Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(76)

She took a sip. “It’s perfect.”

He smiled, then snapped his fingers. “Let me get you a scone I picked up from the bakery yesterday. You’re going to love them.”

“You really don’t need to.”

“I know, but you need to eat something before your long drive.” He pointed a finger at her. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”

She continued to roam, took another sip of the tea. She peeked into a guest room, again taken aback by how perfectly neat everything was. Even Harper would have been impressed. The door to a second room was locked.

She moseyed back into the main room and wondered what he was doing. He’d installed beautiful stone around the fireplace. On the hearth was an iron ash holder with a small shovel and gloves. Her insides did a somersault as she set her mug on the mantel and reached for the gloves. She turned them over in her hands. The left glove had a jagged hole in it.

A knot formed in her belly.

Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out the piece of fabric she’d found the day of Gramma’s funeral when she’d driven with Aspen to the crime scene.

The piece of fabric was a perfect match.

Chief Schneider, she recalled, had looked surprised to see Aspen pull up in his truck that day. Aspen had told the chief he’d heard about the homicide on the scanner.

But that wasn’t true.

She’d been with Aspen at the cemetery when he’d walked to his truck. He hadn’t been wearing a radio, and the scanner inside Aspen’s truck was never turned on when she’d driven with him from the cemetery to the scene of the crime.

How had he known where to go?

Aspen returned with a plate full of scones. He stopped when he saw the gloves in her hands. “What are you doing?” he asked.

She quickly dropped the gloves back where she’d found them. With false bravado she said, “Just admiring the beautiful stone.” Her heart raced as she walked slowly back to the coaching plaques she’d seen earlier.

She needed to get out of here. If she ran, could she make it to her car before he caught up to her?

Her gaze wandered to the picture of Aspen with the team. Isabella stood front and center. Hadn’t he told her he didn’t really know Isabella?

She turned and saw that he’d put down the plate of scones. The torn scrap of glove now rested in his palm. “What is this?” he asked.

Her chest tightened. “I don’t know,” she said. “What is it?”

“Don’t play games with me, Sawyer.”

She took a step toward the front door and nearly fell over. The room was spinning.

He glanced into her mug, and that’s when it dawned on her that he’d drugged her tea.

“You killed Isabella,” she said.

“I did it for you.”

He wasn’t making sense. “For me?”

“For us.”

Her vision blurred. It was as if everything was happening in slow motion as he swept her into his arms and carried her down the hallway and into a bedroom. She wanted to fight him, but her arms wouldn’t move.

He put his face close to her head and breathed in the scent of her before placing her gently on the bed. He hovered over her. The tips of his fingers rested on his chin as he appeared to contemplate his next move.

Fear threatened to take control. She had to stay calm if she wanted to get out of here alive. When he left the room, she was relieved to find she could bend her legs and wiggle her toes. Her right arm wouldn’t budge, but her left arm was mobile.

She’d only had a few sips of tea. Whatever he’d given her explained why he’d taken so long to get the scones. He wanted enough time to pass for the drug to take effect. If it was Rohypnol he’d put in her tea, she would lose muscle control and then experience confusion and drowsiness. She’d lost some muscle control, but her vision was already clearing. The adrenaline pumping through her veins took care of any drowsiness.

How long before such a small amount would wear off?

She inwardly counted to ten to try to calm her racing heart.

He returned to the bedside with scissors and a plastic bag. He looked down at her lovingly and stroked her hair. “Please. We need to talk,” she said.

He shook his head at her as if she were a naughty child. “I can’t hear you. You’re going to have to speak up.”

Her heart rate accelerated as he swept up a handful of her hair above her left eye and cut it off in one clean snip.

He was going to kill her. She thought of her sisters and wished she could tell them she was sorry for causing them so much grief.

She concentrated on breathing. It was as if she were outside her body, watching as he stuffed his nose into the lock of hair and inhaled, long and deep. He then carefully slid her hair into a plastic bag and set both the scissors and the bag on the bedside table. “There,” he said. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about this moment.”

The mattress sank lower when he slid onto the bed next to her and pulled her awkwardly into his arms.

She felt a twitch in her right arm. A good sign.

Her face was pressed against his shoulder and neck. She could smell his aftershave.

“I’ve been saving myself for you.”

She said nothing. Maybe her voice had left her again, she wasn’t sure.

“I did kill Isabella,” he admitted. “Mostly because I knew it might be my only chance at keeping you here in River Rock. As it turned out, I discovered how exciting it is to kill someone.” His eyes widened. “It was a high.” He bent his head, chin to chest, in an attempt to look deep into her eyes. “I never would have known I enjoyed killing at all if your mom hadn’t asked me to kill Peggy and Avery.”