Beautifully Broken Pieces (Sutter Lake, #1)(57)

Carly’s head shot towards me. “Is she okay?”

I swallowed thickly, having come to terms with the fact that Taylor had most likely been shot at by Caitlin’s killer. “She’s fine.” The words came out harshly, but Carly, used to working around men, took no offense.

She gazed around the surrounding woods. “I’m glad. You think whoever shot at her killed this young woman?”

I stared down at Caitlin’s ravaged form. “I think it’s likely. Why don’t you walk us through your best guess as to what happened.”

Carly nodded and squatted next to Caitlin. “These are just my preliminary findings. Things may change once I’ve been able to complete a full exam.”

“Understood,” I said, impatient for her to give me more information.

She continued. “Let’s start at the beginning. See these marks here?” Tuck and I nodded as we took in the bruising around Caitlin’s wrists. “She was bound in some way for several hours. Possibly days.”

I cursed. Tuck remained stonily silent. Carly moved on. “I believe she was,”—she paused for a moment—“hunted down. Either she escaped, or the killer let her go, only to catch her again. She was shot. Here.” Carly pointed to a wound on Caitlin’s hip. A shot there would make running almost impossible.

Rage pumped through my veins at the thought of how terrified Caitlin must have been. “But that wouldn’t have killed her.” I forced the words out.

“No. It didn’t. I would say the killer caught up with her and snapped her neck.” Blood roared through my ears at Carly’s words. “It’s similar to the way a hunter would snap an animal’s neck if they wounded it but didn’t make a kill shot.”

Tuck’s and my eyes immediately clashed. “Pardue,” we said at the same time.

I searched the forest around us. “We have to find him. And fast.”





30





Taylor





“’Make spaghetti,’ she said. ‘It’ll be easy,’ she said.” I mumbled to myself as I stirred furiously at a pot of sauce. It wasn’t the right color. It looked more brown than red. I sighed, attempting to blow the hair out of my face since I didn’t have a free hand.

I’d called my bestie for help when some evil spirit had overtaken my body and forced me to text Walker and ask him to dinner. Carter had squealed with glee when I told her about my plans. Or should I say the evil spirit’s plans, because I didn’t know what I’d been thinking. Carter had immediately shot off a link to a recipe she promised would be so simple, even I couldn’t screw it up. As I glanced down at the brown sludge, I wasn’t so sure.

I peeked at the clock on the stove. Shit. Walker would be here in twenty minutes. I turned off the heat and dashed towards my bedroom, peeling off clothes as I went. Stepping under the shower’s spray, I nearly shrieked. It was freezing. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to power through as quickly as possible.

My attempt to get ready in approximately fifteen minutes resembled a cross between a hurricane and that Tasmanian devil cartoon. I rummaged through my closet, throwing everything I wasn’t looking for on the bed. Finally, I found my little black dress. It was that ideal dress every girl had to have in their closet. It was the perfect combination of sexy and sweet. You could style it down or dress it up. It was my go-to in times of tremendous stress. I.e., now.

After pulling on a matching set of black lace lingerie, I tugged the dress over my head. I’d have to settle for having my hair up in some sort of messy bun because I had no time to do anything to it. With a quick swipe of eyeliner, a couple of coats of mascara, and some sheer lip gloss, I was as good as I would get. And just in time for the knock on my door.

I blew out a long breath. Everything would be fine. Just as long as my attempt at dinner didn’t kill Walker, everything would be okay. This wasn’t a big deal. Just two people having dinner and, hopefully, some really hot sex afterward.

Another knock sounded, and this time, it was followed by a deep voice. “Stop freaking out, Short-stack, and let me in.”

I let out a huff of exasperation at Walker’s psychic powers and strode to the door. Pulling it open, I asked, “Are you ever going to stop calling me Short-stack?” The exasperation was forced. I loved when he called me that.

Walker shot me a devilish grin that set off a shiver somewhere deep inside me. “But you are short. Short and fucking adorable.”

His words made my cheeks heat. “Come in,” I invited, opting to avoid the nickname business altogether.

Walker stepped into my space, grabbing me around the waist and bringing me flush against his muscled form. “Gonna kiss me hello?” His eyes twinkled, but there was something underneath the gleam. Sadness or anger, I couldn’t quite tell.

I stretched up on my toes and brought my lips to his. He smelled of soap, some woodsy cologne, and that thing I couldn’t quite name. Someone needed to bottle the combination. They could make millions, no…billions. I inhaled deeply as Walker deepened the kiss, tangling his tongue with mine. He groaned as he pulled back.

I studied his face, my gaze trailing over the lines of stress and that unidentifiable emotion in his eyes. “What’s wrong? Is it the call you were out on?” My mind had been toying with that thought all day, imagining millions of horrible scenarios.