Page 4 of Love & Other Killers

Divergence

A utumn is on my mind as we hike down the hill and into the valley.

How she found us, I just don’t know. The last time I saw her, she was running straight past me and Rowan as though we didn’t exist. Running for her life from a madman with a chainsaw.

But she must have hidden when we took that fucker down in his own barn.

Maybe she even saw us kill him, watching long enough to gather clues to piece our identities together.

I wonder if she’s watching us now. What she thinks about this farm.

If it reminds her of the hell she escaped from when she found a way out of Harvey Mead’s cellar.

I’d kept track of Harvey’s case after we left Texas, just like I keep track of all my kills.

And I always thought Autumn must have kept on going when she ran screaming through that barn.

Maybe I was wrong.

Sure, I figured it was a curious stroke of luck that she didn’t mention her encounter with us to the press.

But I never considered that she might have been following us or waiting for an opportunity to say thank you in her own way.

What has she been doing these last few years?

Why has she protected us? And why couldn’t she stay just a little longer, so I could tell her I’m sorry?

That I would have come back for her? That I’m happy she found her own way?

Or even that I’m grateful I wasn’t alone when I was thrown into her dark and terrifying prison?

When I glance toward the top of the ridge, she’s not there. And I doubt I’ll ever get an answer to my questions.

“You all right, love?” Rowan asks, pulling my attention away from the break in the foliage where we’d watched Munster’s farm with the binoculars from the top of the hill. “Did you see something?”

“No.” My smile is fleeting and probably not all that convincing. I try a little harder, though Rowan doesn’t seem very reassured. “No, just thinking.”

He takes my hand, and we walk side by side on the path as it widens where it leads around the edge of Munster’s property. “Thinking about ...?”

“You know, killing this guy.” I shrug. “Maybe I’m wondering what you know about him.”

A deep chuckle rumbles in Rowan’s chest, and I glance up as the scar in his lip brightens with his smile.

He raises my hand to press a kiss to my knuckles.

“Now, Blackbird. I can’t go giving you all my secrets.

” He leans in close, his familiar scent of sage and spice marred by an undertone of last night’s moonshine.

“But I can tell you that Allan Munster does indeed live alone, and every Sunday he heads to church at nine thirty and comes back at around one o’clock. ”

My eyes narrow as I survey the smile that still lingers on Rowan’s lips. “Have you been cheating? Has Conor told you this?”

“Absolutely not. You wound me, Blackbird.”

“That’s kind of a big clue, don’t you think?” I say, and Rowan shrugs. “Why are you helping me?”

“Maybe because I know I’m still going to win?”

I groan and whack his arm, but he only laughs. “You’re the worst. I also have a twenty-minute head start.”

“I’m not sure that’ll make much difference considering he won’t be home for another three hours, give or take.”

“Twenty minutes starting at one o’clock.”

“No deal, love. And have I told you lately that you’re adorable when you’re angry?”

My scowl only delights my effervescent husband. “Here I was thinking you gave in so willingly because I was pressing against your cock, when in reality it was because you already knew you had a time advantage.”

Rowan bellows a laugh, and though Lark couldn’t have heard our conversation because of how far ahead of us she is with Lachlan, she still smiles over her shoulder with glittery hearts in her eyes. Always the romantic. “It was definitely the cock,” Rowan says. “Guaranteed, every time.”

Our conversations grow quieter as we near the farm.

Even if Munster lives alone, we all know he could have security systems in place.

So we approach slowly. Carefully. We circle around the perimeter until we’re at the far end of the property, standing at the back of the first canvas-covered building.

“Rank,” Lark says, her nose scrunching as she glances up at the extractor fan near the top of the curved roof, the scent of ammonia and corn mash drifting through its whirling blades.

I can just make out the sound of the hundreds of birds on the other side of the stained white canvas.

“Guess we might as well start with the worst and work our way up.”

I nod, both of us turning to Rose as Barbara squirms and growls. The fur gremlin is laser-focused on the chicken barn, and I’m sure she’d absolutely love to cause a bloodbath within its walls.

“Take Barbara,” Rose says as she shoves the disgruntled raccoon at Fionn. “I’ve carried her for miles already today.”

“I’ve seen that look on her face before. It’s the same one she gave me when she got into the codeine. She’s in a mood .” He doesn’t make any move to take her, and Barbara doesn’t appear thrilled about the transfer either. “Look at her eyes. She looks r—”

“Fionn Kane, don’t you dare say ‘rabid’—”

“ Rrridiculous. ”

“Doc,” Rose whines, puffing a breath upward through her sweaty bangs, “I thought you’d said you’d take a raccoon to the face for me. And I’m not even putting her in your face. It’s chest-level raccooning.”

Fionn rolls his eyes, but the man is a goner for his fiancée. He reaches out, and the rather unhappy trash panda is deposited into his arms. He immediately sets her down, and she rushes to the end of the leash that’s attached to her harness, making a direct path toward the smelly chicken shed.

Rose dusts her hands off on her jean shorts and grins at Fionn as he tries to reel Barbara back in, grumbling a string of obscenities as she resists. “Well, enjoy. We’ve got some trespassing to do.”

“Twenty minutes, cheaters,” I say, checking my watch.

“We didn’t cheat,” all three brothers protest in unison.

“Whatever, soon-to-be losers.”

I flip them my middle finger as we start walking between the chicken sheds, heading for the entrance. “You’re adorable when you’re angry,” Rowan calls after us.

“Get fucked, Butcher.”

“Love you, too, Peaches.”

I turn enough that he can see the slicing motion I make across my neck before I blow him a kiss and disappear around the front of the shed.

We stop at the door. Slide on our gloves. Pull our knives from their sheaths. Give each other a single, silent nod.

And then we step inside.

The heat. The smell . Ammonia and feed and dirt and sawdust. There are metal lines that run the length of the structure, red waterspouts spaced every few feet where white chickens gather to peck droplets from the waterers.

They cluck and beat their wings. The ones closest to the entrance eye us with suspicion.

A cluster of birds off to the left snags my attention.

They’re huddled over something. They peck furiously at the ground.

Nip at each other. Squabble for the best spot over whatever is interesting them.

I’m still watching as one chicken darts out of the fray to jostle for a better spot.

Its chest feathers are covered with blood.

I slip into the pen and stalk toward them, my eyes fixed to the flock.

“What’s going on? Did you see something?” Lark asks as she and Rose follow on my heels. Bloodied chickens scatter as we draw close.

But the blood isn’t theirs.

We bend to look at the mound of flesh and chopped bone, some of the braver birds lingering around us to snag a mouthful of carnage before darting away. “What the fuck ...”

“A guy named Martin Jeoffries disappeared a week ago in Sproul Forest. The rumors have already started that it was the Specter,” I say. I swipe a gloved finger into the mess of pulverized flesh and shattered bone.

I pull a bone chip from the pile. It’s human, the shape of the partial hyoid recognizable by its delicate wings and flat body.

“I guess we found him.”