Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
“I have to get going. I have an appointment with the detective on the case.”
It was an easy lie, based half in truth, and it got me off the phone, and I sank onto the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths until my anxiety dissipated.
I waited to leave the hotel until rush hour was in full swing, wanting as many eyes as possible to see me, to be available should I need help.
Banking down my insecurity, I walked into the pharmacy and made quick work of tossing things into the hand cart.
A two pack of leggings. A bag of three mens black tees. Slides for shoes. Makeup, bath stuff, a charger, notepad, and a bottle of medicine for the aches and pains and the now throbbing headache behind my eyes.
I grabbed sunglasses at the register for good measure, slipping them and the shoes on as soon as I stepped out of the store, feeling a lot less conspicuous as soon as I did so.
I felt almost human again after a long shower, and the painstaking application of my makeup. Sure, if you were aware the bruises were there, you could see them, but if you weren’t, you would assume it was just a trick of light.
Taking a deep breath, I opened my phone to hail another ride.
I didn’t get Julie again, of course, but there was a woman available.
I asked her to drive me to my house.
“Whoa, what’s going on here?” she asked, driving down the street.
Leaning between the streets, I saw what she was seeing.
News vans outside of my house.
“Wait,” I said, voice a bit frantic. “Stop,” I added. “Sorry. Ah, I can’t handle that right now,” I said, making her turn to look over her shoulder at me.
“This is for you?” she asked, her brown eyes going round. “Wait… oh. Oh,” she said, wincing. And I knew she’d seen the news. That she knew. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Get me out of here,” I demanded, voice desperate as one of the newscasters was staring at the car idling on the street.
“Yeah, of course,” she said, whipping the car into a quick K-turn. “Where am I taking you?” she asked.
“The police station,” I said, getting a nod out of her.
“No problem,” she said. “You okay?” she asked as I sat in the back, staring at the police station as she idled out front.
“I will be,” I told her, climbing out as I added a little extra to her tip, then tucking my phone away as I walked up the steps of the building.
“Can I help you?”
“I, ah, yes. I need to speak to Detective Vaughn,” I said to the woman in uniform standing at the desk.
“What is it regarding?” she asked, distracted by something she was looking at on her computer.
“I’m, ah, I’m the survivor of the Silent Sadist,” I said, watching as her head snapped up. Her keen eyes moved over my face, lingering on the spots where the makeup was barely covering my bruises, then down to my wrist that was still wrapped in gauze and vet tape.
“Of course,” she said, smile warm.
Then she led me into the precinct and a large, open room full of desks manned entirely, it seemed, by men.
I spotted Detective Wells Vaughn almost immediately.
He’d changed into a dark blue suit, this time pressed, and his hair was neat, and his face shaven.
He was even more handsome than I remembered, my memory a little clouded with my trauma.
“Miss Yates,” he said, moving to stand, buttoning his jacket with one hand in a way I’d always thought was sexy.
“Mari,” I corrected, moving closer as he grabbed a chair and moved it in front of his desk.
“Mari,” he said, and my name sounded really smooth coming from between his lips. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” he said, waving to the seat as he went back around his desk, waiting for me to be seated, then undoing that button to sit down again as well.
“I wasn’t planning on coming in today. Until I found out that I just narrowly survived an encounter with the Silent Sadist.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Detective Wells Vaughn
Shit.
Yeah.
I’d been kicking myself for not telling her the whole truth about the attack the night before. But she’d been so withdrawn and in shock that I was worried about piling anything else on until she’d gotten a chance to get checked out, catch some sleep, and recover a little bit from the event.
I should have figured the media would get to her before I could again.
“I was going to tell you,” I assured her, noticing how the harsh overhead light made the makeup over her bruises appear yellow. She’d done a good job covering them up, though. And from a distance, the colored vet tape on her wrists could be mistaken for some sort of bracelets. “The news beat me to it.”