Page 8 of A Curse On Black Lake (Black Lake Gothic Cowboys #1)

Chapter six

Killian

Puffing out a breath, I unzip my jacket pocket and pull it out. Great, it’s Wyatt.

“Wyatt,” I grunt.

“Hey, Killian, do you have a second?” he asks.

“Not really,” I mutter.

“Okay, well, we need you to come to the station,” he says.

I squeeze the leather horn on Daisy’s saddle before responding.

“Is that a request?” I ask him, gritting my teeth so hard my jaw aches.

“Please don’t make me come and get you myself because that’s what I would have to do,” Wyatt says.

“Fine, I’ll be there in a couple hours.”

“Killian,” Wyatt drawls.

“Wyatt, I will be there, but I also have a ranch to run,” I snap and hang up the phone. The animals have been fed, but I need to check on another herd, and that’s going to take a couple of hours. I click my tongue to get Daisy going, and whistle for my dogs.

At 11 this morning, I didn’t bother with a shower and got in the truck to go to the station.

The moment I walk in, deputies will see me differently, especially since I used to be one of them.

I don’t particularly care what people think about me, but I won’t have my father’s name smeared.

The talk in this town spreads like wildfire, and there’s no telling what beast of a rumor will start by the time I walk out the doors.

By now everyone knows a body was found on my property, so the obvious suspect is me. I would be a terrible criminal if I killed someone, posed their body, and then called the cops, all on my property. But I know Wyatt is doing his job, and he has to cross all the t’s and dot all the i’s.

In the past, we’ve found these women in more public areas, the side of the road by the lake, the park, a parking lot.

This guy is either getting bolder, or smarter, or both.

And I have to admit to myself, I would fit the profile.

I’m quiet, keep to myself, and I know how to avoid law enforcement because I was the law.

It would explain how I’ve avoided being caught all this time.

But I’m not a psychopath, like this guy seems to be.

Then again, psychopaths are chameleons. They can be whoever they need to be to get what they want.

I park my truck and take a deep breath before walking into the station with my head held high. Ignoring all the eyes, I head straight for Sheriff Wyatt’s office. He was finally named Sheriff about a year after I left.

The door is closed, and I force myself to knock, tamping down the desire to throw it open in anger.

I don’t want to be here.

“Come in!” Wyatt yells.

I open it, and he looks up from his computer. “Oh, hey, Killian. Let’s go into the room across the hall.”

I look over my shoulder despite knowing he’s talking about the interrogation room. “You’re kidding,” I grumble.

He forces a smile and leads the way to the room with a file in his hand. I plop down into a seat and lean back. If anything, I’ll be able to get information out of him to see where the case is going. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.

“You couldn’t have showered before coming in, Kill? Damn,” Wyatt grumbles.

I lick my lips, hiding my smile. I don’t know what he expected. “Well Wyatt, you didn’t exactly give me time to get all pretty for you, but I suppose I could freshen up in the bathroom, get some lipstick on to kiss your ass, which I’m sure is what you’re hoping for.”

He glares at me and flips the file open. “You’re an ass. I don’t want you here as much as you don’t want to be. But I know you understand why you have to be.”

I stare at him blankly because I’m starting to wonder if I need a lawyer.

“When did you find the body?” he asks.

“Probably about one in the afternoon.”

“Can you tell me if you touched the body?” he asks.

“I already told you, I checked her pulse to see if she was alive.”

He writes something down.

“Why was she found on your land?” Wyatt asks.

I lean back. “Hell if I know, easy pickin’s?”

“It’s not like that part of your land is easy to get to. Why there?” Wyatt asks.

The honest answer is I don’t know. None of it makes sense, so I redirect the questions. “What’s the time of death?” I ask him.

Wyatt frowns, and I can tell he’s unsure if he should tell me anything.

“Why was her hair dyed? He’s never done that before,” I ask him. The bodies we’ve found in the past have always been well cared for. The scene is spotless, exactly like the one on my land.

“You’re sure that’s the only place you touched her?” he asks again. The bodies in the past haven’t had a single fingerprint or trace on one on them.

“I am.” I state.

“That’s interesting,” he mumbles.

“Where were you the night before last?” he asks.

I lean back and study him. “Should I get a lawyer?” I ask him. He’s asking me to provide an alibi, which means there’s a reason he’s looking at me as a suspect. This is bad, and confusing because I know what I did and didn’t do, and I certainly never killed anyone in cold blood.

Wyatt writes something down, likely building his timeline.

“Look, you know I didn’t do this. If I did, I would be the dumbest criminal on the planet because that would mean I’ve killed multiple women and have been getting away with it for years, but then I randomly decide to give myself up by killing a woman, leaving her on my land, and calling you?

Yeah, that makes a lot of sense,” I spit.

“That’s not what I—”

“No, I’m done. If you want to arrest me, arrest me. I told you what happened, so that’s what happened,” I grumble and push my chair back leaving the old interrogation room.

Every deputy and secretary stares at me as I leave. Whatever they found must be pretty solid, and it doesn't matter if we all know better.

I hustle down the stairs to my truck and keep my head down.

“Killian!” Wyatt yells after me.

I ignore him and walk one more car length to my truck. But the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

“Killian,” Wyatt says, right behind me.

I stop and face him, tugging the brim of my hat down.

“Look, we found … the skin on her back was carved…he’s never done that before.”

“What the hell does that have to do with me?” I ask him.

“Well, it was a K. It was … fresh. The coroner says it was done after she died, as if it was a literal signature,” Wyatt says the last part quietly.

That’s what I saw.

I look around, and a few people walking down the street glance at me, but no one is within earshot.

“So what you’re telling me is you think, and I’m using ‘think’ lightly because this is all bullshit and you know it, you think that some sick asshole cutting into a woman with the letter K, is somehow linked to me?”

“It’s strong evidence, Killian,” Wyatt says.

“Strong evidence of what, Sheriff.”

Wyatt’s jaw ticks. “Evidence that you are part of this crime.”

He puffs out a breath. “Look, I’m at a point where we don’t have the resources for this anymore, and the other women’s cases have gone cold.

We’re up to ten now, Killian. Ten women have been killed and dumped in Black Lake, with similar signatures, and no one has seen a thing. I might have to call the FBI.”

I sigh and lift my hat before running my hand through my hair.

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m a lot of things, Wyatt, but I ain’t a liar or a killer. What I told you is the truth.”

“So give me something,” he says.

I sigh, trying to think of anything that would help.

Wyatt stares at me, and my neck tickles.

He knows I don’t have anything because I don’t leave my property unless I have to.

I didn’t leave that day I found the woman, or the day before it.

It would have left me ample time to do everything that bastard did to her.

It doesn’t matter if it’s illogical, criminally speaking.

It makes sense that I’m the first person they’re looking at.

“I’m going back to work,” I tell him and get in my truck before he can utter another word.

I need to find an alibi, and break the finger they’re pointing at me for this before they arrest my ass and toss me in jail. I’ll lose what my father and his before that spent generations to build, and I know I couldn’t survive it. The ranch is the last thing that matters to me.