind, however, was great for after dinner conversation.
Crazy f*cking world.
An image of Autumn and her child flashed before my eyes, the snapshot burned in my memory like a brand. The picture on the news had been taken around Christmas, since a large tree with glowing rainbow lights was visible behind mother and son. The little boy shared his mother’s blonde hair and blue eyes, although his face was round and pudgy in that bittersweet stage between infant and toddler. Visualizing the two during happier times felt voyeuristic and wrong. Would they have smiled so blissfully at the camera if they had known what was coming?
Highly doubtful.
The visual vanished, forced aside since I wasn’t ready to go there. Instead I tried to mentally recreate the violent act that had killed her, sliding together imprints in time using my tortured, f*cked up mind. Autumn had fought, and she had lost. But she hadn’t given up. Her struggles told me she wasn’t ready to go. There was something important for her in this life, something she refused to leave behind. The spasm in my abdomen caused bile to rise to the back of my throat. Of course she had something worth fighting for. Hell, she had something worth dying for.