Page 41 of A Curse On Black Lake (Black Lake Gothic Cowboys #1)

Chapter thirty-three

Eliana

By the time we got out of bed and dressed, we ended up way behind schedule, but I have to admit it was nice to …

be. It was surprising how quiet the Spirits were while Killian held me.

They became a whispering background noise.

It makes me want to crawl in his bed every night to have that kind of relief.

But that’s not fair to Killian, or me because he is someone I could get used to.

When I make it downstairs, Killian is sitting at the table writing. My stomach growls, and I head to the fridge to start breakfast.

“I’ll help you in a second,” he grunts.

“What are you writing?” I ask him.

“I’m at a point where it’s hard to keep everything straight in my head. It doesn’t help that I feel like I’m missing a key detail in this murder investigation. Nothing adds up. This was part of my process when I was a Captain.”

“Do you think Wyatt is cooking something up?” I ask him, pouring coffee into my mug.

His tongue worries his bottom lip as he writes, wholly focused on his paper.

Hot coffee burns my skin. I curse, setting the cup on the counter, and run my hand under cold water.

He chuckles. “I’m not sure,” he says.

I wipe up my mess and have to take little sips from my mug so it doesn’t spill again.

I turn around, and he’s pinning his lips together, trying not to laugh at me because I was too busy staring at him.

My gaze trails down his body to find his boots already on, with dust covering them.

“We’re you already outside?” I ask him.

“Yeah, let the goats out and fed the dogs,” he says.

“Did we weather the storm?”

“Yeah, for the most part. A couple shingles blew off the barn. I need to get that fixed.”

Killian drops his pencil and comes to my side, tossing bacon in a pan. I stir our eggs, and he flips the bacon.

Our arms brush, and I fight the desire to lean into him.

He bumps me again, reaching around my waist to grab the plates I pulled out. He puts a few pieces of bacon on each plate, and I scoop the eggs. We move like a well-oiled machine, like we’ve been doing this for years.

We sit down, and Killian eats while he writes. I watch him as he multitasks, scribbling things down then he drops his pencil and looks up at me.

“What?” I ask, mid-chew of my bacon.

He winces and takes a sip of coffee. “It’s only a theory, but what if he made a mistake? Do you remember the details I told you about the woman on my property?”

“Yeah, she was naked, you found the flower, you said her hair was dyed. I think you had a little baggie of it. Looked kind of blond to me. And you said a K was carved into her skin.”

“Why do you think he would start dyeing hair? Why the change?” he asks.

I stop chewing and place my fork calmly on my plate. My palms sweat and I jump out of my skin as Killian’s booted foot slides next to mine. I hate thinking about this. I hate thinking about how this woman suffered, how all the others suffered.

“I don’t know. Maybe because she wasn’t good enough for him?”

“Or because he was doing one of two things, for some reason trying to frame me, which I guess he was successful with. The other is he messed up, so he had to make it look like someone else did it. When in reality, it’s the same guy the whole time.

It’s like his morbid way of saving face,” Killian says.

His eyes are bright, like he’s finally found the missing piece of the puzzle.

Despite the circumstances, I can tell he was probably an amazing investigator.

If I had to call the police, Killian is the one I’d want there.

I perk my ears to see if the Spirits have anything to say about Killian’s idea, but they’re silent.

“Guys like him are patient. If he couldn’t find what he was looking for, then he was rushing. If that’s the case, why dye their hair and carve into their skin now? That’s not a rushed thing. That’s a change in modus operandi,” he says, and scribbles on his paper.

I lift a shoulder and keep eating. It doesn’t make sense. None of it does.

“I’m sorry, this is terrible. You don’t need to hear this,” he says.

“It’s okay. But has a woman ever been put on someone’s property before? That takes time. I don’t think he was rushing. So why does it seem like there were other motives?” I ask him.

Killian tilts his head and writes something down. “I don’t think so, at least from what I can remember. I believe it’s always been public places, or the edge of the lake. And that’s a good question…” he trails off.

“And why now? Is the timing important?” I ask him, a little freaked out, but it feels like he’s getting closer.

“I don’t know. Although it makes sense if we factor in the things Wyatt doesn’t know, like the Spirits, and your Grams. The Spirits said I knew him. With that information, it would mean the timing is important, and he didn’t make mistakes but made very intentional changes.”

