“Hey!” I step up to him and wrap one arm around his neck in a quick hug. “That was sweet. Thanks.”
He snorts, following me toward the tape. He lifts it so I can duck under it, and I am so glad it hasn’t rained for several days. Once again, my footwear is inappropriate for the task at hand.
I recognize the young guy as Officer Peters, and he glances at my heels.
“Uh, ma’am? You aren’t dressed for the scene.”
Drake glances over his shoulder, and I make a quick choice. I bend down, remove my shoes, then hand them to Officer Peters.
“Will you hold these for a second? Thanks, darlin’.”
Before he can respond, I tiptoe down the small ridge to where the driver’s side door is open. Drake gives me a look but doesn’t say anything.
“Hers?” he asks Detective Johnson.
“Presumably. Unlike the last two victims, we have no video footage of her at any point. We possibly have the car going down Main Street, but that’s it. The camera doesn’t get the whole road. We’ve bagged most of the evidence found, including her purse, identification, and her cell phone. Her keys were on the floor and bagged. There was also a cup of takeout coffee and a greasy napkin. They’re both going to the lab for testing.”
Drake’s head bobs up and down in acknowledgement. “And the trunk? Still shut?”
Detective Johnson pauses. “Yes, sir. We were, er… We were waiting for you. Just in case.”
Just in case her dead body is in there.
Drake rolls his eyes. “Are you a homicide detective or a rookie in the academy, Johnson? I’m sure you can break into a trunk in a search for evidence.”
“Well. Ah, yes, sir, but you see…”
Drake’s eyebrows shoot up. “You were instructed to by Sheriff Bates.”
“Yes,” Johnson rambles. “That’s it, sir.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Johnson.”
The man looks appropriately ashamed. “I know, sir.”
I swallow my giggle. Not only is this far too perilous of a situation to be giggling, but it’s just inappropriate. The guy is clearly scared out of his wits. Which, in my opinion, he doesn’t have many of anyway.
“Let’s get this open. Is it unlocked?”
“Ah. That I checked.” Johnson wrings his hands. “Locked.”
A chill snakes down my spine.
Drake steps past me then holds his hand out for me. I take it, and he steadies me on the uneven ground. I smile at him gratefully, if hesitantly, as I take the few steps.
Woodland is not made to be stepped on with nothing but lace-top thigh-highs covering your legs and feet. If I’d had any idea I’d be coming to a crime scene, I’d have put my Chucks in this purse and not worn my favorite stockings.
That’s what I get for trying to pay Drake back.
Trent hands Drake a crowbar. Not the most professional way I’ve seen a cop get into a locked trunk, but whatever floats their boat. Personally, I would have called a locksmith, but what I do know? My success rate in cases in law enforcement while holding a badge are rather dismal. At least, that’s how it seems to me… But it always does.
I shake that shadowy thought off. No—the present isn’t the time to dwell on the past. Ironically, I think I’ll do that in the future.
Look, I never pretended to make sense, okay?
Drake wedges the end of the crowbar between the seal of the trunk and the car, and I wince.
“All right, cupcake?” he asks me.
That’s the first time he’s said that and actually meant the “all right” part.
“Are you sure you should be using a crowbar?” Apparently, I am questioning it. Go figure.
“We’ll cover the cost of the damage,” he answers right before he pushes the crowbar down with a wink at me and the trunk pops open.
Metal clangs through the air as it slams into the bar, and Drake pauses, facing Johnson.
“Y’all pulled prints already?”
“Sir.” He nods.
“Good.” Drake grabs the handle and slowly lifts the trunk. He steals a glance at me, so I look down at my stockinged feet, now marked brown from their dance with the dirt. Dirt that is still beneath my toes.
The deep sound of four rushing, relieved exhales fill my immediate air, and I snap my eyes up.
The trunk is empty.
Where is Annabelle Porter?
Officer Peters hands me back my heels with a sheepish smile. I take them, declining to put them on, instead offering him a light smile as a thank-you.
“There’s nothing here,” Trent surmises after looking in the trunk. “Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway. Just a jacket, a pair of boots, and an empty shopping bag.”
Drake sighs. “Bag it for evidence anyway. Who knows what we could find and where?”
“Sir?” a tentative voice asks from our right.
We all turn although it’s clear Drake was addressed.
“What is it, Winters?” Drake asks, rubbing his hand through his hair the way he always does when he’s stressed.
“We just found a shoe a couple minutes from here,” he responds. “It’s the same size as Annabelle Porter’s roommate claims she wears.”
Drake’s shoulders draw back, pulling him to his full height. He’s an imposing man at the best of times, but when his body is rigid with tension and he’s in his cop mode, he can be downright terrifying.
It’s a good thing I’ve never been afraid of him.
“Show me.” Drake takes off after Winters, each step steady despite the uneven ground.
I share a look with Trent. If there’s exploring to do, my dirty, stockinged feet and I are gonna go along for the ride. They’re probably already laddered under my foot, so what the hell. Let’s do this, tootsies.
Guessing he can’t argue with me, Trent takes my hand and helps me down the semi-steep decline. Oddly enough I have more grip barefooted than I would in any kind of shoes, but some of the natural debris on the ground is on the sharper side. I wince more than once as broken bits of twig and stone and bark dig into the soles of my feet. I have to stop twice along the trip to remove bits that get stuck to the bottom of my stockings.
“Aw, fuck.”
The two words are but a whisper from Drake, but they scream at me as if they’re wired to echo throughout the universe, and I know exactly what they mean. Two tiny words, six meager letters, but they are the heaviest I’ve heard in a long time.
Annabelle Porter is here.
I take a deep, steadying breath and steel myself for the sight that I know will be ahead. My brother’s grip on my hand tightens, but I ease my now-sweaty palm from his hold and move closer to Drake.
“Noelle,” he whispers, a warning in his voice.
No. If she’s here, I want to see her. I have a right to see her. I never knew her, sure. She’s nothing but a name and a victim to me, but I can’t, in any kind of conscience, investigate who did this unless I know what kind of thing we’re up against.
That strong, resolute thought sends a sizzle of strength through me, and I take a place at Drake’s side.
My lungs burn with my gasp.
Ten feet away, curled into a ball, with her back to us and her blond hair covered in dirt, a naked female is lying on the ground. Engraved into her back are the very same symbols we saw just two days ago on Toni and Melissa, and the presence of these four small shapes leaves no doubt in my mind that this is Annabelle.
Drake shoves his hand back, his fingers wide, in a motion for me to stop. He doesn’t need to tell me twice. My stomach is rolling with sadness and misplaced guilt, both emotions interlaced with sympathy for this poor girl. Drake crouches on the ground next to her and touches two fingers to her wrist.
His shoulders heave as he gently sets her wrist back from where he just took it. Then he clasps his hands in front of him and drops his head. He had known the futility of his action before he did it, but I know him. He wanted to make sure we weren’t just assuming. He wanted to make sure she hadn’t just been left here.
Trent wraps his arm around me and pulls me into his side. I swallow hard, bringing my hand up to cover my mouth. I wish I could go to Drake. I wish so fucking much that I could go up to him and just hug him until he forgets the feeling of touching his fingers to a woman’s lifeless wrist.