Page 47 of His Trick

“Two bodies. Females,” he announced to no one in particular, grinning like he’d won a small victory prize. The crime scene photographer, Janetlee, and I had the same look.

I didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, I reached into my bag and snapped on my gloves. I had all the shit I needed in my bag: bleach, tarps, and tools. They were all laid out in methodical order. The ritual calmed me, or at least it usually did.

“Do you need me to do it? You’re being slow.” Hale said, squinting at the drape on the first body.

I shook my head. “Nope. I’ve got it. You continue your circle jerk party of one.”

Why do people insist on watching me work?

My hands itched under the nylon gloves, and my jaw was tight.

It was my scene. Not yours, asshole.

Back the fuck up before there’s another body added to the tarps. Step by step, I moved through the motions.

Spray, scrub, bag, tag.

The morning air was colder than yesterday, and it nipped at my balls with a heavy, damp smell of earth and iron. My boots sank into the mud, leaving prints like my own personal signatures.

One thing I didn’t need to cover. Hale was breathing so fucking loud it was disrupting my space. I could smell the tobacco on his breath with him this far up my ass.

“Are we going steady, Hale? My last lay wasn’t even this damn close to my face.”

The detective snorted, but backed away from me long enough for me to breathe without his warm air sapping my oxygen. I cleaned the scene, but something about the way the female bodies looked was eerily familiar and made my skin itch.

“You sure you didn’t miss anything? You look…jumpy.”

I gritted my teeth. “I’m fine.”

Inside, my mind rebelled at the statement. Small details kept poking me like the curve of the first woman’s wrist, or the second woman’s dark hair that was matted in a familiar pattern, the faint discoloration along her neck, where a knife wound declared her cause of death.

My stomach pitched, and I stumbled when I saw something crudely carved into the back of the woman’s hand. It didn’t have an overt shape, unseen and unnoticed by others, but it stood out to me.

It was a smiley face.

Who the fuck shined a light on this?

Light…

I couldn’t help but smirk as I bit my lip.

That smug little asshole thought he’d play with me?

Me? Oh, just you wait, Sunshine.

You wanted to point a beacon on my crimes? Now I’m going to make you scream all of yours when I fuck you.

Stay calm. Professional. You’ve done this a thousand times. Shiloh, growing some balls isn’t going to sway you.

Despite my internal pep talk, the tremor in my hands betrayed me, and I had to step back before Hale’s intense fucking eyes noticed.

Did I cover my tracks well enough? Had I left evidence these idiots could follow to my own crime scene?

That creeping doubt gnawed at me, a fucking sour taste filling my mouth.

Hale sniffed again. “Man, you’ve seen worse than this? Ew. That bitch is cheese grated.”

“Pretty sure dead people’s ghosts don’t like being called bitches, Hale.”