Killian’s jaw ticks in frustration. He’s back to where we started.

“Keep in mind the Spirits could be referring to the one time you shook his hand at church, or he’s someone you arrested eight years ago. That’s what I mean when I say you have to be careful using their word as a foundation,” I tell him.

“I guess it’s plausible, but anything is at this point,” he says.

“There are no coincidences in Black Lake. And I have a sneaking suspicion maybe it’s linked to the reason I was sent to you.”

“I don’t know how. This guy has been killing women for years. He has never deviated from his signature until now, and you’ve never had a problem before.”

“So then what would be a reason to deviate other than to frame you for seemingly no reason? Is it a game to him?” I ask. My brain stopped working because my gut tells me it’s nothing either of us could guess because it’s too horrid to comprehend.

“With my luck, probably,” he grunts.

“What do you know, Killian?”

He puffs out a breath and leans back in his chair. Killian reiterates the facts we know for sure, and he pauses. “Wyatt has all of that information. But he kept pushing.”

“We found the campsite with clothes, the hair I found in the tree, and a sprig of lavender, but I don’t think that was related,” Killian says.

“Have you found any of these clues in other cases like this woman’s?”

“No, we’ve never had this much evidence, from what I could recall. But I also have no proof that the campsite and clothes had anything to do with the murder,” Killian says.

“Is there a way to see if there is a connection?”

Killian shakes his head. “The only way to do that would be DNA testing. Assuming the weather didn’t affect it. Which keeps bringing me back to motive. I can’t surmise a motive from all of this. We couldn’t then and still can’t now.”

“Does he need a motive?” I ask.

Killian shoves a couple bites, of eggs into his mouth and nods, writing another note down. “Yes, motive, however strange or illogical, there usually is one. Sometimes the motive is as simple as anger. Other times it was purely not to get caught.”

“Did you work on the cases for those women found on the edges of town?” I ask him.

Black Lake is a dumping ground because of our location, and yet another reason why death surrounds this town, almost as if it’s intentional.

But now we know it’s Cassandra Radcliffe’s curse. There’s no other explanation.

“Yes and no, we caught a few. But most of those cases go unsolved, lack of evidence or funding.”

“That’s so sad,” I whisper and wince at the same time.

The Spirits increase their volume as they scream, and I want to scream with them. The pressure is building, and I can feel myself breaking under it.

“The flower keeps hanging me up. Like you said, it was dried with purpose. I’m starting to think he know’s the story, and its significance,” he says.

“Which means he’s from here, or lived here long enough to see it,” I whisper.

Killian’s foot taps mine, and I focus on it to ground me in the now instead of letting my mind run wild, but it already took off.

“Have you considered maybe he was trying to match someone’s hair? As if he were trying to recreate someone?” I ask him.

He tilts his head and studies me. “It’s feasible. But my first question is why, and second, how do you make that connection?”

“I don’t know … call it a feeling,” I mutter, suddenly not hungry anymore.

“Did the Spirits say that?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I’m a quick learner, I guess.”

Killian hums. “It could be nothing, and he was experimenting. Or maybe you’re right, but who would he be replicating?”

I nod as tears spring to my eyes. “I don’t know, but why did this all have to happen when Grams died? I can’t breathe, Killian.” Hot tears spill down my cheeks, and I angrily wipe them away.

“Eliana, I—”

My chair flies back as I stand too fast, interrupting him. I need air. I can’t breathe. The Spirits are moaning and screaming, and my head feels like it’s going to split open.

“We’re behind schedule. We need to get to work,” I snap.

I run out the door before Killian can say a word. I don’t want to hear it. I want the Spirits to shut up.

What I wouldn’t give to have Killian hug me again, not because I’m upset, but because he wants to comfort me and I want to be comforted.

I feel like I’m suffocating under the weight of unanswered questions and an impending doom.

Killian’s boots crunch on the gravel behind me as I head to the barns. I need to ride Winnie.

The Spirits continue to scream in my mind, and I do my best to focus on walking, but I feel like I’m reaching a boiling point.

After I get Winnie saddled up, I take off into a pasture.

“Eliana!” Killian yells.