Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(37)

“Remember the picture I took of Kylie’s apartment, the one of her living room?”

He didn’t respond, so she went on. “I looked up the book and the author, and it turns out he had a book signing on the same day Kylie was murdered. I was hoping someone could find out if maybe Kylie met up with someone at the convention.”

“I’ll talk to Perez. See what he knows.”

Sawyer was glad he was receptive to at least checking it out. “About Kylie’s boyfriend . . . aren’t you afraid they might be rushing to judgment?”

“It’s not our call to make.”

Something wasn’t sitting well with Sawyer. Instinct and all that. Something about the look on his face and the whole situation that made her question whether he was guilty. She wondered if she would be able to talk to him when she returned to Sacramento.

“Most cases are solved within the first forty-eight hours,” Palmer said. “The longer the case remains open, the more difficult the investigation becomes.”

“Sure. But that doesn’t make the boyfriend guilty.”

“Listen,” Palmer said. “I get it. You’ve wanted to be a crime reporter for a long time. You’ve worked hard. You’re passionate about what you do, and this is your first official—”

“All true,” she interrupted, “but nothing you said has anything to do with what I’m telling you. If the boyfriend is guilty, then he’s guilty.”

“You saw him in his truck, crying. You talked to neighbors, and you know he dated Kylie for five years. You’re feeling a connection. But we don’t know what evidence the police have found.”

He was right. She needed to trust the authorities to do their job, just as she wanted Palmer to trust her.

“I’ll see you next week,” Palmer said. “Stay safe.”





CHAPTER NINETEEN

Except for a gauzy stream of moonlight coming through the window, the room was dark. He lay in bed and wondered why he’d fought the urge to kill again for so long. Last night had blown him away.

Exhilarating.

He closed his eyes to relive the moment. There hadn’t been any blood. Maybe a few scratches on her tender skin caused by the sharp bits of bark covering the tree. It was her face, her expression, the way her shiny, long hair stuck to the trunk of the tree, spread out like a fan around her face. The picture she made had been visually striking, intense, and unnerving all at once.

She had tried to fight him off, but once he had her restrained beneath the ropes, she’d grown quiet.

She was so beautiful.

He hadn’t been able to resist her. It wasn’t until he rested his mouth on hers that she started protesting again. That’s when he realized how much he liked it when her brow furrowed and her nostrils flared. He also liked her body wriggling against his chest when he pressed his body on hers.

He inhaled, did his best to calm his racing heart.

Last night had been nothing like the others. He’d snuck up behind both girls and swung the hammer fast and swift, crushing their skulls. So much blood. So fleeting and anticlimactic. Both times he’d felt nothing!

But that was then, and this was now.

He was calling the shots and making his own decisions.

A giggle escaped him. He clapped his hand over his mouth.

Killing the girl had been more than pleasing. Maybe because she had never, at least that he knew of, made fun of him or teased him like the other girls had.

“Isabella,” he said aloud, feeling each consonant on the tip of his tongue.

When he’d finished touching and playing around with her, he’d wrapped his hands around her neck. The last thing he’d expected was to enjoy listening to her beg for her life. But that’s exactly what had happened. Listening to the unsteady shrill of her voice while watching her fear bloom—slowly at first, like a seedling sprouting from the ground, and then shifting suddenly to full-blown horror—that’s when he was brought to the very peak of sexual excitement.

A first for him.

He’d killed chickens and other animals to get off, but that was nothing compared to what he’d experienced less than twenty-four hours ago.

He smiled into the darkness.

Killing the girl had given him wings. He was taking flight; he could feel it, the lightness within and the breathlessness as joyful tears came to his eyes.

He would kill again. How could he not?





CHAPTER TWENTY

There was a knock at Aria’s one-bedroom garage studio before the door swung open. She shut her laptop and stood, surprised to see Harper arrive with a pet carrier. She hurriedly scooped Mr. Baguette, her cockatiel, off her shoulder and put him in his cage before crossing the room to shut the door. “What’s going on? Where did you get that carrier?”

“I went to the store. No way was I going to let Raccoon get his claws into me.” Harper set it on the floor.

Aria made a face. “Raccoon?”

“Sawyer named him. Not me.”

“Why can’t he stay with you? You guys have a lot more room than I do. And Mr. Baguette won’t be able to wander around outside of his cage.”

“Nate is allergic. You should have seen his eyes this morning. They’re puffy. He’s practically blind, and his nose was red and super dry.”