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My hand goes to my mouth and covers a gasp. “How?”

“No fucking clue. I’ve never seen anything like this before. The local paper reports on town events, sports, and minor violations or traffic accidents. Whoever tipped them made it sound like it’s a serial killer.”

“Serial killer? How could anyone know?” Even if they are not off the mark.

He shrugs. “There have been reports about the missing women and I guess someone is connecting the dots.”

My stomach lurches. “This is not good, Jake.”

He fists his hair. Lets go. “I know. My boss is riding my ass and made me talk to the press.”

Talk to the press? I don’t want to ask. I don’t know what I’ll do if the answer is yes. But I have to ask. “Do they know about me?” My voice is a whisper.

He shakes his head. “No, I said nothing to anyone about you. You know I wouldn’t.”

Relief floods me and weakens my legs. I slide to the floor and sit against the tiled wall. “But how could they know about the body?”

His lips thin. “It could have been anyone in the chain of information. The only person I know for sure wouldn’t leak the information is the chief because he hates journalists.”

“Who else knows about it?”

“The medical examiner, other cops, the funeral home who retrieved the body. It’s safe to assume that any of them could have gossiped about it and said something to a friend or spouse, and it got spread from there.”

I’m biting my nails. A habit I quit years ago. “I don’t like this. If it’s out to everyone like that, it means the killer also knows.”

He sighs again, sounding tired. “I know. And with the attention I’m getting because of the press, and families asking for information, and the gossipmongers, it will be a lot harder to get you here.”

“We’ll have to lie low for a while.”

“Worst fucking timing. Just when we have a break.”

“Maybe I can—”

“No. The last thing we need is some photographer taking your picture going into the building and someone recognizing you and making speculations. I promised no one would find out about you, and I intend to keep that promise.”

My eyes fill with tears. The emotions of the day catch up with me. “Thank you.”

His gaze searches my face, tenderness in his eyes. “Are you crying?” His voice softens.

“No.” I swallow the knot in my throat. “Just tired and emotionally drained.”

The familiar squeak of his chair greets me. It’s a comforting sound. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess. I really am.”

“No. I don’t regret it. I want to help.”

Silence. No words are exchanged, just the sounds of our breathing and our gaze locked on each other. He leans back in the chair and runs his free hand down his face.

“Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“I think he’s dumping another body.”

Journal

Well, well, well.

He found my little gift faster than I expected.