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“What is it?”

“There’s no gas.”

“No gas? What do you mean? You used all that fuel already? When do you sleep?”

There’s no time for pointless questions. “How long until you start your patrol?” I ask, diverting the subject away from my lack of rest.

“I’m leaving soon.”

“I need you to bring me more gas. Something isn’t right here and I need to go look around.”

“I’m going to need you to stop being so bloody cryptic and spit it out.”

“I think the killer was here. The gas cans are empty, and fuel doesn’t just magically disappear.” My psyche may be crumbling and fragile, especially with the hallucinations, but I know I haven’t been riding the four-wheeler in a fugue state. I’m not waking up in weird places or experiencing memory loss.

“Shit. You better be armed, Graves,” he commands. The Captain persona slipping perfectly back into position.

“Yes, sir.”

“Vest too, I fucking mean it. I’ll be there in under an hour. Be. Fucking. Safe.”

“Yes, sir.”

Click.

After checking out the property, I find nothing amiss so I head into the forest. Starting behind the shed, I weave my way through the foliage. The unmistakable odour of gasoline invades my nostrils, and I try to follow the dizzying scent.

Deeper and deeper into the woods I venture, coming across a pile of clothes. Scrutinizing the scene, there’s no tent, remnants of a campfire, impressions in the earth, or trash. There aren’t any signs of camping whatsoever.Absolutely no reason for a fresh pile of clothes to be plopped in the middle of a small clearing.

My suspicion mounts as I scan the area, but nothing else immediately jumps out at me. Without any gloves on me, I grab a stick to pull the garments apart. A black tank top with a large tear down the front and dark grey joggers sit in the damp grass. Inspecting them, I know without a doubt they are Mallory’s. The pants are covered with old blood, the once red colour now brown from oxidation, mixed with the dirt smudged across the cloth. The front of the pants are completely saturated from thighs to knees.That better not be her blood.While the back of the legs are dirty, there are only small transfer stains of blood. Mallory, or someone else, most likely wiping their dirty hands on the cleaner area of fabric.

The overwhelming scent of fuel emits from the clothes. So…this is what happened to the gas my uncle brought me. The killer’s fucking taunting me, screwing with me on as many levels as possible; siphoning my quad tank, dumping my gas reserves all over Mallory’s clothes, and making any trace evidence practically useless now.

Does he know I’m onto him or does he just like having the upper hand? I opt to leave the clothes where they are, they most likely won’t do anyone any good. If I turn them in, it will just tie up resources better used somewhere else. The DNA will be compromised and degraded after soaking in the fuel for at least a few hours, if not more. I turn and start to make my way back to the house.

Three paces into the trek, the sound of paper rattling in the breeze catches my attention. It’s off to my left and I couldn’t care less about it, but I’m not one to leave litterin the forest. However, the more I look at it, the more peculiar the scene becomes. A branch pierces through the middle of it. I doubt that would occur naturally, unless there was a windstorm…which there hasn’t been.

Making my way over to it has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. I look around, but there’s nothing amiss.Is someone there?Carefully, I pull the worn paper off the tree branch. The message scrawled across the page chills my bones, and shoots my heart straight into my fucking throat.

I didn’t even have to force her out of those clothes, she begged me to taste that sinfully sweet cunt.

Catch me if you can.

Crushing the note in my fist, jealousy crashes over me. Rage like I’ve never felt before threatens to sweep me away and I fight to stay rational. No way she would choose that slimy old fuck over me. Unless I’m wrong…and her kidnapper isn’t my fellow officer. What if it’s someone new? He isn’t following his usual pattern by engaging with me. Could this be someone I previously arrested? Someone trying to get back at me? Fuck, I don’t know anymore. Did I do something to upset her? Am I losing her? Why would she leave me?

She wouldn’t. The blood on her clothes proves to me she’s still in danger, and I need to get my ass moving. I need to find Mallory,today.And when I find her, I’ll fucking skin this piece of shit alive, no matter who it is. Dragging his torture out at a glacial pace, I’ll subject himto everything he put my woman through and more. I’ll make him regret the day he ever laid his fucking eyes onmyMallory. Then, when I end his miserable existence, and put her nightmares in a grave alongside him, I’ll make Mallory my wife.

Chapter Twenty-three

Mallory

“MALLORY!”

I’m roused from the pits of unconsciousness by another body crashing into mine. Hands on my shoulders tighten in a death grip, shaking aggressively. Pain shoots through my body and my head throbs anew as I’m jostled, forcibly dragged back to the world of the living.

“Please wake up. Please fucking wake up.” The female voice sobs quietly beside me then breathes in deep. “What did you do to her?” she snarls. “Why isn’t she waking up?”

“She’s fine,” my captor replies nonchalantly.