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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Morning light streamed through our bedroom windows, turning dust motes into floating diamonds and illuminating the trees that were clustered around our property in a way that should have been beautiful. Instead, the brightness stabbed through my eyelids like tiny daggers, intensifying the nausea that had woken me twenty minutes earlier.
I sat on the edge of our bed, nibbling a piece of dry toast and sipping lukewarm peppermint tea, trying to breathe through the wave of sickness that had become my daily ritual. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered spectacular views of the dense trees and the distant ribbon of the Potomac.
On any other morning, I might have appreciated the way the rising sun painted everything in gold. Today, it was just another assault on my queasy stomach.
Jack emerged from the bathroom, already dressed for the day in black BDUs and a black polo shirt with the KGSO logo over the breast—he was dressed for justice. The scent of his soap and shampoo wafted across the room, but even that familiar, usually comforting smell made my stomach roll.
“Coffee’s ready downstairs,” he said, buckling his duty belt.
I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. “God, please don’t mention coffee.”
Jack paused, studying me. “That bad today?”
I nodded, taking another small bite of toast. “The weird thing is, the thought of coffee is absolutely repulsive. The smell is—” I cut myself off, breathing slowly through my nose. “Yesterday I would have killed for a cup. Today, the smell alone might kill me.”
“Pregnancy is very strange,” Jack said, sitting beside me on the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress. “My mom said she couldn’t stand the smell of garlic when she was pregnant with me. Dad couldn’t even eat it in the house. Then the day after I was born, she demanded Italian food with extra garlic bread.”
I smiled weakly. “Maybe don’t talk about food right now. Let’s hope my coffee aversion is temporary. I can’t imagine facing the dead every day without caffeine.”
Jack put his hand on my stomach, his fingers spread wide as if he were protecting us both. I was only a few weeks along, and wouldn’t be showing for weeks yet. But the simple gesture grounded me, a reminder that the misery would pass and something miraculous waited for us on the other side.
Jack’s face softened as he looked at my still-flat stomach, his usual sharp focus giving way to something gentler, more vulnerable. Sometimes I forgot how much he’d always wanted children, how ready he was for this next chapter of our lives.
“What’s the plan for today?” I asked, setting my mug aside.
Jack’s expression shifted into a hard line. “The search for Emmett Parker is still ongoing. I’ve got teams working in shifts—uniformed officers doing door-to-door in the neighborhood around his apartment, plainclothes checking transit hubs, hotels, the works. Derby’s monitoring cell towers and credit card activity.”
“Any leads?” I asked, my heart sinking at the grim set of his jaw.
“Nothing solid yet. At least we haven’t found another body by the side of the road.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I’m heading out to join the search team in Richmond. Richmond PD is letting us drive this operation even though it’s on their turf.”
I nodded, worry gnawing at me. “Be careful, Jack. If New Dawn Fellowship is as dangerous as Vivica says?—”
“I know,” he said, cutting me off gently. “I’ll have Cole and Martinez with me. We’ll be fine.”
But I could see the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he was choosing his words to avoid alarming me. Jack never downplayed danger unless he was truly concerned. This was the part about being a cop’s wife I hated, knowing when he walked out the door it might be the last time I saw him.
“What about Vivica?” I asked. “Did she make it to the airport?”
“The plane just took off,” he said. “My deputies said there were no issues. It was a smooth transport.”
I nodded, relieved that at least one potential victim was out of harm’s way.
“Emmett was the weak link,” I said. “He’s just a kid. No private security.”
Jack grimaced and I knew it weighed on him. “You heading to the funeral home?”
“I want to get started on those autopsies. Max Ortega and Derek Rogan should be pretty straightforward, given the obvious cause of death, but there might be details we missed.”
Jack leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Call me if you find anything. And Jaye—” his eyes met mine, serious and intent, “—be careful. We still don’t know who’s involved in all this.”
“I’m going to be locked in my lab with two dead bodies,” I said, attempting humor. “I think they’re past doing me harm.”
Jack didn’t smile. “Promise me you’ll keep your phone on you. And lock the doors.”
“I promise,” I said. “Now go find Emmett.”
He kissed me again, lingering a moment longer than usual, his hand cupping my cheek. When he pulled away, his eyes were dark with an emotion I couldn’t quite name.
“I love you,” he said simply.
“I love you too,” I replied, watching as he headed for the door. “Both of us do.”
That earned me a smile before he disappeared, his footsteps echoing down the hall.
I sat in the quiet of our bedroom for a few more minutes, listening to the sounds of Jack moving around downstairs—keys jingling, the distant murmur of his voice as he called dispatch, and finally the soft thud of the front door closing. The Tahoe’s engine rumbled to life outside, and then faded as he drove away.
The house felt emptier without him, larger somehow, even though I knew Doug was asleep a floor below me. He wouldn’t be up for a while—Doug and mornings didn’t exactly go together. I rubbed my arms against a chill that wasn’t entirely physical and forced myself to stand. The nausea had subsided to a manageable level, and I had work to do.
* * *
The funeral home parking lot was empty when I pulled in just after seven, my Suburban the only vehicle apart from the other Suburban parked under the portico, ready for Victor Mobley’s funeral later that morning. I made sure to park where Sheldon could still get the body loaded and lead the procession to the grave site.
The funeral home loomed against the brightening sky, its red-brick facade and white columns picture perfect. I waved to the Hendersons, an elderly couple who faithfully sat on their front porch across the street every morning, rain or shine, watching the town wake up. Mrs. Henderson lifted her coffee mug in greeting, and Mr. Henderson tipped his hat. Their presence was comforting, a reminder of the normal, everyday world that continued to exist alongside murder and cults and mysterious tattoos. How strange it must be to live in that ordinary world.
