Page 54 of Nightshades

Heading to the fridge, I swing the door open, still wondering how someone filled it with groceries without my knowledge. I should be more concerned for my safety. A stranger broke into my home and filled my fridge and freezer full of food.

I have much bigger things to worry about, which is why I don’t fucking care. If someone wants to test me, I have a nine-millimeter that I’m happy to pull the trigger on.

Snagging a beer from the fridge, I slam the top down on the edge of the counter, ripping the cap off. It clatters somewhere, the metal rolling across the floor until it hits the wall.

In my tired, uncaring mood, I leave it. Let it stay there forever for all I care.

Taking a long swig of beer, I stroll to the couch again, spreading out the files on the table.

My phone rings…from…somewhere.

“Where the hell did I put that thing? Hay, Dios mío.” I hear it vibrate, and I check between the cushions of the couch before finally grabbing it.

It’s Zig.

“Hey, Zig. What’s up? Do you guys need me? Am I finally not benched?”

“‘fraid not,” he says, the hush of rain a whisper wherever he is.

I frown, not liking that. “I’m not the reason why these people are dying, Zig. I didn’t bring this here. This didn’t happen in New York. I swear. You can call?—”

“—Sanchez. Cool it. Take a breather. I’m only calling to keep you in the loop. We found three bodies in the Wayward Forest.”

I sit up, snagging my badge off the counter. “What? I’m on my way. Send me the location, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“You can’t come here. The sheriff doesn’t know I’m calling you. I agree with Jake. For your safety, you have to be home tonight. Jenkins is parked outside your house as well.”

“Oh, come on, Zig. No offense to Jenkins, he’s a great guy, but you know I can protect myself more than he can protect a fly.”

“I know, but he was the only officer available for surveillance tonight. He’s a good cop.”

I flop back down on the couch, bored out of my mind. “Well, why did you call me, then?”

“You know those files you took?”

Unease rises in my chest, and I sit up. “What about them?”

“I think one of them is here. First name, Greta? I hope I’m wrong.”

Falling to the floor, my knees ache from the hard thud as I scatter the files around to see who is who.

I gasp, snagging her photo from the silver clip. “I have it,” I answer in shock, staring at a beautiful young woman who can’t be more than thirty years old.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there. Talking to the wife.” His voice is muffled, his words sounding distant. He probably has the cellphone pressed to his chest, so I can’t hear.

“Sorry about that. I’m back,” he says.

“You’re a horrible liar, Zig. The town is small. Everyone knows you don’t have a wife.”

“I panic when I’m caught doing something I’m not supposed to be doing. Like talking to you.”

I snicker, loving that Zig is a cop for the perfect reasons. He’s over six feet, muscular, and is afraid of being caught when heisthe authority.

“I think one of two things is happening, Sanchez. One, someone knows this group of people and is taking them out one by one. Two, this person knows you’re looking into these case files and is doing thisforyou.”

I pause drinking my beer. “For me?”

“Yeah, maybe he thinks he is doing you a favor. I don’t know, but as the detective, I thought you needed to know the information. I think it’s time to build your own case against the person who is killing your suspects, but don’t tell the sheriff I told you.”