Spiders in the Grove (In the Company of Killers #7)(58)

Sweeping my finger along the edge of the bloodied bed, it’s almost as if I can sense every place her delicate hands had been; I can smell her natural scent on the air; I can almost see her reflection within the mirror along with my own.

“What do you want me to see?” I whisper into the semi-darkness of the sweltering basement.

I set the mirror back into its place, the same way she left it.

Izabel is still inside my head; it had to be this way; I had to say the things I said, or else she could end up like Dante. I don’t fully believe that—this killer, from what I’ve seen so far only kills men—but I didn’t want to take any chance. Izabel is important to me; she’s like a sister to me. Dante’s death is forgivable, but if the killer were to kill Izabel, it would be harder to forgive. And the part of me that wants to know who this woman is, the part of me that wants to know her intimately, is the part that will forgive her, no matter who she kills.

After cleaning the crime scene with bleach and a laundry basket full of rags, and I pull my car into the privacy of the garage, I take Dante’s body, wrapped in a tarp, and hide him in the trunk.

I get inside the car and the engine hums to life.

With both hands on the steering wheel, I sit here for a moment, quietly, calmly, because I know she’s in the car, sitting in the seat behind me. I’m not afraid. Monsters aren’t usually afraid of other monsters.

I can’t see her face, only the outline of her hair.

“What did you want me to see in the mirror?”

“Your face.” Her voice is as soft as I’d always imagined it.

Then I feel a cold prickle in the side of my neck; my hands go slack, falling away from the steering wheel.

And then her face comes into view just as my vision is failing me.

“Willa…”





Niklas


I pick up a shaken Jackie at the airport and she doesn’t say anything on the ride to her trailer; she just stares out the windshield, her hands folded on her lap, her legs pressed together. She’s been here for hours, waiting for me to get back from Mexico.

“Why didn’t you call a cab?” I had asked her when she got inside my car.

“I just…don’t want be alone at my place right now,” she had said. “I’d just rather be here, out in the open, with a lot of people.”

I never should’ve sent her to Mexico. I’m gonna regret it for the rest of my life, I can already tell, because I feel guilty as hell. Why I feel guilty is what I haven’t figured out yet. She agreed to it. I told her everything—a big part of me even tried to make her refuse—and I warned her, but she chose to go. Because she wanted the money. I thought that was the reason I went through with it and let her go, after all—because of the money, and the desperation, and how badly she probably wanted to spend it on drugs. I thought to myself, Hey, she’s just a drug addict, and if anything happens to her, it’s her own damn fault. But deep down, I didn’t really feel that way; I was conflicted. Conflicted because I haven’t seen Jackie do drugs in a while. Conflicted because nothing about her lifestyle or her little trailer gives me any real reason to believe she has a drug addiction at all. Conflicted because my suspicions aren’t enough, and when they aren’t enough that usually means they’re dead wrong.

Which leads me right back to the damn money. She spent every cent of it, not on drugs, but to save the lives of young women she didn’t even know.

And that’s how I know I’m a fucking prick, and that I was wrong, and that I knew it in my heart all along, but I didn’t want to believe it because I needed someone there to watch Izzy for me. I’m a prick because I used Jackie and ignored what my gut was telling me about her—that she’s a good person, a better person than I’ll ever think of being.

“Thanks for the ride, Nik,” she tells me and goes to get out of the car.

I had intended to stay here with her for a while.

“I thought you didn’t want to be alone?” I say.

She pauses but gets out anyway, and then peers inside at me. “I don’t,” she says. “I’m gonna go over to Shellie’s”—she points at the trailer across from hers—“I’d say thanks for the free trip to Mexico, but, well…” She doesn’t finish.

I stop her before she closes the car door. “Uh, Jackie, I really am sorry. About all of this. I shouldn’t have—”

“Nah, don’t do that, Nik,” she cuts me off. “I’m a grown woman, perfectly capable of making my own decisions. And you warned me. You didn’t do this, I did. I’ll be fine. I made it back alive and that’s what matters. I’ll get over it in a couple days and be back to my old self.” She smiles in at me, trying to lighten the mood, but it just makes me feel even more like the piece of shit that I am. “And we can get back to normal soon too. If you want.” She grins suggestively, but I know she’s just trying to be strong, pretending she’s not traumatized by her experience, and that sex with me is the last thing on her mind.

I try to force a smile, but I don’t think it comes out as one.

“I’ll come over tomorrow and check on you,” I say.

“OK, Nik.” Her smile brightens, and it chokes me up a little because I can tell it’s real and that she’s already forgiven me and that she’s innocent and kind and—dammit!