I unlocked the side door and walked into the mudroom, leaving my bag hanging on the hook. I stuck my phone in the zipper pocket on my sweats because I promised Jack I’d keep it on me. But the reality was I never checked my phone when I was in the middle of an autopsy, and I could go hours without taking a call or a text. I decided the best compromise was to wear my smartwatch so Jack didn’t worry, but even then I was a little apprehensive. I never wore jewelry during an autopsy. Sometimes things fell into open cavities and you had to fish them out. Ask me how I know.
The chill of early spring still lingered in the air, and the building’s old bones creaked and settled around me as I stepped inside, locking the door behind me.
The silence was absolute, broken only by the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. I’d spent countless hours alone in this building, and yet this morning, the emptiness felt different—heavier, more watchful.
I shook off the feeling and went into the kitchen, my footsteps echoing on the tile floors. I filled the electric kettle for more tea, the metal spoon clinking against ceramic as I measured out loose leaves. While I waited for the water to boil, I pulled up the blinds to let light into the room. The morning sun glinted across the island and the glass cake plate that had held fresh muffins the day before. Emmy Lu wouldn’t be in until nine, but she always brought sweet treats with her.
The kettle clicked off, and I poured steaming water over the tea leaves, inhaling the delicate scent of chamomile and mint. With the warm mug cradled in my hands, I began my usual morning routine—checking the day’s schedule, reviewing paperwork, making a mental list of everything that needed to be done before opening at ten.
Victor Mobley’s funeral was the only service scheduled for today, a small graveside ceremony at eleven. The Hells Angels had cleared out yesterday, leaving behind a surprising lack of damage and an even more surprising thank-you note for our hospitality. Sheldon had been inordinately proud of how well he’d handled the outlaw bikers, though I suspected they’d simply been amused by his nervous enthusiasm.
I made my way to the viewing room where Mobley’s casket sat, its polished mahogany gleaming in the soft light. The viewing room was peaceful, with cream-colored walls and tasteful floral arrangements flanking the casket. I checked that everything was in order—the photos displayed properly, the guest book placed on the antique table by the door, the funeral programs stacked neatly beside it.
The lid of the casket was closed for transport, but I opened it to ensure everything remained perfect after the somewhat rowdy visitation yesterday. Victor looked peaceful, his leather vest and rings in place as his family had requested. I adjusted his collar slightly, brushing away a stray bit of lint from his shoulder.
“Looks like you’re all set for your final ride, Mr. Mobley,” I murmured, closing the lid with a soft click.
As I turned to leave the viewing room, a floorboard creaked somewhere upstairs. I paused, head tilted, listening. It was an old house, random noises were common—the settling of wood, the expansion and contraction of pipes, the whisper of air through vents. But something about this noise felt different. Deliberate.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet space. “Sheldon? Emmy Lu? Is someone there?”
No answer came, only the continuing silence and the steady ticktock of the grandfather clock in the hallway. I shook my head at my own jumpiness. Between the murders, the cult, and Jack’s warnings, I was letting my imagination run wild.
I pulled my phone from my pocket, checking the time. Still early. I sent a quick text to Lily, confirming when she’d be in to assist with the autopsies, then tucked the phone back in my pocket.
The paperwork for the cemetery was in my office, and I needed to make sure it was ready for the record keeper at the cemetery. I made my way down the long hallway, past the arrangement room and the casket showroom, toward Emmy Lu’s office at the front.
The hallway seemed longer this morning, the shadows deeper in the corners despite the sunlight streaming through the windows. I felt a prickle at the back of my neck, the unmistakable sensation of being watched. I turned around, scanning the empty corridor behind me, but saw nothing out of place.
“Get it together, Jaye,” I muttered to myself. “You’ve got pregnancy brain.”
Emmy Lu’s office door was ajar. I pushed it open slowly, eyes sweeping the room. Everything looked normal. Her desk was stacked neatly with files, my chair pushed back at the angle I’d left it. The blinds were closed, casting the room in shadow.
I flipped on the light and moved to the desk, rifling through the stacks of paper until I found the cemetery paperwork. I slipped it into a folder and placed it right on top so it was easy to find, then headed back into the hallway, pulling the door firmly shut behind me.
The sound of movement came again, this time from the direction of the arrangement room. A soft shuffling, like feet on carpet.
“Hello?” I called again, my heart rate picking up. “Is someone here?”
I stood perfectly still, straining to hear over the suddenly loud pounding of my heart. The building fell silent once more, but the prickle of unease had become a cold weight in my stomach. I wasn’t alone.
“Sheldon, is that you? This isn’t funny.”
I began walking quickly back toward the kitchen and my lab. I’d be safe in my lab. I could lock myself inside, and no one could get in. My hand reached for my phone, ready to call Jack, when another sound stopped me in my tracks.
A door closing, followed by footsteps—not bothering to be quiet anymore.
I spun around, adrenaline surging through my body. The hallway behind me was empty, but the footsteps continued, getting closer. My eyes darted to the nearest exit, calculating whether I could reach it before whoever was approaching turned the corner.
I never got the chance to find out.
The blow came from behind, a sudden, explosive pain at the base of my skull that sent white-hot sparks shooting across my vision. I was falling before I registered what had happened.
My last coherent thought before darkness claimed me was of the baby, a desperate prayer that it would be safe even as consciousness slipped away like water through my fingers.
Then, there was nothing but blackness.