Page 66 of Dead Love

Some of that was true, but there was so much that was left unaccounted for. And while I didn’t think he would kill that many people, I knew he had wanted to kill one.

Me.

Vincent turned back to my father. “You don’t have enough evidence to lock me up for the Echo deaths and you know it, Sheriff,” he growled.

“You’re right,” he said, crossing his arms, “But I do have enough to put you in jail for what you did to Kora.”

Andrew removed his handcuffs, moving toward Vincent. “You’re under arrest for the abduction of Kora Nova—”

“Tell them, Kora!” Vincent demanded. I stared into Vincent’s eyes, seeing the anger in his soul, everything boiling up inside of him, focused on me. He had wanted to kill me, but I was still there, and I knew that there was something inside of him that burned brighter than his taste for violence. Shallow breaths coursed through me, my heart palpitated in my chest, spots darting my vision. My stomach churned.

Andrew put cuffs around Vincent’s wrists. I opened my mouth to speak, but vomit ripped through me, spilling on the floor. My throat burned and my eyes watered. I wiped my mouth on the back of my wrist.

Vincent let out a guttural roar, his black eyes pinned me in place.

But the words still wouldn’t come out.

PartTwo

CHAPTER23

Vincent

THREE YEARS EARLIER

A low buzzingcame from inside the break room. I knocked on the doorframe and waited. It had been my idea to give her the job, but only because my brother was supposed to be around to deal with her. Instead, I had to keep asking her to cover funeral directing.

It was just me. Picking up the pieces.

A grunt erupted from the occupant, followed by a mumbled, “Come in.” The new employee held an electric shaver in her hand, long strands of dyed-gray hair spread across the floor. The side of her head looked like a lawnmower had destroyed it. A round table was shoved against the wall, and a sleeping bag was stuffed in the corner by the window. The bag of toiletries I had put together from my uncle’s old things rested on the countertop. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping in the mausoleum.

“Can you cover tomorrow too?” I asked. Her pinched face softened, realizing I wasn’t there to reprimand her. She slid the buzzer onto the countertop and waited. While she was good with the families, she was hesitant around me. Understandably so. I was her boss.

“Your brother is still gone?” she asked.

I didn’t know when he was coming back. “You’ll get your overtime,” I said. “And the bookkeeper will be in. She’ll help—”

A vibration rumbled through the ground, the bass of progressive metal music blasting through the building. The employee looked at me, raising her brow. I turned in the direction of the house.

So Justin had finally decided to show up, then.

“Excuse me,” I said. I closed the break room door behind me, then stomped through the building and the cemetery, toward the house. The melody shook the ground. Apparently, he was enjoying his time off work. I clenched my fists, then opened the front door.

The music crashed into me, but otherwise, the house was empty. I glanced in the backyard; the dogs were out back, avoiding the racket. I turned off the stereo, an eerie silence falling over the house. My boots fell heavy on the floors as I searched for him, but every room was closed off. A light came from the gap at the bottom of the bathroom door.

I wasn’t one to interrupt someone’s privacy, but for all I knew, he was passed out with his head in the toilet after a bender. We had done that a lot when we were younger.

“Where were you?” I asked. No answer. I cleared my throat. “You in there?”

“Yep.”

Not passed out, but just as irritating. “You can hear that shit from the funeral home.”

“Not anymore.”

I shook my head, then continued down the hallway. But something stopped me. This wasn’t like him; he was full of smart-ass comments and had given up too easily. I checked his room: everything was in its place. There wasn’t even a dirty shirt in the hamper. But a single piece of paper caught my eye, perfectly folded in the trash bin, as if he knew he might have to dig it out later. A pamphlet. I fished it out and opened it:What Your Prognosis Means,followed by more information. But one line stood out to me.

It was the same disease that our mother had died from.