Till Death(85)

“Well, someone is doing what the Groom did.” Jason tossed an arm along the back of his chair.

“It’s not the same as the Groom,” I said, looking up at the screen. The newscasters had moved on to the weather.

Cole placed his hand on my knee and squeezed reassuringly.

After Striker had left, I’d spent the better part of the day thinking about what he’d said and what I knew about the Groom. What was happening now was similar but not. “The Groom kept his victims for days and even weeks in some instances. Angela went missing Wednesday evening—maybe. Thursday by the latest. She was dead by Monday, maybe even earlier than that. The Groom didn’t lose interest . . . or patience that quickly. Whoever this is, he doesn’t have the patience.”

“Or the control.” Cole settled back against the cushion. “To keep someone as long as the Groom did, you’d have to have a lot of control.”

“And be a total freak,” Miranda muttered under her breath as she finished off her wine glass in record time.

I looked over at Cole, wanting to share my suspicion but wary of doing so, because . . . saying it out loud made it so much more real. Saying it out loud also sounded a little crazy.

He leaned over, crossing the tiny distance between us and brushed his lips over mine. “You still here?”

Blinking, I didn’t realize how long I’d sat there staring at him. “Yeah.”

“You guys are so cute it makes me want to squeeze both of you to death.” Miranda sighed. “It also makes me want to have a boyfriend I can be all cute with.”

Flushing, I looked over at her. She saddled up to Jason’s side. “Want to hook up?”

I choked on air.

“This just got real interesting,” Cole murmured under his breath.

Jason whipped around in the chair so quickly I thought he might break his neck. “What?”

Miranda giggled as she draped her arms over his shoulders. “I’m just kidding. Geez. I know you’re saving yourself just in case your wife comes back.” She reached up, tweaking his cheek. “Plus, I like my men a bit darker in the skin.” Pausing, she lifted her gaze to Cole. “Which brings me to the fine-looking Detective Conrad. Is he single?”

Cole grinned. “I believe he is.”

“You should introduce us,” she said, straightening. “Actually, you should call him right now. I’ll give you—”

“And I think it’s time for you to go home,” Jason announced.

Miranda pouted. “You’re no fun, but you’re correct.” She shimmied around Jason and bent over, clasping my cheeks. “I don’t like this at all,” she whispered.

“I don’t either,” I whispered back.

Her lower lip trembled. “I’m still glad you came home though.”

“Me too.”

She stared at me a moment and then patted my cheek. “I might be a little tipsy.”

“Did you drive?” I asked, frowning up at Miranda.

Jason laughed. “No. I drove her here.”

She rolled her eyes and then pulled away, snatching up her jacket. “He sounds so happy about that.”

He ignored her as he slipped on his gloves. “I’ll make sure she gets home.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Love you guys.”

“Love you more,” Miranda called back.

Cole walked them out and once he returned, he locked the door behind him and made his way back over to me. He sat on the edge of the couch, his body twisted toward mine. “Striker seriously wasn’t here to do a story?”

Exhaling softly, I tipped my head back against the cushion. “Yeah. He didn’t want to do a story, Cole. He wanted to ask me one question.”

His eyes flashed. “Journalists lie, Sasha. They’ll say anything to get information out of someone.”

“That might be the case, but damn, he had a point, Cole. He really did.”

He studied me for a moment. “What did he say?”

“Striker is kind of obsessed with the . . . the Groom. Or maybe serial killers in general, and besides that being incredibly creepy, he picked up on something I’d told the agents while I was in the hospital.” I slid my hands along my thighs. “I think I even said it to you. That at times it seemed like the Groom was two different people.” My gaze shifted to Cole. “I don’t know a lot about who he was. I purposely avoided learning anything, but Striker didn’t and he said that he’d always believed that the Groom hadn’t pulled it off by himself.”

His brows creased together. “None of that means that there were actually two of them working together.”

“But it sort of makes sense. There were times when it was like I was dealing with two separate people,” I told him. “And I never saw him while I was held. Not once, and when he was angry, he didn’t speak. So let’s say there’s two of them. The Groom I knew was more patient and the other more violent. That would explain why the victims this time don’t last very long.”

“Sasha.”

“It is possible,” I insisted.

He looked away, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “I know it’s not impossible, but it’s also not very likely.”

“It’s about as likely as there being another copycat serial killer, isn’t it?” I replied, sitting forward and snatching my wine glass off the table.